Playing with Forever (Sydney Smoke Rugby) Page 3

  And he turned on his heel and left.

  The sun was getting lower as Ryder let Tiny drag him up to the off-leash park on the headland. There was no Achilles pain this afternoon despite the incline, so icing it yesterday had definitely worked.

  The air was still warm, but the stiff breeze had cooled as the day faded. The view over Coogee Bay and the ocean was breathtaking, the horizon emblazoned with layers of pink and orange and gold. But Ryder only had eyes for the woman with sun-streaked hair and a golden tan.

  She was in some kind of clingy active gear. Black tights that came to just below her knee, a form-fitting bright yellow tank top that squeezed, hugged and lifted her breasts like breasts deserved to be squeezed, hugged, and lifted, and a bright orange pair of sneakers.

  A black bum bag was clipped around her waist, the pouch sitting snug between her hip bones. The wind was doing its level best to whip her hair from its pony tail, strand by strand.

  She was laughing with an older couple as they all gazed down at a black Labrador puppy currently attacking her fluorescent pink shoe laces. She crouched to pet him and the dog rolled onto its back, splaying its legs and exposing its fat little belly for a rub, which Juliet did without hesitation.

  It seemed like the lovely Juliet had that effect on all males and Ryder took a moment to enjoy the view of her tights stretching across her ass. For as long as Tiny let him anyway. The Great Dane had also spied Juliet and was barking his joy as he tore off in her direction.

  “Tiny!” He used the tone of voice that would normally freeze a cattle dog to the spot but had zero effect on the Great Dane. “Sit!” he called to no avail.

  Several of the class participants grabbed their cute little balls of fluff out of the way as Ryder resisted the pull, trying to slow the dog’s trajectory. Unfortunately one of them recognised him, calling out, “Hey Ryder, good game on the weekend,” as Ryder skidded by.

  He waved and smiled. It had been a good game. He’d scored two tries. But that was the last thing on his mind.

  “Tiny.” Juliet’s firm voice brought the dog to an abrupt halt, much to Ryder’s immense relief. “Sit.”

  The damn dog sat and Ryder threw a dark look in Tiny’s direction until he realised the dog’s head was level with Juliet’s chest. No wonder he’d been so eager to obey.

  The dog wasn’t a flirt. He was a pervert.

  “Good puppy,” she crooned, cradling his head again, squishing his jowls, Tiny’s wet nose smooshed into her breasts.

  Fuck’s sake! The dog was getting more action than he was.

  She unzipped the bum bag, reached into the pouch and pulled out what looked like a small doggy treat, offering it to Tiny with a, “Who’s a good boy?” Tiny’s big pink tongue swiped it up in one long lick and she kissed his snout.

  Ryder cocked an eyebrow. “So that’s how you get men to do your bidding.”

  She laughed, still looking into Tiny’s eyes. “By calling them good boy and offering them treats?”

  Ryder smiled. Her laugh made him happy. Hell, just looking at the woman made him happy. “Works for me.”

  She flicked her gaze to him, strands of her hair whipping across her face as she dropped her hands from Tiny’s face. “You turned up.”

  Her eyes seemed the deeper blue of the afternoon ocean now and her gaze was open and honest. No artifice, no walls, no agenda. And so clearly pleased to see him Ryder lost his breath for a beat or two. “I said I would.”

  “You did.”

  “See, you have me well trained and you didn’t even have to feed me.” Or scratch his belly. “Tiny, on the other hand, has been a very bad dog.”

  Tiny’s ears had pricked up at his name but flattened again at mention of his misdemeanours, his head bowing. If ever there was an example of a hang dog expression, Tiny was wearing it.

  “Oh no.” Her voice was light with humour as she anchored some loose hair behind her ear. “What did you do, Tiny?”

  The dog glanced up briefly before casting his eyes down again in a very good impression of remorse. “He destroyed my lounge room last night.” Tiny whined as if he couldn’t bear to have his crimes repeated. “It took me three hours to clean up the mess this arvo.” Another apologetic whine. “And he crapped in my hallway.”

