The Player and the Pixie (Rugby #2) Read online

  “Well, this has been real,” said Rick, breaking the silence with a wry expression. “But I think I’m going to go hang in my room for a while. Give a knock later if you want to take a walk or something.”

  “Okay, see you later.”

  With Rick’s departure, Cindy and Lisa quickly made their exits.

  “I don’t think I’ve made the best impression with those two,” I said, and heard Sean let out a small huff of a laugh.

  “And why ever not? It isn’t like you scared them off with all that talk of middle-of-the-night blowjob attacks,” he surmised.

  “It serves them right. Cindy’s been all over Rick the last few days, and her with a husband,” I declared with feigned haughtiness.

  Sean chuckled but it soon petered out, leaving us in silence once more. I wasn’t sure how to make an exit, which left me stuck in my chair, no believable excuses springing to mind.

  I felt warmth hit the back of my neck when he leaned forward, resting one elbow on the table. “Tell me which room is yours, Lucy,” he breathed.

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, trying not to let his deep, seductive voice affect me. Suddenly, the scenario of him coming to me during the night returned, but this time I wasn’t creeped out. No, I was . . . intrigued. What exactly would Sean Cassidy/Lucy Fitzpatrick sex look like?

  An acute flash, a quick image of us together, naked, limbs tangled, rough heat, his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, and his electric blue gaze holding mine . . .

  Christ, I was sweating and my heart was beating like I’d run a marathon.

  . . . Maybe just once.

  After all, I was dying to see that wonderful bubble butt in all its naked glory.

  “You never posted the pictures to Annie’s website,” he said then, breaking me from my thoughts. I flushed, like maybe he could see exactly what I’d been thinking.

  I peered at him in question. “Have you been looking?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe.”

  I exhaled. “Actually, if you must know, I deleted them.”

  “You deleted them?” He reared back, almost like he was offended.

  “Yes.” No.

  He held my gaze for several protracted moments, his stark, summer-sky stare growing increasingly heated, as though incensed, with each passing second. I swallowed mounting unease, uncertain why I’d lied. But before I could come clean, the tense silence was unexpectedly broken.

  “Hello, Mr. Cassidy, isn’t it? I just wanted to come and quickly introduce myself.” This came from Maria, the yoga instructor. He turned with obvious reluctance to face her, giving me a slicing narrowed glare.

  As soon as his eyes left me I gathered a deep breath, grateful she’d snagged his attention. Feeling relief, I realized it was now or never. I took the opportunity provided by Sean’s distraction to escape.

  Rising from my seat, I hurried from the dining hall, figuring that—by the time he looked back—I’d be gone, cocooned safely in the comfort of my room.

  Chapter Six

  @SeanCassinova If dreams are the subconscious’ attempt to live desires, then I need to buy my subconscious a drink. And a house.

  *Sean*

  I didn’t sneak into her cabin that night and wake her up with my head between her thighs. Instead I dreamt of Lucy and her head between my thighs. I woke with a start, sweating, having just climaxed.

  Rolling my eyes back into my head, I cursed. The sheets now needed to be washed and, unfortunately, I realized I really wanted to fuck Lucy Fitzpatrick.

  Before you clutch your pearls with righteous outrage, or faint under the weight of my uncouth barbarism, allow me to explain why my wanting to fuck Lucy—or any woman specifically—was a thing I dread.

  Pragmatic couplings, a means to an end, a way to secure an evening free of constant chill—those I could do with no trouble or effort. A few strategically placed kisses. A whispered assurance of mutual want. Robotic movements meant to expedite the act. She always faked it. Sometimes I faked it . . .

  Huh.

  Lucy’s psychoanalyzing words from our truncated dinner back home in Dublin returned to me. Perhaps Lucy was right. Perhaps buried deep, an underlying emptiness possessed me. So I took toiletries from bathroom cabinets. Little forbidden treasures to fill the void.

  The thought was sobering.

  And depressing.

  And far too pitiful, aggrandizing, and introspective.

  Therefore, I refused to believe it. I didn’t feel empty. I was cold.

