Jaclyn shivered again. She dug her fingernails deeper into his back. DeMarcus felt his heart beat slow and heavy in his chest. His blood heated in his veins, boiling until it whistled in his ears. He pressed into her.
He stroked his tongue against her mouth, coaxing her to open for him, wanting a deeper taste. Jaclyn parted her lips to accept him. DeMarcus was swept away. He slipped between her lips and explored her wet warmth. He tasted her inner walls then stroked her tongue. Jaclyn’s tongue reached out to touch his, sliding along its length, wrapping around its width, then taking it into her mouth.
DeMarcus groaned at her acceptance. His body heated. A low, deep throbbing started inside him. He slid his hand over her hip to the cool, bare skin of her thigh. Hooking his hand behind her knee, he lifted her leg, pressing her thigh against his hip. They fit together perfectly. At well over six feet tall, DeMarcus often had to fold himself over to embrace his date or lift her from the ground to kiss her. But not with Jaclyn. She fit with him as though she were made for his arms.
DeMarcus caressed Jaclyn’s small waist. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her scanty T-shirt. Her skin was hot, just a little damp. He skimmed his fingertips down her abdomen to her waist. Her stomach muscles quivered. DeMarcus groaned. His hand lifted farther up her torso to cup her breast. Jaclyn moaned, pressing into him. She opened her mouth wider, deepening their kiss. DeMarcus responded, his blood on fire.
His mind spun at her contrasts. Sweet and spicy. Bold and bashful. He wanted to taste her, all of her. Her breast was warm and soft, its weight a temptation in his palm. He tightened his hold on her thigh and pressed his hips hard into hers.
Jaclyn broke their kiss. “Marc. Wait.”
DeMarcus froze. His left hand pressed her breast; his right hand cupped her thigh. His body ached. “All right.”
Jaclyn opened her eyes. She pressed her hand against his chest, creating more room between them. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you. What an understatement.?
?? Her chuckle was breathless and awkward. “But things are complicated enough for both of us without adding a sexual relationship.”
DeMarcus made himself release her. He turned away from Jaclyn’s scent and breathed deeply to clear his mind. “You’re right. You’re my boss. This isn’t a good idea.”
“I’m glad we can be sensible about this.” She didn’t sound glad. Small comfort.
DeMarcus collected his jacket from her kitchen chair before facing her again. His palm tingled from the feel of her. His body ached from the taste of her. “We can be sensible. But for how long?”
9
“A losing preseason is a good sign.” Julian sat beside DeMarcus on the thick-cushioned brown sofa.
Sometimes DeMarcus didn’t understand his father. “Why?”
“It betters the odds of a team winning in the regular season.”
“Then the Monarchs should go undefeated.” DeMarcus turned off the digital video disc recorder and the sixty-eight-inch high-definition television. He couldn’t stomach any more footage of the Monarchs’ preseason games.
Julian shrugged. “So the team lost all of its preseason games. Take whatever you can learn from this experience and throw the rest out.”
DeMarcus set the universal remote control on the mahogany coffee table and stood to prowl the family room’s dark green carpet. “The losses left me with more questions than answers.”
Julian shifted sideways on the sofa. “Like what?”
DeMarcus dragged both hands over his hair. He paced toward the mahogany shelves of DVDs and compact discs. “Do those guys even want to win?”
“Of course they do.”
DeMarcus gestured toward the DVD machine. “You can’t tell that by the way they played.”
“That’s not fair, Marc. Most of your players have been in the league ten years or more. You know as well as anyone—and better than most—how much sacrifice and commitment that takes.”
DeMarcus settled his hands on his hips and stared out the picture window. This view gave him a different angle of the neighborhood from the den’s bay window. “There’s no passion. They’re going through the motions and collecting a paycheck.”
“You’re wrong, Marc.”
DeMarcus heard the disappointment in his father’s voice and regretted being the one to cause it. “I don’t mean to be hard on your team, Pop. But over the past four seasons, the Monarchs have lost their competitive drive.”
“What they’ve lost is hope. Help them regain it.”
DeMarcus faced his father. “How? We open the regular season with the Miami Heat Wednesday. That gives me six days to figure out the magic combination of players.”
“You will.” In the dark depths of Julian’s gaze was a steadfast assurance.