Just for Kicks by Tracy Solheim

Thirteen

* * *

AS IT TURNED out,all it took to get Andi into Dex’s bed was a bottle of wine. She’d always been a lightweight when it came to alcohol. A personality flaw that didn’t help her reckless tendencies. Case in point, after two sips of champagne she’d followed Dex into a Vegas wedding chapel and said “I do.” Well, the seventy thousand dollars he’d gifted her might have been an added incentive, but she felt less like a hypocrite if she blamed the champagne.

There was no getting around his agent’s plan. She’d made a vow to do whatever was necessary to make this marriage appear real. And she stuck to her word. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. That’s why rather than face him to discuss the logistics, she’d holed up in her former bedroom, downing a bottle of rosé. It was childish of her, she knew, but it was the only way to get up the nerve to do what she had to.

Sporting a warm buzz, she crawled between the sheets of Dex’s massive bed. Of course, the warm buzz might be aided by all the clothes she was wearing. Normally she donned a pair of sleep shorts and a cami to sleep in. Not tonight. While she hadn’t gone so far as to follow Mr. Hilbert’s ridiculous suggestion that she wear a snowsuit, she had pulled on a pair of leggings, a sports bra and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Given that Dex was her Kryptonite, she needed all the armor she could muster to prevent herself from doing anything reckless.

Like jump his bones.

She could hear Marlene in the hallway lecturing Dex about propriety. Andi snickered softly. The woman needn’t worry about her employer. He had stated repeatedly that he had no intention of consummating their marriage, even though he claimed to be attracted to her. Since there wasn’t an audience for him to play to tonight, Andi was quite safe.

Her body sagged in disappointment. The wine was a bad idea. Not only was the bed spinning, but her girl parts were wailing for action they weren’t going to see. It was going to take everything she had to match Dex’s level of restraint.

A door slammed in the distance before the object of her desire strode into the room. Lucky for her, he was just as overdressed for bed as she was, wearing a pair of dark sweatpants and a Growlers’ Henley that fit snugly, showcasing his landscape of sculpted muscles. Andi gulped down a lusty sigh at the sight. She could have sworn he growled as he stalked past her into the bathroom only to storm back out seconds later.

“This is not how you’re supposed to squeeze a tube of toothpaste!” He clenched her tube of toothpaste in his hand.

Yep. Definitely growling.

Throwing back the sheets, she jumped out of the bed and grabbed the toothpaste from him. “First of all, that’s my toothpaste you’re holding. And I’ll squeeze it any way I want.”

His eyes roamed her body, settling in the vicinity of her chest when his expression grew harder. “What in the bloody hell are you wearing?!”

She jabbed the toothpaste in his direction. “If you were expecting a negligee, you can forget about it, buster.”

His nostrils flared at the mention of a negligee before he blustered on. “Is that a bloody Viking on your shirt?”

She dropped her arms in confusion. The wine was obviously doing something to her head because he wasn’t making much sense. She glanced down at the T-shirt she’d bought at a second-hand store. It featured a floating Viking head. The whimsical graphic, along with the bright purple color, had attracted her right away. She notched her chin up and nodded. “Do you have a problem with Vikings?”

This time his growl was more like a roar. “Yes! Especially when they are our rival team and Sunday’s opponent.”

“Oh.” She felt like the biggest fool. Maybe she should have listened when Clive and Daniel were lecturing her about football the other night. Still, Dex didn’t need to be such a tyrant about it. It was an innocent mistake. “Well, being Scandinavian, I’m partial to the team wearing horned helmets like my forefathers.”

“For your information, lass, the bloody heathens you claim as your forefathers never wore horned helmets. That’s all a bunch of jabby invented by artists in the nineteenth century.”

“Jabby?”

“Aye, jabby. It means bullshit, lass!”

To her surprise the distance between them had narrowed and they were now standing inches apart. Her eyes honed in on the muscles of his chest heaving in and out as if he’d just run a four-minute mile. Her fingers twitched. It was all she could do not to reach out and stroke one of his pecs. The warm buzz she’d enjoyed a few moments ago had morphed into an inferno deep in her belly. The musky smell radiating off him only served to fuel the flames.

“Um. Then Mrs. Hall in fifth grade social studies had it all wrong, I guess?” The words sounded raspy for some reason.

“Aye,” he murmured softly.

His breath fanned her forehead but she didn’t dare look up.

“Did you know the Norsemen were afraid of the Scots?” His quiet question was followed by a soft sigh as he seemed to inhale her.

This Norsewoman might be afraid of a certain Scot right now.

Closing her eyes to shut out the virile image in front of her, she threw caution to the wind. “My Viking forefathers afraid of men in skirts? I think not.”

She felt more than heard his low chuckle as he pressed his body in closer. His fingers brushed along her hips and her nipples were suddenly excruciatingly hard. He chuckled again when a gasp snuck past her lips.

“Those Norsemen were constantly trying to take our island.”

She shuddered when his fingers made their way beneath her T-shirt. They left a trail of heat and want in their wake as he began to ever so softly trace them along her skin.

“What would they want with your silly island when they had beautiful ones of their own?” Andi managed to grind out.

