Playing for Keeps: Harford Scarlet Series Read online

  ‘Whass keepin’ you, my sweet?’ Tom yelled from the doorstep. He took two steps back towards Sarah, fell down a step and flopped on the lawn. ‘Whoops!’

  Sarah giggled. Already covered in sticky drink, he was now decorated with grass clippings and mud. She pulled him up again to face her, and manoeuvred him through the door. She briefly attempted to prop him up and get away but he somehow stayed between her and the entrance door, not letting her escape.

  Tom lifted his arms and draped them over her shoulders, leaning into her. ‘I need a sh-shower, and I won’t let you go until you shoap me down,’ he breathed in her ear.

  Despite his inebriated state, she could feel curls of arousal tightening through her, and her legs weakening. Luckily, the bathroom was the first door she tried: a small, blue-tiled room with a clean, white bathroom suite.

  Tom collapsed on the side of the bath and leant around the shower-screen to poke at the mixer taps. Somehow he managed to turn the water on. He looked back to Sarah.

  ‘Clothes. Off.’

  Sarah grimaced. She would have to strip him. She knelt on the tiles and started to unbutton his jeans, peeling them down his hips to the floor and off. He wore plain black silk boxers under them. Between his legs was a very large bulge. She stared, absolutely spellbound.

  ‘No. Clothes. Off.’ She stood and tried to squirm away from him but his hands had locked solidly around her waist while she was distracted. ‘Your clothes.’

  Arousal spiked through Sarah’s belly. ‘Tom, I have to be getting back.’

  ‘No, you have to be helping me shower.’ He grinned naughtily up at her. ‘You don’t want me to fall and drown, do you?’

  Sarah sighed and shook her head in mock annoyance. It seemed logical enough to her fuzzy brain; she would get soaked trying to help him while fully dressed. She pulled off her light sweater to reveal the strappy top beneath, turquoise lacy bra straps peeking out. Kicking off her sandals, she unzipped her jeans then stepped out of them. She breathed quickly in the steamy air.

  ‘Tha’sh bedder,’ slurred Tom. The matching bikini pants she was wearing near his eye level attracted his attention. ‘Mmm, delicious,’ he mumbled. ‘All off?’ he queried hopefully.

  ‘Behave. That’s it. Now, let’s get you in and cleaned up.’

  Sarah tried to stay practical, moving him up and under the warm spray. His hands were still loosely draped around her waist so she had to follow him. He lifted his head and closed his eyes to the spray. Rivulets of water started running down his wide, solid chest, rinsing off some soil and bits of grass. She grabbed the shower gel and squirted some on him, then started rubbing the rest of the dirt away. Her hands swept over lightly tanned skin, feeling the solid muscle underneath and the dustings of hair on his arms and chest, his torso narrowing down to the waistband of his underwear. A heady scent she’d always linked with him emanated from the soapy lather, clouding her thoughts. Increasing bolts of arousal continued to shoot through her, building in strength, and her efficient cleaning arcs quickly turned into lingering caresses. She stifled a groan.

  ‘Now your back,’ Sarah directed him, attempting to keep a clear head. She tried to turn him around. His encircling arms wouldn’t move.

  ‘Not letting go,’ he stated stubbornly.

  Her only option was to step forward and sweep her soapy arms around him and over his muscular back. Her bra-clad breasts pressed into his chest, her tummy against the prominent bulge further down. At the insistent evidence of his excitement, her legs melted and her pulse rocketed. A moan escaped from her as heat built like wildfire in her sensitive places. She tried to draw away but he wouldn’t let her, instead tightening his arms and rubbing against her dissolving body. Her breasts felt swollen, the nipples stiffening, and she rubbed back, needing the pressure, moaning again. He plucked at her soaked top and her hands moved to stop his. She looked up to see him watching her through half-closed, glittering eyes. In a daze, she let him drag the top off over her head.

  ‘Mmm, pretty,’ he murmured appreciatively at the lacy, half-cup design. One deft hand scooped her swelling flesh out of the constraining garment, the fabric holding them up high. Fingers thumbed her knotted nipples.

  Sarah moaned again, instinctively arching and pressing herself into his hands.

  Tom chuckled. ‘Very pretty. Now, wet pants.’

