Gray's Girl Page 3

  He sat back and watched her for a moment as she chatted to the woman next to her, a consultant from what he remembered of the introductions when they sat down. Glass in hand, he took a swallow, his gaze lingering on the delicate curve of Frankie’s neck as she laughed at something the other woman said. The heat that had taken up residence in his veins settled into his groin, forcing him to shift slightly in his seat. Thank God it was dark in here, or his reaction to her would be common knowledge.

  Not that he was ashamed of it. She was beautiful, witty, and genuinely a nice person. Rather than the self-absorbed attitude he was used to from the bimbos and wag-wannabes, he’d really had to work to get her talking about herself. And with that dress clinging lovingly to her curves, she was fucking hot. All he could think of was stripping it from her. Slowly. Unveiling the creamy skin he’d fantasized about for years, inch by slow inch.

  Like a soldier on parade, his cock snapped to attention. Fuck. He closed his eyes for a second, quelling the frustration rolling through his large body. He’d only just got the bloody thing down to half-mast, but now he was hard enough to hammer nails through wood again.

  Large hands dropped onto his shoulders, making him jump.

  “You. Bog. Now.”

  Turning, he looked up into the furious expression of his best friend. To everyone else, Damon looked perfectly civil, his polite half smile one Gray recognized as his “press” face, the one he used whenever the bloodsuckers asked him questions. Smiling but all the while gritting his teeth as he fought the urge to deck the lot of them. His eyes flashed dangerously, an indicator to someone who knew him that he was pissed. Seriously pissed.

  Gray twisted and stood, frowning as he opened his mouth to ask just what had gotten into the smaller man but Damon turned on his heel and stalked away. Great. Just like DC to get a strop on a night out. He was worse than a woman with PMS at times. Turning, he dropped a quick kiss on the top of Frankie’s head, over silky hair which smelled of apple shampoo.

  “Just going to grab us some more drinks,” he murmured by her ear, keeping his voice down so as not to interrupt her conversation. He didn’t mention the tizzy Damon seemed to be in. She’d always worried too much about her tearaway younger brother when they were younger, but until he knew what was up with the daft twat he’d leave her to enjoy her conversation. They said ignorance was bliss, and Damon was certainly ignorant enough for anyone.

  She smiled and nodded, still listening to the other woman rabbit on about child number sixty-two or something, but her look speared him to his soul. A small, soft look just for him. Interest and desire shone in the darkness of her eyes and she reached out to squeeze his hand gently. He squeezed back and straightened, his purpose adding steel to his shoulders as he made his way through the crowded room. Time to find out why Damon had his knickers in a twist.

  “What the hills gotten into you?” he demanded as he strode through the door and caught sight of Damon at the sinks. If he’d needed a piss, he’d taken care of business quickly because he turned like a striking snake to grab Gray by the throat and shove him back against the wall. Hard.

  “Me?” Damon snarled into Gray’s face, rising up on his toes to do so. “Wanna tells me what the fuck you think you’re playing at? In case you hadn’t noticed, that’s my sister. Not just a random shag you’ve picked up for the night.”

  Anger flared, hard and immediate. Right or wrong, Gray latched onto it, funneling his frustration and using it as he broke Damon’s grip and shoved him away. Damon stumbled backward, catching his balance on one of the pristine and expensive-looking basins behind him.

  And he knew they were expensive; the whole place had that aura of understated opulence that said the place had been fittest with the best, rather than done down to a price. The floor was dark slate, the cubicles of sleek, dark wood warm under the subtle overhead lights. A stark contrast with other venues he’d been to with cracked linoleum, grubby cubicles, and where the scent of cheap disinfectant barely covered the rank stink of old piss.

  “Because you’re a mate, I’ll let you have that one.”

  Straightening his shirt, he smoothed the fabric crumpled by Damon’s hands and resettled it over his shoulders. Luckily the ham-fisted git hadn’t torn it. He wouldn’t have been able to hide that, and he really didn’t want to have to explain to Frankie why her brother was pissed off enough to pin him by the throat against a wall.