She had no idea why they were engaged in such a ridiculous conversation. But suddenly she didn’t want it to end. Unless it ended with the two of them in bed.

“They wanted our fertile land.” His lips brushed her ear. “And our fertile women.”

Andi shivered at his words. When his fingers fisted in the fabric of her T-shirt and began to slowly shove the fabric up her body, she finally dared to look at him. His hungry gaze made her panties grow damp.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

He swallowed roughly. “That should be obvious, lass.”

Her knees nearly buckled when he slowly drew the shirt over her head. Was he serious this time? Was there a crack in his carefully controlled resolve? Not that she was complaining. Truth be told, she’d been dreaming of this for the past week. Her entire body was practically quivering with need at the idea her fantasy might actually become a reality.

That he might actually desire her.

Dex wadded her T-shirt into a tight ball and tossed it into the trash can near the door. His eyes never left her, however, all the while seeming to drink her in. She was unsuccessful at taming her shiver when he slowly lifted a finger to the silver cross dangling above her breasts. The pad of his thumb brushed along her skin and her core practically ignited.

“Was this your ma’s?” His voice was rough, but his tone had softened.

She shook her head. “My grandmother’s.” Her body was so tense, it hurt to speak. “She regretted not giving it to my mother before she was deployed. She always thought it would have kept her safe somehow.”

His eyes jerked up to lock with hers. Something in his gaze told her that little tidbit of her life’s story surprised him.

“And your da?”

“Gone before I was born. Cancer.”

She was grateful for his silence. Most people gushed with platitudes of pity when they discovered the nature of her parent’s deaths. The truth was, Andi couldn’t miss a man she’d never known. Her mother had been a fleeting figure in her early years, but not someone Andi remembered well, either. Mostly, it was the idea of parents—of belonging to a family—that she mourned, not the actual people who conceived her. She doubted most people would understand.

But Declan Fletcher wasn’t most people. He nodded slowly, but kept his opinions to himself. Just when it looked like he might touch her again, he took a step back. Then another one before turning to the bureau and pulling something out of one of the drawers. Andi sucked in a breath, her body thrumming so loudly with desire, she wouldn’t be surprised if Marlene heard in her apartment downstairs.

“The Norsemen never stood a chance.” He tossed a T-shirt at her. She caught it with less than steady hands. “We defeated them easily at the Battle of Largs.”

Andi let out a confused sigh. What had just happened?

“It’s a Growlers T-shirt, lass. Put it on.” His game face was firmly back in place. “First rule of being the wife of a professional athlete, never wear the opponent’s insignia.” He turned on his heel and disappeared into the bathroom.

* * *

AFTER TWENTY MINUTESstanding under the icy spray of the shower, Dex felt he was collected enough to venture back into the bedroom. With luck, Andi would already be asleep. Or at the very least, buried beneath the comforter where her body would no longer be a distraction. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and swore violently. The woman wasn’t a fairy, she was a bloody siren. One who’d cast a hex on him.

He was losing his effing grip. It had taken every ounce of composure he had to not toss her on the bed and act on what had been simmering between them the past week. Given the way her body responded every time he touched her, she would not have objected. And it would have been bloody explosive.

But he couldn’t. They couldn’t. If they did, it would muck-up their cockamamie marriage even more than it was already. It was bad enough she’d invaded his private domain. Her scent and her smile tormented him at every turn, stirring up a need he’d long buried. A need for a deeper connection with another human being. A need for a soul-deep intimacy. He’d managed to suppress that need in his relationships with other women. But something about Andi unleashed those cravings. And deep down, he knew if he had sex with her, he’d never be able to rein in that craving again. No way was he giving her any more power to wear down the shield he’d secured around his heart. His penance for his sins was never to have the things he took from Niall.

Dex needed to keep reminding himself his marriage had an expiration date, that’s all. His feelings for her were likely more a case of wanting something he couldn’t have. If he kept that reasoning in mind, he could get through this.

The room was dark when he quietly slipped into his bedroom, but he could just make out a lump curled up on the far side of the bed. Kurt was right; the mattress was its own island. Dex could likely crawl onto his side and Andi would never know he was there. But he would know she was there. Even with his pep talk in the loo, he didn’t trust his baser instincts not to overpower his chivalry.

Gently, so as not to jostle the bed and wake her, he grabbed his pillow, the thick quilt his gran made for him when he was a boy, and headed for the floor in front of his closet. Just when he thought he’d made a clean getaway, the light snapped on. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Where are you going?” Andi demanded.

The glow of the lamplight cast her in eerie shadows, but not enough to conceal her tear-stained cheeks. Bloody hell. He’d done that to her with his boorish behavior.

“I’m letting you have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

“Isn’t the purpose of this little show for us to be sharing a bed in case the immigration agent returns for a bed check?”

He laid out the quilt on the thankfully plush carpet. “Relax, lass. The doorman knows to ring me if the agent shows up. I’ll have plenty of time to muss up the sheets before he gets here.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s your bed.” she insisted, just as he knew she would.

“Stay right where you are. I won’t have any woman who’s a guest in my home sleep on the floor. And that’s final.” The truth was he didn’t think he could resist her if she came close again even if she was dressed head-to-toe in Viking gear.

