Playing for Keeps (8 page)

“It was gutsy,” he assured her. “And it’s going great, right?”

She nodded. “Unfortunately, everyone knows
how
I got it. Or at least they think they know. So apparently the rumor is that I got all indignant and huffy about inappropriate workplace behavior, then turned around and started sleeping with someone who’s under contract with us. That makes me a hypocrite at the very least. And at worst, an opportunist and a liar.”

“Geezus, I shouldn’t have sent those effing flowers. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “People fool around at our office all the time. It wouldn’t have mattered. And I sort of see where they’re coming from, don’t you? Because they don’t have all the facts. But meanwhile, I can’t afford to blow this account. And I can’t afford to be perceived as a hypocrite or opportunist. And let’s face it,” she added sadly, “sleeping with a famous guy like you to advance my career looks shabby. If it works, fine. But what if something went wrong with Lager Storm? My career would never survive. Not at Caldwell, and maybe not anywhere, because it’s a small club, and we all gossip like hell.”

He leaned back in his chair and studied her intently, finally saying, “So we’re finished before we start.”

A pang of regret shot through her chest, but she forced herself not to show it. “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, John.”

He stood and smiled grimly. “I’m glad you told me in person. If you’d done it on the phone, I would have tried to change your mind. It’s fine,” he added, moving around the table but stopping a few feet from her. “I’ve seen guys mess up at pivotal points in their careers—make one innocent, bonehead mistake—and then never recover. So the best thing to do is just drop this cold, right here, right now.”

She stared at him, surprised and grateful. “Thanks so much. I just hope you don’t regret signing with Caldwell. I mean, it’s good money, at least. Right?”

“I don’t need the money,” he countered gently. “But your spiel about my reputation hit home. I might not have done it, honestly, if I’d known I didn’t have a shot with you. But I don’t regret it.” He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “There was that stuff about being a role model too. Showing girls they deserve respect. Your idea does that. You have a right to be proud.”

She licked her lips, mesmerized by his deep, sexy voice. He was making the right choice and for all the right reasons
. She
was the one who wanted to second-guess it. To have the scheduled fling after all. Or maybe even rip his clothes off right now.

“Wait a minute,” he instructed her suddenly. Then he went into the kitchen, took something out of a paper bag on the counter, and brought it back to her. “For your flight home.”

It was an orange, but it might as well have been a priceless jewel. Taking it from him, she marveled silently at the perfect shape and color, then held it to her nose and inhaled the fragrance. “Yum, Johnny. That was so sweet of you.”

Now more than ever she wanted to suggest the good-bye kiss. But wasn’t that more hypocrisy? Or at least mixed signals on steroids?

“I should get going.” She picked up her briefcase and slipped the orange into it, then walked over to the door. “Thanks again for understanding. You’re an amazing guy.”

“You’re pretty cool yourself.” He smiled ruefully. “I just wish I hadn’t sent the flowers. It didn’t even occur to me people would think it was a morning-after gift.”

“Morning after? Oh . . .” She tried to laugh. “It’s crazy, right? I mean, when did they think it happened? We were only gone for half an hour, and spent the whole time in a public place.”

“Murf thought we did it too.”

“What?”

He laughed. “It’s not my style, trust me. But he could see how hard I fell for you. And they could see how we looked at each other when we got back.”

She touched his cheek. “You’re probably right. I tried to blame it on Frank for spreading rumors, but I think Steve and Caldwell thought so too.” She gave a wistful shrug. “There’s nothing I can do about that. But going forward, we’ll project an attitude of pure business. Because that’s all it is. Unfortunately.”

“That’s interesting though, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?” She flushed as he edged closer. “Interesting how?”

“They all think we did it. And we can’t undo that. So maybe we should.”

“Should?”

“Do it.”

Oh, God
. . .

He quirked a sexy eyebrow. “They owe us one, don’t you think?”

She tried to breathe, but there was no air. It was a crazy suggestion, but there was truth in it. Caldwell would always think she slept with him at least once. Had fun and excitement and wild sex—in a bar, no less.

“Just once,” he wheedled. “They’ll hold it against you either way. So it’s a free shot.”