  Juliet’s face broke into a big smile which she bit back as she frowned at the guilty party. “Oh no, Tiny.” Any degree of reprimand in her voice was totally counteracted by the way she was stroking the dog’s ears. “Such a bad, bad boy.”

  Tiny, clearly not remotely chastised, angled his head for more, his hind leg trembling in ecstasy. Ryder’s wasn’t far behind, his brain filling with images of a naked Juliet, telling him he was a bad, bad boy, pulling at his ears as he went down on her.

  His dick twitched. “You can scold me like that any day.”

  She shot him a secretive smile before returning her attention to Tiny. “Whatever are we going to do with you?”

  “Maybe we need a…private lesson?” Hell yeah. Awesome idea. Sometimes Ryder’s brilliance stunned even himself. “Do you do those?”

  “I could be persuaded.” Her cheeks pinked up and damn if that didn’t turn him on, too. “Probably only need the one,” she said, glancing at him.

  Ryder wasn’t sure if that was some kind of chick code for a one night stand or if she was actually talking about the dog. He was up for either.

  “Tiny’s attention-seeking behaviour is an easy fix,” she said as if to explain. “It could be worse.”

  “Worse than destroying my lounge room?”

  “At least he hasn’t tried to hump anyone yet.”

  Juliet cocked her head in the direction of a German Shepherd who was currently getting cosy with someone’s leg while its apparent owner tried to pry him away.

  Ryder glanced at Tiny, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the lovely Juliet. Given the amount of times his head had ended up in her cleavage, why bother with humping?

  Why be so obvious when he could use stealth?

  “He’s a repeat customer,” she whispered, a smile in her voice. “This is his third time. Horniness is much harder to cure.”

  Ryder laughed. “Amen to that.” He cringed as the German Shepherd went back for more. “I think what he needs is a sex addict class, not a preschool.”

  “God…can you imagine? It’d be like herding cats as they all tried to out hump each other.” She laughed, obviously picturing it in her head. “But I’m totally suggesting it to the boss.”

  He laughed, too, and it suddenly felt like they were the only two people on the headland with just the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks far below. But then someone called her name and the spell was broken as she checked the time.

  “Time to start.” She petted Tiny’s head, smooshing his face into her cleavage again. “Show him how it’s done, big guy.”

  Tiny looked at Ryder as she walked away, his smug smile saying it all. That was how it was done.

  Ryder enjoyed the half hour on the headland as Juliet put all her charges and their owners through their paces. She was a gilded flash of energy as she flitted about in front of the setting sun.

  There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.

  Tiny—of course—was on his best behaviour, performing all the commands asked of him without fuss or hesitation. He was the best-behaved dog in the group, drawing praise from all the humans, doggie treats from Juliet, and an attempted humping from Rufus the randy German Shepherd.

  But Ryder wasn’t fooled. He’d seen the destructive force of Tiny’s split personality up close.

  So had his living room.

  Twilight had fallen by the end of the class, the first stars twinkling in the velvety purple dome, the sea a dark, shifting mass below. The participants moved off relatively quickly after Juliet called it a night, everyone except Ryder.

  She smiled as she approached him, her top and shoes glowing in the fast-fading light. “I think your dog is faking it.” She glanced at an obedient Tiny still s
itting at Ryder’s feet as she stopped in front of him. “Being bad, that is.” She pulled off some strands of hair that had stuck to her lips and tucked them behind her ear.

  Ryder knew damn well Tiny was faking it. Faking being good.

  “He’s obviously very well trained. He’s probably just confused about being handed around a bit and is acting out.”

  Ryder didn’t think Tiny was confused at all. That dog was smart as hell. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was enjoying putting Ryder through the ringer then acting all butter-wouldn’t-melt whenever a chick walked by in case he got to lick a cleavage or two.

  He was evil. An evil fucking genius.

  “I think it’s you he has an issue with.”

  Ryder’s laughter was whipped away by the stiffening breeze. “Oh I know it is.”

