Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats) Read online

  “You don’t like it?”

  Curious. “It’s fine.” She shrugged. “Looks… clean. Dependable. Safe. Not your preferred method of transportation,” she added with a grin. He rolled his eyes, then tossed her the keys.

  “It’s yours, so mock all you want.”

  Kat stared at the keys in her hands, then at the car. She had no clue what this car was, but it was definitely a decent car, and looked like it had just driven off the car lot. If it were a cartoon, the car would have one of those shiny light twinkles, it was that clean. “What…?”

  “You need a way to get around. It’s yours. I know a guy. He cut me a great deal.” Michael shrugged, then opened the passenger door. “Getting in?”

  Kat opened the backseat, gently placed her tennis bag and duffle in the back, and breathed in the new-car smell. Which meant she was inhaling a lot of chemicals, but it was totally worth it. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she just took in the dashboard, the controls, the cup holders.

  “These cup holders are huge!”

  He laughed softly. “That’s what you care about?”

  “When you are constantly lugging around massive water bottles… hell yeah, I care. Michael…” Her fingertips drifted slowly around the car’s interior, touching everything, feeling, experiencing. “I have to pay you back.”

  “Okay.”

  She snorted. “No, please, I insist.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t accept it as a gift, so you might as well pay for it. I’ll take installments.”

  She turned the car on, then checked the mileage readout. Under fifteen thousand. Not brand new but definitely newish. “How old?”

  “Two-year-old program car. Dealership owner’s wife drove it. The dealership maintains the program cars, so they’re always spotless and mechanically sound.”

  “I’ve never owned a car this new,” she admitted. Probably sounded stupid to him, especially given his car love and the fact that he could just walk into any dealership and plunk a suitcase full of cash on a table to drive off with one. “I probably can’t afford it.”

  “You can once you win a Grand Slam.”

  “Look who’s upping his tennis lingo,” she whispered, still in awe of the car. “I can’t afford this, Michael. My payments will be tiny. My grandchildren will be paying this car off.”

  “Interest free,” he added, then told her how much he paid for it.

  “I’m no car girl, but that seems insanely low for a car this close to new.”

  “It just comes back to the IOU collection. Like I said, I know a guy. I buy a shitload of cars from them, and they do all my detailing and mechanics. Plus anytime a new guy joins the team, I send them Robbie’s way. Believe me, he owed me a good deal.”

  “And you wasted your IOU on me.” For the first time since they’d climbed in the car, she turned to face him, unsure of what to say. Taking a chance, she cupped his face and kissed him.

  He sat stiffly for a moment, then leaned into it and really planted one on her in return, invading her space and making her feel possessed. Wanted. Needed. He pressed into her, making her bend back slightly and—

  Honk!

  She jumped, knocking foreheads with Michael. They both groaned and rubbed at their heads with the palms of their hands.

  “Like a couple of damn teenagers,” Michael muttered, but he was smiling.

  “You started it.” But Kat couldn’t stop grinning.

  “You kissed first.”

  “You bought the car.”

  “You accepted the car.”

  Kat smoothed a hand over the wheel. “I probably shouldn’t.”

  “But you will.”

  His confidence made her, perversely, want to tease. “Maybe I’ll take it, then sell it on the black market.”

  “There’s no black market when you own the car. It’s just… selling the car.”

  Damn. “Why not a sports car?”

  “Gear.”

  She raised her brow. “What?”

  “You’re an athlete. Nobody knows better than another athlete how much shit we have to carry at any given time. It’s why I picked an SUV for my other car. Tossing my bags into the back of a two-door car is hell. Plus you’ve got long legs. A sports car is fine when you have another option. When it’s your only option… not so fun.”

  Practical and considerate. “But not an SUV.”

  “Do I look made of money?”

  She snorted. “Okay then. Thank you.”

  He held out a hand, and she reached hers to him to lace their fingers a moment, squeeze, then release to reach for the gearshift.

  Her hand froze, and he sighed. “What?”

  “I have no clue how to get home.”

  “I’m making dinner tonight.” Kat pointed at her apartment as they each got their keys out. “Don’t argue.”

  “Wasn’t going to.” Michael nodded. “I have to shower first.”

  “Ditto, plus cook, which I suck at, so…” Kat checked her sports watch. “Ninety minutes?”

  Michael frowned at his own watch. “That’s sort of early.”

  Kat flushed, making him want to kiss her again. “I’m exhausted, I won’t lie. And I still have a shift tonight at the bar.”

  “Ninety it is.” He leaned over and kissed her, then opened his own door. Before he closed it, he waited to hear hers snap shut. But it never did. He leaned back out into the hallway to find her staring pensively across the hall at a blank wall. “Problem?”

  “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Thing is, I’m not all that hungry.”

  “Huh.” He nodded, trying to keep the smile off his face.

  “And as I said, my cooking sucks.”

  “You did say that,” he agreed.

  “So maybe we should skip dinner.”

  He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “And instead, we’d…”

  She sighed and glared at him. “Are you going to make me say it?”

  “Yup.”

