Game For Love: Love Games (Kindle Worlds) (2 page)

Perfect for her.
 

The idea breezed through Marlee’s brain. Gorgeous, good dresser, most likely an agent or somebody in the Pumas’ front office, so good employment and would be staying in the area. She stole a glance at his hand to see an absence of any wedding ring.
 

The night was looking up. The thought of staying at this party just got a whole lot more desirable. She could get to know this man and maybe get to see the kitchen as well. She could avoid meeting any of the football players by having Anna, Cole, and this other man to talk to.
 

She didn’t delude herself into thinking that any of the players would be falling all over themselves to meet her when there were so many other flashier, younger, and obviously more eager women in the room.

“Marlee Reeves, Declan Tate. Declan, Marlee. And this,” he said, while swinging a large arm around tiny Anna’s shoulders, “is my sweet Anna. Declan’s bored here so he’s going to join us for dinner, if that’s okay with you ladies?”

“Okay? Okay? Of course it’s okay. God, it’s great to meet you,” Anna said as she shook Declan’s hand. Marlee thought she was going a little overboard. Yes, the man was good looking, but Anna had seen handsome men before—was married to one!—and had never gushed like this.

“Mr. Tate, nice to meet you.” Marlee held her hand out to Declan. He took it, and piercing green eyes met Marlee’s as he held her hand. His hand was rough and warm on her soft and cold one. She had not fully warmed up from being outside for the game, even though she’d had the car’s heater at full blast on the ride over. Her palm, and then fingers, rapidly warmed as Declan held them.
 

Everything seemed to slow down to Marlee. The sounds from the party—which before had been grating—dulled, so that she could almost hear her heart beating. Faster. The perfume that had pervaded the air was now drowned out by the subtle hint of musk that emanated from the man still holding her hand.

“Please, call me Declan, Mrs. Reeves,” he said.

Marlee would later try to analyze the waves of feelings she had as Declan held her hand. Exhilaration, excitement, definite attraction, but mainly confusion at the onslaught of emotions from simply shaking the man’s hand.

Marlee was a respected professional. But she was also a woman, and emotion—more succinctly, lust—was overriding any logical thought that tried to occupy her brain.

Thunderbolt. That was how Declan described it. Plain, old-fashioned thunderbolt.
 

And just what he needed tonight.

He’d been feeling out of sorts. These parties were not his usual after-game ritual, but this one was unavoidable. All he’d wanted to do tonight was soak in his hot tub, have a glass of wine—his first in months—and sulk. Well, maybe not sulk. Reflect…yeah, he wanted to reflect.

Reflect on his life, his past, and, more important, his future. He’d wanted to be alone, to let emotions pour over him unnoticed, to let the weariness of the last sixteen years finally rest on his shoulders.

To admit his life, as he had known it, was over.

That had been his plan. But here he was surrounded by men and women. Some, like his former teammate Cole Taylor, he’d known for years, some for only six months. Some he didn’t know at all. He thought the party might get him out of his funk, but it had just drawn him in deeper.

Until he’d seen her. The most conspicuous person in the room, if only because she had the most clothes on.

He’d seen her come in as he’d watched from across the room. He assumed one of the women was Cole’s wife, because they certainly didn’t look like all the other women who came to the after-game parties. For one thing, they were older. Not old, probably only thirty—which was still considered young to thirty-nine-year-old Declan—but still much older than every other female there.
 

They were dressed much more conservatively than the rest, as well. The one Declan had hoped was Cole’s Anna was in jeans and a Pumas jersey. She was the shorter of the two, maybe five-four, cute as a button with long hair and a fresh-faced good-girl look. Her slight frame was dwarfed by the jersey.

The other one, the one Declan hoped was not Cole’s wife, meaning she might be unattached, sported a look that had never crossed the threshold of this house. And Declan liked it. He liked it a lot. He could honestly say he found himself drawn to it. Drawn to her.

