Playing House (Sydney Smoke Rugby) Page 2

  Unless he didn’t know?

  Whatever was going on here, bet or no bet, she wanted it to go on for longer. A twenty-six-year-old isolated-spinster-virgin had to take her opportunities where she got them.

  She found her voice. “Eleanor.”

  It came out all breathy and ridiculous, but at least she’d managed to form a word. And it wasn’t a lie, her name was Eleanor, even if no one ever called her by it. Ryder had called her Nell since she was born and it had stuck. Secretly, she’d always yearned to be called by her proper name—so much more regal than Nell—but siblings could be an uncooperative bunch.

  “Eleanor.” He rolled the name around his tongue. “It suits you.”

  He smiled at her and everything inside melted.

  “I was named after my grandmother.” And why on earth she’d told him that she had no idea.

  He reached for her wrist lying limply by her side. “It’s very nice to meet you, Eleanor.”

  He lifted her hand and bowed over it as he brought it to his lips and kissed her, his mouth warm and firm on her knuckles.

  Oh. Dear. Lord.

  Smelling salts! Stat! She really needed some smelling salts. She was swooning. Actually bloody swooning. A grown twenty-first century woman all weak-kneed while a wild party went on in her pants.

  Him, him, him.

  He straightened. Eyes the inky blue of twilight met hers. “How do you know Ryder?”

  Eleanor froze, her brain scrambling for a response. No way was she telling him the truth. “Who doesn’t know Ryder?”

  Obfuscation was not a lie, she assured herself, as her vagina decided he was definitely the one and she should do something about it.

  Her heart beat crazily at the thought of offering herself to Bodie. So what if he was Ryder’s friend? It didn’t need to be a big deal. There was a first time for everyone, right? And it wasn’t like her father was going to insist on them getting married because Bodie had taken her innocence.

  She couldn’t believe she was even going there. But she was twenty-six. It was time.

  Time for a good old-fashioned deflowering.

  If he was willing, of course. But he seemed willing. He was flirting. And he was a man. A man who must surely have some serious game. All she needed to do was follow his lead. It would only take the once, after all. What was that term?

  One and done.

  She didn’t even need an orgasm. Although she’d bet Bodie Webb gave great orgasms.

  All she had to do was ask for it.

  Right… Who was she kidding? As if she could just ask. She could barely have a conversation with the man. Plus virgins freaked guys out. She’d read that in a magazine at the local hairdresser.

  The irony of that hadn’t escaped her. Not being a virgin would have freaked guys out in the Victorian era.

  Yep. She’d definitely been born in the wrong century.

  “So you’re local?”

  Eleanor nodded, her face suddenly scarlet with the direction of her thoughts. She hated how easily she embarrassed in front of the opposite sex. She could castrate a paddock full of calves without a single blush, but talk to a man…

  “Has anybody ever told you your eyes glow like a candle flame in whiskey? They’re quite hypnotizing.”

  Eleanor almost sagged to the ground in relief at the lifeline he’d just offered her. Asking to be deflowered, manoeuvring a man to do so? She knew nothing. But she did know about hypnosis.

  “Did you know that people in Victorian England were fascinated with hypnotists and all things occult?”

  He gave a half chuckle and sipped his beer. “No, I did not.” He leaned in a little closer. “Tell me more.”

  Growing in confidence, she did just that. “They’d go to these great halls to watch these shows where people would be hypnotized.”

  “With a pocket watch? You are in my power kind of thing?”

  Eleanor’s breath hitched at the thought of being in his power. “Something like that.”

  “You wouldn’t need a watch to hypnotise me.” His voice dropped an octave, and she found herself leaning in despite how much he flustered her. He lowered his mouth closer to her ear. “I’m already under your spell.”

  Part of Eleanor wanted to roll her eyes at what was a pretty cheesy pick up line. But she was under his spell, too.

  “Would you like to…”

  Throw me on your bed and deflower me?

