It Had to Be You (Chicago Stars Book 1)

“Are you sure you’ve told me everything that happened after I left?” Since the Ferrari’s heater was going full blast, Phoebe’s teeth weren’t chattering from cold, but from an overdose of adrenaline.

“As close as I can remember.”

She still couldn’t quite comprehend the amazing fact that right now, Ron and Jason Keane were in the process of renegotiating their stadium contract. She thought about her father and experienced an unfamiliar sensation of peace as she realized she’d never had anything to prove to him, only to herself.

The Ferrari bounced on a bump in the road and she suddenly became conscious of their rural surroundings. “I thought you were taking me home.”

“I am. My home.”

“Why?”

“Because the last time I stopped by your house, Miz Molly was there along with three of her girlfriends. I don’t think I ever realized what high-pitched voices four teenage girls have.” He glanced over at her. “It occurs to me that you and I need some privacy so we can talk a few things over.”

Phoebe couldn’t think of anything they had to talk about that wouldn’t wait until the next day. After what had happened last week in the weight room, she wasn’t up to any more rejection, and she knew she shouldn’t be alone with him. Since he was already driving down the lane that led to his house, however, it was a bit late to ask him to turn back.

“First we’re going to talk,” he said. “Then we’re going to burn that dress of yours.”

He was scowling, so she doubted that his remark was intended to be sexual, but as the Ferrari sped beneath the bare trees whose skeletal branches were silhouetted against the night sky, she realized her palms were damp. “It’s Versace.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“My dress. Versace. The designer. Or at least it’s a Versace rip-off. I have this friend in Manhattan who can rip off any designer.”

“What’s wrong with your voice? It sounds funny.”

“My teeth are chattering.” The low-slung car bounced on a rut.

“I’ve got the heater on. It’s warm.”

“I’m not cold. I guess it’s a delayed reaction. I was a little nervous this evening.”

“You damn well should have been. Phoebe, in all my born days I never saw anything like what you did tonight. I’m a little disappointed in Ron, though, for not letting me in on your plans, especially since he invited me along.”

“Ron didn’t know exactly what I had in mind.”

“Are you telling me he was winging it in there?”

“Not entirely. I told him the attitude I wanted him to assume, but not the details of what I planned to do. He has this problem with heart arrhythmia. It kicks up when he gets too nervous, and I was afraid he’d give me away. But he’s gotten very good at improvising, so I wasn’t too worried.”

“My respect for my good friend Ron grows by the day.”

They stopped in front of the stone farmhouse, where faint puddles of golden light spilled through the living room windows onto the porch. The Dutchman’s-pipe vine hung dry and withered on its trellis at the end of the porch, but it still somehow managed to be beautiful in the cold December night. She waited until he came around to open her door, and when he did, she was forced to swing her legs out first because her dress was so tight.

He extended his hand to help her. When his fingers closed around her own, she tried to repress a shiver of excitement. A leaf crunched under the toe of her beaded black heels as she and Dan climbed the front steps together.

He unlocked the door and held it open for her. “I thought it was all over when Keane placed that phone call to your close personal friend, Donald Trump.”

“Donald has quite a sense of humor. It didn’t take any persuasion on my part to convince him to back up my story.”

The hallway was lit by a single brass library lamp with a black shade that sat on a small antique chest. She followed him into the living room, where he flicked on more lights until the interior was filled with a cozy glow. Once again, she was struck by how snug his house was. A discarded navy sweatshirt lay across the arm of the green and red plaid couch, while copies of the Chicago papers, along with the Wall Street Journal, were scattered on the floor near one of the overstuffed chairs. She smelled clove and cinnamon.

“This place is so homey,” she said wistfully.

He followed the direction of her gaze toward a rush basket piled high with pinecones on the hearth. “I like outdoors things around me.”

He shed his tuxedo jacket and, while he made his way across the rug to the fireplace, pulled at his bow tie. The ends dangled as he leaned forward to ignite the fire that had been laid. After it caught, he closed the screen and straightened.

“Are you going to take off your coat?”

Maybe it was the result of all those weeks of wearing pearls and headbands, but she didn’t want to stand before him in the vulgar dress she’d used to disarm Jason Keane, not while they were enclosed by the cozy comfort of this wonderful old house. “I’m still a little cold.”