She couldn’t think of a reply, and apparently he read a lot into that non-answer, because he backed her slowly, gently, relentlessly against the door. Then he whispered in her ear, his breath warm and steamy, “They owe us one, baby.”

“Oh, God . . .” She shrugged her briefcase off her shoulder and slid one hand behind his neck. “They
do
owe us one. Just once.”

“Absolutely.” He kissed her mouth, his tongue probing while his pelvis moved against her in slow, hedonistic enjoyment. She gasped and egged him on, her free hand stroking his bicep, loving the power, the hardness, the fever-hot skin. Then as he fumbled to pull her blouse up, she did the same with his polo, shoving it up, and then moving her mouth down to lick his rock-hard chest.

“Damn, Erica,” he growled, pulling off his shirt, then dropping to his knees so he could reach under her skirt, pulling her panties down and tossing them across the room, then looping her left leg around his neck and plastering his mouth—his
tongue
—between her thighs.

She was moaning his name now, shocked by the move, and madly in love with its perpetrator. She throbbed desperately, and when he almost had her at the precipice, he stood and shed his jeans. A condom appeared out of nowhere and then he was in her, thrusting, growling her name again and again, swearing and thanking then swearing again, like it was her fault he was coming so quickly.

But all she cared about was that she was getting there even quicker. Her body grabbed his hard, thick cock in frantic, rhythmic embraces that grew faster, then imploded completely, centered almost to a pinpoint then burgeoning out again, rippling through her while he complained playfully, accusing her of sabotage as his thrusts grew stronger and more delicious until they rocked each other hard, one last, perfect time.

Then they were still, and she would have slipped to the floor in a giddy heap if he hadn’t kept her pinned in place. Grinning down at her, he insisted, “I knew you’d be fun.”

She gave a long, satisfied sigh. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“With me inside you? Yeah, I could make that work. Give me a couple of minutes,” he added, “and we’ll go again.”

She wriggled free, and tried to look serious, but the muscles of her face were just too happy, so she settled for reminding, “You know we can’t. That was our free shot, and you made it count.”

“Yeah.” He pulled her close again, burying his face in her hair. “Like I said, I’m glad we did this in person. It would have killed me otherwise. I mean, it’s killing me this way too, but at least . . . Damn, just tell me to shut up.”

“Never.” She sighed. “That’s just what I was thinking too. I’m so glad we did this. And it serves them all right for having such dirty minds.”

“Yeah. Let’s just hope they start spreading rumors that we did it twice—”

“Okay, okay.” She laughed and pulled free. “I’d better get going, John. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“I’m driving you to the airport. No arguments.”

“No arguments,” she agreed easily. “As long as you drop me at the curb.”

“Yeah, I know. We don’t want anyone to see you with me. It’s gonna kill me to watch you walk away, but that’s how it is.”

“And when we see each other again next week? At the shoot? It’ll be all business. Not just pretending, but for real. Right?”

“I can do that. For
you
. Because”—he moved in for another kiss—“you’re the hottest, sweetest girl I’ve even known. And the most talented. I’d never screw that up for you, baby. So just stop me any time.”

He was hard again, and she couldn’t resist. So she moved her mouth to his ear and whispered, “They probably think we did it twice in that bar.”

“Yeah, twice.” His tone was dazed, but he managed to produce another condom without delay, and then they said the best good-bye Erica could possibly imagine.

• • •

He still got her to the airport on time, his mood so determined it reminded her of what he’d said about shifting from “goof-off” middle child to big brother so abruptly. It had already been the worst day of his young life, losing not just his hero brother but also his mom. Then suddenly he had a new job, new responsibilities, making it even worse.

She wondered if maybe, in an odd way, it had helped him deal with the staggering loss. Coach Aaron Spurling had a reputation as the world’s best motivator, beloved by his players as much for the way he pushed them as the way he protected them on and off the field.

Maybe he had done that for his middle son that day. Protected him by pushing him to his limits. Giving him something to focus on when he probably wanted to pull the covers over his head, or get stoned, or just cry his eyes out.

