Heather Graham (5 page)

Katie sipped her beer and nodded slowly. Maybe Kent did have a legitimate excuse for being such a pain. Once ripped to pieces, anyone would be wary.

“Maybe I can get him to trust me,” she murmured.

“Anything’s possible,” Sam told her. She noted that he was watching her with more than a curious interest. “Why do I get the feeling that there’s more between the two of you than meets the eye?”

Katie swallowed a little guiltily, then laughed. “Believe me, Sam, I think the only thing between Mr. Hart and me is a fair amount of animosity.”

“That’s strange,” Sam replied, setting his elbows on the table and staring at her. But his eyes fell from hers and followed the neckline of her new dress. He took a little breath. “I can’t imagine Kent being antagonistic toward any woman with your obvious assets—oops. Sorry … I really didn’t mean that the way it sounded along with the way I’m looking. I mean—”

“Let’s order, shall we?” Katie interrupted.

“Yes. Yes!” Sam murmured.

They decided on oysters on the half shell and prime rib. Katie caught Sam looking at her peculiarly again and asked him what was wrong.

“I don’t know,” he told her sheepishly. “I just … feel like a fresh kid around you.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “What is it about you?”

Stunned, Katie stared back at him, then she smiled slowly. “Sam, that was really awfully, awfully nice, but it isn’t anything about me. I think I’m proving to be a more intriguing chase than you’re accustomed to.”

He shook his head, meeting her eyes in such a way that she felt she had truly found a friend. “There isn’t really going to be a chase, is there? I’ve found a woman who absolutely fascinates me, and yet I know it isn’t going to go anywhere. Damn that Kent!”

Katie lowered her lashes quickly, then wondered why. She met his eyes again. “It really doesn’t have anything to do with Kent. Just—”

“A woman with a past!”

“We all have pasts.” She laughed.

“True, but now you’re more intriguing than ever.” He smiled and released her hand.

They both returned to their food, then Sam put down his fork and clasped his hands around his glass as he talked.

“Kent Hart is more than a great receiver—he’s a great guy. A team player all the way. We may not know too much of what’s going on with him all the time—he’s kind of a private person—but he’s always there when someone else is in trouble. I know of three marriages that would have ended in divorce if Kent hadn’t been there to remind both the players and their wives what they were about to throw away. Another player was going to be cut, but Kent got word of it and spent his spare time working the guy back up to snuff. He’s a disciplinarian—hard sometimes, but hard on himself. He won’t make appearances to earn extra money, but he’s there on his own for disadvantaged kids. If you’re trying to dredge up some dirt on him, you won’t find a guy on the team willing to help.”

Katie listened in amazement to Sam’s quiet, intense speech; his fingers were knotting more and more tightly around the glass. It was costing him to come out with such a warning, and she liked him all the more for it. She was forced to wonder about the man who could draw such loyalty from a friend.

“Sam,” she said softly, “the last thing I want to do is dredge up dirt on anyone.” He didn’t look entirely convinced. “Really. I’m on the spot myself. I wound up being a bit late trying to get a career going. I didn’t get out of college until a year ago. I started with a New Hampshire newspaper, doing the obituaries. Then I got to cover the garden parties, and then I decided to pick up and head for New York. Sam—I really needed a life. As it stands, I’m kind of on the line here myself. If I can get a good article from Kent, I’ll have a full-time staff position. If not … well, I’ll be doing obits and garden parties again. I swear I’m not about to drag anyone through the mud!”

Sam smiled. He picked up his fork again. “Katie, you’re all right. And if you’re certain you don’t want to elope with me tonight, I’ll live up to my original promise and help you battle the ole Cougar.”

Katie smiled. “Thanks, Sam.”

Sam cleaned his plate of the prime rib. Katie couldn’t quite do that, but she reminded herself that she wasn’t a growing quarterback. Sam had dessert; she settled for coffee. He talked affectionately about his parents, and she carefully kept that focus on him, avoiding references to her own background.

When they left the restaurant, Sam suddenly seemed hesitant.

“What’s the matter?” Katie asked.

“I don’t know. Yes, I do. I’m wondering if I should have invited you to this party.”

“Why? I appreciate the invitation.”