If he knew she was lying, he gave no sign. “I’m going to have a beer. Do you want something to warm you up? Coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you.” As he moved into the open kitchen at the back, she slipped off her coat and replaced it with the zippered sweatshirt he’d left on the arm of the couch. It held the fresh scent of laundry detergent along with a fragrance that wasn’t quite spice and wasn’t quite citrus, but was indisputably Dan Calebow. She sat down at one end of the couch just as he came back into the room with a bottle of Old Style in his hand.

He settled at the other end, leaned back against the overstuffed arm, and propped one ankle over his knee. “You and Ron are getting good at pulling scams. Tonight was even better than the one you pulled on me. By the way, I’m a big enough man to admit you were right about him and I was wrong.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll even admit you might have been partially right about the team being too tense earlier in the season.”

“Only partially right?”

“Mostly right,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not looking forward to living the remainder of my life without hearing any more speeches about naked football players.” He shuddered. “Do you and Ron think you could let me in on your next scam ahead of time? I hope you realize I almost committed assault and battery tonight, although I’m not entirely sure whether I would have gone after Keane or you.”

“Probably Keane. For all your yelling, I can’t imagine you hitting a woman.”

“You’re forgetting about Valerie.”

“You should introduce her to Jason. They’re perfect for each other.”

“How do you know that?”

“Instinct. That man would enjoy every kinky little game she could conjure up.”

“I don’t know. Some of them—”

“Never mind. I have a weak stomach.” Even though Dan had told her he was no longer seeing Valerie, the thought of them together dug into her like sharp little spurs, and her voice was more waspish than she intended. “I’m sure other women must seem tame to you after being married to the kinky congresswoman.”

He sighed. “You’re determined to pick a fight with me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not doing any such thing.”

“Yes, you are, and I’m not in a fighting mood.” He uncrossed his legs and set his beer bottle down on the hooked rug. “What I’m in a mood to do is fetch a pair of pliers and see if I can get you out of that dress.”

She caught her breath and heat spread through her body, followed by uncertainty. “Dan, don’t joke about this.”

“I’m not joking.” His expression was so solemn it almost scared her. “Believe me, I’ve tried to keep my hands off you. But I can’t do it any longer.”

“Is this now?” she asked quietly.

“Did I say now?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not now. It’s just what I said.”

“Oh.” She moistened her dry lips.

“First I’d like you to take off my sweatshirt. I’ve got a good fire going, and it’s plenty warm.”

“I’d rather leave it on.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to make love?”

“No.” She wished she hadn’t protested so quickly, and she tried to speak more reasonably. “The minute you see this dress, you’ll start yelling again.”

“Phoebe, any woman with half a brain could figure out that yelling’s about the last thing on my mind right now.”

“That’s what you say now, but your temper is unpredictable. It hasn’t occurred to you that I did exactly what you expect the team to do.”

“You want to come at that one again?”

“I put my body on the line for the good of the game. Isn’t that what football’s all about?”

“You’re starting to make me crazy. You know that, don’t you?”

She couldn’t resist him when those little green lights of amusement were dancing in his eyes. “There’s a small hook at the back of the collar.”

“Slide over here and show me.”

She did as he asked, and he gently pressed on her shoulders, indicating that he wanted her to lie facedown across his lap. She rested her cheek against his knee, her breast against his thigh.

He stroked her hair, freeing the strands that were tucked under the sweatshirt. “See, what I’m thinking is this. We’ll start out here on the couch and sort of work our way from room to room.”

“It sounds like spring housecleaning.”

He gently drew the bulky garment off her shoulders, slid it out from beneath her, and dropped it on the floor. His fingertips stroked her back through the net fabric. “I suppose there might be a few parallels. I can think of some interesting things we could do with soap and water.”

“Considering your past history, you probably know interesting things to do with just about everything.” She caught her breath as he touched a particularly sensitive spot on the back of her neck.

He chuckled and cupped her rear with his palm. “You sure you’re not into spankings?”

She smiled against his thigh. “I’m sure.”

“That’s another thing I like about you.”