  She glanced down at the silk boxers and her hands stirred involuntarily to push them off his hips. They dropped to the floor with a soft slap. Her whole body electrified as she stared at his substantial erection. She had to touch him. Her right hand moved to clasp him, her fingers curling around the hot, velvety skin coating his steel-hard manhood. His head fell back and he groaned, his hips flexing within her encircling digits. His arms tightened more, trapping her hand between their bodies, then his hands squeezed her lace-clad buttocks, pulling her into him.

  ‘Wet pants,’ he repeated.

  Deftly, he pulled her knickers down and delved his fingers into her molten core. Sarah cried out, powerless to resist his intrusion.

  ‘Soaking wet,’ he whispered as his fingers found her tender nub.

  Sarah yelped as torrents of pleasure poured through her. A long, rough finger thrust inside her and she convulsed helplessly, unable to think or breathe, only to feel as it plunged repeatedly inside her. Another finger joined the first, stretching her deliciously, and she moaned, her head falling forward to bite his shoulder.

  Tom turned them both around and pinned her forcefully against the wall, hoisting her off her feet with a hand on her backside. Her legs parted and rose on his hips, giving his other hand full access between her thighs. Her own trapped hand moved on his manhood, gliding along and squeezing in time with her inner muscles on his fingers. His hips pistoned against her, his merciless digits reducing her to a bundle of raw, exposed nerves.

  He breathed heavily into her ear, nibbling the lobe as she gulped and cried against his shoulder. Her hitched-up, swollen breasts ground against his chest, the friction and restriction driving her crazy with need. His fingers alternately rubbed her and pinched her, thrusting inside her as her body clenched around them. The sensations built up rapidly as the pace quickened to a frenzy, until they peaked and their bodies arched in agonising bliss.

  Minutes passed as they panted heavily under the cascading water, ripples of pleasure still shaking their bodies. Tom let Sarah slide down and she somehow found her feet. Together, they stepped out of the bath and Tom stripped off her bra. He carefully dabbed her dry with a soft towel. They tumbled out of the steamy bathroom and into a darkened bedroom. Collapsing on the bed, Tom locked his arms around her, pulling her into his body. They fell unconscious, wrapped together.

  The slam of a door woke her up, causing her to open her eyes. She winced as a shaft of sunlight dazzled her. Turning her head to avoid the glare, she focused on an unfamiliar alarm clock. It was shortly past five in the morning.

  The events of only a few hours ago flashed through her head. She flushed with embarrassment as she remembered that she was in bed, naked, with a man she barely knew. Her fascination with him had been a smouldering sexual attraction and as soon as they were alone, it had ignited to a fierce blaze.

  Tom was lying behind her, spooning her, with his hot, heavy groin pressed into her backside and legs wrapped around hers. His arms were again holding her close, one hand encircling a breast, the other cupping her mound. Carefully, she turned her head to look at him. His short, dark hair was mussed, his eyes closed, and soft breath emanated from his upturned, chiselled lips. Her heart twanged; perhaps it was more than just her body that was drawn to him? She stared further down his muscular, taut frame, completely exposed to the morning light shining through the windows. She was so tempted to wake him up, to continue what they’d started. Her stomach started twisting, her hips tempted to rub against him, her thighs twitching together in an effort to allay the building ache between them.

  She began to move her hand down his ribbed belly, towards his h
ip. She gasped as the hand on her mound pressed into her and it thrust her up to a small peak of response. His arms tightened.

  ‘Mine … mine … mine,’ he mumbled. ‘Mine … s’mine. Ess’s mine. Lovesss.’

  “Ess”? she thought in confusion. Her blood ran cold and icicles formed in her veins. Tess. He’s dreaming he’s with Tess. I’m in bed with him and he’s wishing he was with his ex. Another wave of frosty dismay swept over her, followed by clammy nausea. How could this have happened? How could I have given in so quickly?

  She moved slowly and carefully down the bed, slipping out from under his arms, unwinding her legs from his. He grumbled unhappily, the smile on his sleeping face turning into a frown.

  Once standing, she looked for her clothes, eventually realising they must still be in the bathroom. She searched around for something to cover her body, found a discarded blue shirt hanging on a desk chair, and pulled it on. It smelled of him, his essence. An unwanted frisson of arousal momentarily stopped her breath. Continuing to move smoothly but with added urgency, she eased his door open and dashed across the hall to the bathroom. Someone had thoughtfully piled all her clothes on a drying rack although her underwear was still too damp and clammy to put on.