“Because … well, because the guys get rowdy sometimes. And I just felt …”

“What?”

“I don’t know. A strange feeling. Déjà vu or something. Dumb, probably.”

Katie shrugged, slipped an arm through his, and started leading him toward the car.

“Sam, I have a strange feeling, too, that whatever it is, I’m going to have weathered worse. Let’s go, shall we?”

Kent could hear the music blaring long before he came into the elaborate drive.

The house, he noted with admiration, was set in the alcove of a hill, high and protected. It was a nice place; modern, it seemed to nestle against the cliff and enhance the natural rock with an exterior full of glass and wood trim.

A perfect den of iniquity, he thought with a little grin. Then his grin fell, because he had run really late, having carried on a conversation with his thirteen-year-old daughter on the phone for over an hour. And he was thinking about another man’s daughter—Hudson’s daughter. He had a funny feeling about the night. To the best of his knowledge the coaches didn’t know a thing about the party. That, along with the victorious game, meant that things were going to get wild. And wild … well, she might be over twenty-one, but Kent just didn’t want Hudson’s daughter involved with anything too wild.

Kent parked at the end of the drive; he didn’t want to get blocked in, should he decide he wanted to leave early. Which he probably would.

The walk up the long driveway felt good to him. The air was really cool here, nice. It was a hideout, almost like the one he kept in the Rockies. Almost, he repeated to himself with a laugh. Actually, the only similarity was the mountain air. This was a bachelor pad right out of a magazine. His was a rustic wood cabin that had only recently acquired indoor plumbing. But that was the way he wanted it—he went to the mountains to be alone.

Kent banged against the door, but no one answered. It was obvious that even a bang couldn’t be heard. He pushed the door open, closed it behind him, then stood in the tiled entry for a minute to assess the scene before joining it.

Down a few steps to the left was a carpeted conversation pit with a copper and stone fireplace. Couples were seated on cushions and chairs around the fire, talking and laughing. To his right was a living room decorated in modern chrome and glass. More couples were there, dancing. Beyond the living room was a huge buffet table; beyond the table was an elaborate, curling bar with carved, high-backed stools.

It was there that his eyes found Kathleen Hudson. She was perched on a stool like a queen holding court. She was in a long blue dress, a color that made a striking display of her Cinderella hair as it spilled over her shoulders in a cascade of platinum and gold. One long leg was crossed over the other; she had kicked off her shoes, and one stockinged foot curled occasionally with a ridiculous elegance as she talked and laughed. Somehow, Kent thought with irritation, that one foot was more arousing than any of the ample displays of cleavage and legs about the room.

Holding court … That was exactly what she was doing. Her fingers were curled around a champagne glass that she sipped from occasionally between spurts of laughter and words. Sam was standing behind her, an elbow protectively leaned on the bar as if he sought to make sure no one could make an advance from the rear. But before her and around her … well, it seemed like half the team had decided to pay homage. There was an air about her—an aura of sweet but touch-me-not dignity.

That thought didn’t help his irrational annoyance much. Just like the subtle, elegant appeal of her nyloned foot, that touch of remoteness gave her an even greater appeal. The guys around her were fascinated—hanging on the melody of her laughter like a pack of drooling lapdogs.

She’s playing you all for a pack of fools, Kent thought. And you’re all being suckered in. She has no intention of giving any of you more than a pat on the head …

So why was he worrying about her? It was like thinking he needed to protect a small but deadly black widow.

Maybe, maybe not. The Sarasota Saxons were, on the whole, an okay group of guys. But they’d been in training and off liquor for a long time. And tonight they were drinking. If they got sloppy, even a pedestaled princess could be in trouble.

“Kent! Oh, Kent, you came! Now the party can really begin!” Long arms tangled around his neck and full breasts crushed to his chest along with the words.

Distracted, he gripped the arms about him and turned his eyes downward to the velvet-eyed brunette who had spoken. Connie Azzizi was the ex-wife of a football player, a dark beauty who liked the game—and the players. Her alimony checks could take her wherever she wanted to go, and she had a friend on every team. She was a nice woman; generally Kent liked her and her company. Connie might not have any scruples—but neither did she have any pretense.

