The Player and the Pixie (Rugby #2) Page 8

  “Do you go by yourself?” I didn’t know what compelled me to ask the question, but I suddenly needed to know.

  “Sometimes.” She shrugged, then laughed lightly. “Actually, most of the time. But I don’t mind.”

  Relief. I was relieved. But I said nothing, happy to have her continue speaking of her picnics, finding I was greedy for the details.

  “And there’s every kind of food you could want in the city. I have a special picnicking blanket, a thrift store find, a quilt of metallic-colored fabric—silver, gold, and copper. Basically, it’s outrageous, but I love it. I love spreading it on the ground and sitting on it, like it’s a throne and I’m the queen, a five-by-five porthole to an alternate dimension.”

  Finished setting out the cups, plates, and napkins, Lucy glanced up at me. Her eyes were bright and undesigning, as was her smile. She reached out to me with one hand.

  I stared at her dumbly, uncertain what to do.

  Her smile slipped as she lifted her eyebrows. “Sean?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you want to sit?”

  I glanced at her, then the blanket, then the food, then back to her. “Yes. Of course.”

  I sat.

  “Sean?”

  “Yes?” I looked to her again.

  “Do you want me to finish up with the champagne?”

  I examined the bottle in my hands, discovered it was still corked. “Ah, no. I can finish.”

  “Okay.” She gave me a smile, it looked a bit nervous.

  I gave her a smile, feeling a bit nervous.

  I filled the glasses to the brim, offered one to her first, then gulped mine. We sat in a silence that was both tense and sacred while I had the distinct impression of being lost.

  Born out of a desire to break the thickening tension, I announced, “I’ve brought strawberries.”

  “Oh,” she said, the soft exclamation tinged with regret.

  “What?”

  “I’m allergic to strawberries,” Lucy confessed, her expression apologetic as she finished her first glass of champagne. “I take one bite and I swell up into a red mess.”

  “So, you become that which you fear.” I refilled her glass.

  “What?”

  “You turn into a strawberry.”

  She choked on a surprised laugh mid-sip, but recovered with adorable self-deprecation. “Exactly, but not nearly as tasty.”

  I tilted my head to the side and scrutinized her, mumbling under my breath before I could catch the words, “That’s debatable.”

  She must’ve heard my comment because she squirmed and averted her eyes, casting them to the sky while she took another sip of her champagne and changed the subject. “This is good stuff, Sean. If I’d known you had champagne in your cabin I would have been nicer to you.”

  “Ah, so champagne is the way to your heart?”

  “That’s right, Bubs. Give me a good bubbly and I’m a happy woman.” She appeared to be on the verge of laughing.

  “And you’ve nicknamed me after champagne? I guess I’m flattered.”

  “You should be.” Lucy gulped the rest of her glass, then added as though it were an afterthought, “I only nickname people I like.”

  I’d been reaching for the bottle to refill her glass when she said the words, halting my movements.

  I only nickname people I like.

  Strangely, inexplicably, the air was too thin and I couldn’t quite gather enough into my lungs. I sensed her eyes on me so I forced a smile.

  “But we both know you don’t like me,” I said.

  “Of course.” Her voice held a slight tremble and she held her glass out to be refilled. “Of course I don’t like you.”

  “Good.” Oddly, her words didn’t make me feel good.

  She gulped half of her third glass, then added with a tad of belligerence, “What do you mean, good? Don’t you want me to like you?”

  “Not particularly.”

  She stared at me, her eyes the color of the morning sky, and her pretty mouth curved into a sharp frown. “Well, why not?”

  “Because it wouldn’t be good for you.”

  “How so?” She looked and sounded offended. Her words slurred just a smidge. I glanced between her and the half-empty glass.

  Lucy Fitzpatrick was a lightweight. It made sense, though at five foot seven or thereabouts, she wasn’t particularly short, but she was still very slight. Well, aside from her gloriously well-endowed bottom.

