Playing House (Sydney Smoke Rugby) Page 5

  He walked to the edge of the footpath as he called the number. Leaning his shoulder into one of the support poles for the overhead balcony, he glanced up and down the main street. It was deserted at this hour on a Sunday morning.

  The phone rang and rang and he didn’t think she was going to answer it when it clicked in his ear and he heard, “Hello?”

  She sounded breathless and Bodie shut his eyes trying not to think about how breathless he’d made her last night. “Hello, Nell.”

  There was a long silence during which his heart thrummed like a rotor in his chest. He was pretty sure he could hear her brain clanking as it grappled with a solution to this clearly unexpected predicament.

  “How did you get this number?” she finally asked.

  “Lisa gave it to me.”

  “Lisa? You asked Lisa for my number?”

  Her panic rang clear as a bell down the line. “It’s okay. I made up some story about an old dress, a family heirloom. She bought it.”

  “You know, men in Victorian times weren’t allowed to address women by their first names unless they were engaged.”

  Bodie may just have laughed at the nervous reply so similar to her nervous prattle of last night had the sick feeling in his gut not intensified. What did she mean, engaged? Was this where she laid her cards on the table? Where she tried to threaten or blackmail him?

  “Are you proposing to me, Miss Davis?”

  Her breath hitched in his ear and he liked it. “Look…I’m sorry, okay. I shouldn’t have…”

  No, she bloody well shouldn’t have. Bodie went on the attack. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He kept his voice low, but there was no mistaking the streak of grimness. “He’s my best friend.”

  Silence hummed down the line between them. “Would you have slept with me if you’d known?”

  What the fuck? Was she crazy? “Did it seem like I had some reckless death wish to you?”

  Another pause. “No. Which is why I didn’t tell you.”

  Her husky voice filled his head and, despite everything, he wanted to be back in bed with her and to hell with the consequences. “Jesus, Eleanor.” He pressed his forehead against the pole. “This is serious.”

  “Relax. I’m not going to tell Ryder. I’m not going to tell anyone. And I don’t expect a declaration of undying love from you or a visit to my father for my hand in holy matrimony. I love my life out here just fine. I don’t want any part of yours. Just notch me up as another one night stand—I’m sure you’ve had plenty of those—and go back to Sydney.”

  Considering how many one nighters he’d had since breaking with Anna last year, Bodie could hardly be affronted by her assumption, but last night had felt different.

  And how the hell was he supposed to face Ryder again?

  “Goodbye, Bodie. Thanks for last night. Have a nice life. Don’t ring me again.”

  The line hung up in his ear and Bodie pulled his mobile away to look at it, stunned at the turn of events. If Eleanor Davis was after his money or looking to make trouble for him or the team, she wasn’t being overt about it.

  He relaxed, his faith in her and his radar restored even if the thought of never seeing her again, never being with her again, put a crazy kind of itch in his blood.

  But if that’s what she wanted? Fine. She was Ryder’s sister for fuck’s sake. It was just easier all round.

  “Hey man.”

  Bodie tensed as Ryder clapped him on the shoulder right on top of the scratch marks his sister had left only hours before. He tried not to wince as a surge of guilt swamped him.

  “Where the hell did you get to last night? You find someone to kiss your groin better?”

  A spike of guilt stabbed Bodie in the side as he forced out a laugh. “Nah man, I was around.”

  Deny, deny, deny. That was his father’s favourite catchphrase. Unless they catch you red-handed, son, it’s your word against theirs. Deny. Bluff. Obfuscate.

  His old man was such an asshole.

  “You were too busy checking out your fiancée’s ass most of the night to notice shit.”

  Ryder laughed. “She does have a spectacular ass.”

  Bodie nodded, trying and failing not to think about Eleanor’s ass. Round and soft, the cheeks pale in the dark of the room.

  Crap. He was doomed.

  …

  Bodie was beat. Sweat dripped off him after the gruelling training session. They may have won the city country match on Saturday, but Griffin King, their tough-ass coach, didn’t let them rest on their laurels, especially as they were only halfway through the season. It was Monday and they were back at it.

