Griff Montgomery, Quarterback Read online

  His tongue slipped over hers, his arm strong around her. Lauren closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, fresh lime soap mixed with his masculinity. Her palms pressed against his chest, feeling hard muscle as he pulled her closer. Her nipples tingled when his fingers closed around her rib cage. She wanted his touch.

  As if he could read her mind, his hand slipped up over her breast, pinching the peak gently between his fingers. The sensation flew down to her core. She squirmed, itching to have him inside her.

  As she opened the buttons on his shirt, the doorbell rang. She sighed. “Halloween, damn it,” she muttered, leaning back.

  He chuckled. “Hold that thought. I’ll be back.” He kissed her cheek before pushing to his feet. She followed him downstairs and into the kitchen, where he pulled out a bag out from the pantry.

  “Where did you get that?” she asked, peeking inside, finding it overflowing with candy bars.

  “I had a feeling you might not know what to get,” he said, hauling the loot to the front door. “So, I bought these a couple of days ago.” The doorbell sounded again.

  Lauren laughed and shook her head. The doorbell rang a third time. By now, Spike was going bananas, barking until he was hoarse.

  That was her last moment of peace for hours, as the kids of Monroe located Griff Montgomery, their hero, in his new home. She sat on the sofa and watched him give out almost as many autographs as he did Hershey bars. He talked with them, commenting on their costumes and answering their questions about football. She marveled at his patience.

  He appeared relaxed and happy. He’d make a good father. A heaviness filled her chest at the thought of what it would be like to carry his child, and then lose it. She sighed. He’d be as crushed as I would. How could I do that to him? He deserves to have kids.

  At ten o’clock, the doorbell was still ringing. Lauren yawned and headed for Griff’s bedroom. She washed up, got naked, and slipped between the sheets. Even when they didn’t have sex, which wasn’t often, she liked to sleep nude, especially with him next to her.

  The sound of the door opening woke her up. The bed creaked and dipped under the quarterback’s weight. The room remained dark.

  “Arrgh,” Griff said in her ear.

  Lauren jumped and giggled at the same time. She rolled over.

  “I left me eye patch in me other pantaloons and me parrot on board me ship. Does ye fair lady fancy a tussle with ye old pirate?”

  Lauren couldn’t stop laughing. He put his hand on her waist and drew her up against his bare body. Lauren closed her fingers around his shoulder, tilting her head up for his kiss. He glided his palm up and down her body, creating heat.

  “Where’s your peg leg?”

  “Right here, darlin’,” he said, placing her hand on his erect shaft.

  Lauren burst out laughing, burying her face in his shoulder as she gripped him. “Damn, you’re hard.”

  “You do that to me.”

  Lauren hooked one leg over his waist, and he seduced her, first with his fingers then his tongue.

  “Let this horny old sea dog have a taste of ye, lassie.” He parted her legs and slid down her body.

  “Oh my God.” Lauren fisted the sheet.

  They sailed away together on a ship called “pleasure.”

  * * * *

  The day after Halloween, Griff hit the road. Lauren worked on her decorating assignment from Annette, cooked lasagna and chili, and then froze them. Time to begin plans for Thanksgiving. She checked Griff’s schedule taped to the fridge. His team was playing on Thanksgiving Day. The four o’clock game.

  “Bummer.” She sighed, pursing her lips. His first Thanksgiving without his family. Damn. No turkey for Griff. Her cell dinged. There was a message from Don.

  Coming for turkey day?

  She poured another cup of coffee and checked her watch. I have an hour before my meeting. She grabbed a piece of scrap paper from a drawer and began to make notes. When she was done, she sent a text to Don, packed up Spike, and headed to her office.

  After dinner that night, she got a call from Griff. “We’re in Cincinnati. Nothing to do here. Thought I’d find out what’s going on at home.”

  “Nothing much. Spike and I are watching a movie.”

  “Buddy and I played cards. But strip poker’s no fun without you.”