  Just . . . cold.

  Plus, no one was harmed during the exchange. We both got what we wanted, after all. The women I slept with secured their trophy—a picture, a story for her girls—and I secured a night of warmth, of unencumbered sleep. These sorts of currency exchanges were commonplace for me.

  Unfortunately, with Lucy, I wanted something altogether different.

  She wasn’t the first woman to arouse my interest. But after several frustrated efforts in my past, I’d learned to never fuck a woman I truly wanted. Seeing the disappointment or pity in a woman’s eyes after a night of clumsy, albeit sincere, attempts at pleasure was an exercise in masochism.

  I consider myself more of a sadist.

  My want of Lucy made my plan to seduce Lucy a good deal more complicated. But not insurmountable (figuratively or literally). I merely needed to control the event, ensure it would be a hurried, frenzied copulation rather than an encounter of any length.

  To that end, armed with a bottle of champagne, sundry food items, and a basket of strawberries, I tracked Lucy down.

  Though the retreat grounds were spread over several acres, covered in meandering rocky paths surrounded by tall, unknown trees, Lucy wasn’t difficult to find. Most of the large group yoga classes took place in an open-air studio made entirely of a dark wood.

  Aesthetically, on the outside, the studio resembled the love child between a barn and a rustic cabin. Inside the floor was glossy and well polished, and with no dividers. It was an expansive, unencumbered space. Folding doors had been pushed aside, leaving structural beams and the roof as the only impediment to the outside, sending a reverberating Ooohhhhmmmm through the woods and over the lake.

  I mounted the stairs to the studio, leaving my goodies on the porch and approaching the end post with quiet steps. Peeking around the corner as unobtrusively as possible—because, as I learned yesterday when I arrived, these seekers of inner peace grew enraged when their mellow was disturbed—I scanned the studio for Lucy.

  I spied her immediately. Surprisingly, it wasn’t her rainbow mane that caught my attention. It was her arse. I’d been admiring it yesterday when I arrived, but hadn’t realized that I’d memorized it as well. The entire class was bending over, giving me their backsides, so I indulged myself, taking a moment to appreciate it.

  Everything about Lucy was small, waiflike, and delicate (in appearance). Everything except her arse. It was perfectly round—almost spherical—and disproportionately big for her small frame. And it made my mouth water.

  The class ended far too soon for my taste, driving me away from my hiding spot before I was caught lurking. Leaning against a porch post, I waited for Lucy to emerge.

  When she did she was smiling.

  But when she caught sight of me, it fell from her face.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.” I grinned despite her brusque question, my eyes skating over her body. When they again settled on her upturned face I was both pleased and surprised to find her gaze unfocused, perhaps even dazed, as she studied my face.

  “What do you want?” Her question held a distracted air to it and I knew she was asking about more than the now. She wanted to know my general intentions.

  I don’t make a habit of sharing my intentions as they’re usually wicked.

  Therefore, I answered for the now. “I’ve come to lure you away for a picnic on a mountain.”

  “A mountain?”

  “That’s right.” />
  She crossed her arms, her eyes sharpening. I could see she’d assumed I’d been trying to make her the butt of a joke. “There’s no mountain around here.”

  “There is.” Her friend Broderick joined the conversation, stepping next to me as though he’d been asked to validate my claim. I stiffened.

  My assessment of Broderick could be summed up in one word: smooth. The last thing I needed was for her smooth friend to invite himself along.

  “What?” Lucy frowned at us both.

  “Rattlesnake Mountain, though it’s more of a hill.” He tilted his chin in the direction of the hiking trail. “The views of the lake from the top are awesome.”

  “Yes. Awesome.” I nodded, struggling to find a way to cut him out should he insist on accompanying us.

  I was just about to volunteer that I had only two glasses for the champagne when Broderick gripped Lucy by the upper arm and tugged her toward me, basically shoving her into my chest. Automatically, my hands lifted to hold her in place.

  “You two go and work off . . . energy,” he said, nodding once like all was decided.

