Playing It Close (19 page)

And God,
art
didn’t even begin to describe the perfection of Liam Callaghan.
Porn
, however, did describe the visions cavorting in her head.

She perused the photos far longer than was strictly necessary, putting off the moment when she had to face him in reality. When she couldn’t delay any longer, she changed into her spandex cycling gear, got on her bike and began the trek from Shoreditch to Stratford. Lusty hormones surged through her, and she fought them off by pushing harder. The air was humid and warm, and she began sweating almost immediately. Her bum came off the seat, and her legs pumped till they burned, but the images wouldn’t fade away. Liam straddling a bench press, while she supervised and gave opinions on whether the rugby ball he clutched provided a proper amount of coverage. Liam—

Hoooonk!
The blast of a lorry’s horn yanked her out of her daydream, and she jerked her bicycle away from the noise as the huge truck shot past her. Her front tire hit a pothole. She somersaulted over the handlebars, miraculously managing to land on her feet while her riderless bike rode off into the sunset—or, into the traffic, where a black cab bulldozed it.

“Fuck,” she whispered, taking in the mangled remains. Cars swerved, drivers honked and a couple of cyclists shouted at her as they rode past.

“Fuuuck!” she screamed until she was probably blue. Her hands clenched into fists and she bent over to squeeze every bit of air from her lungs. Needing to kick something, she looked around and only found objects made of cement and metal, so she stomped her foot instead. As soon as there was a break in traffic, she ran into the street and dragged her bike back. It’d been a gift to herself, bought with the shut-up-and-go-away money her bank had given her when she’d threatened to sue for wrongful termination. Now, as the front tire stuck out at an unnatural angle and cried with a metal-on-metal squeak as it rotated, she felt as though she were carrying a comrade’s body back from the trenches.

She laid it on the pavement and crouched next to it, touching it gently as she examined all its parts. Maybe an expert could fix it.

She was a mile from the stadium. She would give her bike every chance at survival. Hoisting it over her shoulder, she staggered a little. When she’d found her balance, she set out on the long, slow trek.

Twenty minutes later, she arrived ready for a fight instead of feeling mellowed from the ride. Damn Liam anyway. He was speaking to her because it was his job? Arsehole. She’d apologized for pretending not to know him, even though she hadn’t done anything very terrible.

Okay, so disappearing in the middle of the night and leaving him only a note hadn’t been her most stellar move. She’d have felt used and filthy if he’d done that to her. But he’d been the one to lie about his name first. She’d just gone along with it. What was she supposed to do, say “No you’re not—you’re Liam Callaghan, rugby union’s leading points-scorer”?

After locking up her bike, she shoved open the glass door, her small backpack gluing her sweaty top to her skin.
God
,
if you’re listening
, please
don’t let him see me like this.
She walked to the reception desk, grateful for the burst of air conditioning. “I’m Tess Chambers from Kijani Adventures. I’m here for the photo shoot.”

The woman smiled and pushed a sign-in sheet toward her. “Welcome, Ms. Chambers. If you could just fill that in for me, I’ll get you a visitor’s badge.”

Tess thanked her and took the badge, looking down at her tight cycling shirt and shorts. Dirt streaked her calves, and she tried to wipe it off with the bottom of her shoe. Didn’t work. “Is there somewhere I can change?”

“Of course. The ladies’ is just outside the room where they’re doing the photo shoot today. Down that hallway, then the first right down another corridor. It’s at the end. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

Tess shifted her backpack, catching an unpleasant whiff of herself that she hoped wouldn’t reach the beautifully poised receptionist. Thank God she’d brought a small towel so she could wash herself in the sinks. She hadn’t expected it to be so muggy out today. Just what she needed was to show up hot, sweaty and bothered.

She speed-walked toward the photo-shoot room, vaguely noting the meeting rooms with their high-tech gear inside. Just as she approached the loo, the double doors in front of her banged open and an angry man with flushed cheeks and a massive camera around his neck rushed out. “Are you the woman from the sponsor?”

“Y-yes.” Was she in trouble already?

“You’re late. You should’ve been here a half hour ago.”

“What?” She looked at her chunky watch. “No, I’m here with two minutes to spare.”

“You’ve the wrong time, then. Get in here. We need to start. I don’t have all day. C’mon, now!”
Snap snap snap
went his fingers in her face.

And
snap
went her patience. She grabbed his hand and shoved it away. Keeping her voice über-calm, she said, “I take it you’re the photographer. I’m sorry for the mix-up. If you ever snap in my face again, I will rip off each of your fingers. Slowly. Got it?”

He blinked down from a height several inches above her.

“I’m not joking. I’ve had enough of men pushing me around. You can either talk to me like one professional to another, or you can try to take pictures with bloody stumps. Your choice.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “We’re running behind schedule. Come in. We need you to approve the final set design before we get started.”

Some of Tess’s adrenaline ebbed, replaced by a wicked euphoria. She wasn’t naturally the type to intimidate or threaten people, and—having worked with plenty of people who were—she’d never wanted to be that type, either. But maybe shocking people was a good thing every now and then.

She stepped around the photographer and entered the spacious room. It had been separated into different areas with varying backdrops—surprisingly realistic backdrops. These weren’t the ugly paper backdrops that she’d had her school photos taken in front of. No, these actually looked like real places. In one corner, a jungle. In another, sand and palm trees and a green screen that presumably would complete the beach scene with a fake ocean. In another...a waterfall. Yes, a real, flowing waterfall.

