Game On (2 page)

What are you doing?
Julianne mouthed.

Good question, Carly thought to herself as she stepped into Shane Devlin’s arms. What
was
she doing? She knew she shouldn’t be touching him, much less dancing with him. But Marco had almost blown it back at the table and could have let it slip who she was. She didn’t think about the consequences before rushing off with Shane. Clearly, the testosterone oozing out of his pores was wreaking havoc on her normally solid common sense. That and a weekend spent Googling everything ever written about him. Carly had stared at his photo so many times in the last few days, she dreamt about him at night. Now her dreams had become reality. And the real thing was oh so much better. She shivered as his mouth grazed her ear. Oh God, she needed to keep a hold of her senses and remember who she worked for.

Shane Devlin was no random stranger at a resort. Anyone who followed sports knew he was an out-of-work NFL quarterback looking for a team to play for. Up until a day or two ago, his prospects had looked bleak. But then, Gabe Harrelson, the record-breaking young quarterback for the Baltimore Blaze, broke a hip and a femur hang-gliding in Australia. As assistant to the team’s general manager, Carly knew Shane occupied a spot on the team’s short list for replacing Harrelson.

The search for a replacement quarterback had encroached on her getaway since the day she arrived at the beach resort. She’d tagged along with her best friend, Julianne, to rest and relax for a few days during the team’s off-season. Instead, the only surfing she’d done was on the Internet. The dossier she’d compiled about Shane Devlin could fill a tabloid magazine. In fact, that’s where she’d gotten most of her background on him. His play off the field was as notorious as his play on the field. Despite the fact that most of the reports about his behavior outside of football looked to her to be rumor and innuendo, she didn’t think Blaze management would see it that way. Hank Osbourne, the team’s general manager, was a stickler about his players being role models for the fans. If you played for the Blaze, you must be above reproach. The same could be said for those who worked for the team.

Earlier in the day, Carly made a strong case to management via a conference call that the exploits reported by the media of Shane’s “extracurricular behavior” had been greatly exaggerated. One woman’s claim that he was the father of her child had been easily refuted a few weeks later with DNA testing, but the stigma of his playboy reputation still lingered. A more recent claim by a San Diego Charger’s employee that Shane had sexually intimidated her was never substantiated. However, the stink associated with both incidents was a red flag for Blaze management.

The tabloid press was notorious for blowing things out of proportion—Carly knew this firsthand.
They even turn on their own.
She felt a kinship for anyone crucified by the paparazzi, and it was one of the reasons Carly felt she needed to defend Shane against the sensational articles. Heck, she’d stuck her neck out for Shane this morning. The same neck his lips were skimming over right now. Oh, this was not good.
It’s just a dance,
she told herself as he moved her slowly around the patio. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t listening to what her brain was saying as she pressed dangerously closer.

The photos on the Internet didn’t do him justice. He wasn’t glamour-boy gorgeous, but his dark, intense looks definitely drew the attention of most of the women at the resort. And when he’d smiled at her a few minutes earlier, she’d been lucky to be sitting because she was sure her legs had turned to jelly. Unlike most of the men at the bar, he had eschewed the resort uniform of khaki shorts and a golf shirt. Instead, he was dressed in a pair of well-worn jean shorts, flip-flops, and a white linen shirt unbuttoned to reveal enough skin for her to know he spent a lot of time outdoors. Sun-kissed brown hair curled around his collar, one stray lock hanging in front of eyes so dark, she couldn’t make out their color. A hint of stubble along his jaw gave just the right amount of danger to his look. His presence was . . . intoxicating, to say the least. And he was focusing all that dark, brooding intensity on her.

Strong arms held her against his tall, athletic frame and she sighed softly as his chest came in contact with her breasts. His lips brushed her hairline; the beginnings of his beard gently rubbing against her skin sent shock waves to the pit of her belly and below. He smelled of shea butter and soap. Clean and sweet. Definitely not the words most people would use to describe Shane Devlin, the Devil of the NFL. He shifted her against him again and she felt the heat and strength of his arousal.