  She giggled. “Bull. You’re probably watching some horror movie or porno.”

  “How’d you guess? I think it’s Cindy Does Cincinnati.”

  She laughed again. “Good luck tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I’m feeling good. Arm is loose.”

  They chatted for a while, bid goodnight, and ended the conversation. He called her every night he was away, always referring to the Victorian as home. When he said that, it gave her chills. Though it was only an affair, she’d never been happier. Sometimes they squabbled, but most of the time they got along.

  And the sex was fantastic. She’d had to fake it from time to time with Bob. More and more, as their relationship deteriorated. But never with Griff. He made sure her needs were taken care of before his. Sometimes, she’d get turned on sitting at the dinner table, watching him chew, or brushing by him as she passed in the narrow pantry. Any touch from him ignited her fire.

  The day he was due back, Lauren made his favorite—lamb stew. As it simmered on the stove, she finished up some important calls. She jumped as two large hands encircled her waist and lips tickled her neck. Griff’s expensive aftershave, her favorite scent along with his own, wafted to her nose, mixing with the aroma of the mouth-watering stew.

  She ended her conversation abruptly and turned. He kissed her hard, pressing up against her.

  “Anything on the stove that can’t wait?” he whispered in her ear, as he untied her apron and unbuttoned her pants.

  “Nope.” She reached behind to turn off the burner.

  He stepped back, desire glowing in his eyes, and took her hand. She watched him yank his shirt from his pants and loosen his tie. By the time they reached the bedroom, Griff was already shirtless. He undressed Lauren quickly then picked her up and tossed her on the bed.

  “No pirate today. Caveman.” Naked, he crawled up to her.

  “It’s only been two weeks,” she said.

  “Seems like forever.” He bent his head to kiss her while he cradled her breast with his hand.

  Lauren didn’t want him to know she’d been on pins and needles awaiting his return. A long, scented bubble bath while the stew cooked had gotten her in the mood.

  “You smell good,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

  His knee parted her thighs and moved up to press against her center. She moved her lips to his neck and kissed her way down. When she got to his chest, she stopped, running her hands through the soft, dark hair for a moment before continuing. She closed her fingers around his erection and took it in her mouth. A loud groan from him made her smile. He combed his fingers through her hair as she stroked him up and down with her tongue.

  Suddenly, he grabbed her arms and pulled her up, his mouth on hers, his hands under her rear end. He inserted one, then another, finger inside her. A moan from deep in her throat escaped as he pumped. His thumb circled her hot flesh.

  Just before she came, he lifted her up and lowered her onto his hard shaft.

  “Oh, God,” she muttered, as he entered her.

  “Damn.” He closed his eyes for a second, grasping her hips and holding her still.

  Lauren shifted her weight to her hands, resting on his shoulders. He slid one hand up to cup a breast and raised his head to kiss the peak. His tongue darted out to lick it, and Lauren thought she’d lose her mind.

  “Go. Go,” she said, straddling him and squeezing him a little.

  He chuckled, his eyes staring through the darkness into hers. “I’m not a horse.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She sensed her cheeks pinking.

  He gripped her hips and moved her up and down on him. Lauren steadied herself with her hands, before loweri
ng her mouth to his. He increased the pace, and she threw her head back as fire burst inside her, sending pleasure to every nerve, firecrackers to every inch of her body.

  He raised both hands to her breasts and pinched the nipples, but not too hard. A tingle ran up her spine as her muscles continued to contract around him.

  “Oh, baby.” he whispered.

  Lauren pushed down on his chest and pumped her hips up and down, increasing the pace until he began to moan. She watched his eyes squeeze shut, his lips draw back, showing his gleaming, white teeth. She moved harder and faster until he grabbed her hips, pushed down, and held her there. She loved to watch him in sexual delight, his face and neck flushed, his eyes closed. He blew out a breath and stroked her hair. She ran a finger down his rough cheek then kissed it.

  He smiled up at her. “Crap. I’ve missed that.”

  “Rooming with Buddy isn’t the same?”