  Eleanor’s pulse tripped at the daring it would take to come out and say that. Her hands trembled. Her breath stuck in her throat like gum. She couldn’t say it.

  But dear Lord he smelled good. Something sweet and subtle and clearly expensive.

  Conscious of the nearby crowd, she screwed up her courage. “Go somewhere…quieter and I can…tell you more? I could tell you about a man called Fontaine who was famous for hypnotizing a lion at London Zoo.”

  His answering smile was wicked. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Neither did she…

  Chapter Two

  Bodie couldn’t believe his luck. He hadn’t planned on getting laid tonight. The game they’d played had been brutal, and his groin still pulled occasionally. Plus, it was his best mate’s night, and Bodie was on a break from all things female.

  Unsurprisingly, sleeping with a bunch of women hadn’t helped him get over his ex’s betrayal a year ago.

  But Eleanor’s brand of shy eagerness had him totally hooked. She was like a breath of fresh air when he hadn’t even realised he’d been deprived of oxygen.

  He came from a family of sharks. Old money, private schools, overseas bank accounts. Generations of ruthless, sharp, mercenary businessmen. He’d been raised in a highly competitive environment, where the drive to win trumped everything else, and it had put him in good stead on the rugby field.

  Anna, his ex, had come from that world, too, but it had still been a shock to realise their relationship had been just another business transaction.

  The woman standing in front of him couldn’t have been any more different had he made her in a lab.

  “Are you staying here?”

  She nodded as if she didn’t trust herself to speak. He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

  She flushed as she glanced hastily around, obviously not keen to advertise their intentions. Bodie withdrew his hand and hoped like hell he hadn’t blown it.

  “How about I go up first, and you follow in about ten minutes?” she suggested.

  Bodie wasn’t used to being someone’s dirty little secret—most women bragged over bagging a Sydney Smoke front rower. But she wasn’t most women.

  “It’s a very small town,” she murmured almost apologetically.

  Bodie was an urban animal through and through, but he understood how easily reputations could be ruined, and she had to live here, not him. If she wanted it all secret squirrel, then he wasn’t going to object.

  Her secrecy was actually a plus. She was hardly likely to sell a story to some awful gossip rag if she didn’t want to be seen leaving the party with him. “Whatever the lady wants.”

  He swore he heard a tiny little sigh deep in the back of her throat before she turned to leave. He smiled and shook his head. “What room number?”

  She stopped, swung around, her cheeks almost scarlet now. “Twelve.”

  He nodded. “See you soon.”

  She started to turn away again but changed her mind and frowned at him instead. She chewed on her lip as if she was trying to decide something, and Bodie worried she was changing her mind.

  “Maybe we should—” She glanced around, and Bodie could practically see the thoughts clashing around behind her expressive eyes. “Can we go to your room?”

  He didn’t give one fuck which room they used as long as he could sink into all that softness. Hell, even if she really did only want to talk about Victorian hypnotists, he’d be up for that, too.

  Just being near this woman was a rush.

  “Sure.” He slipped his hand into his pocket
and pulled out the old-fashioned key—no fancy swipe cards out past the black stump. “I’m in room eight.”

  She looked around again, her eyes darting here and there before quickly reaching for the key and hiding it with her palm.

  “See you soon?”

  The question and the uncertainty with which she’d delivered the question hit him square in the gut. He shot her his best hell yes smile. “I’ll be there.”

  Wild horses couldn’t keep him away.

  …

  Eleanor jumped at the knock. Her pulse spiked and the muscles of her neck contracted. Bodie had assured her he’d come, but here he was, on the other side of the door, and suddenly she was overwhelmed by the thought this was really happening.

  It had been exactly three minutes since she’d let herself into his room. The entire trip upstairs, she’d been convinced she was going to run into somebody she knew and be delayed. A lot of locals had stayed in town for the night after the country/city match to celebrate their local boy’s impending nuptials.

  Which meant a lot of potential for gossip.