  Without forethought to my desire for vengeance against her undeserving yet exalted brother, I responded honestly. “Because I’m not good for you.”

  “Because you want to have sex with me?” Lucy jutted out her pointed chin with champagne-fueled bravery, her words and the darkening of her eyes catching me off guard.

  Lucy Fitzpatrick was full of surprises.

  “That’s it, right? You think I’ll grow attached and moon over you like you’re God’s gift?”

  I blinked at her, unsure how to respond to this onslaught of brutal honesty. Usually, women weren’t honest with me until the morning after I disappointed them. Sometimes they weren’t honest even then.

  Turns out I didn’t need to say anything because Lucy cut me off with a loud, derisive snort.

  “As if.” She tossed her hand not holding the champagne into the air as though throwing away the idea of her ever growing attached to me. “I’ve got some news for you, Sean Cassidy. I know I’d be just one of the notches in your bedpost. I have no delusions about meaning something to you. You may be a hot piece of arse, but you’re not the kind women want for anything long-term, not if they’re smart.”

  I slid my teeth to the side, was forced to narrow my eyes so I didn’t betray the effect of her words. Lucy’s sloppily tossed gauntlet hit a target she doubtless didn’t realize existed, sending a jarring shock of swelling unpleasantness to the back of my throat, jaw, and the tips of my fingers.

  I was a hot piece of arse. This was true. That’s all I was.

  Smart women didn’t want anything long-term, not with me. This was also true.

  “How observant you are,” I said mechanically, swallowing the rising bitterness. “How very clever.”

  Lucy’s frown intensified until I thought she appeared regretful for what she’d said, guilty even. Perhaps alcohol made her mean, or perhaps it simply made her speak the truth.

  “Sean,” she began, reaching out to touch my arm, as though to apologize, but I quickly cut her off.

  “You’re right, of course.” I gave her a smile I was sure didn’t reach my eyes. “About everything.”

  Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths and she stared at me for a long moment before asking, “Why are you this way?”

  “You may as well ask, why does a bird fly? It’s in my nature, of course.” I studied the writing on the outside of the champagne bottle, similar sentiments from my childhood playing on repeat between my ears.

  You were born this way, Sean.

  It’s your parents.

  Look at you. You can’t help your nature.

  You’ll never be better than the people you came from.

  Lucy shook her head slowly as she studied me and parted her lips to speak. But I’d had enough of her mouth for the day, no matter how alluring it was.

  “The forecast said there would be rain. We should head back.” I stood, piling the picnic items back into the bag, mentally calculating how quickly I could get back to the beautiful, rich, indolent people I’d abandoned in Spain.

  That’s where I belonged.

  I did not belong on a sunny hillside in New Hampshire. I did not belong with a tart, odd-haired, magnificently arsed pixie who wore her heart on her sleeve.

  My distain for Ronan Fitzpatrick hadn’t waned, but my interest in using or abusing his sister to exact my revenge had entirely fled. And I was abruptly tired.

  Tired and cold.

  While I packed up, Lucy had stood from the blanket and was hovering at its perimeter, watching me.
I bent to retrieve it. She bent in unison, tugging it toward her.

  “Let me help,” she said.

  “No need.” Distractedly, I surveyed the ground, ensuring I would leave nothing behind.

  She tugged harder. “I can fold it.”

  “I’ve got it.” I noted the ground was free of debris.

  “Let go of the blanket, Sean.”

  With what can only be described as an angry yank, Lucy wrenched the blanket from my grip and began to fold it with brutal violence.

  I studied her and her vicious blanket folding for two seconds, then hazarded to ask, “Are you quite all right?”

  “This was a stupid idea.”

  “The picnic?”

  “All of it.” She sliced a hand through the air, gesturing to the world, then added, “And talking to you, specifically.”

  Her movements were still forceful and jerky. I took a step closer, intent on grabbing the blanket before she ripped it.

  I kept my tone purposefully soft, hoping to disarm her before she detonated. “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you again.”

