Unwrapping Her Perfect Match: A London Legends Christmas Novella (4 page)

When he’d first swung her in his arms at the
stadium, the crush of her body against his had stolen all rational
thought. Very few women fit perfectly against him. He rarely found
women tall enough to be a good physical match for him. He’d dated a
couple of models, but their waiflike frames had made him worry he’d
shatter them. In fact, he’d never held anyone who felt as if she’d
been created with him in mind. Not until Gwen.

The invitation back to his place hadn’t been
entirely lust-induced, though. He wanted to explore more than her
body, but hell if he’d tell her that now. He’d have to get his
mouth back in order to get the words out, and he was just fine with
her borrowing it for a while.

Mindful of her earlier hesitation, John kept
the kiss light, letting her control its depth, its intimacy. But
then she slanted her mouth, touching the tip of her tongue against
his lips in a curious exploration, and he was lost. He kissed her
hard. His fingers fumbled with the clip holding her hair up. She
sucked in a wincing breath before saying, “Let me.”

When she released the clip and tossed it onto
the coffee table, he could only stare in wonder. Her hair was blond
to the point of near-whiteness, and it tumbled over her shoulders
to graze the tops of her breasts.

“Gwen.” His fingers slid through her hair, so
fine and soft it tickled the rough,
broken-and-healed-a-thousand-times skin of his knuckles. The lamp
cast a harsh light on the room, so he reached back and flipped it
off. He wanted to see her halo again. The moon obliged,
backlighting her just enough to make her look otherworldly. He was
so busy marveling at her hair that he failed to notice she’d tensed
up.

“Why did you turn the lamp off?”

The better to see you.
But he was no
lecherous wolf, and he hoped to God she didn’t feel she’d been
lured here under false pretenses. They barely knew each other. She
was his sponsor’s sister. Practically his captain’s sister-in-law.
He should be protecting her in order to protect himself, but
instead he opened up and allowed himself to be honest. “You’re
stunning. Your hair…it’s fucking brilliant.”

Okay, he would never be accused of eloquence.
But she didn’t seem to mind—the opposite, in fact. Her face
softened into a smile, her chest rising and falling with quicker
breaths, and she launched herself at him. They tumbled back onto
the cushions, John maneuvering them so she stretched out atop him.
The mobile phone in his pocket jabbed the vulnerable area between
his hipbone and groin. Without letting go of Gwen or their kiss, he
rolled to the side far enough to free his phone and slid it onto
the coffee table.

Gwen’s breasts pressed against his chest, so
supple against the muscles he worked every day to develop. His
hands roamed over her curves, coming to rest on her bum. He gripped
her, shifting her body over his until she practically clicked into
place. She moaned, the sound vibrating his lips. It traveled
through his veins on a wave of adrenaline and testosterone.

He tugged at her jumper. “Get this off.”

Bracing her knees on either side of his hips,
she pushed up until she sat directly on his swollen, aching
erection. She grabbed the hem of her jumper and the long-sleeved
black shirt she wore beneath it. Without fanfare or seduction, she
whipped the shirts over her head. In tandem, they both looked at
her breasts, bound in a white cotton sports bra.

“Bugger,” she muttered. “I came straight from
work. I managed to change my clothes but didn’t have time to put
anything nicer on. I promise I have sexier lingerie at home.”

“I love it. In fact, I should take a closer
look.” He crunched his abs until he buried his face in her
bountiful cleavage. “Mmm, yeah, it’s even better from this
angle.”

She laughed as he planted kisses where the
cotton met her skin, tugging the top of it down to expose the faint
red marks the bra had made. Opening his mouth, he gently sucked on
the marks, using the tip of his tongue to sooth them. Gwen sighed.
Her head fell back, and she wrapped her arms around his head,
keeping him there.

“You know what would look great with this
bra?” he asked.

“What?”

“My floor. Why don’t we put it there and see
if I’m right.”

Four hands fumbled over each other, somehow
managing to sweep the bra over her head. It landed with a
plop
several feet away.

