She tossed her head back and laughed. "And don't whine like a little boy when you lose."
God, she was too much, though he had to admit that her confidence was a huge turn-on.
They divided up into teams, with two boys on each side. With a toss of the ball, the game began. Christine took the sport seriously, using exceptional skill when it came to playing with the kids, but she saved all her womanly wiles for when it came to dealing with him. Like when he came up behind her to steal the ball from her grasp, and she turned the move into a full, frontal body assault as she scooted back and pressed her curvy bottom against his groin, forcing him to retreat from the too-intimate position or risk embarrassing himself in front of the boys with a raging hard-on.
But putting distance between himself and Christine on the court didn't stop him from noticing how a gradual pink flush suffused her face, or enjoying the fun-loving laughter that pierced the air as she managed to outwit her opponents. She played aggressively, and she was in it to win. She passed the ball to her teammates when the opportunity presented itself, made a few shots of her own, and didn't mind getting down and dirty for fear of breaking a nail or messing up her hair.
Every time she got close to him, Ben caught a whiff of her signature scent-a warm, vanilla fragrance that made him want to take a big bite out of her. Or lick her skin to see if she tasted as good as she smelled. And the harder she played the game, the stronger the scent grew, combining with everything else about her to distract the hell out of him.
He couldn't focus on the game, couldn't make a shot if his life depended on it. Because when he tried, she was right there in front of him, trying to take the ball away-and using everything in her feminine arsenal to do it.
She didn't play fair, at least not with him.
By the time the game ended, with his team losing by four points, he was sweating and breathing too hard, and it had little to do with the October sun overhead, and was more a result of Christine's frisky moves.
As she celebrated with her teammates with high-fives and atta boys, all he could do was grin, shake his head, and take the loss like a man.
His teammates, Jimmy and Andrew, weren't as benevolent.
"I can't believe we lost to a girl," Jimmy grumbled.
"Yeah, that totally sucks," Andrew added with a frown.
"Come on, guys, don't be poor sports," Ben said as he clasped both Jimmy and Andrew on the shoulder in a small attempt to soothe their bruised egos. "They won fair and square, so let's go congratulate them."
With a little push from Ben in the right direction, the boys headed toward the champions and issued a "good game" compliment. The foursome went back to playing basketball on their own, and Christine picked up her shoes and strolled toward Ben, glowing from the exertion of playing the game, and from her recent victory.
She stopped in front of him and wrinkled her nose. "Well, well, well. It looks like you're the one who's all hot and sweaty."
He dragged his fingers through his damp hair and laughed. It figured that she'd turn that comment back around on him, and he did the same thing.
"It's nothing a quick shower can't take care of." But while he'd previously fantasized about her joining him, in reality he was all on his own.
Chapter Three
CHRISTINE followed Ben inside his apartment and waited as he locked and bolted the door after her. The extra bit of security was a direct reminder that it wasn't all fun and games between her and her bodyguard, even if she'd had a blast playing basketball and showing the boys, and Ben, that she wasn't the prissy girly-girl they'd thought she was.
"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable," Ben said, waving a hand toward the small living area of the apartment. "And help yourself to something to drink in the kitchen. I think there's some bottled water in the fridge, along with Gatorade and beer, if you feel like drinking and belching like one of the boys," he teased.
"No beer for me," she said with a shake of her head. "That's where I draw the line and prefer a froufrou drink, like an apple martini or piña colada."
His smile was slow, deliberate, and combined with his still tousled, sweaty outdoor appearance made him look sexy as hell. "Sorry, but I'm fresh out of fruity umbrella drinks."
"Ha-ha," she replied with a sassy grin of her own. "Go take your shower, smartaleck."
He placed his keys on the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. "I only need about twenty minutes to shower, dress, and pack a bag, so I shouldn't be long."
"Ahhh, the joys of being a man." She sighed enviously. "A quick shower, no angsting over what to wear, and no preplanning what to pack for your stay."
"Being a man does have its perks," he agreed. "By the way, what do I need to wear tonight? Does the club have a specific dress code?"
"Jeans and a nice shirt are fine."
He looked relieved that she hadn't asked him to don a suit and tie. "Perfect. That's just my style."
She watched him head down the short hall and nearly groaned when he pulled his damp shirt off just before he turned into the bedroom. She caught a quick glimpse of his smooth, muscled back, and that was more than enough to make her stomach clench with the desire to see what all that hard, honed flesh felt like sliding against her fingertips.
He didn't close the bedroom door, but a moment later she heard a different door shut, then the sound of running water, indicating he was about to get into the shower… completely naked.
Realizing just how dry her mouth had become, she walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There wasn't a whole lot inside-mainly take-out containers, a carton of milk, and the drinks he'd mentioned earlier. Definitely a sign of a bachelor. Bypassing the beer and Gatorade, she grabbed a bottle of water. Strolling back into the living room, she twisted the cap off the bottle and swallowed a good amount of the cool water as she took in his sparse furnishings.
A single reclining chair in a dark brown leather material, worn from plenty of use, occupied one side of the room. An old, scarred wooden side table was situated nearby with a few Soldier of Fortune magazines stacked neatly on top. Against the opposite wall was what appeared to be Ben's one main indulgence-a large, flat-screen TV tucked inside a basic entertainment center.
The apartment looked like he'd just moved in but hadn't had the time, or the inclination, to decorate or give the place any special touches of his own. The off-white walls were completely bare, and except for a clock on the wall there weren't any knickknacks anywhere to be seen. The only things she saw that she'd even consider remotely personal were two small framed photographs set on one of the shelves in the wall unit.
She found herself gravitating toward those pictures to take a better, closer look. Surprisingly, they weren't snapshots of family. The first photo was a group of men standing together, surrounded by canvas tents in a desolate desert setting. All of them were dressed in military fatigues and sporting short buzz cuts, Ben included. The men looked tired and weary, but the comradery between them was a visible thing.
She assumed the picture had been taken a few years ago, when he'd been in the service. She remembered her father mentioning that Ben was an ex-Marine who'd served in the Iraq War but she didn't know anything about his time in the military, or what his duties had entailed.
Taking another drink of her water, she glanced at the second photograph of Ben and a pretty, dark-haired woman, completely unprepared for the depth of emotion so evident between the couple. Both of them were dressed in fatigues, with the same dry, barren stretch of desert as their background. The woman was hugging Ben around the waist, a wide smile on her lips as she looked up at him with a wealth of love and adoration shining in her eyes. Ben was laughing at something she must have said or done, but there was no denying that he was equally as smitten with her.