  An impish smile came over her, and she looked down the hallway, past her apartment, then beyond his. The hallway was, for the moment, blissfully empty. Then she nodded at his door.

  He shook his head. He’d make her say it… because for all the more she put on the bravado act in public, Kat struggled to talk up the sexy chat.

  Which he found hilarious.

  She gestured inside once more. He shook his head, mouthed, No.

  Fine, she mouthed back, then shocked the hell out him by grabbing her T-shirt by the hem and lifting it up and over her head.

  “Jesus, Kat!” Michael rushed at her, pushing her into her own apartment just as he heard the elevator ding behind him, signaling someone would be getting out on their floor. Her door closed behind him.

  Kat doubled over, laughing. “Your… your face,” she gasped out, wiping at tears. “You looked so horrified.”

  “You were stripping in the damn hallway!” he shouted at her. “Jesus.”

  “I don’t think Jesus wants to see my boobs.”

  “But the guy coming off the elevator might have.”

  “Could have been a woman,” she pointed out as if that were all that much better.

  He stepped to her. “Why are you constantly pushing the bounds? What the hell is going on in that head of yours?”

  She started to speak, then apparently thought better of it and closed her mouth and shook her head.

  “Talk to me,” he asked softly, cupping her cheek.

  She watched him closely. He felt analyzed, under a microscope. Then she gave him a cheeky smile. “Are you interested in what’s in my head or in my pants?” With that, she cupped his erection and squeezed none too gently.

  “Kat—”

  “Let’s go, bubba. Pants off dance off.”

  “What the— Kat, what are you doing?”

  She’d already dug into her shorts for her phone, which she unlocked and began thumbing through screens.

  Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. How was it this woman, of all t
he women in the world, made him insanely horny? The most annoying, obstinate, irrational female on God’s green earth, and she was the one that made him harder than stone 90 percent of the time. The world was a cruel, bizarre place when…

  He watched warily as Kat set her phone down on the kitchen counter and stepped away. From the small speakers blasted Kenny Chesney’s “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy.”

  “What. The. Hell.”

  Kat smirked and took a few steps back into the living room. “Music to pants off dance off with.”

  “I’m not taking my clothes off with Kenny Chesney in the background.”

  “Aw, too bad.” She gave him an exaggerated pouty face and reached for the waistband of her own pants before shimmying around so her ass faced him. “I was hoping for a dance partner. Oh well.”

  “God damn it,” he muttered, then took a few steps toward her. She smiled demurely over her shoulder, encouraging him.

  “I know you’re a fun guy.” She sidestepped his reach and did a little ballet twirl, all while lip-syncing another line from the song. “I’ve heard rumors.”

  “People talk. Doesn’t make it true.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Something dark crossed her eyes for a moment, and she stopped dancing.

  He hated that sadness, hated that he’d said something to put it there. Not when she was the definition of light normally.

  Man up, Lambert. You can have fun too. Don’t be such an asshole.

  The song ended, and she gave him a sad sort of smile. “Well, I tried. Guess my tractor’s not sexy enough.”

  The next song on the playlist she’d found the first one on began, and he felt a smile tug at his lips. Flo Rida’s “My House.” “Interesting mix.”

  “When I run, I need something to keep me going. The variety keeps me guessing, makes me wanna keep running to hear what’s next.” She shrugged, then started back for the kitchen to grab her phone. And gasped when he grabbed her arm and twirled her around. Her bare breasts hit him in the chest, and she looked up in surprise. “What was that all about?”

  “I’m not a country boy. But this?” He started moving to the beat, best he could, with his arm around her. “I can get behind some of this.”

  “You… just wanted a different song?” she asked as he spun her around quickly. Her hair wrapped around his upper arm in a sweet caress.

  “Maybe.” He took his shirt off and tossed it aside, wanting to feel skin on skin. When she wrapped her arms around him, front to front, he bent her back for a kiss, old-school Hollywood style.

  “My, my.”

  “Welcome to my house,” he mouthed along with the words, laughing when she snickered and rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah, you and Flo Rida. Such badasses together.”

  “Flo and I could hang.” He caught her as she spun so her back was to his front. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her shorts, he pulled, but they didn’t budge. She wriggled her ass a little, then hopped away and did a dancing jig by herself, moving in some sort of rhythm to the music. Then she caught the look on his face and laughed.

  God, she was amazing. Dancing topless like a loon, to rap music, and laughing.

  “You’ve got no fear.”

  She bumped back toward him, undoing the buckle on his belt while still swaying around. “According to Gary—”

  “Gary?”

  “My tennis coach here, keep up. According to Gary,” she repeated, tugging the leather from the loops of his jeans, “I’m afraid of something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m afraid of being forgotten.”

  “That’s stupid,” he said automatically, though he sort of got it.

  “Maybe. Gary’s a little…” She twirled her fingers in the air by her head. “He’s got the woo-woo going on. But the man knows his tennis. Already I feel like my forehand is doing something different. Better.”

  “If he’s good for your game, then put up with the woo-woo,” he suggested, then cupped her face as the song shifted once more, this time to Skrillex. “No more shoptalk.”

