The Player (10 page)

Jamie frowned. “Did I take what class?”

“Bullshit 101. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone quite as good at BS as you are.”

A startled laugh bubbled up his throat. “Oh, I didn’t have to take a class. I’m a natural when it comes to bullshit.”

Blue eyes twinkling, she shot him a grin. “Well, I suppose everyone has to have a special talent.”

Jamie help couldn’t himself, that opening was just too perfect to resist. “BS is an art.” He chuckled wickedly and lowered his voice. “You haven’t seen
my
special talent…but I’d certainly be willing to show you.”

In fact, he had every intention of showing her over and over again. Quite frankly, he’d like nothing better than to show her right now, but he suspected if he so much as made a move near her, dear old Moses would obligingly tear his throat out.

Predictably, she flushed. She blinked as though suddenly disoriented and he had the privilege of watching her pulse suddenly flutter wildly at the base of her throat. God, how he wished he could taste it. Taste her all over. His dick leaped in his jeans and a hot, achy throb pulsed in his loins,
forcing him to grit his teeth. He wanted her so much that even his chest ached, in the vicinity of his heart if he could admit he had one. Did that scare the hell out of him? Most certainly. His heart had absolutely no business in this.

But if he’d ever wanted another woman more—had ever been so obsessed with marking her as his—Jamie couldn’t recall it. This force that was pulling him toward her…it was more than mere attraction. Attraction he could deal with—
need,
on the other had, posed a problem and that’s what this felt like.

He didn’t just want her—he had to have her. He wanted to take her hard and fast, then slow and easy. He wanted to settle her over his thighs, impale her on his dick, then suckle her breasts until she screamed his name. He wanted to wring her dry, then whet her appetite again. He wanted to take her so hard that the idea of ever being with anyone else would be jarred right out of her beautiful head.

And for reasons which were absolutely beyond his understanding, he wanted to punish her for making him want her so much. When this was over, he may finally have to break down and see a shrink, Jamie decided. In the meantime, he was going back to what had worked before—sex therapy.

Audrey finally cleared her throat. “So,” she said, in an unnatural high-pitched voice. “If you aren’t making the Country Onion basket, then what sort are you making?” She frowned. “It looks like you’ve got an egg there that didn’t split.”

“Close,” Jamie said. “It’s a testicle basket.”

Audrey’s eyes widened in shock and she choked. “A what?”

Jamie grinned. “It’s another gift for your grandfather. I was thinking about crocheting some little sperm to go in there for him, but since he didn’t list needlework as one of my hobbies, I guess I’ll have to settle for some sort of substitute. Any ideas?”

Still laughing, she sighed and shook her head. “Your last wishes, because if you send him this in addition to your orchid and mountains paintings, he’s going to kill you.” She paused. “Is it so bad being here?” she asked. The note of genuine interest and insecurity he detected in her voice prevented the glib comment he would have otherwise provided.

“No,” Jamie said. He reached over and traced the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “Not when I’m with you.” Now it was his turn to ask a question. “Do you regret kissing me yesterday?”
For whatever reason, her answer was far more important to him than he’d ever care to admit.

A shadow passed over her eyes and she hesitated. “Regret isn’t the right word.”

“I just wondered, you know, ‘cause you keep trying to pretend like it never happened.”

“It shouldn’t have happened.”

“So you do regret it.”

“No,” she said, giving her head a small helpless shake. “I enjoyed it too much to regret it. But I
should
regret it. I’m—” She winced, seeming to weigh her words carefully. “I have a boyfriend,” she finally blurted out. “He’s asked me to marry him and instead of thinking about my answer, I’m here kissing you. Guilt,” she told him, apparently seizing the right word. “Guilt but not regret.”

Ah, guilt. Jamie knew a lot about that. Still…“And there’s a difference?” Jamie teased, throwing her earlier question back at her.

She smiled, just a simple matter of rearranging the muscles on her face, and yet he felt that grin tug at his midsection. “It’s subtle,” she told him, eyes twinkling with humor.

He inclined his head. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s a bit of a bullshit artist.”

She shrugged, unrepentant. “I try,” she demurred.

Unable to help himself, Jamie leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. Her sweet breath stole his. “Do you have plans for tonight?”

