Her flush deepened. “It was worth a shot.”
Rather than press her for answers when he suspected she’d do the same—and he wasn’t about to discuss his hard-on with the reason for it—he reached for the flask and cocked an eyebrow. “Brandy?” he asked as the unmistakable sweetness hit his nose.
She shrugged. “It takes the edge off before I get on stage.”
“And when you get off it?”
“No. I usually only take a couple sips before I sing, but I didn’t need them last night. At least not until we got back from the cop shop.” She tucked the comforter under her arms and sighed, seemingly at ease despite her nudity. She didn’t know he’d seen her bare to the waist, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t have minded even so.
Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as he thought.
That was, undoubtedly, hope speaking. It so rarely made an appearance that he knew the telltale signs immediately. The loosening in the gut, the slight dizziness that came from possibilities stretching out before him like a field glittering with dewy diamonds. Then the constriction in his throat as reality did away with even that tiny ray of light.
Realizing he’d brought the flask closer to his nose out of reflex, he capped the bottle and set it aside. Way aside, near the edge of the coffee table. “When I was a kid, talking about my dreams helped.”
“I’m not a kid, thank you very much, and you’re not my therapist.”
The censure in her tone was much preferable to the whimpers he’d yet to erase from his head. “If I was, I’d expect more payment than a titty flash in a parking lot, just so you know.”
He figured she’d kick him or give him the finger. Instead she threw back her head and laughed. The angle of her neck made him want to suck the delicate pulse point beneath her jaw until she whimpered again for a whole new reason. “It was a joke, something I saw on TV. It went way wrong, but I had no choice.” She shrugged. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Only through extreme effort did he manage not to grin. “Aw, darlin’, I think I could handle whatever you dish out.”
Apparently forgetting she wasn’t clothed, she sat up too fast, and the comforter shifted down to play peek-a-boo with her nipples. His sudden fascination below her neck clued her into her reveal, but she merely tugged up the cover and narrowed her eyes. “Just because you’re some big athlete doesn’t mean I don’t have ways of bringing you to your knees.”
He couldn’t fight his smirk. “No doubt about that.”
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “What, no darlin’ this time? Where did your pseudo-Southern charm go all of a sudden?”
“Florida’s south of here, yeah, but I don’t think they consider themselves the south in the strictest sense.”
“Thanks for the geography lesson.” It was her turn to smirk as she leaned forward and pursed her lips. “I didn’t miss your attempt to slot me into my prototypical female role. The little woman who needs protecting, who can only bring a man down—” her gaze shifted to his resistant hard-on with barely a flicker of her eyelashes, “—or up, in your case, with her sexual wiles and not her hands.”
“Oh, I never said you couldn’t bring me up with your hands,” he murmured, well aware he was prodding her raging fire with his burning match. “As for the rest? Unless you want to land ass first in assumptions, cool it.”
She shook her head, sending her hair flying in all directions. Her hair had gone rogue, and she seemed as concerned about controlling it as she was in tamping down the aggravation in her bright blue eyes. “What do you say we do a live demonstration?”
“Of what, exactly?” he asked warily.
Her grin took him aback. “I’ll get you on your knees in under a minute, without flashing you or doing anything shady.” Oh so casually, she reached over and grabbed her slinky bra from the pile of her clothes and dragged it under the comforter, popping her shoulders back as her hands went to work. By the time she tugged the straps up her arms, he was a little dazed and a lot impressed. “So what do you say? Game?”
He glanced down at his towel and cocked a brow. “Can I get dressed first?”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Showing hers, she snatched her flirty panties and whipped them under the comforter, bumping and gyrating until she emerged from beneath the cover dressed in her lingerie. She bounded to her feet and stroked her biceps, making him grin in spite of himself. “Besides, there’s no way I could really take you down, right? I’m a wittle female who needs a big, strong man to protect me.”
Chase stood and checked the knot in his towel to ensure he wouldn’t be giving her another reason to blush besides her certain failure at taking him down. Then he held out his hands, palms first. “Bring it, badass.”
She moved like a viper, so fast that her hair striking his face was the only thing he registered before her small but shockingly strong fingers encircled his wrist.
Did she know he was a southpaw or had she just gotten lucky? It seemed like the announcers mentioned it every game. Especially since the one where his injury had become obvious, though talk still ranged in the realm of occasional speculation. Mark from the club must be a gossip hound.
Summer yanked hard and his gaze swam. Frigging hell, what was she doing to him?
He found himself facing away from her, his left arm bent at an awkward angle as she pressed it against his back and tried unsuccessfully to muscle him to the floor. The pain rocketing from his injured elbow sent him to his knees in surprise, and she let out a triumphant shout. “Gotcha.”
Allowing her the moment she’d partially earned, he hissed out a breath between his clamped teeth. When he thought he could speak without gasping in pain, he managed, “Enough, slugger.”
“But I wanted to show you—”