Business suit, glasses, and a bun.
She was beautiful. No makeup. Surely the only woman in the room, other than Anna, to have on at least two layers. A perfectly formed oval face, with cheekbones that seemed even more pronounced due to her glasses. Declan glanced around and wondered how many people in this packed room, male and female, wore contacts and would rather die than be seen in glasses. Probably more than half. She was definitely refreshing. Just then she pushed the glasses up higher on her nose and the movement seemed almost alluring to Declan.

He couldn’t tell much about her figure through the severely cut suit, but she was tall and nicely shaped from what he could see. He’d sure like to get that jacket off of her. Maybe she wasn’t wearing anything under that cream blouse. Was it real silk? What would it feel like under his hands to unbutton it? Would it slip out of his grasp, take him several attempts to bare her skin? Declan wondered how sheer it was, if he’d be able to see the outline of a camisole, or a lacy bra, or maybe just the outline of the woman herself. He was a sucker for fancy lingerie. Not the bawdy stuff like animal prints, or anything obvious like black leather cut-outs. But soft, expensive, sweet, barely there bras and panties undid him.

Declan’s only intention had been to walk Cole to the door, meet the wife that Cole never stopped talking about when the two men talked on the phone, say goodbye, and return to the party. The party was in his honor, and it would be rude to spend too much time with any one guest, but this woman made Declan quickly change his mind. With an eerie sense of knowledge, he knew that she could pull him from his self-imposed funk.

 
He had to get to know her better, and if the look of distaste on her face as she watched one of his teammates openly grope some girl meant anything, he didn’t think he could talk her out of skipping the restaurant and staying at the party with him.

As if calling an audible at the line, Declan had hurriedly changed the play. “I’m coming to dinner with you guys, if that’s okay,” Declan quietly said to Cole as they had neared the women.

“Sure. Of course. That’d be great, but…yeah…okay, whatever. Great,” Cole said, obviously surprised at Declan’s announcement.
 

Now, still holding her hand, Declan thought that maybe that was the best play he’d called all day. Yes, it was definitely a thunderbolt that went through Declan. He slowly released Marlee’s hand and gave her his best killer smile. Her hand had been cold, probably from just coming in, and it had warmed in the small amount of time that Declan had held it. He regretfully let it slip from his, making a silent promise to himself to not let this woman get cold again tonight.

“It’s
Ms.
Reeves. But please call me Marlee.”

Damn, the Ms. thing. That could mean anything. He surreptitiously glanced at her left hand. No ring of any kind; that was good. She could have a boyfriend, though. He grimaced to himself. Well, they’d have a nice, long, drawn-out dinner if he had anything to say about it, and he’d get to know her better.
 

She seemed so different from all the women he knew. He was intrigued with her. He knew it was a cliché, but he was dying to slide off her glasses, take the pins out of her hair, have her shake it out, and become a wildcat right in front of him. She had the green-gold eyes of a cat—and the grace of one, as well. He had noticed that right away—the way she moved, her ease. She had walked into a room full of people that she didn’t know, that she was 180 degrees different from, and seemed not to notice or care.

“I’m going to go back, leave through the kitchen and out the back. I’ll meet you in the driveway. What kind of car are you driving?” Declan asked Anna and Marlee, not sure which one of the women had driven to the party.

“Anna has my rental car,” Cole said. “It’s a white Escalade.” As Declan nodded, they started to turn, Cole and Anna toward the front door, and Declan back toward the party.

“Wait, I’m confused. Why do you have to go through the kitchen?” Marlee asked, puzzlement on her pretty face.
 

“I don’t want anyone to know I’m leaving the party,” Declan explained.

“Why?” Marlee still wasn’t grasping what the other three seemed to find a perfect plan.

“Because it’s my party. My house,” Declan said as he turned and started his journey. He looked back to see Marlee still looking confused. He returned to her, took her hand, and held it in his own for a moment. The thunderbolt was back. It hadn’t been a fluke the first time.
 

