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get you ready for Thursday night’s game.”
Warrick mounted the stairs behind her. His gaze settled on her gently swaying hips. The pink pajama shorts cupped her firm bottom.
“I didn’t play well tonight.” He’d felt compelled to make the admission, but now he wished he hadn’t.
“I’m not an NBA expert, but I think you did play well tonight, although you played better Saturday. The team still won.”
Surprise eased his frown. Even though she resented his career, she was still watching him play?
Warrick followed Marilyn down the hall to their bedroom, shrugging out of his suit jacket as he walked. “You saw Saturday’s game?”
“Of course.” She sounded startled by his question. “Even I could see you were brilliant that night.”
“Thank you.” Her praise warmed him. But then, he’d always felt that she believed in him—until she’d asked for a divorce.
Warrick strode to the closet to hang up his jacket. He pulled his shirt free of his pants to unbutton it. It felt odd dressing and undressing in the master bedroom, but sleeping down the hall. How long would this continue? And how would it end?
“I don’t think anyone could play with that level of intensity every night.” Marilyn’s voice carried from across the room.
Warrick turned from the closet and wandered to the dressing table to drop off his cuff links. “My game needs to be consistent. My teammates should be able to count on me to come through when they need me.”
He sounded like his father, but the old man had been right.
“That’s a lot of pressure on you.”
He came to a stop at the foot of their bed and unbuttoned his shirt. “A professional should be able to play at a high level every game, especially during the play-offs.”
“You know better than I do.” There was a shrug in Marilyn’s voice. “But I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”
He removed his white shirt and undershirt. Marilyn’s eyes darkened and her throat muscles moved as though she were swallowing. Her reaction to him went a long way toward restoring the confidence battered by tonight’s game. It was good to know he could still turn his wife on.
Warrick was tempted to remove his pants, but was afraid his blatant reaction to her would make her turn away. “Are you ready?”
Her eyes were on his torso even as she gestured toward the bed. “Lay down on your stomach.”
Warrick stretched out on the mattress. He folded his arms to form a pillow for his head and relaxed his shoulders.
Marilyn straddled him, one smooth thigh on either side of his hips. Warrick closed his eyes and swallowed a groan. Maybe this hadn’t been one of his smarter ideas. Having his wife this close to him without being able to love her might damage his back irreparably.
“Where does it hurt?” Her voice was a husky whisper.
He wished he could tell her. “Near my waist.”
Her soft, slender fingers tested his taut muscles. “Here?”
He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Just touch me. “Yes.”
She pressed into his lower back muscles and a groan slipped through.
Marilyn stilled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No, that felt good.” Warrick’s erection flexed in agreement.
A comfortable, intimate silence settled between them for several minutes. Warrick closed his eyes and pretended their marriage had returned to normal.
Marilyn’s gentle words interrupted his illusion. “Your career is taking a hard toll on your body, especially your back and knees.”
Warrick opened his eyes. He stared across the large room toward the green Venetian blinds masking the windows. Marilyn had called them sage.