  He sagged onto the wooden bench separating two rows of lockers and reefed his shoes off, groaning as his arms ached. Griff had ridden him particularly hard today. It was almost as if the coach had known all about Bodie’s monumental fuck up on Saturday night.

  He wouldn’t be surprised. Griff may have perfected the art of saying very little, but he seemed to see an awful lot. He hadn’t been at the party because Griff never socialized, but somehow he just knew shit.

  Bodie stretched out the traps on either side of his neck as the clatter of cleats and the buzz of smack talk swirled all around him. He pulled off his sweat-soaked shirt. He needed a hot shower for his aching muscles. An ice pack for the whack he’d taken to his shoulder during training. And some ibuprofen for his niggling groin.

  Although that was nothing to do with rugby and everything to do with the blueness of his balls and the number of hard-ons he’d suffered in the last forty-eight hours. Eleanor’s sweet welcoming softness and her breathy noises of satisfaction had been playing on repeat and his whole groin area ached for more.

  “Well hello, hello and what do we have here, gentleman?”

  Bodie froze as Lincoln Quinn’s voice from somewhere close behind brought him back to reality. “Spidey’s found himself a hell-cat.”

  Fuck. He’d forgotten about the scratch marks.

  “Dude? You holding out on us?”

  Within seconds, he had a bunch of half-naked, sweaty jocks staring at his back and no comfortable way out of the situation.

  Deny, deny, deny.

  He was just going to have to put up with their crap and head to the shower as quickly as possible. And avoid Ryder’s gaze altogether. Dexter Blake whistled appreciatively as he inspected them. “On the shoulder, too. That is some serious damage.”

  “Yeah man, your mother really goes off,” Bodie deflected to much hilarity from everyone, including Dex.

  “Never knew you had it in you,” Tanner Stone, the team captain, said.

  “Look a couple of days old to me,” Linc mused.

  Which Linc would of course know in his former role as team man-whore, before Em had tamed him.

  “You did hook up in Bungindally, you dirty bastard,” Ryder accused. “Didn’t I tell you those country girls are wild? Spill, man.”

  Yeah. Nah. Not even if they held him down and all farted in his face. Bodie didn’t think I banged your baby sister five ways to Sunday would go down so well with Ryder.

  Hell, he couldn’t even look at his best friend. He stood. “I need a shower.”

  There was a bunch of masculine jeers. “Hold the phone, boys,” Tanner said, clearly amused. “It’s serious.”

  Bodie’s hackles rose, knowing it could never be anything more than one night because she was Ryder’s sister and oh yeah, she’d rejected him. Right now, with every part of his body bitching at him, it was just another thing pissing him off.

  “It’s not what you think.” He reached for a towel and slung it over his shoulder. It hadn’t been a sleazy hook up. Eleanor had been different.

  “Nah bro,” Donovan Bane said as he crossed his thick, tribal tattooed arms across his huge chest and smiled cheerily. “You just cut yourself shaving, right?”

  The guys hooted out some laughter and exchanged high fives as Bodie rolled his eyes. “Bite me.” He slammed his locker door shut and pushed past the gath
ering.

  “I think somebody already did,” Ryder called after his disappearing back.

  Without breaking stride, Bodie flipped them the bird. Their good-natured laughter followed him all the way to the showers.

  And that was pretty much how it went for Bodie for two and a half months. Life went on, the ribbing and the questions eventually died down about the mystery woman who’d scratched up his back, and he could look Ryder in the eye now without a spontaneous surge of guilt. But he hadn’t been able to get Eleanor and their night together out of his head.

  He knew it was impossible to go there. For a start, she lived a twelve-hour drive away, although that was no real hurdle. It was two and a half hours by plane. The bigger issue was she hadn’t wanted any more to do with him and he couldn’t.

  Because Ryder.

  But he thought about her often, not even consciously most of the time. She was just there when he was at training or playing a game or at the regular poker night with the guys. God alone knew how many times he’d been to her business webpage just to see what she was up to.