  Hurriedly, she dressed in the dry outer layers and screwed the other garments up in a ball. She looked around for a bag but, on finding none, wrapped his shirt around them. There was no way she was carrying her bra and knickers up the road undisguised. Her sandals were stacked near the radiator so she shoved her feet into them, wincing as one caught on a blister.

  A scraping noise came from the hallway; someone was coming in the front door. Sarah froze, hoping they wouldn’t hear her. Tap-tapping of high heels sounded down the hall.

  ‘Honey, are you in there?’ There was a long pause, a creak of door hinges, and a woman’s giggle. ‘Hi there, handsome – fancy some breakfast?’

  There were a few more unidentifiable noises: footsteps and the front door opening and slamming until Sarah heard the rumble of a Scottish accent talking to the woman.

  ‘You’re an angel, Tess. Love you loads.’ This was followed by the sounds of kissing.

  She waited until she heard the rattle of pots and pans before tiptoeing out into the hall and through the front door.

  What the fuck? He was still with Tess? Shit! The bastard!

  Just get home, she urged herself. Just get home so you can curl up in a ball and forget this happened, forget this pain and embarrassment. I fell into his arms like a ripe plum, just like all those other girls. How could I do it to myself? How could I do it to Ed?

  She escaped up the hill back towards her room on campus, but on returning she couldn’t keep still. Nothing was keeping her there, as all her exams and coursework were finished. Within the hour, she’d loaded up her car with her worldly belongings and started the long drive back to Wales.

  Sarah stayed frozen until halfway home, then the shakes started running through her body, causing her to pull the car over into a service station. Tears began to fall and she scrambled through some of her belongings, looking for a tissue. Instead, she found the blue shirt and a wave of his scent drifted up to her, bringing back unbearable memories of the pleasure he’d wrought in her and the impossibility of it happening again.

  Her heart dropped as she suddenly remembered she was supposed to be meeting Ed in a few hours. She’d have to break up with him over the phone; there was no way she could speak to him across a table as the events of last night would show on her face. She felt ashamed she hadn’t even thought of him once during the whole night; the only thoughts she’d had were of Tom.

  The gentle affection she had felt for Ed paled into insignificance against the explosive sexual chemistry experienced with Tom. She’d behaved disgracefully, in a way of which she had never thought herself capable. She’d meant nothing to Tom; she had just fallen into bed with him without thinking.

  She thought of all the tearful girls she’d heard about and glimpsed on campus, those who’d thought they couldn’t live without their man once he’d dumped them.

  I’m not going to be like that, she vowed. I’m never going to wait for the man to call. I’m not going to live my life according to sexual attraction, to fall into bed at the drop of a hat just because he says he wants me or tries to seduce me. To let others down who were depending on me. Not me – it won’t be me.

  With that determination in place, she restarted the car and continued on the long journey back to her hometown.

  The last few drinks had probably been a mistake. So was leaping in a taxi with some other friends to Flames, a popular cheesy nightclub a few miles away. Plus, dancing most of the night on the stage, without a break. Clare had hobbled back to Sarah’s flat with the spare key a few hours previously, sharing a cab with a mutual friend heading in the same direction.

  The steadily increasing pain in Sarah’s own abused feet had finally paused her dancing and she was graciously helped off the stage by a fellow dancer, whom she saucily pecked on the cheek before skipping away from his clutching hands.

  Sliding, dipping and swaying between the hordes of clubbers, she made her way to the loos. After drying her hands, she peered into the mirror. Her make-up was a thing of the past, the only traces racoon smudges around her eyes. She cheerfully hummed along to the music as she pulled out her emergency make-up kit for repairs.

  ‘Looking fine, honey.’ Her friend Sian grinned over her shoulder.

  Sarah finished the last swipe of mascara and grinned back. ‘I try my best.’

  ‘Great moves on the dance floor; you had a few admirers wanting to buy you a drink.’

  ‘Lead me to them.’ Sarah giggled.