  “Rick—” Lucy started to protest, but she didn’t attempt to break free of my hold. Rather, her hands came to rest on my chest.

  “Lucy.” His eyes widened meaningfully, though I couldn’t interpret his meaning.

  She opened her mouth like she was on the edge of launching a complaint.

  Broderick interrupted her again, but he addressed me, “Did you know Lucy was thinking about becoming a missionary?”

  She snapped her mouth shut.

  I cocked an eyebrow at this news. “Really?”

  “Yes. But she decided to skip the missionary position and instead focus on charity work in the States. With dogs.”

  “With dogs?” This news struck a chord and my eyes moved over Lucy with new, albeit unwilling, appreciation. I’d had a dog when I was younger. Rather, the family had a dog, though I’d considered him only mine. A pet was everything to an unloved child. I’d mourned his passing alone. At the time it had felt like losing a limb. Or maybe an organ.

  As I studied her I supposed it made sense that she was an animal lover. She seemed like that sort, empathetic and compassionate. I felt a niggling thread of guilt and quickly quashed it.

  “Yes,” he continued, still looking at Lucy, “the position with dogs—”

  “Okay, we have to go.” Her usually soft voice was shrill as she grabbed my hand and tugged me away from her friend. “That mountain isn’t going to hike itself.”

  I allowed myself to be led, but made her pause so I could collect the basket. She pulled her hand out of mine. I noticed her gaze flicker to Broderick then away to the planks of the porch.

  Frowning at her averted gaze, I glanced at Broderick. He watched us with a slight smirk. When I caught his eye his smirk widened into an odd smile, odd, because it was encouraging.

  I tried to return it.

  I couldn’t.

  So I turned away.

  As we walked off the porch, side by side but not touching, I resolved to follow through with my plan as soon as possible. I already wanted Lucy. Nothing would be more disastrous than actually liking her too.

  ***

  “You’re being quiet. Why are you being so quiet?”

  Because I’m watching your glorious arse as you climb the hill and lamenting that I’ll only be allowed to grab it once. If I’m lucky.

  “Uh, was I?” I shook my head, redirecting my attention to her face.

  She furrowed her brow at me over her shoulder. We’d been walking single file up the hill with her in front by several paces, her bottom at my eye level.

  She was winded. I was not.

  “What are you doing?” Her tone was laced with suspicion as she gathered deep, panting breaths. The sound and movement were distracting.

  “Admiring the view,” I answered immediately because the words were true even if they were misleading.

  Her lips flattened, though she was still breathing with difficulty, and she shifted her gaze to the emerging skyline around us. I kept mine fastened on her profile, allowing myself a moment to study the image before me.

  Much of her hair had pulled free of her braid and was billowing around her shoulders. I must’ve done something remarkably good when I was younger, or something remarkably bad, because she was still in her yoga pants and tank top. A sliver of her toned belly and side were visible, as her shirt had lifted during the hike.

  I wanted to bite her smooth skin. My teeth ached to sink into her flesh. Lick it. Grab it. However, experience told me women of her kind didn’t like large men biting, licking, or grabbing them. They liked soft, coaxing caresses, gentle words, and a soothing hand. They liked dark rooms where they could pretend I wasn’t quite the frightening giant I was in reality with all the lights on.

  “We’re close to the summit.” Lucy shaded her eyes and looked at me, her chest rising and falling with gasping breaths. “How can you not be tired? This hill goes straight up.”

  I shrugged. “I work out sometimes.”

  She threw her head back and laughed, her open palm falling to her thigh with a smack.

  I liked the sound. Without thinking too much about it, I tried to get her to do it again. “Not very often. Just once or twice a day.”

  “Is that so?” Her lips curved, her smile glorious. “What kind of work outs do you do? Hill climbing?”

  “Yes, mostly. I have a hill all my own in Ireland.”

  “I bet you run to the top of it and yell, ‘I’m the king of the world!’”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It would frighten the sheep.” And enrage the ape.

  “Oh, you have sheep on your hill?”

  Now we were walking side by side. I reached out to help her over a steep spot.