  “Hell, no. He’d never…well, besides, we don’t share a room.”

  She grinned, delighted to see him embarrassed. It took a lot to make him uncomfortable. “I forgot,” she said, dismounting.

  “Com’ere,” he ordered, sliding her across the smooth sheet and into his embrace.

  “I thought men didn’t like to cuddle?”

  “Who told you that?” He wrapped his arms around her.

  “Common knowledge.”

  “Liars. The hard part is taking my hands off you, not putting them on.”

  She snuggled into his chest. He was the first tall, muscular man she’d been with, and she liked it, liked the way he protected her. His skin on hers warmed her, as the air cooled with the night. My own personal heat machine.

  He wrapped himself around her, his hands caressing wherever they landed. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured in a lazy whisper.

  “’Night, handsome prince.” But he was already asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thanksgiving Day—morning

  Lauren tiptoed out of bed first, leaving Griff sleeping. He didn’t need to be at the stadium until noon. Shivering, she grabbed her chenille robe and wrapped it around her slender body. Checking the thermometer outside, she frowned when she read thirty-seven degrees.

  It’s going to be cold for Griff’s game today. Relief washed over her that she wouldn’t be sitting in the stands, freezing for hours, to watch him play. Then, sympathy for him entered her heart. Cold played havoc with a quarterback’s muscles, sometimes interfering with his ability to throw, as well as the receiver’s ability to catch and hold on to the ball.

  She prepared coffee and sat at the window, watching squirrels gather whatever they could before winter snows made the task harder. It was eight o’clock, and she felt good.

  The slap of bare feet on tile drew her gaze. Griff entered, yawning, scratching his chest, and raking his fingers through his unruly hair. He wore plaid boxers and pulled a T-shirt over his head as he approached her.

  “You’re up early.” She pulled down another mug.

  “Might as well. I need to eat before I go.”

  “Pancakes?”

  “And sausage, bacon, eggs. The whole thing.”

  Lauren put down her coffee and poured for him before tying her apron around her waist.

  “How late will you be at your brother’s house?”

  “I don’t know. Not late. We usually start Thanksgiving on the early side.”

  He grunted, scowled, and his shoulders slumped a little.

  “I’m sorry you have to miss this,” she said.

  “You’re sorry? Sorry isn’t the word for it.” He took a sip and leaned on the counter.

  She laid her hand on his arm. “You must miss the kids.”

  “You might say that.” He ducked his head, focusing on his mug.

  “Does it interfere with your game?” Her brows furrowed.

  “Nothing interferes with my game. I love football. I’ll be in the zone. Totally focused.”

  She blew out a breath. “Good.”

  “It’s after the game when things…uh, sort of fall apart.” He turned his gaze to the window, spying several birds eating their fill at the feeder.

  “I bet you’ll win.” She sidestepped his comment.

  “I have no doubt. As long as the offensive line does their job and Buddy stays on his feet, I’m good.”

  Lauren mixed the batter and put up the bacon. Griff set the table then hit the shower. He always showered before a game. It seemed to boost his confidence. When he was done, the spread was ready.

  He smiled as he lowered himself into a chair. “Looks great.”

  “Enjoy.”

  “You’re not eating?”

  She looked away, embarrassed.

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot. You’re having a big meal later.” He looked down at his food.

  Lauren wanted to touch his shoulder, to comfort him, but she refrained. Instead, she got busy cleaning up.

  He looked up. “Hey, I’ll do that.”

  “It’s the least I can do today.”

  He sighed as he picked up another piece of bacon. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

  She washed the bowls then joined him at the table.

  “Have a pancake. This stack is too big, even for me.”

  They ate in silence. Before long, he kissed her goodbye, petted Spike, and was out the door. From the window, she watched him drive away. Her heart was heavy, knowing the sadness he felt.