She blinked drunkenly, then a slow smile caught the corner of her mouth. “No.”

“Excellent,” Jamie told her. “I’ll share my whiskey…and you can give me that massage.”

“N
O
, G
RAMPS
, he still hasn’t told me anything,” Audrey said, scattering olives over her salad. Dinner hadn’t been part of the deal, but she’d been struck by the urge to cook. A blatant stall tactic, but what the hell? She was equally anxious and desperate.

“Nothing?” Evidently disheartened, the Colonel sighed. “I was hoping that he’d start to loosen up a little.”

Oh, he had, Audrey thought, remembering that toe-curling kiss he’d given her this afternoon. Just not in the way that her grandfather had hoped for.

“It’s going to take a little time, but I’m glad you called. I wanted to ask you something.” She quickly washed her hands, then made her way into the living room.

“Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Audrey hesitated. Now that she had the opportunity to find out a little more about Jamie’s past,
something about it felt wrong and intrusive. While she knew she’d be better able to help him if she had all of the information—and admittedly, she was curious—she nevertheless couldn’t shake the feeling that she was mining for information he’d just as soon not share.

But the more time she spent with him, the more she saw how desperately he hurt. Had he told her anything? No. Trying to get that man to give her one single nugget of personal information beyond the superficial had been like trying to coax water from a stone—it wasn’t happening.

He smiled, he laughed, he teased, he flirted.

And she lapped up every second of it, charmed in spite of her better judgment.

But he didn’t give her anything he wasn’t willing to share.

And while that might have worked with the average woman who was mesmerized by those gorgeous hazel eyes and bowled over by that extraordinary body and sex appeal, it wasn’t working with her because she could
feel
his pain. And every second she spent in his company, every unguarded glimmer she caught—rare though they may be—only made the ache to soothe him worse. He might not know it, but he needed her.

“Sweetheart?”

Audrey blinked. “Yeah, I’m here. Listen, I need to know more. I know you told me that Jamie lost a friend, but I’m sensing there’s more to it than that.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I can feel it, Gramps,” Audrey told him quietly. She didn’t have to explain. He knew exactly what she was talking about. “A cold stone sits in my gut every time he slips up and lets me in.” She plopped heavily onto her couch and patted the spot beside her for Moses. The great animal jumped up next to her and laid his enormous head on her thigh.

Her grandfather sighed heavily. “I was afraid of this. Is he too much, honey?”

“No,” she assured him. “It’s not that. It’s—” How to explain? “I keep pressing and pressing, but I’m not getting anywhere. I need to know more.”

“All right,” he relented, clearly reluctant. “But this is strictly between us. If it comes down to it, I don’t mind you telling him that I’ve told you that he lost a friend, but he would seriously object to my sharing the details.”

“That’s fine,” Audrey said, bracing herself. Every muscle tensed in anticipation and she had to force her fingers to relax around the phone.

“Flanagan’s unit was special,” he began. “Elite. Secretive.” He went on to tell her about how the four of them had met in ROTC in college, how they’d been more like brothers than friends, how their last mission had gone so terribly wrong, resulting in Daniel Levinson’s death.

Her grandfather let out a tired breath, one that spoke eloquently to his age and burdens. “What I didn’t tell you, Audie, is that it was Flanagan who went back to get Levinson when he went down. Amid enemy fire, no less. Unfortunately, Levinson had taken a fatal hit and he bled out in Flanagan’s arms before Flanagan could get him off that hill.”

“Oh, God,” Audrey whispered, her chest squeezing painfully. Nausea threatened, forcing her to swallow.

“The other two—Payne and McCann—they took it hard as well, but Flanagan…Well, understandably, Flanagan hasn’t been right since it happened. He and Levinson were supposed to have each other’s back. He feels like he failed him. All of them do. That’s why they wanted out.”

She could certainly understand that. And knowing what she knew now, she could definitely see why Jamie was hurting so terribly badly.
Losing a friend would be hard enough, but feeling responsible, then having that friend die in your arms…She couldn’t imagine. But she didn’t have to because she could feel it emanating off of him.

“Thanks for telling me, Gramps. I, uh…” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “That, uh…That explains a lot.”

“Keep me updated, would you?” the Colonel asked.