  He didn’t conceal his feelings as he faced his best friend of years, not that he could have concealed much anyway. In the same way that he could see easily through Damon’s press face, the guy could read him like a book.

  “But next one’s mine,” he warned, jaw clenched and his reflection in the mirror behind Damon radiating anger. Damon’s accusation had stung. Normally Gray didn’t give a shit what people said about him. Yeah, he’d had one-night stands; most of the players had. Before Damon had met Sophie, they’d gone out on the pull together, but that didn’t mean he was some kind of creepy Lothario who preyed on any woman available. He’d always tried to be good.

  Plus they’d left the wildness of their youth behind a couple of years ago when a chance for the national squad was in the offing. Training to that level left no time for pissing about or chasing women, if he’d even been into that kind of stupid game in the first place. He wasn’t. He respected women, in all their various shapes and sizes. Damon knew that. Knew how seriously Gray took his career. Knew he refused to play the stupid games the other players reveled in, amassing notches on their bedposts. So yeah, that piece of shit accusation hit hard.

  “Since when have I considered any woman ‘just a shag’?” he demanded, dragging a hand through his hair and snarling the long strands. Annoyed even more, he yanked the band out, snapping it around his wrist as he glared.

  “Good point,” Damon admitted, the words slow and begrudging. His expression shifted and the mask of anger dropped, letting Gray see the concern and worry behind it. His own anger at the slight disappeared. Something was well wrong here.

  “Want to tell me what this is really about? Or do you want to try and pound my face into the counter?” Gray stepped a little closer, hair brushing his shoulders as he studied Damon keenly. “If it makes you feel better, you can give it a try.” He chuckled and brushed his fingertips against his jaw. “It’ll make a change from the stud marks. Bit of variety and all that.”

  Reluctantly Damon cracked a smile. Finally the tension drained from his shoulders and he turned to lean against the counter, hands spread wide. Shaking his head, he looked up through the mirror instead of turning around. The soft lights above it gave his skin a warm glow, shadows highlighting his classic features. Bastard was too good-looking for his own good, and Frankie was cut from the same cloth, so ethereally beautiful Gray wondered why he was bothering. She was way too good for a gutter rat from the worst estate in town.

  “Her ex was…is a bastard.” Damon’s voice was low but Gray could hear the control he was exerting in the tones. “They worked together, real successful apparently as a team. Turned out Frankie did all the work and Robby took all the credit. Wanker. She turned up at home early one day, found him in bed with the neighbor.”

  Gray winced. That wasn’t good. “Why the hell did he do that? Not being funny, mate, but if I had a woman half as sexy as your sister, I wouldn’t let her out of bed…never mind go sniffing anywhere else.”

  Damon grimaced. “That was a visual I didn’t need. Thanks for that.”

  “No offense meant. I know she’s your sister, but…yeah, she’s beautiful.”

  “Wasn’t talking about that. I’m not even going there or I’d punch the lights out of half the room in there for looking at her. I meant your hairy arse. So not an image I want.”

  “Wanker.”

  “Knob.”

  “Cunt.”

  Gray smiled as the conversation degenerated into hurled abuse and stepped up to the counter next to Damon as he carried on.

  “Gets worse though. He�
�d got his feet right under the table at the posh firm she worked for so she was advised to resign. Not sacked, but you know that’s the next step if she didn’t. Plus the bimbo he was shagging was a model.”

  “Fuck.”

  Sympathy for Frankie flowed through him, quickly followed by an intense need to flatten the guy. Not only for bedding the woman Gray wanted, but for causing her pain and anguish.

  “That’s about the size of it. Nineteen, slim, masses of blonde hair and tits out to here.”

  Damon motioned around a foot in front of his chest. The analytical part of Gray’s mind argued, if the model had breasts that big, she’d be bent in two with the weight of them, but wisely, he didn’t say that.