Okay, this was definitely a bad idea,
she thought to herself. Letting a player kiss you would likely be frowned upon by management. Anything more would probably lead to dismissal. Carly really liked her job. She didn’t want to jeopardize her position with the Blaze in any way. It gave her an excuse to live in Baltimore where she could help take care of her sister. Besides, she was through with jocks. With all celebrities, for that matter. If she was going to have a fling, it had to be with an accountant or podiatrist. Someone who didn’t have paparazzi hiding in his bushes.

If she were being honest, though, it was nice to be held in a man’s arms again. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it these past months. Shane had been watching her all weekend—either through the pages of a magazine or in person. She couldn’t help but be flattered by his attention, especially with twelve bikini-clad models running around on the beach.

If he were any other man, she’d be tempted to let her inhibitions run wild for one night of sex. Judging by the attraction humming between them, she knew it would be an interlude she’d not likely forget. She wished the team had already picked someone else so she could let him have his way with her on the makeshift dance floor. Or on the beach. Or in his bungalow.

But he was who he was, and she’d been down this road before. Carly couldn’t let this get out of hand.

Shane had somehow maneuvered them off the edge of the patio to a dimly lit alcove beside the pool. She looked up into his shadowed face as a lock of hair fell past his left brow. Intense gray eyes blazed with hunger as his hands gently rubbed her back, one hand roaming lower to lightly skim her bottom. Her body continued to betray her as Shane’s potent chemistry wore down her defenses. When he nipped at her collarbone, heat ricocheted through her belly and beyond.

Maybe just a kiss.
Surely she could stop at one?

“What is it you want, Mr. Devlin?” she asked again, lifting her eyes to meet his.

“I want whatever you’ll give me,” he whispered, lowering his head.

She closed her eyes as her stomach quivered in anticipation, waiting for his lips to make contact.

But they never did. Instead, the
Wizard of Oz
ring tone grew louder. Julianne emerged from the shadows somewhere behind them, Carly’s ringing cell phone in her hand. Carly leaped out of Shane’s arms, a wild jumble of nerves, nearly bowling over her friend.

“You told me not to let you miss a call.” Julianne handed her the phone.

“I’ve got it!” Carly said, annoyed that her friend seemed to be enjoying the moment a little too much.

Julianne failed to hide her grin, and, offering Shane an elegant shrug, retreated back into the shadows.

Carly turned to Shane, who stood, hands on hips, that single lock of hair obscuring an eye. Aside from his breathing being a little ragged, he stared nonchalantly back at her.

“I’m sorry, but I have to take this call.” She spoke softly, embarrassment warming her cheeks. “I really have to go. Good night.”

He said nothing, his lips compressed in a thin line. Quickly, she crept away before she changed her mind.

Mortified by her behavior, she felt a tinge of guilt for leaving him in a state of potent arousal. But as she glanced at the text message on her phone, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. She’d just dodged a bullet. Shane Devlin was her team’s new quarterback.

Now all she had to do was find a way to avoid him altogether once he arrived in Baltimore.

Two

Carly dug the heels of her Steve Madden boots
into the carpet as she maneuvered the wheelchair through the hallway of the Blaze headquarters building, all the while trying not to jiggle the chair’s occupant too much. The Baltimore weather hadn’t been welcoming after the sun and warmth of Mexico. Despite the fact it was nearly the end of April, winter still had the mid-Atlantic in its grip, complete with gray clouds spewing icy drizzle. Dressed in a sleek, gray wool pantsuit and silk pink blouse, Carly was beginning to regret her choice to dress for the weather as sweat began to pool on her neck, the result of wielding the bulky wheelchair for what felt like miles this morning.

“I can’t believe you busted up your knee skiing, Asia.” Carly tried not to sound as out of shape as she felt. “One would have thought you’d be a bit more graceful, being an All-American college basketball player and all,” she teased.

The going got easier as they entered the cafeteria with its linoleum floor, and Carly pushed Asia Dupree, media relations director for the Blaze, to a table near the row of coffee urns.