  Her hands stilled, the blanket now a tight, twisted ball nowhere near folded, and her pale eyes cut to mine.

  Something decidedly female was going on in her head, something of the mystery-to-men variety. I had no idea what she was thinking, but she looked both aggrieved and remorseful. I held very still because it seemed like the safest thing to do.

  We stared at each other.

  She dropped the blanket.

  She took a step away and pushed her wild hair from her face.

  She charged, closing the distance between us, her hands reaching for and fisting in the neck of my shirt.

  Then she kissed me.

  Chapter Seven

  @LucyFitz Life is like a bottle of champers: expensive, bitter and often gives you indigestion.

  @Anniecat to @LucyFitz Agree. When given the choice between champagne and cake, it’s cake every time.

  @LucyFitz to @Anniecat This is why I love you.

  *Lucy*

  Sean Cassidy had his tongue down my throat.

  Or maybe it was me who had my tongue down his. I knew I’d been the one to initiate the kiss, but I couldn’t remember who started the tongue action. Sean was kissing me in a way that made my toes curl, my skin prickle, and my ladies parts clench with need.

  His big, warm hands travelled slowly from the back of my neck, down my spine, before unceremoniously cupping my arse. He squeezed hard and I whimpered against his lips.

  “I want you,” he breathed and his mouth moved to my neck, planting wet kisses along my sensitive skin. A rumbly groan escaped him as my hands went to his muscular shoulders, gripping tightly. His fingertips dug into my flesh with need, and unexpectedly, I discovered I liked how rough he was.

  Nipping lightly at the underside of my jaw, he murmured, “Are you wet?”

  As I fuzzy-headedly prepared to answer, his phone began ringing loudly, the melodic tone disrupting the quiet. I broke away from him, my breathing heavy because, well, I was aroused.

  “Um,” I said, trying to catch my breath while proper brain function continued to evade me.

  “Lucy,” he groaned and reached for me, completely ignoring the call as he tried to pull my mouth back to his. I placed my hands on his chest to keep him at bay.

  “You should answer that,” I told him in a shaky voice. It was still ringing inside his pocket, and he sighed irritably as he pulled it out as though to press ignore. When he glanced at the screen he did a double take, and I followed his gaze to find the caller ID displaying the name Mother Fitzpatrick, my brother’s reluctant nickname. Why on earth was Ronan calling him?

  I almost felt like laughing. Was this some sort of spooky brotherly sixth sense on his part? Like Sean would answer and Ronan would start barking down the line, “Get your hands off my sister!”

  Sean appeared just as curious to know why Ronan was calling him as I was. He hit accept and answered, “Hello?”

  “Hey, is this Sean?” a female voice replied. It was so quiet out here that I could hear her clear as day. It was Annie. What the hell?

  “It is, and who may I ask is speaking?” he queried, like he didn’t already know. He sounded calm and at ease, not half as frazzled as I was.

  “This is Annie. Ronan Fitzpatrick’s fiancée. We’ve met on a number of occasions,” she explained.

  “Yes, I remember,” Sean purred. “I never forget a face as pretty as yours.”

  I frowned, annoyed at how he flirted with her – and disturbed by the fact that I was annoyed. I folded my arms.

  “Hang up that phone right now!” I heard Ronan growl angrily in the background. There were a few loud footsteps, as though Annie was running to get away from him. I heard the click of a lock, like she’d just shut herself inside the bathroom. Sean and I shared identical expressions of confusion. When Annie spoke again, she sounded breathless as she shouted to Ronan. “Let me talk to him. You’re too stubborn for your own good sometimes.”

  “Unlock the door, Annie, I mean it,” Ronan demanded.

  “Hi, uh, sorry about this,” said Annie, speaking to Sean again and letting out a nervous laugh. “My fiancé is being difficult.”

  “What else is new?” Sean chuckled, like he was thoroughly enjoying this unexpected interaction. Anything to get one over on my brother. I sighed and moved closer to him, resting my head next to the other side of the phone so I could hear better.