  Sian grabbed her hand and led her out to a side bar near where she had been dancing, to a group of good-natured lads, some of whom she vaguely recognised. For the next 20 minutes, Sarah was subjected to the most hackneyed and clichéd chat-up lines she’d ever heard. She responded to most of them with a giggle and a shake of her head.

  She bopped and swayed, leaning against the bar as she watched Sian flirt. Drinks kept on arriving in her hand, even though she gratefully batted others away.

  ‘Here come the Harford boys!’ yelled one of the lads.

  Sarah’s head shot around. She blinked as some of the rugby team, in their distinctive shirts and ties, descended on her crowd; many among the two groups were friends and she saw them bump fists and exchange other, more complicated greetings.

  No Scotsmen in sight. Disappointment warred with relief, until she felt someone stop by her. She looked up at the new arrival and her eyes rounded.

  ‘Fancy seeing you here.’ Tom smirked down at her. ‘Hello again.’

  Hmm. Copious amounts of booze must have made her radar malfunction. ‘You … Why shouldn’t I be here? We all go the same places, unless …’ She frowned at him. ‘Are you following me? Tha’s just naughty. You’re a naughty man.’ Each word was preceded by her finger drumming his solid chest.

  ‘Stop poking holes in me.’ He attempted to capture her hand without success.

  ‘You, you’re made of granite,’ she scoffed. ‘Dark, gorgeous, Scottish granite. Mmm.’ She giggled and wriggled away. ‘You’re bad for me, though. Bad, and dangerous to know.’ She frowned. ‘Not mad, though, unless you’re mad-angry.’ She snorted at her own comments. ‘Tha’s why I stay away from you. Got to resist you, no matter what.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cause if I don’t, it’ll hurt me again. But my feet don’t hurt any more so ta-ra.’

  With that, Sarah swirled away from a puzzled Tom and returned to the stage to dance the rest of the night away.

  Chapter Three

  Sarah caught the ball but before she could start running, she was tackled and brought down. The tackler’s strong arms and legs wrapped around her lower half, immobilising her. She tried to free herself but they just wound tighter. The arms crept further up, cupping her breasts and mound. She realised she was naked, the bed underneath her
soft and giving, the man behind her hard and unwieldy. ‘Tess,’ he whispered, ‘Tess, you’re mine.’

  She screamed back, ‘I’m Sarah, not Tess. I’m not Tess!’ Both the teams turned to stare and laugh at her nakedness. The referee blew his whistle and the game was over. She had lost.

  Sarah shot awake to the shrill whistling of her alarm – the piercing noise that had abruptly terminated her disturbing dream. She was hugging a balled-up pillow and her quilt was tangled around her legs. Her head throbbed from one too many vodkas. She groaned and sank back, remembering scenes from the events of the afternoon and night before.

  ‘Tom Murray. Who would’ve believed it?’

  ‘What was that?’ A tousled, bleary-eyed Clare looked around the door. ‘Are you still going on about that bloke? Anyone would think you were obsessed.’

  Sarah’s stomach dropped like a stone. ‘Wha – what did I say?’ She racked her brains to remember exactly what had happened or what she’d said in the pubs and bars they’d gone to after leaving the club. Had she seen him again?

  Clare wandered in, wearing an old, oversized T-shirt of Sarah’s. ‘Oh, some stuff about how fit and good-looking he is, how he was a complete tart, how he used to have a different girl every week. The usual that-man’s-a-dirty-rotten-scoundrel stuff.’ She perched on Sarah’s big double bed. ‘Fancy lunch? Thanks for the use of your sofa. At least I won’t leave here looking like I’m doing the walk of shame.’

  Sarah chuckled. ‘Of course – lunch sounds good. I need a coffee, though, before I’ll be fit for anything.’

  ‘Made and in the kitchen. I didn’t bring it in ’cause I didn’t know how bad your hangover would be. We really were on a mission last night. Well, you definitely were: it was hours later by the time you tripped in.’ Clare sloped off to the bathroom.

  Sarah chucked the pillow away, unwound the sheets from her legs, and managed to get up. She felt hypersensitive all over from the dream. No, it was a nightmare, she told herself firmly. She peeped into the cheval mirror above her dresser and caught sight of her eyes; they looked strangely widened and aroused. You’ve just been too long without a man, she thought. Anyone passably attractive would give you saucy dreams.