“Yeah, well, college was a few years ago, Carly. And all this sitting behind a desk hasn’t helped to keep my old body in shape.”

Carly slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table, reaching over to adjust the pillow cradling Asia’s injured knee. She smiled at the statuesque African American beauty. “Thirty isn’t old.” Carly gestured to the coffee bar.

Asia nodded. “Yeah, well, it’s the last time I celebrate my birthday with a ski vacation.”

Carly carried over a steaming cup of coffee, placing it on the table near Asia before going back to grab a handful of sweetener packets and a container of creamer. “Ah, but you did get rescued by a handsome hero. Seriously, if you wanted to get a certain director of security’s attention, wouldn’t it have been easier to break a heel here at work?”

Asia shot her a glare that turned to a smile before taking sip of coffee.

Laughing, Carly poured herself a cup of tea. “Next birthday, head to the beach. Cabo is beautiful this time of year,” she said.

“Oh Carly, I’m so sorry that my accident ruined your vacation. I should have been the one vetting our new players, not you. But I was pretty hopped up on the painkillers. I feel bad you didn’t get to relax yourself.”

Carrying her own steaming cup to the table, Carly gently squeezed her friend’s shoulder before taking the seat next to her. “Don’t be silly, Asia. I had a great trip.” She gave her friend what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she blew on her tea.

It was true; Carly did have a nice time in Cabo. Especially the brief time spent in Shane Devlin’s arms. Putting down her tea so Asia couldn’t see the slight tremor caused by her thoughts of Shane, Carly winced inwardly at the way she’d left him. It was childish. She should have just come clean in Mexico. Instead, she now faced an awkward situation when they first ran into one another at work. He was arriving today for a press conference and meetings with the coaches. A three-day player mini-camp was scheduled for the rest of the week. Maybe Carly would seek him out to explain why she’d abruptly left the dance floor. Maybe they’d both laugh about it.
Yeah, maybe
.

“But you really needed some downtime after all you and your family have been through these past few months,” Asia persisted, forcing Carly’s thoughts back to the present.

“Asia, I gave my sister some bone marrow, not a kidney. I’m fine. Besides, I’m just glad I could help you and Hank out. It made me feel useful.”

“Useful? Carly, you were amazing!” Asia said. “Your contacts are unbelievable. I never would have been able to ferret out some of that information about Shane Devlin.”

Carly took a sip of tea. “Well, one tends to become great friends with those slimy paparazzi when they were picking through your garbage.”

Asia gave her a look tinged with pity, slightly shaking her head at Carly’s self-deprecating humor. Carly steeled herself with another swallow of tea.

“Do you miss it?” Asia asked softly.

“Having total strangers hound your every move?” Carly shuddered.

“No, the sophistication and glamour of living as a European socialite.”

“Never,” Carly answered firmly. It was true. She hadn’t asked to grow up in a fishbowl of European paparazzi. Her mother, Veronica March, was a media heiress, traveling the world as a correspondent for a cable news channel. Carly was ten when Veronica had been murdered by terrorists. She’d never known who her father was. It was the media who broke it to her. “Darling Carly,” as they’d dubbed her, was Veronica’s “love child” with a married American news anchor. Unfortunately, Carly’s existence was news to her father as well. It made for great fodder to sell tabloids—including those owned by her grandmother. It was
not
a pleasant way to grow up. But her childhood couldn’t prepare her for how the media treated her later in life. Carly refused to think of Max right now. Lifting her gaze, she locked eyes with Asia.

“No, Asia. I don’t miss it. Like I said, I love my job here. I feel useful.” Her voice was steely, she knew. But Asia boasted not only a national championship in NCAA basketball, but an MBA from the Wharton School’s business program as well. Carly knew Asia appreciated toughness.

“Good,” Asia said, her voice sounding just as determined as Carly’s. “Because I’m going to need a little more help in the next few weeks.”

“Of course. Whatever you need. I’m sure Hank won’t mind.”

