Playing for Keeps: Harford Scarlet Series Read Free Page B

but she usually shrugged it off and the men drifted away.
    In her second year, without warning, everything changed. She had arrived at the first training session of the new term, tanned and ultra-fit after a long, active summer back in Wales. However, instead of jolly Pete and Dave, only one tracksuit-clad, glowering male was present. He introduced himself as Tom Murray, temporarily unable to play himself due to damaged knee ligaments, and frustrated as hell. The girls cowered when he shouted at them but, unbelievably, kept coming back for more. The reason behind this was obvious. He was absolutely gorgeous: tall, muscular and dark-haired, with knife-sharp cheekbones, a strong chin and piercing blue eyes. He had a faint Scottish burr that strengthened when he was angry – which was fairly often as the nervous girls often dropped balls, forgot instructions, and ran the wrong way.
    One evening, after another of several weeks of unproductive training sessions, Sarah decided to collar him. She caught up with him as he strode away from the pitch, down the dark path back to the halls of residence.
    ‘Tom, stop for a minute. Please.’ She physically blocked his way. ‘It’s our first game in a week and I don’t think we’re ready.’ She took a deep breath and steeled herself. ‘You’re too aggressive towards the girls; they’re not learning. We don’t mind criticism and I actually prefer it to being told we’re doing fine. But you shout all the time.’ He stepped towards her and she refused to back down.
    ‘Please be more patient with us. We are trying.’ She went to move out of his way and he caught her arm. An electric thrill ran through her body and she stifled a gasp at the unexpected sensation.
    ‘Sarah, is it? I didn’t choose to take you lot on.’ His thumb started to rub back and forth on the soft skin of her elbow, awakening more nerves along her arm. ‘I was forced to until I can play again. And I admit I am taking my frustrations out on you.’ He paused, tipping his head slightly to one side and studying her in the dim light.
    Sarah felt like a butterfly pinned to a glass slide. She slowly pulled away from his grasp, which allowed her brain to start functioning again. ‘So, what will you do about it?’
    ‘I’ll try to be more patient with all of you.’
    From the next session and on throughout the year, he softened his approach and the girls started to respond. Some even started making passes at him, sashaying around the changing room barely dressed while he gave inspiring team talks or congratulated them after a good win. In the campus bar after matches, he was constantly surrounded by girls, birds of paradise in bright dresses fluttering around him.
    Sarah heard stories from the rest of the team; he was talked about on campus all the time. It was rumoured that he had a different girl leaving his room every morning; girls with stubble burns on their faces and necks, smudged make-up and satisfied grins.
    Despite this, she could feel his eyes watching her. He watched her during ball drills, he watched her while they reset scrum after scrum as she bound on as flanker. He used her in demonstrations of how to hold the ball or rip it from another player, his arms often wrapped around her.
    Her body, sensually dormant to that point, started responding to this insistent male presence. Her breasts would yearn for contact, an accidental brush of a hand or arm; her knees weakened as his hips pressed into hers. Once, after he tackled her to the floor, instead of getting up, he stroked one hand from ankle to the top of her thigh and back. She rolled away, but for the rest of the session, the skin burned where he had touched her.
    She often returned to her room after training feeling hypersensitive all over her body, in particular her well-bound breasts beneath the tight sports bra, and between her legs, irritated by her bulky shorts. She knew she was unusually fascinated by him and thought it was best to stay