  “Yes. The hill is full of sheep, but they’re not my sheep.”

  “You don’t like sheep?”

  “I prefer dogs.”

  Lucy stumbled. I caught her before she slipped, bringing her against my side. “Careful, the rocks are loose here.”

  “Got it.” She nodded and set me gently away, reaching for a tree branch to steady her. “So you like dogs?”

  “I do, as a matter of fact.” I figured there was no harm in discussing my domestic animal preferences. Many people liked dogs. “What’s the name of the charity you work with?”

  Her eyes darted to mine, then away. “It’s not that big of a deal. I don’t know why Rick even brought it up.”

  “What kind of work do they do?”

  “It’s the Animal Haven Shelter, a no-kill shelter for abandoned animals in New York City. Annie lets me highlight it on the blog and we do a fundraiser. I volunteer sometimes. Like I said, no big deal. So . . .” I heard her sigh, the sound telling me this topic made her uncomfortable. “Look. We’re here.”

  Lucy jogged a few paces ahead and away from me, slowing her steps as she crested the hill. I caught up quickly, but my steps faltered when I reached the top, the full view finally coming into focus.

  Silence fell between us. Separately, yet together, we absorbed the splendor of the valley. Broderick had been right, but he’d also been wrong. The view was a lot more than merely awesome. It was extraordinarily magnificent.

  The lakes glittered beneath us, dotted with pinpricks of light from the mid-afternoon sun, sapphire blue, serene, and calm. Lush, green trees lined the bank, intensifying the colors of the cloudless sky and tranquil water. The beauty was both at hand and at a distance, and it was breathtaking.

  I became aware that Lucy’s fingers were threaded with mine when she squeezed and pulled me some steps closer to the edge of the bluff. I had no idea who had reached for the other, only that we were now touching and her hand was cool and soft.

  “See?” I whispered. “I told you it was nice.”

  Lucy turned a disbelieving face toward me. Though she smiled, the way her nose wrinkled told me she thought I was mad. “N
ice? This isn’t nice. This is fucking gorgeous.”

  I chuckled at the dichotomy of her exuberance. “You’re right, Lucy. Please forgive me. It’s fucking gorgeous. Well said.”

  She nodded, her smile wide and impish. “I never get tired of hearing those words.”

  “It’s fucking gorgeous?”

  “No. You’re right, Lucy.”

  Now I did laugh. She joined me as she released my hand, making a grab for the basket. “I’m starving. What’s in here? Steak? Beef jerky? Veal?”

  “No. No meat.” I shook my head, watching her as she pulled out the blanket, let it fall to the ground, and rummaged through the basket. The truth was, I couldn’t find any meat at the retreat, so I had to settle for strawberries, kale salad, and feta bites . . . whatever the hell those were.

  Lucy extracted the champagne and examined the label, then gave a low whistle. “Cripes, Sean. This is no way to detox.”

  “If detoxing doesn’t include a steady diet of alcohol and steak, then I guess I’ll always be somewhat toxic.”

  “Hmm,” she replied noncommittally, not looking up from the bottle. Placing the basket on the ground next to the blanket, she peeled the foil away from the cork. “So why do you like dogs?”

  I grabbed the champagne from her. “Give me that. That’s my job.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at me. “Why is that your job? I’m quite good at opening champagne bottles. I used to wait tables at a posh restaurant.”

  “It’s my job because I’m rubbish at everything else.”

  This statement earned me a smile. “Okay, fine then. I’ll spread the blanket and set the food out. Let me know if you need help popping it open or if you’d like a lesson in picnicking from a professional.”

  I untwisted the wire holding the cork in place. “You’re a picnicking professional?”

  “Yes. I’m quite accomplished at eating outdoors.”

  “Really?” I was curious.

  “In New York, in the spring, everyone picnics in Central Park. It’s gorgeous and green and patchworks of blankets cover the ground. I love going just to people watch, but I also feel like food tastes better outside.” Lucy talked as she worked, her movements relaxed and unhurried. I stepped away from the blanket she’d just spread and watched her, fascinated by her easy chatter.