Striker's Waltz (Seattle Sound Series Book 6) Read online

She looked away, making me feel like a total dick. She didn’t want to talk about her ex.

  “Six years ago.”

  “That’s when you quit soccer.”

  “I didn’t quit. I couldn’t play.”

  I sucked in a breath with a string of curses. Dirty ones that left the guy in question ball-less and skinned alive.

  My pulse sped up as I said a silent thank-you that she came home with me. She didn’t know I’d watched her every day we worked together. Within a few hours, I’d keyed in on her quiet vigilance. Her skittishness escalated when the other guys from the team gathered too near, joked with her for more than a few moments. Even the way Brenna watched over her now made sense.

  “Did he go to jail?” I scowled. I needed to know justice won out.

  “No, he didn’t. I pressed charges, but the only witness left after he hit me. Never to be seen or heard from again. A perfect he-said-she-said example of how fucked up our justice system is.”

  I blinked at her harsh expletive.

  “He’s still around?” I growled.

  “Well, I attended Northern then. I have no idea if he’s still there or not. Considering he was three years older than me, it’s unlikely.”

  “He was your boyfriend?”

  She threw the ice and towel into the sink. Her mouth twisted and her eyes shuttered. I turned away from her before I did something stupid—like take her into my arms to try to wipe that look off her face.

  “You want all the details? Here’s the short version: We were engaged. I couldn’t believe such a charming, urbane man would pursue me after we met at a party a few months after school started.” Her lips pressed firm again. “We began dating at the end of my freshman year. He continued into the MBA program and was in his last semester. I didn’t realize he’d planned to use my connections—my family—to step into the cutthroat music business. Until he found out I wasn’t as much of an in with them as he’d hoped.”

  She swallowed hard, her eyes dull and far away. I couldn’t resist the need to touch her. I ran my thumb over her cheekbone, enjoying the warm silk of her skin. She glanced up at me, and I slid into the pain and self-recrimination that swirled in her beautiful eyes.

  “Preslee.” There weren’t any words for what she’d been through. She stiffened her spine, and I worried she’d snap.

  She shivered and wrapped her arms tight around her waist. “I remember those first two punches. He wrapped his hand in my hair, holding me still as he pulled his fist back.”

  Dios mio, her story. Her finger rose and traced along her cheekbone. With her eyes were closed, she couldn’t see the horror coursing through me. Preslee might be tall, but her bone structure was delicate. Most men outweighed her by at least fifty pounds; I had to be closer to eighty.

  She’d trusted a monster, and he’d tried to destroy her.

  “My soccer teammate found me on the floor. I guess I passed out where he left me. She drove me to the clinic. Things snowballed from there.”

  Rage roiled through my stomach when her eyes, those pale green eyes, lifted back to my face.

  “He got a slap on the wrist. He was smart. He played it like our disagreement escalated, and I turned into a raving maniac.”

  “He hurt more than just your flesh, Preslee.”

  Her eyes flashed and her mouth firmed. She pushed out of the chair, forcing me to drop my arms. Forcing me out of her life. “Thanks for helping me relive a super-fun night!”

  Pieces of her personality snapped together. The lively, happy glimpses that slipped through during those camps, before the rest of the guys showed up, stood out. Her immediate withdrawal when others came into her space. How she leaned on Brenna for emotional support.

  “You weren’t so quiet before, were you?”

  She laughed, but the sound turned caustic, like a rusty saw through metal. I gritted my teeth.

  “I’ve never been outgoing, like you, but I was a vocal performing major. My broken ribs ended that along with my soccer scholarship. I switched to music. Different school. I’ve played the viola since I was four, so I could handle the coursework.”

  I winced. A man broke her ribs and bruised her face. Such a recovery would be long and painful. I sucked in a breath.

  “Did you love him?”

  Surprise swirled up through her eyes, a deeper green than usual. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I believe in love. For me, anyway.”

  “And there’s been no one here.”

  She considered me, her eyes sliding across each of my features. She slid back into the chair, wincing as she banged her ankle.