He stroked her bottom through the thin silky material of the dress, caressing the round slopes and then running his fingertip down the valley until she didn’t think she could bear it any longer. She turned her head and pressed her lips against his zipper to find him fully aroused.

He groaned. “You’re gonna do me in before we even get started.”

He lifted her by the shoulders until he’d pulled her into his arms. For a moment their eyes met, and she was afraid he’d draw away from her as he had done before, but instead, his big, athlete’s hands gathered her closer into his lap. Their lips met, open and seeking. She curled her arms around his neck, and they sank farther down on the couch.

Through the fishnet, she could feel his hands all over her. He shifted his weight, tugging at her dress to get at the rest of her, while she began pulling at his shirt studs. Both of them lost all sense of how precarious their perch was until they felt themselves rolling off the couch. Just as they hit the carpet, he turned his body so he wouldn’t crush her with his weight.

Even after they had landed, they didn’t immediately release each other’s mouths. When she finally opened her eyes to look at him under her, he was smiling.

“Are you having as much fun as I am?”

“More.” She couldn’t resist kissing the small scar on his chin.

“Phoebe, darlin’, I’ve got to get you out of that dress.”

“Don’t yell,” she whispered.

“I thought I already explained to you—”

“I don’t have anything on under it.”

He blinked. “Nothing? I know you’re wearing panty hose. I saw—”

She shook her head. “No panty hose. No garter belt. The dress is too tight.”

“But, you’ve got black stockings—”

“The kind that hold themselves up at the thigh.”

He rolled off her. “Phoebe Somerville, are you telling me that you don’t even have on any underpants?”

“They leave a line.”

“Just two black stockings?”

“And a spritz of White Diamonds.”

He jumped up and pulled her none-too-gently to her feet. “We’re headin’ straight for the bedroom, darlin’. Since there’s a good chance I’m going to have a heart attack before the night’s over, I want to die in my own bed.”

His silly banter made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. He snuggled her against his side as they walked back out into the hallway and climbed the staircase. When they reached the landing at the top, he drew her through a doorway on the right into a spacious bedroom that looked as if it had been carved out of several smaller rooms. The ceiling sloped on both sides, and the wall on the right was stone. One end of the room held a comfortable sitting area, the other an old sleigh bed, which was covered in a beautiful Zuni Indian blanket of burnt orange, black, green, and cream.

He stopped in the center of the room and reached under her hair to open the hook at the back of the fabric collar that encircled her throat. His clever hands moved lower and found the fastenings on the strap that so cruelly bound her breasts. She sighed with relief as the pressure eased and the fishnet bodice fell to her hips.

“Hurt?”

“A little.”

He reached around her from behind and gently caressed her breasts, soothing away the red marks with his thumbs. “Phoebe, promise me you won’t show yourself off like this again.”

She turned in his arms and kissed him so she didn’t have to answer because she wasn’t making any promises to him until she’d heard a few in return.

Dan’s big hands slid up along her spine. He wanted to go on kissing her forever. He couldn’t get enough of her mouth, the feel of her skin, the sweet woman’s scent of her. But he hadn’t waited this long to have it over so quickly, and he released her.

She gave a moan of disappointment as he stepped back. He loved the fact that she didn’t want him to let her go. Pulling his shirttail from his pants, he sank down into a chair so he could look at her. A small pile of straps and fishnet had fallen in loops about her waist, and her breasts, round and swollen, were so beautiful he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. How could he even have imagined marrying Sharon when he felt like this about Phoebe? His heart had known the truth long before his mind had figured it out.

He lifted his gaze and was jarred by the uncertainty he saw in her expression. Those tiny little furrows between her brows, that hesitation in her manner, were completely at odds with her sinner’s body. Having her look so vulnerable scared him. Some part of him wanted her aggressive and knowing, ready when it was over to raise her sharp-pointed fingernail file to the bedpost and add another slash mark next to his initials. But his heart didn’t want that at all. He smiled to relieve the growing tension between them.

“You could make me a happy man, darlin’, if you’d slide that dress off real slow, so I could see if you’re lyin’ to me about your underwear.”

Her lips parted softly, and her eyes widened as if she had never taken off her clothes for a man in her life. That look of shy innocence combined with her nuclear reactor body nearly undid him.

