ashamed. He was better than that; she knew he was better than that. Like a gentleman, he’d undressed her and put her to bed.
A shiver rolled through her at the thought of those big, firm hands on her body even if it was just to take her clothes off. She wished she’d been awake to feel it. Alone in her bedroom, she admitted to the desires she’d been pussyfooting around with all last night.
Right or wrong, younger than her or not, she wanted Leighton. Heat crawled through her body at the thought, taking up residence low down in her belly. Her hips jerked, liquid heat slipping from her pussy and dampening her panties as the scent of arousal filled the air.
Slipping from the bed she walked barefoot over the plush carpet, stopped in front of the mirrored door of the wardrobe, and studied her reflection. She wasn’t tall, only a couple of inches over five feet with an extra helping of curve she’d never been able to diet or exercise away no matter how much she tried.
She ran her hands up over her hips and waist, turning this way and that. What did he see? Did he like her curves? Her lips pursed as she cupped her breasts, pushing them together and striking a provocative pose in the mirror. For all of two point four seconds before her head started to pound again.
Grimacing, she dropped the pose and walked out into the main area of the apartment. She needed painkillers, coffee, and a shower. In that order. Then she was going to find a certain rugby player and ask him a few questions.
* * *
You’re gonna diet.
Frankie couldn’t help the laugh as she looked at the words on the screen of her smartphone.
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Like I’m ever off a bloody diet.”
And she wasn’t. Over the years she’d fallen prey to every fad diet or celebrity-endorsed craze there was, hoping beyond hope that this one might, just might, be the one that would magically melt the excess pounds from her hips and ass, leaving her with the svelte and slender figure she had in her dreams. She sighed. Like that was ever going to happen. There was no magic cure to losing weight; she’d finally accepted that. The problem was she sat on her ass too much and didn’t do enough exercise.
Besides, who the hell was sending her such a bizarre text message? Swiping her thumb over the screen, she flicked the sender details up and frowned. It was a mobile number but not one she recognized. How odd. She sighed and shoved the phone back into the front pocket of her jeans.
Probably a wrong number, or worse, a promotional text. A work colleague had been plagued by them after an ex put her mobile number on a list for revenge. She’d had to change the number in the end. She’d see if she got another one, and then she’d work out whether she needed to ditch the number. Besides, there was a silver lining. If she did change it, Robby wouldn’t be able to contact her anymore. Win-win situation.
“Just ’ere okay for you, duck?” the driver said as the taxi pulled into the parking lot in front of the south entrance of the Charnwood Road Stadium. She’d gleaned from Damon that they were training here today rather than the training ground farther out of town.
“Yeah, perfect.” Digging in her bag, she pulled out her wallet and paid the fare. “Thanks, keep the change,” she said and slipped out of the taxi quickly so the guy could get away to pick up his next fare.
The vehicle pulled away, the slightly battered sedan a total contrast with the luxury limo from last night. She still couldn’t believe he’d done that, ordered them a limo. Not just that, but, even though she’d been all over him, he’d wanted to wait until they’d gotten back to her place, instead of taking her up on her invitation and going for it right there in the luxurious interior. And she’d been in enough with her bosses to know the difference between a real top-line limo service and a special occasion one that catered to hen nights and proms.
It was
A shiver rolled through her at the thought of those big, firm hands on her body even if it was just to take her clothes off. She wished she’d been awake to feel it. Alone in her bedroom, she admitted to the desires she’d been pussyfooting around with all last night.
Right or wrong, younger than her or not, she wanted Leighton. Heat crawled through her body at the thought, taking up residence low down in her belly. Her hips jerked, liquid heat slipping from her pussy and dampening her panties as the scent of arousal filled the air.
Slipping from the bed she walked barefoot over the plush carpet, stopped in front of the mirrored door of the wardrobe, and studied her reflection. She wasn’t tall, only a couple of inches over five feet with an extra helping of curve she’d never been able to diet or exercise away no matter how much she tried.
She ran her hands up over her hips and waist, turning this way and that. What did he see? Did he like her curves? Her lips pursed as she cupped her breasts, pushing them together and striking a provocative pose in the mirror. For all of two point four seconds before her head started to pound again.
Grimacing, she dropped the pose and walked out into the main area of the apartment. She needed painkillers, coffee, and a shower. In that order. Then she was going to find a certain rugby player and ask him a few questions.
* * *
You’re gonna diet.
Frankie couldn’t help the laugh as she looked at the words on the screen of her smartphone.
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Like I’m ever off a bloody diet.”
And she wasn’t. Over the years she’d fallen prey to every fad diet or celebrity-endorsed craze there was, hoping beyond hope that this one might, just might, be the one that would magically melt the excess pounds from her hips and ass, leaving her with the svelte and slender figure she had in her dreams. She sighed. Like that was ever going to happen. There was no magic cure to losing weight; she’d finally accepted that. The problem was she sat on her ass too much and didn’t do enough exercise.
Besides, who the hell was sending her such a bizarre text message? Swiping her thumb over the screen, she flicked the sender details up and frowned. It was a mobile number but not one she recognized. How odd. She sighed and shoved the phone back into the front pocket of her jeans.
Probably a wrong number, or worse, a promotional text. A work colleague had been plagued by them after an ex put her mobile number on a list for revenge. She’d had to change the number in the end. She’d see if she got another one, and then she’d work out whether she needed to ditch the number. Besides, there was a silver lining. If she did change it, Robby wouldn’t be able to contact her anymore. Win-win situation.
“Just ’ere okay for you, duck?” the driver said as the taxi pulled into the parking lot in front of the south entrance of the Charnwood Road Stadium. She’d gleaned from Damon that they were training here today rather than the training ground farther out of town.
“Yeah, perfect.” Digging in her bag, she pulled out her wallet and paid the fare. “Thanks, keep the change,” she said and slipped out of the taxi quickly so the guy could get away to pick up his next fare.
The vehicle pulled away, the slightly battered sedan a total contrast with the luxury limo from last night. She still couldn’t believe he’d done that, ordered them a limo. Not just that, but, even though she’d been all over him, he’d wanted to wait until they’d gotten back to her place, instead of taking her up on her invitation and going for it right there in the luxurious interior. And she’d been in enough with her bosses to know the difference between a real top-line limo service and a special occasion one that catered to hen nights and proms.
It was
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