Page 3 of Blame It On Midnight

She was naked, the dress pooled at her feet. The dress that had done its job in hiding what was, without a doubt, the kind of body meant to be seen and stroked and kissed. Long, lean legs, slender hips, and a taught torso. Her breasts hung provocatively, heavy with perfect hard nipples, and the apex between her legs was shadowed with the barest whisper of hair.

Instantly hard he stalked toward her, but she turned, and he followed her back to the bedroom, yanking his T-shirt off along the way. By the time he got to the bed, his clothes were off, and he grabbed a condom from his wallet.

There were no words. No endearments or false lies.

This was not about that shit. Benton reached for her. He took her mouth in a kiss that went deep, while his hands made quick work of getting her ready. He didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to talk. Hell, he didn’t even want a connection.

This was about sex and nothing more.

He pushed into her, and she immediately wrapped her legs around him, ready and eager, her hands like claws on his back as she urged him on. They screwed like strangers do and came together in an intense, hot climax that left her shaking, and him barely hanging on.

After a while, Benton’s breathing normalized enough for him to roll away and head to the bathroom to look after a few things. He washed up and then walked back to the bedroom, where he found his boxers. He pulled them on and turned to her.

She sat on the edge of the bed holding a sheet against her body, that long hair of hers falling over her shoulders in tangled waves. He liked the fact that her lips were swollen from his mouth. And those eyes. They were too expressive. Too big and beautiful. She was too much and definitely not for him. He would break someone like her.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Her voice was quiet, the rasp all but gone.

Benton paused. He was more than a little sex drunk and confused. “Should I?”

The woman slowly shook her head, but that smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No,” she said softly. “I guess not.” She rolled off the bed and dropped the sheet. Her naked body was bathed in moonlight as she moved toward the washroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”

She disappeared without another word, and Benton knew it was his cue to leave.

He pulled on his jeans, T-shirt, and boots. His Bills ballcap was nowhere to be found which pissed him off because it had taken him four years to work in. He ran his hands over his hair and then let himself out. Twenty minutes later, he walked into his hotel and was thankful that he didn’t run into anyone he knew, save for a few crew members still celebrating the show.

By this time, it was close to two a.m. Benton poured himself a whiskey and stared into the dark. He’d never felt this out of sorts. Like he’d just done something so wrong, there was no coming back from it.

He’d been honest, and she’d known the score. There was sex. Good fucking sex. But that was it. And sure, he didn’t want to know her name, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. And the wondering was what he was afraid of, because wondering got a man in trouble. And he had no time for distractions, especially the kind that came with green eyes and a body made for sin.

He downed the whiskey and fell onto the edge of the bed. He was so far from sleep he couldn’t see it happening tonight, and when he finally leaned back and closed his eyes, it was nearly an hour later. With sleep finally looming, he thought he smelled honeysuckle. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was crazy. Or maybe he was dreaming.

In the end, it didn’t matter because the only thing Benton Bridgestone was sure about was the fact that he hoped he never saw the woman again.

Chapter Two

Big Bend, Montana, was a lot smaller than Collins Lafferty remembered.

“Smaller, but prettier,” she murmured as she followed her brother inside a bar called The Sundowner. It was early afternoon on a sunny Friday in mid-July, and she was jetlagged, but hoping to see a familiar face. Or two.

Hell, that was a lie. There was only one face she wanted to see, and it was all she could do to keep her shit together. Their plane had landed early, and her brother had wanted a cold beer, which was the reason for their delay.

Kip nodded to the bartender and slid onto the last stool. The place was busier than she’d expected for this time of day, and aware that most of the eyes in the bar were trained their way, Collins tried her best to ignore them. She was used to creating a stir. Heck, she’d been doing it all her life. But her brother added to the interest. As the starting shortstop for the Yankees, he was like a God to millions of fans. Currently on the DL list because of elbow surgery, he wouldn’t be able to play until the fall. And that depended on two things. His elbow and the Yankees winning the pennant race.

“Kip. It’s been a while.” A pretty girl with purple hair, tattoos, and more piercings than just about anyone Collins had ever met, smiled at her brother before turning her way. “I’m Jo.”

“Hi. I’m Collins.”

“I know who you are,” she replied with a chuckle. “The last cover you did for SI is pinned up in the kitchen.” She shook her head and smiled wryly. “Our cook is a fan.” Jo tossed the rag in her hand onto the bar and rested her palms on the surface. “What can I get you guys?”

“I’ll take whatever’s the coldest on tap and—” Kip turned to Collins, a questioning look in his face. “Are you fasting for some photo shoot, or can you drink?”

“Not fasting,” she replied. “I’ll take a whiskey sour.” She sat back. “Make it a double.” Her nerves needed it.

“Slow down, champ.” Kip gave her some side-eye. “I don’t need you coming in hot when we head out to the ranch.”

Right. The Triple B. The reason for their visit. A surprise birthday party for Ivy.

“I still don’t know why you wanted to come.” He accepted his mug of beer and took a good, long drink before turning to her. “Is there something going on with you?”

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