“I will,” Audrey promised. She said goodbye, disconnected and then absently rubbed Moses’ head, and continued to consider everything she’d just learned. Poor Jamie, Audrey thought, wincing for him. No wonder he was so closed-mouthed about all of it. Not only was it very private, but also, talking about it no doubt conjured images he’d just as soon forget. The trouble with that, though, was that he’d never forget. He might learn to deal with it—to cope, even—but the memories would always be there.

In fact, according to a recent study, memories in times of trauma were essentially
hard-wired
into the brain due to the additional adrenaline pumping through a person’s body. Modern medicine was currently researching a pill which would ultimately help make traumatic memories
fade. According to several well-known doctors, veterans, victims of horrific crimes such as rape and murder, would particularly benefit from it. Audrey let go a breath.

Unfortunately, there was no such magic pill yet for Jamie and he was simply going to have to learn to cope the old-fashioned way. She still felt guilty about asking her grandfather for that information, but she was glad that she did. It was easier to find something if you knew what you were looking for.

And she could start looking immediately, because Jamie would be here any minute now with his whiskey in tow. Despite everything she’d just found out, Audrey felt a half-hearted grin tease her lips. A miserable anxious laugh bubbled up her throat. Sweet Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

I’ll share my whiskey…and you can give me a massage.

No doubt getting a buzz would help take the edge off the thought of putting her hands on him—just thinking about it made a quaking shiver rattle her belly—but she just hoped it didn’t take the edge off too much. Oh, who the hell was she kidding? If he so much as crooked his little finger, she’d leap on him like a wild woman and he’d have a hell of a time getting her off.

They’d followed their basket-weaving lesson this morning with an amiable horseback ride around the lake, then had shared a late lunch in the lodge. Afterwards, Jamie had wanted to check out the gym and they’d spent the rest of the afternoon working out. Or rather, she had pretended to work out, and had watched him instead.

Mercy.

Watching Jamie Flanagan work out was like watching poetry in motion. He was efficient and methodical, like a well-oiled machine. He alternated time between the free weights and various machines, and by the time he’d finished, he’d been hot and sweaty, every muscle pumped and in beautiful form. Audrey sighed and bit her lip, remembering.

Ordinarily hot and sweaty didn’t do it for her, but the entire time she’d watched him, she’d been muddled and warm, and hit with the inexplicable urge to lick him all over. The side of his neck, the V between his shoulder blades. She wanted to taste his skin, feel those muscles play beneath her fingertips. He might have been the one to work up a sweat, but she’d been the one on fire.

He knew it, too, the cocky jerk.

To her immense mortification, he’d caught her staring at him too often to even consider trying to
be anything but a total wreck. He’d grinned, the wretch, then had pinned her to a mirror when no one was looking and kissed the hell out of her.

It was at that point that Audrey had come to a decision. Tewanda was right—she
did
want him. More than she’d ever wanted anybody and with an intensity that shook her to the very core. And Carlos had been right as well—what had being cautious ever done for her? Her entire life had been about helping others, pleasing others. With the exception of going to the college of her choosing and ultimately taking a risk on Unwind, what had she ever done strictly for herself? The answer was sobering.

Nothing.

She could list a dozen reasons she shouldn’t sleep with Jamie—her grandfather’s relationship with him, for starters. Not to mention Derrick, who would
not
get the answer he wanted from her this weekend. Even if he didn’t follow through with his threat to break things off with her, she’d already decided that she’d end the relationship herself. It was a dead end. She didn’t love him. Staying with him because he was safe—because he didn’t make her feel anything—was a disservice to him and to herself.

Yes, there were a lot of legitimate reasons she shouldn’t sleep with Jamie, and only one reason she should…and that was the one she was going with.

She wanted him.

He was the puppy in the window, the candy through the glass, the last piece of cake on the platter. He was every risk she’d never taken, every thanks-but-no-thanks, every missed opportunity.

But more importantly, tonight he was hers.

Moses lifted his head from her lap, signaling Jamie’s timely arrival. The dog murmured a low woof, then lumbered off the sofa to the door. Audrey stood, felt a wild thrill whip through her midsection and her palms suddenly tingled in anticipation of what was to come. She grabbed Moses by the collar and opened the door.