Or maybe Johnny would have been this guy—so confident, so responsible, and yet so much fun—either way. It certainly seemed to come naturally, especially now as he morphed from passionate lover to business associate before her eyes, using his favorite subject—football—to ease the transition. It was a brilliant strategy so she reclined her leather seat and allowed herself to enjoy it.

Johnny’s SUV was a luxurious vehicle, fancy and pristine on the inside with supple black leather and an ungodly amount of chrome, but dinged up enough on the outside, especially along the lower edges, to indicate he drove it off-road. Maybe even
way
off-road. She had read about his hiking, climbing, and skiing, hearing also that both his coach father and his actual coach disapproved of any such exploits for fear he’d hurt his rocket launcher of an arm. So he kept the daredevil stuff to a minimum, and then only during the off-season.

After chatting a bit more about the Triple Threat, he treated her to the inside scoop on Wyatt Bourne, also known as the Surgeon, one of five or six elite quarterbacks in the NFL and arguably second best next to Johnny. Maybe even the very best, since he was the reigning Super Bowl champ.

Like Johnny’s, his nickname had two popular connotations. He threw with surgical precision, slicing through defenses with deadly accuracy. When Johnny referred to him as the Surgeon, this was clearly what he meant.

But Erica and most of the fans and sportswriters used it in reference to Bourne’s God complex, always on display. He rarely gave interviews, but when he did he verbally eviscerated upcoming opponents. And on a bad day he was known to skewer his own teammates as well.

In other words, a classic douche,
Erica decided. Then she joked aloud, “The Surgeon doesn’t do product endorsements either. The difference is, no one
wants
him.”

Johnny laughed. “I doubt that. He’s famous, and fame sells.”

“I never watch him unless he’s playing you. In which case I’m too busy watching
you
.”

“You should watch him,” he advised her solemnly. “It’s a clinic every week.”

“I’ll add him to my list. After Bannerman.”

He smiled in approval as he eased the vehicle up to the curb at the airport.

“Don’t get out,” she reminded him. “People will recognize you and take pictures and post them on the net, then Frank will spread more false rumors. Except,” she added with a wistful smile, “these false rumors will be true.”

“Get over here then.”

She went to him easily and they kissed for a long, appreciative minute. Still lovers, at least until she stepped out of the car. But it was definitely a kiss good-bye.

Finally she pulled free and told him warmly, “Thanks for the orange.”

“Any time.”

“Good luck on Sunday. I hope you slice the Surgeon open and remove his mojo permanently.”

“I’ll do my best.” He was quiet for a moment, just looking into her eyes. Then he said, “I’ll see you a week from Tuesday, right? At the shoot?”

“We can interact there, of course. But—”

“I know. No flirting. And no phone calls or roses in the meantime. Or should I say, not ever?”

She nodded sadly. “Not ever. I know I’ll regret it, but I don’t see a choice.”

“It’s the smart move, Erica. Your career comes first.” He stroked her cheek. “I just wish we’d met when we were both at Cal.”

“I wasn’t ready for you then.”

“And now it’s too late? It sucks, but I get it.”

She nodded again, brushed her lips across his, and then jumped out of the SUV and headed for a wide expanse of sliding glass doors.

• • •

On the plane ride home she allowed herself to wallow, knowing it wouldn’t last too long. For one thing, even if she and Johnny had started dating, it would have ended on or before Super Bowl Sunday, thanks to his blind date. So he wasn’t really Mr. Right.

Just Mr. Hot.

That opening move against the door of his agent’s suite? She shivered just thinking about it, and had to laugh at herself for telling him she wouldn’t have been ready for him in college. She was barely ready now!

By the time she dragged her weary body back to her apartment, she was too tired to mourn the loss of his nightly phone calls. Luckily she had brought the last batch of roses home with her after the fiasco with Sherry, and so she moved them to her bedside table, then after inhaling their fragrance deeply, fell asleep.

• • •

She went into the office on Saturday to make up the time, and since Steve came in too, they treated it like a do-over. He didn’t ask why she had taken Friday off on such short notice and didn’t seem to suspect any quarterback sneaks, so she just murmured something about her little brother having ups and downs at college—all of which was true—and it seemed to do the trick.