“It was Hank’s suggestion, actually. It’s going to be difficult for me to carry out the media blitz we have planned for our new quarterback with this bum knee.” Asia gestured to her leg, which was encased in a brace. “Someone needs to babysit him on his media outings while I’m still immobile. Both Hank and I thought you’d be perfect.”

Carly took too big a swallow of her tea and nearly choked as the hot liquid burned down her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was the hot drink or the shock of having to spend time with Shane Devlin—more than just sharing a laugh over her humiliating exit in Cabo—but she couldn’t seem to find words to respond to Asia. Not that Asia was waiting on a response.

“I can handle today’s press conference, but my knee is going to need surgery once the swelling goes down. Then there’s physical therapy . . . Carly, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Carly reassured her friend. “Just feeling bad that you have to go through all that.” It was a lie. Not that Carly wasn’t feeling sorry for Asia; she was. But she was trying to figure out a way to deal with Shane Devlin without her hormones going haywire.

“Hmm. I’ll be suffering and you’ll get to spend time with a gorgeous bad boy,” Asia said. “Who knows, maybe you two will hit it off.”

Carly stared at Asia, trying desperately not to let her mouth gape open, all the while wondering if Julianne had broken her promise not to tell a soul about her close encounter with the Devil of the NFL.

“He’s not my type.” A girl could lock lips with a guy who isn’t her type. It happened all the time.

“No one’s your type,” Asia said sarcastically before taking a swallow of coffee.

“I wouldn’t say that,” a male voice chimed in from behind them. “I’m sure there are a few guys who could be the perfect type for Carly.”

The hairs on the back of Carly’s neck stood on end as she recognized the voice behind her.
Great
. It was Joel Tompkins, one of the team’s beat reporters. She’d made the mistake of having coffee with him several weeks ago and he’d been pestering her for a date ever since. Lately, he’d been popping up everywhere she went.

“Tompkins, you know media aren’t allowed in this part of the building.” Asia pinned him with the haughty voice known to cause grizzled sports writers to back down.

“I know,” Joel said, his eyes glued on Carly. “I need to get my parking pass updated.”

“Mary handles that up front and you know it,” Asia replied. “Either find your way back to the press room or find your credentials revoked for a week.”

“She’s such a buzz kill,” Joel said. Leaning his hip against a nearby table, he slowly eyed Carly from head to toe. “How was Cabo, Carly? You’re back early. You must’ve missed me.”

Carly was too stunned to respond. Only a handful of people knew where she had gone on vacation, and she would swear on her life that none of them would tell Joel. The guy was really starting to creep her out. Before she knew it, Donovan Carter, director of security for the Blaze, appeared out of nowhere and had Joel by the arm.

“Tompkins, I thought you and I had already talked about staying in your side of the facility,” Donovan practically growled. Joel cowed quickly, intimidated by the stocky African American former Marine.

“Just checking on my best girl,” Joel said as he yanked his arm out of Donovan’s grasp. With a jaunty salute, he sauntered toward the hallway. “I’ll see you later, babe,” he called over his shoulder.

Best girl?
They had coffee together. Once. Carly was certainly used to overzealous reporters, but Joel’s fascination with her was a little over the top.

“That guy’s ick factor just went way up,” Asia said.

Donovan stood with his hands on his hips until Joel was out of sight. Hooking one foot around a chair leg, he pulled it toward their table and sat, offering a smile to Asia.

“He still buggin’ you?” Donovan focused his eyes on Carly. She was always amazed at how a man so imposing could have such beautiful eyes: warm chocolate with a genuine sincerity that always managed to put Carly at ease.

“All media bug me, Donovan,” Carly quipped, taking another sip of her tea.

Donovan leaned forward, putting on his best interrogator’s voice. “I mean, is he still leaving little gifts in your office or waiting for you at your car at night?”

Carly shivered at his intensity. “Yes and no,” she hedged.

Donovan made an incoherent sound before Asia subdued him with a hand to his arm. “Carly, don’t mess with him. If Joel’s being a worm, you’d better give us the details,” she said.