With a resounding huff, she flopped back against the pillow and snapped off the light. Dex spread out on the quilt, his body immediately objecting to what was going to be a long night.

“If your leg is sore and you can’t kick the ball on Sunday, I’m not taking the heat for this with the fans.”

That made him laugh. “Never fear, lass. Tomorrow night I’ll have a bed to myself in a posh hotel.”

“I thought this week’s game was at home.”

“Aye, it is.” He adjusted the pillow in a futile attempt to get comfortable. “The team stays in a hotel the night before every game.”

“Really? What an incredible waste of money.”

He laughed again. Leave it to practical Andi to see it that way. “It’s meant to keep the team focused on the game. It’s not like one of those all-night slumber parties you had as a teenager.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “I never went to a slumber party.”

His chest squeezed tightly. His sister Annis had been the queen of slumber parties. He suddenly felt guilty for all the things he and his sister had growing up. Not just the things, but the comfort and stability he’d certainly taken for granted.

“I find it hard to believe there’s no shenanigans at the hotel the night before a game,” she said. “Knowing Jade, she loves spending the night at a ‘posh hotel’ each week.”

“No girls allowed.”

“For real?” Her laugh had an evil edge to it. “I’m sure Jade isn’t happy about that.”

“I thought you two were friends?”

Andi snorted. “Puh-leeze. The only friend Jade has is herself. And your quarterback, who seemed like he had a lot more sense when I met him. Guess I misjudged him.”

Dex smiled into the darkness. Van Horn had a boatload of sense. He also had a tactical game plan for every element of his life. One he never wavered from. But something inside of him liked the fact she wasn’t swooning after the quarterback. “To each his own.”

A peaceful quiet settled over the room. Just when he thought he could relax, Andi broke the silence.

“Are you sure—”

“I’m not trading places with you, lass. Now stop your jibber jabbering and let me get to sleep. I have an early morning at the center tomorrow.”

“Shouldn’t you be practicing your punting or tackling?”

He sighed. She claimed not to know much about football, but he sensed she was baiting him now. “I don’t do either of those things. I score points. A lot of them.”

“Brag much?”

“Stating the facts isn’t bragging.”

“I hope you’re not as cocky with your mathletes.”

“Athletes always play to win, even mathletes.”

She snorted again. “You’re supposed to be mentoring them.”

“I am. I’m mentoring them in winning.”

The room grew quiet again. He thought she might have drifted off until she spoke softly.

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” she admitted. “The kids all adore you.”

Her unexpected compliment made his face warm. Suddenly he wanted her with him at tomorrow morning’s tryouts. Despite what she believed, she was a good judge of character and would likely be a big help selecting new team members as well as consoling those kids who didn’t make the cut. Something told him she’d enjoy the morning as much as anyone else. He was surprised at how much he wanted to make Andi happy. To make her feel a part of something.

“And I have a hunch you adore being with those kids, too,” she added. “You’re a natural.”

“It’s what I enjoy most. Teaching kids to relish math as much as I do was the only thing I ever wanted to do.”

He wasn’t sure why he shared that with her. Few people knew that about him. That dream was part of his past. The life he’d left behind after he’d screwed everything up.

“How did you go from wanting to be a math teacher to becoming a super-star professional athlete?”

The answer to that question was complicated and ugly. So ugly, he’d never even shared it with his family. He certainly couldn’t share it with his pretend wife. Not if he still wanted her to keep up the charade.

“Fate,” he eventually answered.

It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

She blew out an aggravated sounding breath. “Do you ever answer a question without a cryptic answer?”

“Not if I can help it.”

He heard her huff and roll over. Several long minutes passed while something that felt an awful lot like guilt settled into his gut. He was being a jackass. Had been since he walked into the bedroom earlier. She deserved at least part of the story if they were going to spend the next six months pretending to be married.

“I came to the States on a math fellowship,” he admitted into the darkness. “I was a graduate assistant at the University of Wisconsin where I earned my Master’s. One night, one of my mates in the house I shared dared me to try out for the football team. It seemed they were in desperate need of a kicker. This guy had seen me play intramural football—soccer is what you’d call it.” He waited for her to make some snarky comment about American football. When she didn’t, he continued his tale. “It turns out, I have pretty good aim. I kicked the winning field goal in the Rose Bowl that year. The rest is history. Kurt persuaded me that I could get my PhD and still have a pro career. So that’s what I did.”

Silence descended again. Here he’d finally revealed something of himself and the bloody lass was asleep. He punched at his pillow, trying to find a comfortable position when he heard her softly uttered question.

“Do you miss it?”

Did he miss what? College football? “Miss what, lass?”

“Scotland.”

That familiar ache settled in the vicinity of his chest, just as it always did when someone mentioned home. “Aye,” he uttered before he thought better of it.

When he didn’t bother to elaborate, she huffed once more. “Well, at least you’re consistent with your cryptic answers. Goodnight, Dex.”

He’d hurt her again. It’s for the best. A physical attraction he could withstand. Mostly. But if her heart became involved, it would break him.