  “Yes, well.” Annie cleared her throat. “I’ve called because I need your help and Ronan is too proud to ask you himself. He, William Moore, and Bryan Leech have been contracted for a sportswear photo shoot with Adidas in New York this weekend. Unfortunately, William’s fallen ill and won’t be able to attend, so I was wondering if you’d be interested in replacing him?”

  “I already have a deal with Puma. I’m not sure my contract will allow it.”

  Annie heaved an audible sigh. “You rugby players and your sponsorship deals.”

  Sean grinned. “I take it I’m not the first person you called.”

  “No,” she answered sheepishly. “Ronan isn’t exactly your biggest fan. I actually called your agent first. She said she was under strict instructions not to schedule any promo work during your break, but I thought I’d call to see if you’d be interested in doing us a favor. I know you probably don’t want to come all the way to the U.S., but I think this would be a great way for you and Ronan to mend some bridges.”

  I heard my brother let out a loud, derisive laugh in the background. Clearly, he had his ear to the door, listening in just like I was. Annie had no clue Sean was already stateside.

  “Your husband-to-be doesn’t sound very convinced,” said Sean with a smile in his voice.

  “Let me deal with Ronan,” Annie stated firmly.

  He cast his gaze on me mischievously. “You know what? New York is sounding a lot more appealing these days.”

  My heart pounded at the prospect of yet more time in the same general area as Sean Cassidy.

  “So you’ll do it?” Annie asked, a hint of relief in her voice.

  “I’ll have my lawyer look through the Puma contract and get back to you. If he says it’s okay to be affiliated with another brand, then yes, I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  The moment he hung up he came at me. “Now, where were we?”

  When he began sliding his arms around my waist I pulled away, my heart racing. “We shouldn’t have kissed.”

  His hooded, aroused expression morphed into a frown. “I see . . .”

  “I don’t mess around with rugby players, and being with you is a really bad idea for a number of reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  “Sean,” I narrowed my eyes at him, “just moments ago you told me I shouldn’t like you.”

  “Humor me. Tell me why it’s a bad idea.” He was entirely too close, but he made no move to touch me with anything but
his gaze.

  I angled my chin. “Well, for one I’m not your type.”

  Sean lifted an eyebrow and wrapped his arm around my waist. He brought me flush against him, pressing my belly against his dick, which was hard as steel beneath the fabric of his jeans. “Obviously, you’re wrong.”

  I swallowed and tried not to think about the size of him, because God, the size of him. I also wondered if he’d maintained his erection all through the phone call with Annie, or was he just that quick to get it up again?

  That thought was both intoxicating and sobering.

  I had no words, especially considering the sexy I want to devour you look on his face. The universe must have heard my plea, because right at that moment the heavens opened and rain began pouring down.

  “It’s raining. We should go.” I hurriedly pushed him away and turned to start the hike back down. I almost expected him to argue, but he didn’t.

  Silently, he picked up the picnic basket and followed my lead. Neither of us spoke the whole way down, and by the time we reached the retreat the tension between us was unwieldy. Also, I was soaked to the skin.

  When I realized my nipples were peeking through my wet clothes, I folded my arms across my chest as I turned back to Sean, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later.”

  Before he could reply I was gone, already halfway to my cabin. Once there, I stripped off my soaking clothes and started the shower. When the water heated, I stepped under the spray, my kiss with Sean playing on repeat in my head.

  I remembered the way he’d grabbed my arse, like a man possessed, and disappointedly realized I’d never taken the opportunity to cop a feel of his.

  How ridiculously poetic had it been that a call from Ronan (well, technically it was Annie, but it was Ronan’s phone) was the thing to interrupt our moment.

  I knew exactly why I’d kissed him, too. I’d seen more of Sean’s human side today, and combined with how physically attracted I was to him, it was almost impossible not to kiss him. He liked dogs, and when I’d told him of my volunteer work at the shelter, his expression told me he thought it was a worthwhile pursuit.