  “And why’s that, do you think?”

  She folded her arms under her breasts, which did interesting things to them in his peripheral vision. It took all his willpower not to drop his gaze. Not to step right up to her and cup them. Not to drag her top off and watch the breeze chill her nipples.

  “Because I’m missing certain…attributes.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Patience?”

  He shook his head slowly, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on her face. “Breasts.”

  She seemed taken aback for a moment, but then burst out laughing. “He is a bit of a flirt, isn’t he?”

  “A bit?” Ryder scoffed at the understatement before finally succumbing to the urge to check out her chest. Her nipples were two hard points dead centre of each breast. His mouth watered as he dragged his attention north again. “Still…can’t fault his taste.”

  A smile flitted across her mouth. “I don’t think he’s the only flirt here tonight.”

  Ryder shrugged, completely unabashed. “Is it working?”

  “It might be.”

  The smile touched the corners of her mouth and Ryder wanted to see it some more. “You want to call into the pub for a drink?”

  Her eyes danced at his invitation. “I’m pretty sure not even the pub would admit this great lug.”

  Ryder glanced down at butter-wouldn’t-melt Tiny, still on his best behaviour. The pub was one of those casual beachside places that had maintained its laidback atmosphere despite the massive gentrification of the area. A person could wear their togs into the beer garden and nobody would notice.

  But they might notice a horse.

  “True.” Ryder figured he could take Tiny back to his apartment and meet her at the pub, but he didn’t want to come back to a steaming dump in his bed, either. “I have beer in my fridge. If you…wanna come back to my place?”

  Ryder was surprised to hear the words slip out. He never asked women back to his place. Not until things got serious anyway. It wasn’t any secret that he lived at Coogee Beach and local residents no doubt knew his building, but, whether he liked it or not, he did have some celebrity status and had learned to protect his privacy.

  That all went out the window with Juliet smiling at him. He should have been panicking, trying to retract, but he really wanted her to say yes. So did Tiny—his tail thumping enthusiastically. He held up three fingers in a close approximation of the Boy Scout salute. “I promise to be the perfect gentleman.”

  “Well…” She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, as if she was giving the invitation serious thought, but her eyes were sparkling. “I have always been a sucker for a gentleman.”

  Ryder’s dick twitched. “That a yes?”

  She smiled. “That’s a yes.”

  Chapter Three

  Juliet told herself her pulse was a little fast because of the walk. But it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with the guy who was regaling her with just how exactly he’d ended up with Tiny as they made their way down the headland.

  He was here. He’d come.

  Ryder Davis had been on her mind ever since he’d skidded into the shelter yesterday afternoon, looking for a doggy exorcist and she’d made a pact with herself this morning. If Ryder showed tonight, it was her sign from the universe.

  And here he was.

  Hell if she was going to look that gift horse…er, dog…in the mouth.

  Her stomach had gone into free fall when she’d heard Tiny’s bark and things below her belly button had gone a little weak when she’d laid eyes on Ryder in hibiscus-patterned boardies and snug-fitting T-shirt, his big black Akubra pulled low on his forehead.

  A cowboy hat should have looked ridiculous with clothes more suited to the beach, but it didn’t. It suited his loose-limbed gait and his country boy smile. He’d taken it off now it was almost dark, but she couldn’t help thinking what a handy prop an Akubra could be in the bedroom.

  His pace slowed. “This is me.”

  Juliet blinked up at the building. They’d only been walking ten minutes and were still on the esplanade. He lived here?

  Who could afford to live here? “You live here?”

  “For the last five years. Yes.”

  Juliet stared at him in awe. “The rent must be astronomical.”

  “I don’t rent. I own it.”

  He owned it? “Are you some kind of bank robber?”

  He laughed and it ruffled goose bumps through her scalp and over her skin. She supposed that was her cue to ask him what he did, but a bunch of guys walked past and called out his name, stopping to high five him and shake his hand and wish him well at Henley on the weekend.

  Juliet cocked an eyebrow as they left. “Okay…who are you?”