  “So now Frankie’s convinced that she’s too old, and fat.” He sighed, ran a hand through the short spikes of his dark hair. “You know what women are like, mate. Doesn’t matter what you tell them; they’ll still be convinced that they look like the back end of a bus.”

  Gray nodded in response, a sympathetic expression on his face. He knew how delicate a woman’s self-confidence was and Damon was right. It didn’t matter what anyone said; it was how a woman felt inside. Fists clenching and unclenching at his side, he made plans to track down her twat of an ex and elicit some payback of a violent type. See if the guy could still pull a model after that.

  “So don’t hurt her, okay?” Damon’s expression was forbidding. “Or me and you are gonna be having words, clear?”

  “Crystal, mate.” Gray nodded. Those words would be of the physical type but he totally understood that. The Cross siblings had always looked out for each other, and he’d do exactly the same if he had sisters.

  Damon nodded, and a measure of calm and composure returned to his expression. “Good. We cool? Sorry about the thing with the wall.”

  “Yeah. We’re good. Don’t worry about it; I’d have done the same.” He waved a dismissive hand toward the wall as he took a step back toward the urinals. Then he paused, looking over his shoulder as Damon reached the door.

  “One last thing. I won’t hurt her, but if she gives me the slightest interest that’s she’s interested…then she’s mine.”

  Damon stopped and Gray waited, expecting another flare-up or to be slammed against the wall again. Finally, he nodded, a sly smile spreading across his face. “I’ll get the shotgun and my best man’s speech ready then.”

  Chapter Three

  “You, young lady, are drunk.”

  Gray chuckled as they stepped out of the warm lobby into the cool night air of the street to wait for their taxi. Although the hotel was in one of the better parts of the city, traffic was still constant, taxis and buses mixed in with private cars as people went about their business. At this time of night, mostly that consisted of getting home, wherever that was. Right now, Gray was thinking of home, but not his.

  Frankie giggled, a little unsteady on her heels as he held her hand firmly in his to help her down the low-rise steps at the front of the building. He got the feeling she didn’t wear them often, or perhaps it was the alcohol he’d plied her with to get her to loosen up.

  “It’s your fault anyway! You kept filling my glass and I’m not young. I’m at least a century older than you are,” she declared, flinging her arms wide on the word least. The sudden movement threatened her balance and she swayed for a moment before stumbling against him. He moved to block her fall, the soft swell of her breasts pressing against his arm. Heat exploded through his body again.

  “Oops.” Her cheeks stained with scarlet as she favored him with a sexy little look from under her lashes. God, did she have any idea what looks like that did to him?

  He changed his grip to capture her in his arms with ease. She didn’t struggle, but he didn’t expect her to, and after his battles on the pitch, chasing down one tiny, tipsy woman was child’s play. Instead she just watched him with a half-confused, half-quizzical expression. It was adorable. Impulsively, he leaned down and dropped a kiss on the end of her nose.

  “Age is just a number, gorgeous. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  The expression in her eyes softened, her lips a tiny O of pleasure. He wasn’t laying on the charm or spinning her a line he didn’t mean, but it felt a little like it so he grinned, the expression saucy. “Besides, don’t they say that you’re as old as the man you feel?”

  “Oooh! In that case, I must be in the damn nursery,” she shot back, slapping at his chest and shoulders playfully. Blows he barely felt, used to the hard hits of the pitch. Unless she hit him with a sledgehammer or something, then she hadn’t a hope in hell of hurting him. He held onto her easily, feeling a little like a conquering knight with his lady in his arms, without the ridiculous outfit and sword.

  Her struggles brought them together, pressed tight from chest to thigh. He watched as she felt the hardness of his stiff cock pressed against her belly, hid a smile as realization flared across her features, then groaned as her eyes darkened.

  “Why, do I feel like a little boy to you?”

  Bending his head, he whispered his lips over hers. Not kissing her, not yet. Just teasing, holding his lips a fraction clear of the luscious temptation of her mouth. Anything worth having was worth waiting for, and he’d waited years to taste her lips. A few more seconds savoring the anticipation would make it all the sweeter.