  She blew out a breath and went to work. Pulling down several bowls, she gathered flour, canned pumpkin, a fistful of spices, and two pie tins. She sat and cut up stale bread, mushrooms, and onions. She put them in a pan with a ton of butter and set it on the stove over a low flame while she prepared the crust for the pie and then the filling.

  With a push of her finger, she added rock and roll to the room. Lauren sang along to her favorite songs while she whirled around the kitchen like a tornado. She manned the stuffing, the pie, and put yams in the oven.

  Happiness bubbled up in her chest as she prepared one of her favorite meals. She flicked on the television and danced back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, so she could watch Griff play while she cooked. The house warmed with the oven on, and delicious aromas of baking yams and pumpkin pie mixed with the tangy scent of onions and the rich smell of mushrooms. Her stomach growled in anticipation of the excellent food to come.

  * * * *

  Thanksgiving Day—afternoon

  Griff put his uniform on. A last minute pep talk from Coach Bass helped him get in the zone. He focused his energies on visualizing completed passes and touchdowns. Buddy joined him as their team ran out on the field. Because it took place in Monroe, the cheering was deafening. Home games buoyed Griff’s spirits. He smiled at the fans and raised his helmet, which made them go wild.

  He put his hand over his heart and sang along with the national anthem. His parents had been adamant about him singing at games. They had said it made people like him more and showed respect for the game and his country. The song had become ingrained in his brain and linked to football. It got him in the mood.

  When it was over, the crowd cheered, and he went for the toss. The ground was soft and slippery from the rain three days earlier. He hated playing in muddy conditions, but it was part of the game. He won the toss and elected to kick off now and receive in the second half. He paced and watched from the area around the bench.

  They were playing the Delaware Demons, and he wanted to see if he could learn anything from their quarterback, Mark Davis. Davis was good. He had won the Super Bowl in his rookie year.

  The Kings defense was in top form, and Griff was on the field before long. He called the first play. Buddy got free, and Griff threw a bullet right to his favorite receiver, who caught it and took it for a fifteen yard gain and a first down.

  The next play, the Kings’ offensive line screwed up. Griff ran a few yards then had to slide to avoid a tackle. A fumble recovered by the Demons meant a turnover, and the Kings lost the ball. Davi
s came back with a long pass that enabled them to score.

  The Kings bounced back with impressive blocking from the offensive line. Griff completed a pass to Homer Calloway, who ran it in for a touchdown. The score seesawed back and forth. It was tied then the Demons inched ahead with a field goal. Griff and the Kings leapfrogged over that score with a touchdown.

  It was close at half time. Coach Bass tried to buck up the men in the locker room, as the Kings were behind by three. When they got back on the field, they redoubled their efforts and squeaked ahead. The defense fought to hold the Demons back, but they eked out a field goal to tie the game.

  A rough tackle sent Homer to the showers. The pressure was on Griff. One more field goal for the Demons meant that only a touchdown could win the game. Griff nodded. It was a signal that indicated the quarterback was about to fake to another receiver and shoot the pass out to Buddy.

  Jenkins hiked the ball. The linebackers did their job, while Griff sidestepped toward the right. The defense shifted, following the quarterback and removing coverage from Buddy. He tore down the line. Griff stepped back and, turning at the last minute, rifled a bullet to Buddy, who was wide open on the left. He snatched the pigskin out of the air and ran like hell to score.

  The Demon defense managed to block the extra point, but their team couldn’t come back, even for another field goal to tie. The Kings won the game. After shaking hands with the Delaware team, they retreated to the locker room, jubilant over their victory.

  One player dropped down to his knees and thanked God. The men, muddy from head to toe, ripped off their uniforms and scrubbed themselves clean as fast as they could.

  Homer Calloway, shaken up on a play, slipped on his jacket. “Nothing my wife’s fine turkey can’t cure,” he said.

  Trunk Mahoney licked his lips. “Antoinette makes great pumpkin pie. See ya later.”

  Even Buddy had someplace to go. “Maybe my cousin’s wife’s got a friend. Then, it’ll be a real Thanksgiving.” He snickered, as he headed for the door.