  “I…play for the Sydney Smoke.”

  “Oh.”

  Well…shit. He was looking at her like that should mean something. But it didn’t. She tried to desperately scrabble through her brain for the thirty-second snatches of sports news she caught from time to time before flipping the channel to something she actually gave a toss about.

  He laughed. “You don’t know who they are, do you?”

  “Sure I do.” She nodded, just needing a few more seconds to place the name. “They’re a…” She looked him up and down. He was fit. His shoulders broad, his stomach flat, his thighs muscular but lean. Henley was vaguely familiar.

  A football stadium of some kind?

  “Aussie rules team.”

  He shook his head, a smile hovering over his lovely mouth, clearly amused. “Rugby.”

  “Rugby. Right. A rugby league team.”

  He winced, the smile disappearing. “Rugby union.”

  Union… Okay. Obviously, there was a difference. One look at his face told her it was best not to ask. “Sorry. I didn’t…I don’t really watch sport. I don’t know much about it.”

  He laughed. “I can tell.”

  “I mean clearly, other than you make a fuck load of money from it.”

  Juliet cringed at her frankness and choice of words. They were both bad habits. But he laughed again, unperturbed. “I do all right.”

  “You must to be able to afford to live here.” She turned back to face his home. She may have known squat about footy, but architecture was a different matter. “I love this building.”

  “You do?” He turned to face it, too.

  “Oh yes.” She sighed. “It’s one of the finest examples of art deco architecture in the area.” There were precious few left, and Juliet had lost count of the number of times she’d walked by and wished she could see inside one of the apartments.

  He rubbed at the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, and it made a delicious rasping noise. Her nipples hardened as if he’d scraped his whiskers against them.

  “I’ll take your word for that.”

  “Now I’m definitely pleased I said yes to that drink.”

  He clutched at his chest in faux disappointment. “Are you telling me you only want me for my building?”

  Juliet shook her head. Hell no. She wanted this man with a shocking ferocity. She’d want him if he was homeless. The fact he came with an architecturally stunning apartment was the cherry
on top.

  “I’m telling you your chances of me staying for two beers just increased about a hundredfold.”

  He smiled, his fudge brownie eyes growing warm. “Lucky me.”

  “Hang on a sec.” Juliet took out her phone, opened the camera app and framed him in the shot. “Say cheese.”

  She snapped the image before he could say anything. The result was a slightly confused expression, a wrinkle knitting Ryder’s brows together. Oh mama. Even his frown was sexy.

  “What was that for?”

  “A safety thing.” Juliet opened a text window, but Tiny, who’d happily walked beside them with no evidence of being possessed as Ryder claimed, poked his nose at the phone before she could attach it. “Okay, okay, bossy boots.” She laughed as she snapped a quick pic of the grinning dog.

  “Safety?”

  Juliet’s thumbs went back to work. “I’m texting your picture, your name, and your address to one of my flatmates. In case I’m letting your beautiful building blind me to the fact you’re actually a serial killer.”

  To his credit, he didn’t look at her like she was crazy, just smiled. “I’m a reasonably famous rugby player. I’m on the TV. You can see my half-naked ass on a billboard as you drive off the Sydney Harbour Bridge.”

  “What, you can’t be a serial killer as well?”

  He chuckled. “I’m pretty sure serial killers tend to keep a low profile.”

  “Elite-rugby-player-serial-killer could be a thing,” she insisted, although she smiled too at the absurdity of it.

  Juliet didn’t think for a minute he was a serial killer, but she’d made a pact with her flatmates and that’s just what they did.

  “What’s your apartment number?”

  “Four.”

  “Thank you.” Juliet was pleased he wasn’t being a dick about it. Any guy who thought a woman was being overly conscious of her safety wasn’t worth the time of day.

  She attached both snaps to the text. “Okay, so…” She dictated out loud as her thumbs flew over the keys. “Hey Bea. Meet Ryder Davis and his dog Tiny. Am going to his place for one drink. Not staying. Just test driving. Will send address. Be home by eight.” And she pushed send.