Her breasts matched the rest of her.
Generous. Perfect. So damn much fun to play with. He cupped them,
massaged them, tugged her pink nipples between his lips and sucked
until she ground her hot pelvis against him so hard he worried he’d
finish without her.

When she pulled his mouth away,
disappointment swept through him—but only for a moment. Then she
tipped his head back and kissed him again, slowly riding him
through his suit trousers. Building an intense friction against his
most sensitive skin. Setting him alight.

“Lie back,” she whispered against his
lips.

Reluctantly, he did as she commanded. “Fuck,
the view from here’s even better.”

Gwen’s breasts were full and firm. When he
reached up to palm them, she grabbed his hands and put them on
cushions. “No touching. I want to see your face as you look at me,
only look at me.”

He groaned, digging his fingertips into the
couch so hard he practically tore the fabric. His body knew what it
wanted, and it wasn’t self-control. Nor was it giving up control to
someone else. But Gwen’s obvious enjoyment held him back from doing
what he really wanted, shoving her skirt up and her knickers to the
side to he could get at her. She shifted again, making him
groan.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” The words
barely came out through his gritted teeth.

“You have no idea.” Her face went serious for
a second, almost confused. “I can’t believe you’re so…”

“Big? Say big. I want to hear you say you
can’t believe I’m so big.”

She laughed, her breasts bouncing. Swear to
God, he grew even bigger. “Gwen, I’m really sorry, but I’m going to
have to go get something before this goes any farther.”

Obviously catching his drift, she lifted
herself off him. But as she went, she shimmied down his body and
rubbed her breasts against his erection through his trousers. He
swore, dragging the single word out like the orgasm he was
desperately trying to keep at bay. “Gwen, love…”

She gave him a naughty grin and pressed a
sweet, closed-mouth kiss right on his tip. “Go. And hurry.
Please.”

He shoved away from the couch like it was the
starter blocks and sprinted for his bathroom. He searched
everywhere, yanking drawers open and practically ripping the door
of the medicine cabinet from its hinges. Where the fuck were his
condoms?

Sitting half-naked on a man’s couch was
awkward, but the cacophony of curses coming from John’s bathroom
and bedroom whisked away Gwen’s insecurities. How could she not
feel flattered when a man was so obviously eager to be with her?
This wasn’t how she’d planned to end her night, but it was a hell
of a lot better than going home alone and crashing face-first onto
her mattress after working a twelve-hour shift. Her sister had
always been the one with impulse-control issues—the main issue
being that she lacked it completely. Gwen was sturdy of body and
sturdy of resolve, which tended to lead to a life that was sturdy
of boredom.

A particularly loud curse and a thump that
might’ve been a drawer being yanked out too hard made Gwen grin.
Impulse control was overrated.

John’s mobile beeped with an incoming
message, and she instinctively glanced at the phone’s lit face. Her
stomach lurched at the message scrolling across the screen.
Oggie
: Bought the prize you won off me at the auction. What’s
she making you do…

Instead of showing the end of the sentence,
the message began scrolling again from the beginning. Words seemed
to throb on the screen in time with her speeding pulse.
Prize…won…What’s she making you do…

The message could be about anything. Right?
It could be about…

Gwen’s brain failed to come up with
alternatives. Obviously John had won something. Heartbreaking
experience told her who the loser was.

Found them!
John yanked the box out of
his travel bag and rushed back to the living room. He slid to a
stop in the doorway when he saw Gwen sitting on his couch with her
bra on and shirt clutched to her chest. All signs of life had
leeched from her face.

“Gwen?”

She turned her head to face him, but every
other muscle stayed frozen.

“Are you cold?” He reached for the
thermostat, bumping it up a couple of degrees. “We could go into
the bedroom—”

“Who’s Oggie?”

John’s brows pulled together. “Oggie? One of
my teammates. Why?”

His mouth went parched when she turned away
from him and stared at his mobile. His fingers clenched into fists
as he crossed the room, sat next to her and grabbed his phone.