Jamie smiled, a crooked sexy grin that made her heart do an odd little dance. He’d loaded the testicle basket with the bottle of whiskey and a bouquet of flowers he’d obviously snagged from the landscaping beds. Odd that she’d find that endearing. “For you,” he said, offering it to her.

Chuckling, Audrey accepted the gift. “Come in,” she told him. She gestured toward his gift. “Nice to see you found a purpose for your basket.”

Jamie sidled forward, brushed his lips across hers and nuzzled her cheek. “I’m nothing if not resourceful.”

Heaven help her, Audrey thought, because her heart was nothing if not doomed.

J
AMIE HAD BARELY TAKEN A STEP
into the room before Moses had once again gone for his crotch. He grunted, made a little “whoa-ho-ho” noise, and stepped back, awkwardly trying to avoid being victimized by the dog again. Honestly, he knew this was normal canine behavior, but couldn’t help being embarrassed nonetheless. This was the third time, dammit. It was beginning to become a habit. “
Moses,
please, man,” he said with a shaky laugh. “I don’t know you well enough and, even if I did, you aren’t my type.”

Audrey’s face pinkened and she hurriedly dragged the dog back once more, no small feat when the animal had to weigh in excess of 150 pounds. “Moses,” she admonished through gritted teeth.
“Cut it out.”
She pushed a hand through her long curly hair. “I’ve got a solution for this,” she said. “Hold on.” She disappeared into the kitchen, then returned a few seconds later with an aerosol can. “This won’t stain,” she told him, and before
he knew what she was about to do, she aimed the can at his crotch and sprayed him with it. Jamie gaped. “What the—”

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around,” she repeated. “I need to put a shot of this on your—”

“Ass,” he supplied helpfully. Jamie wrinkled his nose. “What is that? It smells.”

“Exactly. It’s a repellent.” She stood once more, popped the lid back on the can. “It’ll keep him from, you know—” she gestured toward his package “—checking you out.”

Now this was a first, Jamie thought, absolutely stunned. He’d never had a
repellent
spayed upon his privates. He felt a slow grin tug at the corner of his mouth. “This only works on the dog, right?”

She laughed, the sound feminine and oddly gentle. “Right. I use it to keep him out of things I don’t want him messing with.”

Did that mean she wanted exclusive rights to his penis? Jamie wondered, resisting the urge to tease her further about it.

Seemingly following his line of thinking, she darted him a somewhat sheepish look. “Well, you know what I mean.”

God, she was beautiful. Jamie grinned. “I do.”

She turned and started back toward the kitchen. “I hope you like Italian.”

Unexpected delight expanded in his chest. “You cooked for me?”

“Baked ziti,” she said, neatly avoiding his question. “Caesar salad and chocolate pie for dessert.”

“Sounds fabulous. You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” he told her, and he meant it. In fact, though he appreciated the gesture, it made him feel downright uncomfortable knowing that he planned to use the massage as a seduction tool. He’d brought that bottle of whiskey, a bouquet of flowers and a handful of rubbers just to mark the occasion.

And she’d been busy cooking for him.

Though he knew it was ridiculous, her gesture pleased him far more than it should have. His mother and grandmother cooked for him all the time when he’d been at home and he’d had one serious girlfriend in college—Shelley-the-two-timing-bitch-Edwards—who’d cooked for him while they’d lived together. Since then, he hadn’t gotten close enough to a woman to warrant something as domestic as cooking. This was nice, Jamie decided, inexplicably pleased.

“Make yourself at home,” Audrey called. “I’ve got to pull this out of the oven.”

“Can I help?”

“No, I’ve got it, thanks.”

Rather than park himself on her sofa, Jamie wandered around her living room, inspecting various pictures which lined her mantel. Not surprisingly, there were several of her and the Colonel. A couple of candid shots of her down by the lake. Several chronicled Moses’s growth, Jamie noted, resulting in a smile. Proud momma, eh? he thought with a shake of his head. Interestingly enough, there were no pictures of Derrick. He grimaced with pleasure and rocked back on his heels.

That had to be significant.

As for her house, it was a larger version of the cottages. White beadboard lined the bottom of the walls and she’d painted the top an interesting shade of blue, the color of an almost-but-not-quite night sky. Various vintage prints—Art Deco—were scattered around the room and a large antique mirror hung over her fireplace.