But right now he wasn’t feeling much patience for Connie. She was obstructing his view of Miss Hudson and her court of admirers.

“Hi, Connie,” Kent murmured, holding her hands so they couldn’t strangle him with affection. “Good to see you.”

Connie frowned. “Well, if you’re so damned glad to see me, Kent Hart, you might pay a bit of attention to me!” Connie pouted.

“What? Oh, sorry,” Kent apologized. “What have you been up to, Connie?”

“It’s football season,” Connie replied. “I’ve been flying around to catch my pick of the games. And you’re still not paying the least bit of attention to me. Why don’t you come to the bar and get a drink? Maybe I can get you a little sloshed and then seduce you.”

Kent gazed down at her and laughed. That was part of Connie’s charm. No one ever knew if she was serious or not. She was a bit of a reigning queen herself; it was always her choice.

“I’m not drinking tonight, Connie, but I think I’ll get a soda.”

“Aha! You’re willing to get close to the bar—and our lovely little reporter, eh?” Connie teased.

Again, Kent pulled his eyes from Kathleen Hudson to stare at Connie. She was smiling genuinely, without malice.

“Maybe,” he returned.

“You’re the one she’s after, you know.”

“So she told me.”

“You’ve met her?”

“Yes, right after the game.”

“Wonder why I’ve never seen her before?” Connie mused. “She knows how to talk football, knows the plays and the players. But she says she doesn’t really cover the game—just people.”

Kent hesitated. Obviously, she wasn’t telling anyone who she was. He could probably burst her pristine bubble by casually blurting out the truth. Oddly enough—with the way she was irritating him, and she was irritating him beyond all bounds—he didn’t want to do that. If there was anything about her that seemed to be honest, it was the love she had felt for her father. She’d be inundated with questions—painful questions—if he revealed her identity.

It was surprising, though, that a few of the older guys hadn’t made the connection. She had a look of Dante about her, the Nordic coloring, her sea-changing eyes—blue tonight, a blue he could see clearly all the way across the room. And though her features were slim and refined, even they spoke of Dante. They were chiseled without flaw, full of character and determination.

And guile, he reminded himself. She wasn’t interested in one of the men she was dangling about like puppets. Not even Sam—who seemed to have it real bad for her.

Sam—of all people. Well, he thought, that’s none of my business. So what am I doing? he asked himself for the hundredth time.

It all boiled down to one answer in his mind: She was Dante’s daughter. It didn’t matter a lick where she had been for the last fourteen years—or with whom. Kent felt like her guardian right now, and it was a feeling he just couldn’t ignore.

He was stopped as he followed Connie across the room to the bar. The party seemed to have split into two groups, with the married couples on the dance floor and the free-wheeling singles in the conversation pit and around the bar.

It was the dancers who stopped him, calling out to him. Bobby Patterson’s wife, Joanie, paused in midstride to slip from her husband’s hold and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. She was a beautiful woman—and a beautiful mother and a beautiful wife. Bobby knew it; he wasn’t about to lose her. Nothing that went on around them bothered either of them because they knew they had each other.

Jim Norcross, a defensive tackle, stopped him next with a quick greeting. Sally Norcross made Kent promise her a dance later. She was a tiny blond and very much in love with a husband who was very much in love with her.

Kent waved them back to dancing and started weaving his way along behind Connie again, reflecting on the couples who were out on the dance floor. There were a lot of good people out there, a lot of top-notch, caring relationships. He tended to be a cynic, and it wasn’t fair to his profession or his friends. Marriage was up to the individual. His own had gone sour, but that didn’t mean that love couldn’t exist. It did—a lot of it.

Then Kent wondered why he was thinking about love and marriage. He’d been that route once and had failed royally. Divorce—and the admittedly wild years following it—had sobered and hardened him. He liked being a loner who touched base with earth and women at his own pace.

“Hey, the Cougar made it!” Sam had somehow managed to take his eyes from Kathleen Hudson to lift a hand in greeting and slam it down hard on Kent’s back as he reached the bar. Kent groaned inwardly. The whirlpool had helped him a lot, but he had still been the bottom pin in a massive pileup. Sam’s touch was not a gentle one.