Knox (Sexy Bastard #3) (14 page)

When he opens the door wearing nothing but a towel and a groggy, confused expression, I drop my tote and wrap my arms around his warm, strong torso.

Any fear I had about misreading the situation melts away when he crushes my lips with his, wrapping his arms around me so tight I can hardly breathe, and lifting me a couple inches off the ground in his strong embrace.

When we finally part to stare at one another, we’re both grinning like idiots.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, slugger.” Knox swings me into his room before he lets go of me reluctantly, only for long enough to grab my tote bag and swing the door shut behind us.

“Hope I didn’t startle you.”

“Only in the best way.”

He wraps me in his arms again and I sigh with relief at being enveloped in his massive frame.

“Everything okay?” he asks, pulling back and cupping my face in his hand as he gazes into my eyes. “Not that I’m not digging the surprise visit, but what’s up?”

I swallow hard. “I just . . . missed you.” I can feel the tears stinging my eyes, threatening to spill over.

“I missed you too, babe.”

He leans in to kiss me. And just like that, all of my anxiety melts away.

Along with my clothes.

I
’m not usually
one for surprises. But when they come wrapped in deliciously curvy, fuckable little packages, you won’t find me complaining.

Shelby currently has her mouth wrapped around my dick, in a bed I was occupying by my lonesome just a half-hour ago. She’s sucking on me like she’s trying to separate me from my assets, and I know it’s because she desperately wants me to come in her mouth. But my dick wants something else. I need to find my way back inside that tight, warm wet pussy of hers and ram my dick deep up inside of her again and again and again. To make her come and say my fucking name while she’s doing it. I pull her off my cock and back up toward my face, then flip her around and prop her up on her knees. Thank god we finally had the awkward as fuck conversation about condoms and her being on the pill. She’s clean. I’m clean. Now we can finally fuck with no barrier. She grabs onto the headboard for balance and I hold onto her waist as I slide myself into her from behind. The view of her sensational ass gets me twice as hard.

I fuck her so hard I hear a spring pop under the mattress. I don’t stop. I fuck her until we’re both wrung out, gasping each other’s names as we finish. We collapse in a breathless tangle of limbs, finally facing each other and kissing long and slow, our tongues intertwining as we savor the taste of each other.

W
e go quiet
. Spent, for now. Shelby wraps her limbs around me and I kiss the top of her forehead as I squeeze her perfect little ass.

This anonymous little hotel room the team put me up in sure looks a lot better with Shelby in it. Somehow even just having a couple items of her clothing strewn about (and I do mean strewn—wow, how did we manage to hook her bra over the ceiling fan?) makes this place feel homier. We doze off for a bit, and when I come to she’s tracing lazy circles on my chest.

It wouldn’t take much more than her warm body and some in-room delivery to keep me happy all day, but I think both of us could use some fresh air. I haven’t checked out my temporary hometown at all yet, and spending the day with Shelby will be a welcome distraction from the pressures of training with a new team. And I definitely won’t mind a break from sneaking around behind our friends’ backs.

Down here, we’re just another anonymous couple. Okay, a hotter than average couple, but still.

“So. Disney?” I ask. I mean, when in Rome. Or Orlando, that is.

She casts me a sideways smirk, that mischievous look of hers that always kills me. “What do you think I came here for?”

I respond by scooping her up and hauling her off to the shower. As I learned on our first night together, shower stalls also look a helluva lot better with a naked Shelby in them. I work up a lather of soap to rub her back, but by the time I’m finished, we’re getting dirty all over again, this time with her bent over and grabbing my ankles as I slide into her from behind.

Needless to say, the shower takes us twice as long as it should. But somehow we manage to control ourselves long enough to towel off, redress, and hustle out the door.

“This old thing,” Shelby says as we climb into the Porsche I’ve rented for my time in Orlando.

“Not quite as roomy as an SUV, I know.” I flash her a wink as I shift into gear. “But it’ll get us where we need to go.”

I rev the engine, and we’re off. She rolls down her window and lets her hair trail in the wind.

I don’t know if it’s the secrecy, the sense that we’re running away from some cold hard facts we’ve been avoiding in Atlanta, or the little black leather jacket Shelby threw on over her jeans, but riding through downtown with her has me feeling like we just got away with the crime of the century. Maybe it’s just the fact that I can’t stop staring at her and realizing this gorgeous woman is all mine.

“I’m starving,” she says suddenly, right before we reach my planned destination.