  “Thanks for the ice.”

  6

  Preslee

  “Please don’t leave,” Teo entreated. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  I shrugged. “I have trust issues.”

  “You were willing to trust a stranger with your body tonight.”

  “That’s not what I planned.”

  “And I call B.S.”

  For a long moment, our eyes locked in a battle of wills with his practically begging me to elaborate. I refused to be the one to capitulate this time. Sure, it was easier, but there were moments where winning the battle of wills wasn’t just important—it was imperative to survival. Teo had a strong, magnetic personality, like Oren.

  I wasn’t ever going to let a man dominate me—not in personality and not in a relationship. Not that I had a relationship with Teo, but this was a back and forth, a battle of wills, and I couldn’t lose. Not if I wanted to meet my gaze in the mirror tomorrow.

  “What about asking a man to dinner or a movie?” Teo asked.

  “Um, no. I don’t plan to ever trust a man with my heart again.”

  “But you would let some man touch you to get past your issue?”

  My breathing escalated and my gaze flew to his.

  “No.”

  The word came out barely louder than a breath. Teo moved closer, cupping the back of my neck. I inhaled his scent, my jangled nerves smoothed out. I curved into his heat.

  “You let me touch you.”

  I’d told him too much. Probably because of the alcohol in my system. “I need to go home.”

  “You wanted me to be the one to make love to you.” Something built in his eyes. Something warm and beautiful.

  I eased back, wincing at the pain in my ankle. “Your ego is pretty impressive, Matteo. Must be the hella good soccer player vibes.”

  “You knew I’d be at that bar tonight.”

  His accent—with its direct line to my libido—thickened.

  I refused to meet his gaze, refused to admit I listened to everything Teo said. Just like I wouldn’t tell him he was the only man I yearned after in more than six years.

  He stepped forward and pressed his thumb into the middle of my bottom lip.

  “What if I told you I’ve noticed you, Preslee? What if I told you I admire your strength? Even before what you told me today. What if I told you I wanted to ask you out, but I worried you were a lesbian? And if you weren’t, then I had to consider your brother’s reaction.”

  I smirked at that. “Because I’m always with Brenna?”

  He nodded. His fingers feathered across my cheek, down my throat to the pulse beating way too fast in the hollow there. He caressed the spot.

  I picked up my purse from the barstool and settled the strap on my shoulder. I tipped my chin up so that I would appear more confident.

  “I’ve wanted to run my tongue over your pale skin. It’s living velvet. Your eyes are so big, watching. Always watching.” He paused. His voice softened with regret when he continued. “Now I know why.”

  “You don’t know me.” Anger bubbled up, diffusing the drugging pleasure his earlier words lit in my chest. My past didn’t define me. I wouldn’t let it.

  He stepped forward and used his palms to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “I know you’re intelligent. I know you were hurt, betrayed. I know you’re trying to get past it. I know you’re a better
soccer player than most of the ones helping with the clinic. I know you’re beautiful in athletic shorts, shin guards, and cleats, when your face is covered in a sheen of sweat.”

  I didn’t want to be seduced. Wait. Yes, I did. That’s exactly what I wanted. Just not now. I eased back, giving myself enough space to think. He held me in a gentle grip.

  “I wanted to hold you. Kiss you. Make you burn the way I do every time I think of you.”

  I snorted and tried to turn my head, but he held me firm. His steady, warm gaze caught mine, staring deep to pull out the last few secrets I refused to reveal.

  “I don’t want you to lie to me,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “I don’t want your pity.”

  “It’s not pity, Preslee. I want you. Do you know how hard I worked to deny that earlier when you were coming on to me? I want nothing more than to sink deep into your body.”

  He leaned in, rubbed his nose down the contour of my cheek. I inhaled sharply at the touch, my head spinning from his warmth and his scent. He continued to brush his nose down my neck, pausing at my erratic pulse at the base of my throat. His tongue dipped into the hollow and I gripped his forearms to keep upright. I’d forgotten how potent desire could be, my body flushed and needy.