When she didn’t move, he cocked his head and inquired softly, “You don’t want to do that virgin thing again tonight, do you, honey? Because I’m afraid you’ve put me in the mood for something a little spicier?”

“The virgin thing? Oh, no. No, I—” She clasped the wisps of fabric at her waist and began to peel.

“Not so fast now. Could we sort of pretend—now don’t take this the wrong way because I don’t mean anything disrespectful by it—but could we pretend that I’m planning to leave a hundred-dollar bill on the dresser after this is over, and I’m expecting to get my money’s worth out of this striptease?”

Her smile was a little wobbly at the corners. “What’s underneath this dress is definitely worth more than a hundred dollars.”

“As long as you take American Express, you can name your price.”

She toyed with the dress where it had fallen low on her waist. Although she had slipped her thumbs beneath the fabric as if she were getting ready to peel it down, she wasn’t moving it any lower than her navel. “I thought you were a reformed man. You said you weren’t into kinkiness any more.”

“That was before I saw you in that damned dress.”

“Would you take off your shirt first? I like looking at your chest.”

“You do?” She was hardly the first woman who’d admired his body, but he still felt inexplicably pleased. He tossed his bow tie on the hassock and then his cummerbund. Without taking his eyes from her, he removed his onyx cuff links and slipped off his shirt.

Her eyes were all over him, which made him feel even better. “Your turn,” he said.

She pulled the dress farther down on her hips, but stopped just before she got to the really good stuff and gave him that mischievous look he loved. “What’s the credit limit on your American Express card?”

“You stop worrying about credit limits and start worrying about whether or not you’re still going to be able to walk when I get done with you.”

“I’m trembling, Mr. Tough Guy.” She stuck out her lip—stuck out her front. Then she peeled that slinky black fabric down inch by inch over those full round hips, those shapely thighs, giving a performance so sexy he thought he was going to explode before he ever touched her. Even before she lifted first one high heel and then the other to step out of the puddle of net and straps at her feet, he saw that she hadn’t lied about what she didn’t have on.

Two black nylon stockings and a sexy pair of high, high heels were all that was left. She was wild and wicked, and for the rest of the night, she was his.

He wanted to run his hands over every inch of that body, slip his fingers into each crevice, but he’d have to get up to do that, which meant he’d lose this incredible view. Instead, he stayed where he was and stroked her with his eyes, sliding his gaze all the way down those incredible legs and back up to the spot between them.

The seconds ticked by, one after another, and as the silence lengthened, Phoebe’s nervousness returned. Why didn’t he say something? The longer he looked, the more certain she became that he had found something wrong with her. She had been bubbling with sexy confidence, but now she remembered that she wasn’t even close to fashion model skinny. Her thighs weren’t thin enough, her hips were definitely too round, and the only time her stomach had been truly concave was when she’d had the flu. When he showed no sign of breaking the silence, she lost her nerve and reached down to snatch the straps of her dress.

He was immediately on his feet, concern furrowing his brow. “Phoebe, honey, I was kidding about the hooker thing. You know that, don’t you?” He pulled the dress from her fingers and took her in his arms.

His chest was warm against her breasts. She pressed her cheek to one of his hard pectorals. Her mind told her she wasn’t safe in his arms, but her heart felt as if it had found a home.

“Tell me what’s wrong, darlin’. Have I been teasing you too much? You know I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

She could hide behind her old flirtatious evasions, or she could be honest. “I’m embarrassed to have you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I know I should lose ten pounds, but I can’t diet, and you’re used to skinnier women. Valerie is—”

“What does Valerie have to do with this?”

“She’s skinny, and I’m a little— I’m fat!”

“Man-oh-man. I’m giving up on women. I’m definitely giving up.” As he grumbled, he began to caress her hips, and the skin at her temples tingled from the soft motion of his lips. “I know lots of women feel insecure about their bodies, and I know I should be sweet and understanding about this. But, Phoebe, honey, having you worry about being too fat is pretty much like having a billionaire worry about his money being too green.”

“You were looking at me.”

“You’ve got me there, but I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, I’m gonna shut my eyes.” He lifted both her breasts in his palms, bent his head, and found the left nipple with his mouth. As he suckled her, liquid threads of pleasure, hot and tingling, spread through her. Her insecurities faded as she clung to his shoulders and offered herself up to him.