  “Just dancing.” She moved to behind him. Her breasts pressed into his skin while she kept moving. Hard nipples dragged over his back, and he shivered. Jesus, she was driving him insane. “Dancing is a release. When I’m injured, my physical therapists always have me dance to get my muscles moving again, in a less stressful way.”

  “So this is a long-term love affair, this whole dancing thing?”

  “I’m terrible at it.” Kat’s fingers began unbuttoning his jeans. She was working on touch alone, so there was some fumbling. But it might have qualified in his top five most erotic sights in his life to look down at his own crotch and watch a woman’s hands unbutton his pants from the same angle.

  “Terrible dancer, never had a lesson in my life. But there’s something so freeing about knowing you suck at a thing and then going out and doing it anyway. No pressure, you know?”

  “Hmm. Yeah.” His pants pooled down by his feet, and he kicked them away.

  “Our jobs are so pressurized. So intense. Everything’s life or death, at least to the spectators who have money on the games.”

  He gurgled a little when she squeezed his balls through his boxers.

  “Being able to let my body just… move organically, in a way that’s not going to break me, in a way that lets my mind shut off from the panic or the fear… yeah. I love dancing. Even if it gets me into trouble.”

  Her soft hands pushed at his boxers until they, too, fell to the floor. He spun, lightning-fast, and caught her by the hips. He tore at her own panties until she was as naked as he was, then hooked a foot behind her knee and did a controlled takedown so they lay stretched on the floor of her living room.

  “This… was not what I planned.” Eyes laughing, she watched him from below. “But nice moves, dance partner.”

  He hadn’t laughed at her.

  It was the only thing she could think of in that moment. Everything else bled away until all that remained were his piercing eyes and the thought that he hadn’t laughed at her for her dance theory.

  “You drive me crazy,” he rasped before kissing her senseless.

  Right back at ya. She curled her hands around his head, feeling the short hairs, scratching a little before running her palms down his back. He shivered as his kisses moved to her neck.

  “Crazy can be good, right?” She gasped when his cock nudged at her entrance, colliding with her clit in an electrifying pulse.

  “Crazy is crazy. I guess what you take from it is up to you.”

  “That was deep,” she said in a mock-serious tone, laughing when he pinched her side in retaliation. “Well, hey. We’re naked on the floor, and you’re spouting off philosophy. I had to poke a little fun.”

  “You and your fun.” He shook his head as if annoyed, but he smiled and reached for his shorts. She almost made a sound of regret—he was giving up? No sexy times?—but he reached in and pulled out his wallet and a condom before shoving them back out of the way.

  Right. Protection. It paid to be with a responsible man.

  He went up on his knees to sheath himself, and she took a moment to compare his body with the only other one she’d seen in the past.

  Igor had been muscular but in a more lean way. No body fat and a strong core. But his body was built for speed and agility, for sprinting. No complaints in the looks department. No, it had been Igor’s attitude that was the real problem.

  Michael… she nearly sighed. The man was a slab of muscle. Partly genetics, sure—you didn’t get that tall by working out—but his body was crafted for pushing around men nearly the same size. He was built for power. For protection.

  He made her feel safe in every way.

  “What?” he asked suddenly, busting through her thoughts. The condom was fully on, and he had one hand wrapped around the base of his cock.

  She smiled a little. “Just admiring your body. Is that okay?”

  “Only fair since I spend mo
re time than is probably healthy admiring yours.” He crouched back over her, reaching down to pull one of her legs up high until he hooked her calf over his shoulder. “This okay?”

  “Hey, I’m no Santa Fe cheerleader, but I’m flexible.” At his snort, she nodded. “Yeah, it’s g-g— Oh my God,” she finished on a strangled moan as he entered her with one swift slide.

  “Flexibility. Another fantastic perk,” he said with a satisfied grin before he began methodically pumping his hips. Each pulse in slid the plump head of his cock along her G-spot, making her clench and hiss in enjoyment.

  “Found it,” he murmured with self-satisfaction before kissing her and pumping harder. She’d have bitten his lip just to take him down a peg, but it felt so damn good she couldn’t formulate another thought until everything inside her tightened, then simply combusted.

  Dimly, almost as if listening to it from under water, she heard Michael’s own orgasm grip him before he collapsed beside her on the floor.

  Chapter 17

  Michael waited until Kat was gone for work—nervously twirling her new car keys around one finger as she kissed him good-bye—before making the call.

  “Lambert, what’s up with the evening phone call? Everything good?”

  “I need out.”

  He heard his agent groan and bit down on his own impatience.

  “Need out of what, exactly?” Sawyer asked carefully, like a bomb tech finessing the red and green wires.

  “Mentoring Kat, specifically. I’m clocking out of manny duty.”

  Sawyer groaned again, but it was more of a sigh-groan. “What did that little shit do now?”

  “Don’t talk about her like that,” Michael warned, feeling his hackles rise. “You’re her fucking agent, Sawyer. Could you at least pretend to show her a little respect?”

  There was silence on the other end. Then, quietly, Sawyer asked, “She got to you, didn’t she?”

  Michael growled, then took a deep breath.

  “Well, if she didn’t, then you can keep on going, right?”