Sitting back in her chair, Carly released a sigh. “
Yes
, he’s still leaving flowers, candy, and notes on my desk. As far as I know, he hasn’t disturbed anything in my office, though.
No
, he doesn’t wait at my car anymore, but that’s because I always find someone to walk out with. I think he’s getting the hint.”

“It didn’t sound to me like he got the hint,” Donovan snapped. He waved a finger at Carly. “If he gets in your face again, you’re to come tell me right away. Got it?” He was so intense, Carly was surprised steam hadn’t started to rise from Donovan’s shaved head.

Carly smiled at him before giving him a smart salute. She wanted to grab him up in hug because, despite his ferocity, she knew his actions meant he cared. Sure he was responsible for the security of the team and its staff, but his protectiveness made her feel as if she were a part of something. Someone was willing to run interference for her with the media and it felt good. Until recently, she hadn’t experienced that feeling too often.

* * *

Nonchalantly leaning back in the plush confer-
ence room chair, Shane watched as his agent, Roscoe Mathis, charmed a young woman into bringing him some coffee. Shane shook his head and chuckled softly as the receptionist offered to bring them donuts, too. Roscoe’s grandmother used to tell Shane that Roscoe could charm the habit off a nun. He’d seen the effects of that charm too many times to argue with his friend’s grandmother.

The two men had met when Shane was a freshman in college. Roscoe was in law school, working as a tutor to raise extra money. Determined not to make the same mistakes as his father, Shane did everything he could to earn the degree the football scholarship offered—even if it meant working with a tutor. By the time Shane was picked in the first round of the NFL draft, Roscoe was working as a junior attorney with a sports management company in New York. The relationship was lucrative for both of them. Shane trusted very few people in life. Roscoe Mathis was one of those very few.

Thin rivers of rain zigzagged down the glass of the huge windows surrounding the conference room. The cold, nasty weather was definitely a shock to Shane’s system. Dressed in gray slacks, a black cashmere crewneck sweater, and loafers with no socks, he felt the chill seep through him. With the exception of games played on the East Coast and two weeks spent each summer at a cabin near the town in western Pennsylvania where he grew up, Shane managed to avoid living in the East. Southern California had the sun, the beach, and a laid-back lifestyle that allowed him to cultivate the “devil may care” attitude people expected of him. He never intended to return East. It was too close to Bruce Devlin and his new family. Yet here he was, practically groveling for a chance to play another season or two of football in Baltimore.

Several people entered the conference room, jarring Shane from his thoughts. He stood as Roscoe shook hands with a tall gentleman sporting a buzz cut who, were it not for his Brooks Brothers suit, looked as if he were commanding a battalion of troops in the Middle East. The middle-aged man turned and thrust his hand at Shane, his bright blue eyes twinkling behind wire-rim glasses and an easy smile on his tanned, weathered face.

“Shane, allow me to introduce you to Hank Osbourne, president and general manager of the Blaze,” Roscoe said. “Hank’s known around the NFL as the Wizard of Oz.”

Shane returned the handshake with a nod. But, with the mention of the Wizard of Oz, his mind drifted back to the dimly lit bar on the beach in Cabo a few days earlier. Try as he might, he’d been unable to banish the image of Dorothy. Days later, he was still frustrated. If he’d been smart, he would have invited one of the models to his bungalow and lost himself inside her nubile body. Instead, he stayed by the pool trying to get a handle on his desire. When he returned to the bar, the Italian fashion designer had rounded up all her charges and sent them along to bed. Alone. Shane had spent the rest of the evening listening to Mort and Kitty talk about their grandchildren—they’d cornered him as he’d tried to escape across the patio to his bungalow. He kept telling himself he’d made a narrow escape. She obviously was one of those women who liked to tease. One minute, she was giving him the cold brush-off; the next, she was dragging him to the dance floor, grinding her hips against his. Yeah, it was a good thing she left when she did. He’d had enough psycho chicks to last a lifetime.