I can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Shelby Masters. You’re the eighth wonder of the world. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you
not
be in the mood for either food or sex.”

“That makes you one lucky bastard,” she says, punching me in the arm.

I can’t argue with that. I find some golden arches so we can take care of her needs.

“So, serious talk,” she says between chomps of a Big Mac. I glance at her, waiting for the opening line, half expecting her to say something like
now that I’ve thought about it, this being exclusive thing, not sure I want to . . . 
Instead, she continues, “Name your top three Disney rides.”

No contest. “Space Mountain. Pirates of the Caribbean. Thunder Mountain.”

“Close, but incorrect. Space Mountain, Small World, and the Haunted Mansion. Which one do we hit first?” Her hair flies across her face in the breeze as I make a sudden left out of McD’s.

“Let’s play it by ear,” I tell her as we head to the Magic Kingdom.

F
irst stop turns
out to be a churro stand, because no way a lone burger is gonna be enough to satisfy my girl for long. Shelby talks about the magic of Disney churros from the minute we get inside the car to the moment we pass those pearly gates. Turns out she wasn’t overselling them. I groan at my first juicy, cinnamon-sugar-y bite.

“Careful,” Shelby says. “You might make me jealous of the churro.”

In response, I lean in to lick a stray sprinkling of sugar from her lips. That seems to quell her jealous beast for the time being.

W
e hop
in line for Space Mountain first (which it turns out they’ve rebranded as Star Wars’ Hyperspace Mountain for the time being). I’m not complaining, but it seems a little weird to mess with one of the classics. Still, Shelby seems to be enjoying herself, humming along to the Star Wars theme they’ve been playing and replaying for all of the fifteen minutes we’ve already been standing here.

A kid in front of us in line screams at his parents. The parents try to hush him, but he won’t stop screaming and pointing at a Chewbacca figure nearby. Can’t blame the kid. Chewie strikes a pretty imposing figure.

Still, watching that family gets me thinking about the last time I was down here in Disney. I was older than that kid, maybe eight or nine. But the park sure is bringing back memories. “Have you been here before, with your family?” I ask Shelby. The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to kick myself.

Shit, did you seriously just ask that, Knox?
Of all people, I should know what mentioning childhood does to Jackson, and presumably to her too. Hell, it’s bad enough for me to remember being that young, with my dad gone. I can’t imagine what it’s like for her and Jackson to have lost both parents.

But to my surprise, Shelby smiles. “We did come here as kids, more than a few times. But we stopped coming after the final epic trip. Jackson was twelve I think? He ate too much cotton candy and left a trail of pink puke all over Cinderella’s Castle. My dad sprained his ankle stepping off a moving carousel. And I got caught trying to steal a pair of Minnie Mouse ears from the general store.”

“That sounds wonderfully horrible.”

“Yeah, it was.” She tilts her head back to stare along the tunnel we’re standing in. Coming into Hyperspace Mountain from the bright noonday sun outside nearly blinded us at first, but now our eyes have adjusted to the dim lighting, and I can make out all the decorations along the walls. Including the Star Wars spaceships suspended high above us. “I miss them,” she finally says, her voice low and soft.

I reach for her hand and curl my fingers around hers. “I still miss my dad, and he died when I was twelve.”

She falls quiet again. We shuffle forward a few more paces in line, but the other people around us seem to have faded away now, leaving us in our own little bubble of quiet reflection.

“What was he like?” she asks finally, so low I’m not sure I heard her.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. It’s been so long since I’ve talked about him. But it seems all right, to share with her. She understands. “He was my first coach,” I say. “He was demanding. Harsh, even. But he was always fair. He’d had big league dreams of his own, got a scholarship to Georgia State for ball. But after one season there, he realized it wasn’t going to happen. He was good, but not all-star good. To this day, it boggles my mind how hard it must have been for him, to take a look at this dream he’d been aiming for, and just honestly say to himself, it’s time to call this game. People always talk about going for your dreams no matter what, but they don’t talk about how to find a new dream when the old one ends. That was what my dad was best at.”

“Is that why you started playing?” Shelby squeezes my hand, gently.

I half-laugh. “Y’know, I never really thought about it? But probably. I’m good. I was a natural from the start, and Dad taught me everything he knew really young. But . . . yeah. I think part of what made me so driven to make this dream happen was the fact that he never got to. I knew I was good enough to make it, so not working my ass off, not pushing myself to get here? That would be like throwing everything Dad wanted away.”