  I closed my eyes as Teo’s lips continued across the skin exposed above my trench coat. He pulled me closer, one of his hands settling on the outward flare of my hips, the other continuing to rub small circles on my scalp.

  Teo’s lips halted at the corner of mine. My chest rose and fell in tight beats. Teo pulled back a little, rubbing, seeking, learning. One corner of my lips to the other. I inhaled his scent; let it surround me, drench my senses. Whimpering, I brought my hands up to his cheeks. I held his face while I pressed my lips to his, just like I’d dreamed.

  My first kiss in years. It was rich. Deep. I opened my mouth and let the tip of my tongue touch his upper lip—a tiny swipe to taste more of him. Teo’s arm at my hips tightened as he tipped his head. His lips opened and his tongue slid across the seam of my lips and into my mouth, pulling me deeper into the kiss, deeper into his arms. My hands slid from his cheeks into his hair, my fingers buried in the silky strands as his tongue swirled across mine.

  He pulled back as he licked my upper lip. My thigh muscles clenched as I met his passion-filled eyes. I slid up on my toes, ignoring the throb in my ankle, needing another one of those drugging kisses to burn out the last of my fears.

  He complied, and this kiss flamed hotter, deeper. His hand splayed across the dip in my spine, pressing me tight against him. I could feel his passion in the firm ridge straining against his jeans.

  I wanted more. I wanted him to devour me. I kissed him with all that pent-up desire.

  “Holy hell, Pres,” Teo said, dragging his mouth from mine. We were both breathing hard. “I’ve never had a kiss like that.”

  “Again,” I whimpered.

  “Pres, there are things I need to tell you.”

  “The redhead’s your girlfriend?” I asked. I bit my lip…thinking of the petite beauty who’d met him at the stadium.

  He shook his head before dropping his gaze to the curve of my neck. His lips pressed there, a soft brush that imbued a depth of feeling from him I never anticipated. That little caress sent shockwaves through my system.

  “I can’t, Preslee. This is killing me, but I can’t do this to you. Not with my current situation.” He stepped back again, his eyes so dilated, they were black. His chest heaved.

  My eyes darted around, frantic to understand what the hell just happened. Teo rejected me again.

  7

  Teo

  I poured her a cup of coffee, the simple task not as calming as I expected it to be. That kiss—that was un beso increíble, cementing our connection. A terrifying and gratifying realization.

  Now that I’d tasted her, not having Preslee would be even more painful. My rock-hard erection and thundering heart battled for the prize of greatest source of discomfort. I scrubbed my hands over my face, into my hair.

  I sighed, wishing the breath could release the tension from my body before I moved around the kitchen counter to meet her. I smiled at her flushed cheeks and cautious eyes. I wanted her like this, next to me, under me. Always.

  The word slammed through my mind, sending it spinning. Always. I wanted Preslee Jennings always.

  But I couldn’t have her. Not if I wanted to achieve the dream I’d set for myself when I was twelve.

  “You deserve honesty and respect. I want to give you both.”

  She managed to take hold of the coffee mug I handed her despite her shaking fingers. Dread thickened in my stomach.

  “I’m assuming you failed to do so, then?” Her voice, still husky with our passion, slid from those kiss-swollen lips. I clenched my fists to keep from ripping off that ridiculous excuse for a dress and screwing her senseless on my dining room table.

  This woman continued to impress the hell out of me, her voice controlled, her emotions tucked somewhere deep inside. Her eyes were steady, but her pulse slammed against the delicate column of her neck.

  The key rattled in the lock, and my stomach dropped out of my body.

  “Honey, I’m home!” Mariana’s voice rang through the space.

  Preslee’s eyes snapped to mine; they widened and darkened. “You lied,” she bit out. She turned to face the living room, her movements jerky.

  “Where are you going?” I asked. She couldn’t leave—I’d just discovered how much I wanted her.

  “Away from you.”

