Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

Then Warrick stopped.

Marilyn gasped. Her eyes shot wide. Her muscles shrieked in frustration. Warrick surged over her. He captured her mouth with his own. His hands clasped her hips and he dove into her. Marilyn screamed as pleasure burst inside her. She trembled in Warrick’s embrace. His lips gentled on hers until she finally caught her breath.

Warrick’s hips moved with hers, longer and deeper. Slower. Harder. He pressed into her. He rocked inside her. Their sweat mingled. Pressure built again. His scent was soap and sandalwood, above her. Warrick released her mouth. His breath came in short,

sharp pants like music to her ears. Intense and exciting. She’d missed him. She’d missed this—and so much more.

Tension stretched tight as Warrick continued to move in her. Blood pounded in her ears. Marilyn’s muscles strained. Warrick lifted his head and caught her left nipple with his lips. A jolt shot through Marilyn to her deepest muscles and shook again. Warrick’s back arched. His hips crushed into hers—hard. He buried his face into her neck. Marilyn wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he shivered above her. She kissed his throat. In this moment, nothing and no one else existed. It was just the two of them. If only they could stay like this always.

Warrick didn’t want to move. He didn’t think he could. His body was firmly planted to the ground, warm and relaxed. Beside him, Marilyn stirred, pulling a smile from him. “I’m too old for this.”

A wicked grin parted her full lips. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re in your prime.”

Warrick chuckled, happier than he’d been in weeks. “I mean too old to be making love on the kitchen floor. I need a bed.” He rolled to his feet and stood. He stretched his arms above his head. A movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention to the kitchen window. “What the hell?”

Marilyn sprang into a sitting position. “What’s wrong?”

Warrick pulled on his pants. “I saw someone at the window.”

“What?” Marilyn snatched her blouse and pressed it against her chest. “Someone was watching us?” She leaned over as though trying to make herself smaller while straining her neck forward to see through the window five feet away.

“Stay inside.” Warrick circled Marilyn on his way to the back door.

She wiggled around on the floor, trying to put on her clothes and still remain out of sight. “Wait. I’ll come with you.”

“No, you won’t.” Warrick pulled open the door and stepped outside, wearing only his hastily zipped khakis.

He crossed the cedar deck in two long strides, then jumped its four steps and landed lightly on the lush green lawn. He rounded the house toward the left side yard past their vegetable garden. Marilyn had planted lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, green beans, and other vegetables days after they’d moved into the house two years ago. He must have the best diet in the NBA.

The side yard was empty. Warrick glanced at the kitchen window. The blinds were turned up to allow light in while still protecting their privacy. But, if you stepped closer to the window, you could see the kitchen table. A chill rolled down his spine. Warrick continued to the front of the house. The gate was closed and no one was nearby. The movement outside their window must have been his imagination. He was chasing shadows.

Warrick turned back to his yard—and almost walked into Marilyn.

“Did you see anyone?” She leaned to the left, trying to see around him.

Her thick brown hair was tousled. The straight tresses swung around her shoulders with her every move. Her cream blouse hung loose over her baggy brown slacks and revealed much of her cleavage. Her narrow feet were bare. Her neat toenails, polished silver with multicolored sparkles, peeked from beneath the pant legs.

Marilyn’s buttoned-up physician’s identity had slipped, exposing his wife’s sensuality. He wanted her again.

Warrick swallowed to ease his dry throat. “I asked you to wait inside.”

Marilyn stilled, frowning into his eyes. “If there was an intruder, I could help you.”

She was fit and toned from regular and strenuous workouts. Still the mental image of her confronting an intruder would keep Warrick awake for weeks. “Help me by calling nine-one-one.”

With his hands on her shoulders, he turned Marilyn toward the backyard. Warrick wrapped his right hand around her slender waist and escorted her back to the house.

She looked around the side yard, glancing up at the window. “Maybe you were imagining things.” She sounded hopeful.

“Maybe.” He pulled her closer.

They continued into their home in contemplative silence. The scent of grass and blossoms carried on the late-spring breeze. It felt so good to have her back in his arms after a month without her. The longest month of my life. Now they could put the media and public scrutiny of their private lives behind them, and get back to being married. He stepped aside to let Marilyn precede him into their home.

“Rick, I’m going to check into a hotel.” Marilyn’s words came from behind him as he locked the door. They were like knives slipping into his back.

Warrick forced himself to face her. His voice was tight, controlled. “Why?”

She shrugged as she turned to walk farther into the house. “I can’t continue to impose on Em’s generosity.”