She leans against me, a warm body in the chill of the air-conditioned mountain. We shuffle forward again, only a few people between us and the arriving roller coaster cars now. “He sounds like a great guy,” she murmurs.

“He was.” We take another step forward, and I reach down to brush her hair from her forehead. “Y’know, as much of a pain as it’s been to hide from him, I’m really glad you have Jackson. Family is important.”

She nods against my chest. “I’m glad too. I wouldn’t have been able to get through it without him.”

Shelby pauses for a long beat. “Knox . . . I know it’s not going to be easy, but I think we should tell him.”

“I agree,” I say, tucking that stray lock of hair behind her ear. “But I’m not looking forward to it.”

That’s putting it mildly. In all honestly, I’m scared as shit. There’s no question Jackson is going to feel betrayed. And my fear is that telling him will result in ruining two relationships: mine and Jackson’s, and this thing with Shelby. But I guess there’s nothing to do but cross that bridge when we come to it.

For now we cross the bridge over a man-made cavern, up to the turnstiles that will lead us up to the ride.

“Front row?” I tug her toward it, and am surprised when she freezes for a heartbeat, a nervous look on her face. “Or, back row if you want,” I concede.

She shakes her head, then, getting a determined expression. “Front row it is,” she insists, practically dragging me in that direction.

“Just think of this as practice,” I tell her as we climb into the ride, my knees awkwardly bunched up in the tight space, because let’s face it, I’m taller than ninety percent of the riders here.

“Practice for what?” she asks me as she tucks her hair into her collar and wrenches the belt another notched tighter.

“For when we tell Jackson about us. Roller coaster or your brother’s disapproval, which will be scarier?”

“Definitely Jackson,” she says, even though she jumps as the conductor waves us on, and the ride begins.

The whole climb up to the first drop, Shelby leans her arm back and digs her fingers into mine. It’d be cute, if she didn’t squeeze so hard I thought my knuckles would pop out of their sockets. Damn, I thought
I
had a good grip. Girl should definitely try pitching, if her throw’s anywhere as strong.

We reach the pinnacle of the ride, and she screams like a teenager in a slasher flick as we plunge into the dark mountain.

By the end of the ride, I’m impressed that she can still scream, and that her hand hasn’t let up on mine. I pry her fingers loose gently as we roll back up to the entrance. “Wow, Shelbs. Wonder how you’d handle a big-girl roller coaster.” I smirk at her, and jump out of the car, but not fast enough to avoid her swat on my shoulder.

“I resent that.” She clamors out and elbows my side. “That is definitely a big-girl coaster. I mean look at the height requirement!” She points at the distant sign, which, I have to admit, is only a few inches shorter than she is.

“Pigtails over there doesn’t seem too worried.” I gesture with a thumb at a ten-year-old girl in mouse ears and hot pink pigtails climbing out of the front car behind ours.

“That ride isn’t even scary,” the kid complains to her mother as they catch up to us in the exit tunnel.

Shelby heaves a sigh. “All right, fine, maybe I’m a little easily unnerved by giant metal cars plunging down cliffs in darkened rooms. But I promise I’ll be fine on Small World.”

“Dream big, slugger.” I pat her head and earn another elbow in the side for my trouble.

To be fair, she does handle Small World much better than I do—by the time we exit that ride, I’m about ready to scream in horror. That song is going to play in my head for a month, I just know it.

We round out the day on Splash Mountain, and I have to admit, I’m starting to like the way she white-knuckles my arm every time we hit a dip in the ride. I wrap an arm around her shoulders protectively as we reach the final waterfall, and she presses against my side and gasps as a splash hits us.

I don’t mind the gasping, either. I take advantage of the dark ride to dip in for a kiss—and sneak one hand down to her ass for a quick, tight pinch. This time it’s even hotter when she jumps against me, and bites my lip in retaliation.

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind,” I tell her as we disembark. “That’s definitely my favorite ride now.”

She grins sideways at me. “Ditto.”

We decide we’re too hungry to stick around the Kingdom for the fireworks show, and besides, I’m in the mood for some grownup time now. A short drive away, we reach a little oyster bar, one of the oldest and supposedly most authentic joints around.

Definitely not a silver spoon type of place. We roll up to a busy, dark and dingy dive with a long bar and a few full booths. A man who looks about a hundred and fifty years old waves us over to the bar and sets us up with a pitcher of beer.

“What’ll it be?” the old man—Roy, according to his nametag—asks.

“Should we go for a dozen?” I glance sideways at Shelby, not sure if oysters are her thing, or how hungry she’s feeling after all those churros.