Talking Dirty With the Player(59)

“So what are you going to do after you’ve stopped playing rugby? Throw it all in for medicine?” She said it lightly, hoping to keep that smile on his face.

But the smile faded. “No. If I’m too old for rugby, I’m way too old for med school.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“I’ve got this sports presenter gig. And you.” That grin flashed again, so false and fake she couldn’t understand how anyone couldn’t not see it was a mask. “Do I need anything else?”

“Of course you do,” she said quietly. “And I think you know that, too.”

He looked down at the grass, unease radiating off him, like it had under the goalposts when he’d talked about his father. And suddenly it became so painfully clear to her—underneath his arrogance, his confidence, his charm, he was uncomfortable with himself. Perhaps even unsure of himself. Her heart ached for him a little more, at the evidence of a vulnerability she’d caught glimpses of, but never really understood until then.

Perhaps she’d pushed too hard tonight and he would shut her out again. The thought hurt.

“You know what I wanted?” he said at last. “I wanted to make a difference. Save my mum. Save my dad.” Finally he lifted his head. “I spent so much time in the hospital and I saw those doctors saving people. And I wanted to do that too.”

“Yet you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t. Dad’s drinking got out of control and I had to take care of the old bastard. Then I missed too much school to get the grades for medicine.” He let out a breath. “Rugby was the only other thing I was good at, and I guess I was determined to show him I’d succeed despite his determination to drink himself into an early grave.”

“And you have succeeded. Wildly succeeded.”

“Yeah, I have. Now come on, sweet pea. Enough with the chat. Let’s kick that damn ball.”

He was right. Perhaps she needed to let this go. “Okay then,” she said a little thickly. “So what do I pretend the ball is?”

“Make it something you want to get rid of. And don’t worry about getting it perfect, don’t worry about aim, or technique. Just kick the hell out of it.”

What did she want to get rid of? Oh, she knew. Hurt. Anger. Responsibility. Having to be in charge and stay in control. Burdens her mother had left behind. Burdens Judith had always felt she had to pick up and carry. But not tonight.

Judith kicked off her shoes, not even bothering to stand them neatly together. Then she pulled her tights down and off and chucked them to the side, too. The grass beneath her feet was cool, slightly damp with evening dew.

Taking a few steps back, then the obligatory sidestep that he’d taught her, she stared at the small, oval ball, not even bothering to look at the goalposts this time. Her heart beat fast in her chest, the adrenaline singing in her veins. She was going to do this. She was bloody going to do this.

She gripped her dress in her hands, pulling it up slightly and out of the way.

Caleb said nothing, a tall, powerful figure with his arms crossed over his chest. Watching her.

She met his gaze briefly and grinned, a mad feeling of freedom suddenly coursing through her. He grinned back. “You can do this, babycakes. Give ’em hell.”

Judith began to run, lifted her foot, and booted the ball with everything she had. The hard leather met her bare skin and then the ball was firing up into the air, sailing straight over the goal posts. She stopped, panting, watching it fly as Caleb whistled.

Good-bye, hurt. Good-bye, anger. Good-bye, responsibility and control.

Good-bye, Mum.

“I did it!” she shouted, grinning like a lunatic. “I bloody did it!”

Caleb was already running toward her, a grin on his face to match her own. His arms wrapped around her, sweeping her up and spinning her around. “Judith Ashton, you’re bloody incredible.”

She laughed, looking down into his dark eyes and something burst inside her, driving the breath from her lungs. A powerful feeling. Something to do with him, with the look on his face, the look in his eyes. The feel of him holding her made her want to move away and yet at the same time remain in his arms and never leave.

Caleb reached up and pulled her head down for a kiss. Hot, intense, and joyful. Judith gave herself totally up to it, pushing aside the feeling, only wanting him, wanting this moment. She put her hands on his shoulders as he lowered her, sliding her down his body, making her shiver.

“Goddamn you’re amazing,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers.

“You’re the amazing one,” she replied, pressing herself against him. And he was. Patient. Encouraging. Supportive. As vulnerable as she was. They had so much more in common than she’d ever expected. “You’re going to be incredible on TV, I just know it.” With all his articulate, show-stopping charm, and his rugby experience, he’d be fantastic.