  She ran a blog through the site which revolved around her dress projects. He’d read every blog entry and looked repeatedly at every piece she’d ever made for her customers. He was probably the most well-informed elite rugby player in Australia on the difference between a flounce and a bouillonne.

  The most interesting pieces, though, were lingerie. Very old-fashioned. How something that covered so much could be so damn sexy, he didn’t know.

  It just was.

  That find had led to several hours down internet rabbit holes as he researched the subject, ending up on a site that specialised in Victorian pornography. Which, in turn, had given his night time fantasies—of which there had been many—an erotic edge. Eleanor running around in pantaloons and him calling her Miss Davis as he bent her over a chaise, taking full advantage of the open crotch seam.

  It had been agony. But he’d accepted that was just the way things were between them—a one-time thing that could never be anything more. Until he received a text out of the blue…

  Am in Sydney for five days. Can we meet?

  Bodie blinked at the screen. He hadn’t quite believed his eyes when her name had come up and his hand shook—actually shook—as he opened the text. The substance wasn’t exactly stimulating, but what had he expected?

  A titty pic? From someone who made frilly neck-to-knee undergarments?

  She’d made contact—that was all he cared about, even though he shouldn’t. For a moment, he even let his imagination go to all the places he’d been wanting to go with her since he’d last seen her two and half months ago.

  Eleanor. Ryder’s sister.

  His fingers gripped the phone harder as he reread the text, his initial hell yeah tempered slightly.

  Why was she here? What did she want?

  He wasn’t worried about her intentions. He’d long dropped any, admittedly lukewarm, suspicions he’d had of her. He was worried she might be as horny for him as he was for her. What if she’d figured they were in the same city so why not see if he was up for a little fun?

  Christ… He almost went blind letting that little scenario play out for long delicious moments. It made sense. Why else would she be looking him up? But. Nothing had really changed. She was still his best friend’s sister and he couldn’t go there again.

  Once could be forgiven. He hadn’t known who she was and he could put his hand on his heart and plead ignorance. But twice?

  That was a deliberate action.

  Still, he couldn’t deny the strong urge to see her again. He hadn’t got to say a goodbye last time so maybe it could be a kind of closure for him. He could take her out for coffee. Or a meal. To a movie if she wanted. They could do that. Indulge in adult conversation over some kind of beverage then say goodbye.

  Yeah. They could do that.

  Would like that very much, Miss Davis. Where. When?

  His finger hesitated over the send button. He wasn’t trying to flirt by using Miss Davis. He was just trying to keep it light between them. Surely after a night in bed with her they were allowed to tease each other?

  Fuck it. He hit send. And waited.

  Not for long as it turned out, his phone chiming less than a minute later.

  Tonight. Six? I’m at the Four Seasons. Darling Harbour. Room 922.

  Tonight? In her hotel room. Not down at the hotel bar or at a nearby restaurant, or any of the bajillion highly populated venues in that area? He swallowed.

  Bodie had his regular boy’s night poker game at seven but he could call in and see Eleanor first. In fact, it would give him an excuse not to linger. In her room. With a bed.

  Fuck. He swallowed again. Was he strong enough? Did he trust that his loyalty to Ryder and the team couldn’t be tested by a woman he’d been fantasizing about in Victorian lingerie for the last two months? Christ…

  Why don’t I meet you in the bar at 6?

  He sent that without thinking twice—sent it before his libido could hijack his common sense and he ended up in her room, with a bed. The reply was just as rapid-fire as the last.

  Can’t. Friend arriving at 6.30. Need to get ready.

  Okay. So that made sense. Women were, after all, masters of multi-tasking, and if she was on a strict timeline—as was he—then it meant there wouldn’t be any time or focus on other things.

  OK. See you then.

  He hit send, his pulse drumming forcefully through his veins, anticipation sitting rock-like in his stomach. In a few short hours, he’d be seeing Eleanor again. All he had to do was remember he was a mature, twenty-six-year-old man, not a fifteen-year-old horn dog.