She didn’t know how they got to the bed or what happened to her shoes, only that he was laying her on the soft, patterned blanket. She watched as he took off the rest of his clothes and came to lie beside her.

“I still have my stockings on.”

“I know.” He ran his hands over the sheer, black nylon and up to the soft, unprotected skin of her inner thigh, and she could see that the stockings excited him.

“Spread your legs for me, honey.”

She did as he asked.

“Farther,” he urged. “Pull up your knees.”

She did that, too.

“You’re looking again.” She gazed down at the top of his head.

“And you’re just as pretty here as you are everywhere else.”

She could barely breathe as he did a moist tracing of her with the tip of his index finger. Taking his time. Looking his fill. Sometimes pressing his lips to the insides of her thighs. Murmuring little nonsense syllables against her skin.

His finger grew slippery as it pushed up a little and then withdrew, going round and round on its slow forever mission. She gasped for breath, taking short, quick pants. Her body was no longer part of the room, no longer lying on the bed, but spiraling toward some hot wet land.

He bent his head and took her with his mouth. She lost herself in pleasure. Then she felt not one finger, but two. Sliding. Pumping.

She knew he was watching her. Heard him praise her passion. “That’s good, baby. So good. Let it go. Let it go, sweetheart.”

“No,” she gasped, barely able to speak. “No. I want you.”

His fingers went deeper. “Do you, baby? Do you?”

“Yes, I . . .”

Her eyes flew open. Those fingers! They were everywhere. He knew no shame.

He laughed a devil’s laugh, earthy and lusty. “Relax, baby. Relax and let me feel you.”

She moaned and let him do what he wanted because nothing on earth could have made her tell him to stop, not even when he took her nipple in his mouth, suckled hard, and hurled her over the mountaintop.

She flew through space, end over end, spiraling, hitting the sun and then falling back to earth. He caught her safely before she hit the ground.

Long moments passed before her eyelids drifted open. “I couldn’t wait for you,” she finally whispered.

“I didn’t let you.” He settled between her legs.

She was slick and wet, but she still had trouble taking him. Feeling that sweet stretch, she tilted her hips to get more, then whimpered as he gave it to her.

He froze. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she gasped in a thick whisper. “It’s wonderful.”

He arched his back like a great jungle cat, drove his hips, and she came again.

He laughed as he felt her shudders, then filled her mouth with his tongue and took her body away from her. It was his now. Sweet spoils won on a silken battlefield. Every inch belonged to him, and he would take it as he wished. Hard and deep, letting her feel the raw power of a strength so much greater than hers. Using her shamefully. Sensually. Making her cry out again and again in passion.

Sweat slicked his body but he wouldn’t let himself climax because he wasn’t done with her; he hadn’t felt enough of her, not even when he had put her knees to her shoulders and driven so deeply he was blowing apart.

It wasn’t enough! He wanted more. More of her sex. Her heart. Her soul.

She gave a soft cry that tore him apart, and something was unraveling inside him, something that should have remained coiled up tight and hard and safe. Frightened by instincts that had been developed in his childhood, instincts that warned him against the searing, unbearable pain of soft emotions, he turned her over like a rag doll. With one hand resting lightly on the back of her neck to hold her head down, he raised her hips, drawing her to her knees. Her blond hair swirled like a golden web on the pillow. He thrust into her from behind while he cupped the spilling bounty of her breasts in his hands and rolled the nipples between his fingers, taking her to that sweetest of all boundaries just this side of pain.

She was crying out his name, begging him to hurl her over the edge again, and this time he knew he couldn’t send her alone.

Her face was hidden, her sex jutted up for his use. He was rutting like an animal, so he shouldn’t have felt this all-encompassing tenderness, sensations so warm and soft they almost made him weep. He willed those gentle feelings away, cursed himself, but as she once again convulsed around him, he would have died for her.

His fierceness left him, and he turned her back so he could gaze down at that soft beautiful face, cheeks flushed, lips parted. Pulling her tight against him, he squeezed his eyes shut against the surge of an emotion he refused to name.

With a great cry, he flooded her.