  Thankfully, the staircase had been empty, as had the long corridor to the guest rooms. Now, all she had to do was go through with it. God…could she?

  Yes. She could.

  A second knock accelerated her pulse, and her gaze darted to the door a half-dozen steps away. She was going to have sex. Lose her virginity. Be deflowered.

  She wished she’d had some more time to think about how it might go down, but all she’d had time for was snapping on the beside lamp, stripping off her clothes, and climbing into the white, hotel-supplied bathrobe she’d found hanging in the closet.

  Just in case he thought she was actually here to talk about the occult practices of nineteenth century England.

  Plus, the corset and bloomers she was wearing beneath her dress tended to slow down the disrobing process, and she didn’t want that. It was hard to believe that a guy like Bodie was even interested, especially after prattling on about hypnotising lions, so she didn’t want to make it any more difficult to do the deed.

  A third knock. Eep! Was she actually doing this? A quiet, “Eleanor?” galvanized her out of her inertia.

  Yes she was!

  Without giving herself time to have a panic attack or chicken out, she practically tripped over her own toes getting to the door. She must have looked a flustered wreck as she yanked it open, her pulse in her neck pounding madly, but he didn’t seem to notice as he pressed one big shoulder into the door frame and his gaze took a slow tour of her body.

  It lingered where the gown crisscrossed the deep V of her cleavage before lifting to her face. “I wasn’t sure you were going to open the door.”

  His voice tumbled over her smooth as water over river stones and dear God, the man smelled good. He towered over her as he lounged lazily in the doorframe. His gaze dropped to the rise of her breasts then back again. “I see you slipped into something more comfortable?”

  Eleanor’s cheeks heated, and her heart raced. Her instinct was to apologise for being so…forward. But damn it, she hadn’t come here to play Scrabble or admire the recent refurbishment to the accommodations. This was operation losing it.

  She drew in a shaky breath. “Yes.”

  He smiled. “May I come in?

  Eleanor’s knees wobbled at the request. This was his room, and she was clearly naked beneath the gown, but the fact that he was asking her permission to enter hit her in all her nineteenth-century feels.

  Bodie may have been an elite rugby player, but the man had manners. And manners made Eleanor swoon like crazy.

  If he wasn’t careful, she’d fall in love with him.

  She grabbed him by the tie and yanked him inside.

  He didn’t need any more encouragement, and Eleanor vaguely heard the door clicking shut as the hardness of his body smooshed up against the softness of hers. She pushed up on her tippy toes, seeking his mouth, and he met her halfway.

  She moaned at the first touch of his lips, uncaring how much of a rookie she sounded. She was electrified by the feel of him and intoxicated by his taste and smell. His whiskers prickled and teased and she moaned again, her hands grabbing hold of his biceps as the earth tilted on its axis.

  “Christ.” He pulled away, his chest heaving as he stared down at her, his inky gaze satisfyingly bewildered. “You taste so good. I want to feast on you all night.”

  Eleanor barely had time to register the feral lust turning his looks from preppy to predatory before his mouth was back on hers, hot and hard. He hauled her up his body, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs, lifting her feet off the ground, urging her legs apart.

  Her gown gaped below the tie as her ankles locked tight around his waist, and Eleanor clung to him, oblivious of all else but him. Sucking in his taste and his scent, the rough chug of his breath and the deep rumble of his groan. Nothing mattered but the sweet plunder of his mouth, the heat of his belly pressed into the soft flesh of her inner thighs and the hardness of muscles beneath his skin.

  She didn’t register him moving, his long sure strides efficiently eating up the distance between the door and the bed without tripping or missing a step despite having a fully grown woman wrapped around him. She didn’t even register falling or the soft embrace of the mattress as they landed. Or the fact her ankles stayed locked tight.

  She did register the delicious weight of his body, the way his hips settled into the cradle of hers and the steel of his erection at the bare juncture of her thighs.

  Oh yeah baby. Her vagina was all over that.