  My heart rate tripled. The look in Preslee’s eyes slayed me. She couldn’t think I was with Mariana. Not like that. But I couldn’t tell her the truth. I cursed as Mariana strolled into the kitchen.

  “I came by the bar after my….Oh. Shit.”

  Preslee turned to look at the smaller woman. Mariana wore a tiny tee under a beige corduroy jacket and a pair of low-rise jeans. Her flaming hair spilled around her temples and cheeks in thick tendrils. Her boots were fashionable because Mariana was always put-together.

  “Hello. You were at the soccer clinics,” Mariana said, leaning against the counter.

  Preslee nodded, managed a smile that didn’t come close to her eyes. “Nice to officially meet you. Now, excuse me.”

  Mariana turned her gaze to me, eyebrows raised in a what-the-hell-do-I-do look. She took my not-subtle hint and skedaddled down the hall toward the spare room where she was staying.

  “It’s not what you think, Preslee,” I said, my heart slamming against my chest as though I’d sprinted the length of the pitch twice.

  “Oh, I think it is.”

  “Listen to me,” I said, my voice urgent. “Mariana and I aren’t….” What to say? An item? Together? She lived with me, at least through the game this next weekend. I needed her nimble fingers to work through the layers of too-tight muscle after the practice and games. The hell with it.

  “Whatever you’re thinking—”

  “Don’t.” Hysteria bubbled up in that single word, and watching Preslee break a little ripped at my heart. I stepped closer, needing to comfort her. She staggered back, crying out as her weight hit her swollen ankle. “I can’t hear you reject me again. Like the first two times weren’t enough.”

  “I’m not with Mariana. We’re not together.”

  She looked up at the ceiling. A tear slid from the corner of her eye as she laughed. She sounded shattered. “I knew better,” she muttered.

  My heart slammed into my ribs. She preceded to cut me out of her heart, her life.

  No, that could not happen. So much for my secret. Even though Preslee’s brother was technically my boss, the man who held sway over my potential trade to Milan, I’d already considered giving that up to be with Preslee, in a theoretical sense anyway, so how was ensuring the demise of my dream by telling her how bad my leg was any different?

  It was, though—I’d lose my last thread of hope for winning the European title, for participating in the premier league. All th
at fell away as Preslee closed her eyes, her face a mask of regret and disgust.

  “Goodbye.”

  I wrapped my hands around her shoulders; her heat seeped through the wool of her coat. I tried to reach her, make her see that I was serious. But she wouldn’t meet my eyes. She wouldn’t turn.

  “Mariana is my—”

  “I don’t want you near me. Don’t touch me.” Her cracking voice pummeled my aching chest.

  “You can’t leave like this.” My voice turned hoarse, an improvement over the clipped tones I used before. “Let me call a cab at the least.”

  “No need. I live close by.”

  “You can’t walk.”

  She turned and met my gaze, her beautiful eyes dulled by her incorrect assumptions. She swiped at her eye with the open palm of her hand. “You told me no. I’ve told you no. Now back off.”

  She opened the door and staggered out into the hall. I waited until she entered an elevator before running to the stairs. I jogged down as fast as I could; my heart pumping as I worried about her in that tiny dress, walking through the Seattle streets with her sprained ankle.

  Bursting through the stairwell, I tried to slow my breathing as I walked near the elevator bank. She wasn’t in the lobby. The elevators opened and an older woman walked off with her tan Pomeranian.

  Tension flooded my shoulders when she didn’t get off the next elevator. I ran to the doors, shoved them open into the night.

  I ran up a block, dodging the crowd as I searched for her nubby white coat.

  Nothing.

  I slammed my fist against the building, ignoring the pain radiating up my arm from my battered fingers.

  The look she gave me when Mariana walked in. Like I was lower than slime.

  Why hadn’t I told her I worried I wouldn’t focus on my career if she and I started dating? That I couldn’t be with her for a few weeks and get traded? That I didn’t want to hurt her, but, more, I feared she would hurt me, too?

  My cowardice—my concern about my professional future—caused her to leave. Plain and simple.