Bought the prize you won off me at the
auction. What’s she making you do
…

Fucking hell. He tapped at the message to see
if the rest of it might exonerate him.
What’s she making you do
to earn it? I’ll bring the whisky to training tomorrow, you lucky
bastard
.

No exoneration, but nothing insulting toward
Gwen, either. He could explain, and they’d both have a good laugh
before getting down to business again.

“Is he talking about me?”

He crushed the temptation to lie. “Yes.”

“Am I
making
you do something?”

“You haven’t told me yet.”

She frowned, so he clarified. “You bid on me
to do whatever you want for a day. You haven’t told me yet what you
want me to do, other than eat with you.” He could give her a few
suggestions if she asked.

Please let her ask.

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment. “What
did you win?”

“A bottle of whisky.”

Her mouth gaped, and when she faced him the
anguish in her eyes stole his breath. It finally dawned on him that
this conversation was much more serious than he’d thought.

“Whisky?”

“I can explain.”

“I’d like that. Please do.”

He clenched and unclenched his fists, his
fingers aching the way they did when he lined up on the pitch
before a big match. “Oggie and I made a bet about who could bring
in the most money. You helped me win. If you like whisky—”

Her eyes glistened before she blinked hard
and thrust her arms through the black shirt. Her voice was muffled
by the cotton, but he still heard it quiver slightly when she
asked, “When did you make that bet?”

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Gwen, I
approached you because I wanted to talk to you. I would’ve come
over and lamely tried to hit on you no matter what. You were the
most beautiful woman in the room.”

She scoffed and tugged the shirt down, her
head popping through the neck hole. “Right. Excuse me.”

She stood and pushed past him, grabbing her
things from next to the door. He rushed after her, pushing the door
closed when she tried to open it and wedging himself between her
and the exit. His palms stayed flat against the door, though he was
desperate to cup them under her bum and carry her back to his
living room, back to where he could figure out what the fuck had
gone wrong. She wouldn’t make eye contact, but he watched her eyes
anyway, waiting for her to give in and look at him, judge the
sincerity that had to be written across his face. She crossed her
arms over her chest. It moved, in and out, in and out, with every
angry, hurt breath. Her emotions seethed between them.

He desperately wanted to kiss her, give her a
different reason for breathlessness, but he forced himself not to
touch her. Regret roughened his voice as he said, “I understand how
it looks. You’ve got to believe me—whatever you think happened, I
never meant to insult you.”

Her shoulders stiffened. She still wouldn’t
look at him. “You might not have meant to, John, but you did. I’d
like to go now.”

Asking him to give up, to accept defeat
without a good fight, was like asking him to throw a match. He’d
never even considered the possibility before. But maybe a tactical
retreat was best. He could give her time to cool down. Maybe send
her flowers tomorrow or enlist Tess’s help.

He stepped to the side. “Can I at least call
you a minicab?”

“No thank you.” She twisted the doorknob and
pulled it toward her.

He couldn’t resist one more touch. He laid
his hand gently on the crook of her elbow, ready to take it back if
she showed resistance. Ready to protect his bollocks if she jabbed
her elbow in their direction. “Gwen, I’m sorry. I truly am.”

Finally, she turned her attention toward him.
A pained expression formed lines around her squinting eyes and
firmly closed lips. She drew in a deep breath, and when she
exhaled, some of the tightness seemed to go with it, replaced with
a weariness that swamped him with sadness. “I am too. I just…” She
let out a sound that was half-groan, half-sigh. “This is all quite
embarrassing. I need to go now. This is my issue to deal with, not
yours.”

Make it mine.
But he couldn’t ask for
that unless he knew he could fix it, or at least shoulder it for
her, and he had problems of his own that would need his full
attention very soon.

Too late, anyway. She muttered goodbye and
was out the door before he figured out how badly he wanted to stop
her.

He ordered her flowers, but when a day passed
without a call from her, he phoned the florist and was told she’d
asked the delivery guy to take the flowers to a hospital. He sent
her a note with an invitation to dinner. Nothing.