  He broke off the kiss, and Eleanor mewed a protest, reaching for him again, sliding her hands behind his neck, trying to tug him down. He resisted with a smile, his hand going to the tie at her waist as he rolled his torso to the side a little.

  His gaze locked with hers. “I need to look at you.”

  Eleanor’s pulse tapped madly as he tugged it, swallowing to wet her parched throat. This was it. A man was going to see her naked. She’d always thought she’d be shy or embarrassed in this moment, but the desire in his gaze, the huskiness in his voice, held her in his thrall.

  He wanted to see her. And she wanted him to see.

  “The second I saw you across the room, I wanted to get you naked.” Eleanor’s belly tightened. “I wanted to peel you out of that dress and sink my face into your gorgeous, soft tits.”

  Her nipples hardened at his guttural use of language.

  “So soft,” he whispered.

  As a C cup, she knew she wasn’t small-breasted, but she’d always wished for perkier. Less…jiggly. Although Bodie, apparently, didn’t agree.

  He pushed the edges of the gown apart and looked his fill. Cool air was a delicious torture against the puckered tips of her nipples. The expression of raw desire on his face tightened things much lower and a warm ooze slicked her inner thighs.

  His gaze returned to her face. “You’re beautiful.”

  His low husky whisper, full of reverence, almost made her cry. No man had ever told her she was beautiful.

  Or looked at her like she was.

  True, she’d never been naked in front of one, either, but her heart swelled the same way it did at the end of a really good romance novel.

  It was probably just the grateful-to-be-losing-it-virgin thing transferring some kind of significance to his words because he was the first. But she couldn’t have scripted her first time better.

  And they hadn’t even got to penetration.

  His hand slid from her waist to cup first one breast then the other, his stare seemingly transfixed as his fingers trailed slowly over all their contours. Her skin goosed beneath his touch and a strangled moan escaped as he teased the tight achy points of her nipples.

  Her hips circled involuntarily, bumping against the thickness of his erection, rubbing against it, trying to ease the throb intensifying between her legs. She might never have done this before, but her body knew what it wanted and how to get it.


  She needed him inside her. Now.

  “Bodie…” She circled again. “Please.”

  He shot her a lazy smile. “What’s your rush?”

  The clench of his jaw and the unevenness of his breath gave him away, though. He was obviously as affected as her but seemed determined to keep teasing rather than getting down to business.

  And she really, really needed him to get down to business. They could play later.

  “Bodie. I need…” She didn’t know how to come out and tell him what she needed. Getting to this stage had been ballsy enough.

  He lowered his mouth to hers, almost touching but not quite. “I know what you need.” His mouth was a gossamer brush on hers as he spoke, his warm breath flowing over her lips.

  Then he dipped his head and sucked a nipple deep into the back of his throat. Eleanor gasped at the sudden move, crying out as his tongue joined in the action and the suction got harder, walking the line between pleasure and pain.

  The sensation slugged her right between her legs. Right where it was already impossibly sensitive, where she was strung so tight that each flick of his hard tongue was like a direct jolt to her clitoris.

  Christ. She did not need that.

  If she orgasmed now how would that look? Nothing screamed virgin like a stealth climax before the main event. He might start to wonder about her level of experience. He might even guess this was her first time. And what if he freaked out? What if he didn’t want to take it all the way?

  “Bodie.”

  If it sounded like she was begging, she didn’t care. She couldn’t take the sensation anymore. It sizzled like static in every cell, stimulating her beyond all control. Her pulse was racing, her throat was so parched it rasped like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.

  She grabbed his head and pulled his mouth off her, a wet elongated nipple slipping from his lips. “Later.”

  She reached for his tie and had it off in seconds. Her fingers landed on his buttons, fumbling with them uselessly until a crazed brain cell—or maybe it was her damn talking vagina—urged her to pull the shirt apart with her bare hands.

  Which was exactly what she did.

  Buttons pinged against the headboard and she stilled momentarily, shocked at her audacity. “Sorry.”