  Silently she shook her head, her throat moving as she swallowed. Wet her lips with the tip of a pink tongue, the movement more felt than seen. He couldn’t wait any longer. With a groan rumbling in the back of his throat he pulled her closer and claimed her lips, ignoring the busy street around them and the driver who honked his horn as he drove by.

  She was… She tasted…

  It was indescribable. Heavenly. Sublime. His lips slid over hers in a gentle caress. Learning the shape and taste of her mouth as she melted against him. Her soft curves fit against his harder body perfectly, like two halves of a whole coming together. Tracing her lips with his, he kept things light. Sensual. Featherlight kisses as he wrapped one arm around her tiny waist and slid his free hand into her hair, scattering pins all over the pavement in a metallic shower.

  The sound made her gasp. A gasp that parted her lips under his and broke the chains on his control. A small sound of triumph worked free from his lips as he swooped in and took advantage of the opening, like a player spotting an overlap on the opposition’s line, to deepen the kiss.

  His tongue slid past her lips, exploring, demanding access and response from her. He stepped back until he was leaning against the wall of the entrance and let her lean against him, his legs parted and bent so she could shelter between them, ignoring the burn of the half squat as he ravaged her mouth. He let her come to him, rather than pin her and take what he wanted. It was the only way she was keeping her clothes on. Because the moment he got her under him, either on a horizontal or vertical surface, then he wouldn’t be able to resist making her his.

  She moved with him, not pulling away even at the hard evidence of his mood. Her mouth was soft, eager as she kissed him back with passion, her small hands clinging to his broad chest and shoulders as the heat between them rose to boiling point.

  The sound of the hotel door opening, an explosion of laughter and music spilling out from inside brought Gray back to reality. Breaking the kiss, he stood, using his bigger body to shield her from view as a group exited the hotel. A few cast him curious glances but he just glared back until they lost interest, moving away as their companions walked down the street toward the center of town, holding a loud conversation about which clubs would still be open.

  “They’ll be lucky,” Frankie commented softly, as a limo pulled up in front of them. Gray smiled, recognizing the driver as one the private firm the club used.

  “This is us,” he said softly, ushering her toward the door the driver was holding open. “Thanks, Fred, just on time.”

  She blinked in surprise, the confusion on her face making it easy for him to tuck her into the plush vehicle. Inside the thin
g was luxury all the way. One of the smaller cars the firm used, the interior was spacious, with cream leather seats on both sides of the passenger compartment and the usual screen between them and the driver. With a nod to Fred, he climbed in, then slid across the backseat and wrapped his arm back around Frankie’s shoulders.

  “Are you sure this is ours?” She looked up at him, her expression worried.

  “Of course it is. Do you think I’d steal someone else’s ride?”

  He stroked his thumb down her arm, savoring the small shiver she gave. It wasn’t because of the cold. The nights were getting milder, and he’d kept her plenty warm enough in his arms.

  “No…but it’s way too expensive.” She opened her bag, starting to root around inside it. “Here, you have to let me pay for some of it.”

  His lips curved into a smile. Hooking a finger around her delicate jaw, he pulled her face around and cut off her protests with a kiss. Her hand stilled in her bag, her reaction to him instant and honest as her lips softened under his. The sweet cavern of her mouth was a temptation he couldn’t resist, parting her lips with a sweep of his tongue to sample the delights within.

  The kiss was short and sweet, designed to get her to stop talking so he could. He broke away and looked down at her with a smile. “Don’t worry about the cost, sweetheart. I got it.”

  She frowned, shaking her head. “Yeah, but—”

  He cut her off with another, swift kiss. “No buts, Frankie. I’m not that kid off a council estate anymore. I’m an international-level player. They pay me a lot. More than I’ll ever need. More than enough to treat my lady to a posh ride in a limo.”

  He stopped when he realized what he’d said. He’d claimed her as his. Right there out loud rather than the fantasy he’d been running in his head since Damon had told him that Frankie needed a date. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject quickly, hoping she hadn’t picked up on his mistake.