  And if that failed, chanting Ryder’s name over and over should do it.

  Chapter Five

  Eleanor almost threw up while she waited for the knock on her door. Considering she was eight weeks pregnant and hadn’t thrown up once, that was saying a lot about the internal ruckus currently tying everything in knots.

  Breathe, Eleanor.

  She dragged air deep into her lungs, held it for three seconds, then let it out again.

  She knew what she had to do. Open the door. Invite him in. Tell him she was pregnant. Assure him she didn’t want anything from him, that he could be as involved or uninvolved as he liked. Answer any questions. Make another date to talk it over more fully. Then send him out the door before Miriam arrived to help her dress for the function.

  Absolutely do not, under any circumstances, flirt with him, touch him, kiss him.

  This wasn’t about hooking up again even if she was so damn desperate for it she’d probably hump his leg the second she opened the door. She thanked God she’d suppressed the urge to make an appointment at the hotel beauty salon for a spot of vagazzling. She needed all the barriers in place to stop herself from dragging him into her room and having her way with him.

  Not that a wild and woolly…frontier had stopped her—or him—last time.

  She had to remember why she’d called this meeting in the first place. She’d contemplated not saying anything to Bodie until after the first trimester. When the risk of miscarriage lessened. But this Studies in Victoriana symposium she was attending for the next five days had gifted her time in Sydney, and therefore the perfect opportunity to broach the subject with Bodie.

  She didn’t know how he’d feel or what he’d do or say, but she’d kept the pregnancy to herself for a over a month now and it didn’t seem right to keep it from him any longer. Deception didn’t sit well with Eleanor.

  Lying by omission to Bodie that night in Bungindally had been hard enough, she had no wish to do it again.

  And he was going to need some time to get used to the news. She’d had a month to adjust to the situation. It was only fair that he have some time to come to grips with what would, no doubt, be a bit of a bombshell.

  They had, after all, used condoms.

  A knock startled her, and Eleanor’s hands found her stomach, trying to draw stren
gth from the fledging life growing inside her. She was suddenly unsure about everything. About the way she felt about him. About the wiseness of this course of action. About the trackie daks and T-shirt she’d pulled on after her shower to try and appear as sexless as possible.

  A second knock and a flash of déjà vu from that night in Bungindally hit her, and Eleanor quickly crossed the room to open the door before the third knock, and she slipped them both back into that night of utter debauchery.

  Right. As if…

  She was wearing the daggiest clothes in her wardrobe, her hair was caught up in a huge plastic claw at the back of her head, and her pubes were going to need a machete to hack through them.

  He was a sexy, elite rugby god and she was a…bloody country bumpkin.

  Eleanor squared her shoulders. Just get it over with.

  She opened the door abruptly, her heart careening crazily in her chest as their gazes locked. He was even more beautiful than she remembered and she almost whimpered out loud as an avalanche of lust-soaked pregnancy hormones almost buried her self-control.

  Do not touch. Do not touch. Do not touch.

  He towered over her, his hair wet as if he’d just come from the shower but not feathery and flyaway like hers. No, his was damp and gorgeously rumpled. His shoulders stretched out a T-shirt better than any shoulders had a right to and his jeans stretched across quads better than any man had a right to possess. His tanned, muscled arms, his throat and his face with its perfectly symmetrical three-day growth were achingly familiar and he was wearing the same aftershave he’d worn that night, drenching her in headily sexual memories.

  Do not touch. Do not touch. Do not touch.

  A lazy half smile followed by that funny little half bow he’d performed that night in the beer garden, and she was a goner. “Nice to see you again, Miss Davis.”

  Eleanor’s resistance snapped so loudly, she’d bet her last cent it registered on a Richter scale in California somewhere.

  She touched. Hell, she grabbed.

  Her breath rushed out in a whoosh as her hands clutched at his waist, then his chest, then his shoulders as she pushed up onto her tippy toes and climbed him like a tree. His big hands on the back of her thighs urged her up, and they parted to accommodate his hips.