He looked into her eyes and knew she felt it too. How could she not when it almost knocked him off his feet?

He leaned close, his breath kicking up wisps of Marlee’s hair as he spoke. He tried to gently explain to Marlee who he was, not wanting to scare her off. He wasn’t sure how he knew that his identity would not be welcome knowledge to her, but it was something he sensed.
 

“I’m Declan Tate, Marlee.” Marlee nodded. Yes, she had caught his name during Cole’s introductions, so what? “This is my house. I’m the quarterback of the Boston Pumas. This is my team. Today was my last game ever, and if they realize I’m leaving my own farewell party so that I can get to know a beautiful woman I’ve just met, they are not going to be happy. And believe me, you do not want to make these guys unhappy.” Declan turned and once more tried to make his exit.
 

Chapter Two

M
arlee stared after Declan, dumbfounded. She vaguely remembered the name Tate on the public address system at the game today, but she had been so overwhelmed just trying to figure out the basics of the game that she quickly gave up on names and just looked at the players’ jersey numbers. Even that had been a futile attempt to absorb the game. After a while, Marlee had just given up and caught up with Anna. Cole had watched the game from the sidelines, and although they could have sat in Cole’s friend’s private box, not knowing anyone else that would be there, she and Anna had chosen to sit in regular seats with the rest of the crowd.

The stands had been full mostly of men, but there was a good number of families too, and that was what Marlee’s eye kept returning to as she and Anna chatted. One family especially drew her in. The mother looked to be a few years older than her, the father about the same age. They had a son who looked to be around five. The father held his son on his lap most of the game while he tried to explain to him the finer points. It was obvious that even at five, the boy had a much better handle on football than Marlee did.
 

Was this what she would do when she had a family, Marlee had daydreamed? Would they go to outings every weekend? Certainly not football, but some other event. They’d bundle up the kids to brave the Boston winters, get them cocoa and a hot dog. She’d always remember to bring Wet Ones, like this mother had, for the perpetual ketchup and chocolate rings around the mouth. The boy had kept yelling something. What had it been? Oh yes: “Atta boy, Declan.”
 

Oh God. Marlee realized that boy had meant her Declan.

Shuddering at the ease at which she thought of him as
her
Declan, Marlee’s eyes were once again drawn to the man as he made his way across the room.
 

His room. Full of his people.

From her perch in the raised foyer, Declan looked like a salmon trying to swim upstream, the huge linemen from his team waves that he crashed against. People stopped him with handshakes and hugs, some of the huge men actually crying—much to Marlee’s astonishment—as they spoke with their leader.

Women threw their arms around him, hugging and kissing him. Marlee noticed more than one woman slip a piece of paper in Declan’s hand, which he would then slip into his pants pocket. One even went so far as putting a slip of paper in the front pocket of his pants herself, sliding her hand across his crotch and giving him a little pat.
 

An unease settled upon Marlee. She was out of her league here, amongst the aggressive—both in dress and action—women. She could not compete with such women. She
would
not compete with them. She was almost sick to her stomach thinking about how similar this scene was to one that had played out two years ago. She wanted to turn and run, but she could not take her eyes off of Declan.

He finally made it to the arched entranceway at the back of the room, which Marlee assumed led to the kitchen. She wouldn’t get to see it after all, but that was okay. Her need to leave this house overrode her curiosity. She wanted to get away from these people—the loud, physically overbearing men and the sexually aggressive women. It was like high school with money.

He turned, saw her watching him, and smiled and waved to them, assuring that he had made a clean break. He motioned to them—twirling his long fingers in a circle—to leave and that he’d meet them outside.

Cole, Anna, and Marlee turned and headed to the front door. They hadn’t been inside very long and the coat check girl still had their coats out. She wore a cute little uniform, sort of French maid, and once again Marlee was jarred at the stab of…
jealousy?
…that the thought of this girl, and those women inside, did to her now that she’d met Declan. Now that she knew that this lovely house was his home, and that all these women were here at his invitation.