No wonder the man was annoyed. It looked like he and his assistants had been here for ages setting up.

“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

She nodded slowly, as if assessing it with an artistic eye. “I suppose it’ll do. Now, what do you need from me?”

“Just your signature here that you’re happy with the scenes. And if you could stick around, we might be short-handed today. Something seems to be going around. I’m Andre, by the way.”

She shook his hand. “Tess. And it’s norovirus.”

The man dropped her hand as if she’d said
plague.
“You don’t have it, do you?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I had it. Anyway, I need to get changed.” The sooner she got out of here, the better. God only knew where the players were, and she didn’t need them to see her in her skin-tight cycling outfit, covered in mud, sweat and grime, and smelling—well, like them.

“Not yet. I assume you’re familiar with the calendar concepts?”

“You assume incorrectly.”

“Let me fill you in.” He seemed thrilled with her ignorance, perhaps because it gave him a chance to show off his brilliance. “It’s quite simple, really. We’ll have two different versions of the calendar.”

“Two? Who needs two calendars?” Come to think of it, who needed one anymore? Didn’t most people keep their diaries electronically? Her sister bought her the team’s calendar as a joke every Christmas, while Tess always bought Gwen a calendar with kittens wearing ridiculous outfits that no self-respecting feline would be caught dead in. They both knew the calendars were just decoration for their kitchens.

“We have the traditional calendar,” the photographer continued, “which will show each of the men indulging their inner beasts in these wild surroundings.”

Okay, Tess
had
to be there when he told the team to indulge their inner beasts. She had no idea which players had been chosen for this calendar, but most of them seemed to have a good-enough sense of humor that instructions like that would lead to antics she wanted to witness.

“In years past, the men have either been in their pants or naked with a prop to maintain some of their dignity. This year, though, we have sexy costumes for them, depending on the scene they’ll be part of. Then we’ll have the digital version of the calendar.”

Tess’s attention caught. “Digital?”

“Yes. I’ll explain more about that later.” He sniffed the air. “For now, we’re about ready to start, and you may wish to...freshen up.”

As if he could really smell her. This side of the building whiffed of men’s sweat and aftershave. Still, she did need to change before Liam—

“Chambers? What the hell are you doing here?”

Oh
,
bugger.
She should’ve known. After all, Liam was famed for his timing. He strode out of what she assumed was a changing room, several players following behind him in varying states of undress.

Good Lord...
very
good Lord. Liam wore a towel slung about his waist that covered him nearly to his knees, but it parted as he walked, giving her a flash of muscular thigh with every stride. She’d seen underneath that towel. She’d touched and tasted underneath that towel. Okay, maybe not
that
towel specifically, but the memory was enough to set her heartbeat to thundering and make her lower belly twitch in anticipation.

“Tess?” His voice sounded somewhat more amused this time, as if he knew the direction her mind had wandered. Probably not difficult to guess, since she suddenly realized she was staring just below his waist and chewing on the corner of her lower lip. She let her lip slide free and forced herself to look him in the eyes. “Last minute change of plans. A colleague was supposed to be here but he’s ill, so you get me.”

His mouth curled grimly at the words. “Great. Welcome. You know what we’re doing today, right?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Nearly naked photos. Tastefully done. Without her jumping him. Yes, she would become the ringmaster at the circus of impossibility today.

Andre clapped his hands and whistled for attention. “Let’s get started, boys. Gather round and I’ll explain how the morning will go.”

Tess leaned over and hissed, “No no no no. I need to change my clothes.”

“No time for that now. I told you I needed your help. We only have two hours to get all the photos we need before the team starts their training. Besides, you look...” He gave her a critical glance. “Anyway, we don’t have time.”

Damn it. Not only did she wear an outfit that revealed every curve she didn’t have, but she was surrounded by men in front of whom she needed to maintain a professional persona. After seven years of being the odd one out, she’d learned to mask her discomfort by maintaining a cool image. She had a no-wrinkle suit folded in her backpack for just this purpose.

“When’s the first break?” she asked Andre.

He glared at her. “No breaks. We work hard. We don’t take breaks.” He shifted his attention to Little John. “You. We’ll do you first. In the jungle, I think. You look like a wild man.”

That sparked good-natured ribbing from his teammates and provoked a hint of a proud smile from the giant lock.

“Beth will give you a costume and show you what to do.”

A woman who’d been messing about with a light meter beckoned him over, and he dropped his towel along the way, completely unconcerned about his total nudity. Beth, Andre and Tess sucked in their breath.

Liam cleared his throat softly in Tess’s ear. “Problem?”

The heat of his body warmed her back, making his presence impossible to ignore as she tried to convince herself to look away from the man tugging on a tiny Tarzan loincloth. Tess kept her voice low, hoping the threads of conversation around her would keep her words from traveling too far afield and reaching any of the other players’ ears. “He’s the most...uh,
proportionate
man I’ve ever seen.”

Even though she couldn’t see Liam behind her, she got the feeling he rolled his eyes. “You think that’s impressive,” he bragged, “you should see...”

He stopped, as if just remembering that she
had
seen, and done far more than that besides.

A conversational crossroads. She could make a joke and risk offending him. This would be her default choice. Or she could be honest with him. Probably the wrong option, but since when had that ever stopped her? Besides, she was sick of the lies that had settled between them and was willing to take a gamble on a little honesty. “I have seen, Liam. And I can’t stop seeing. You’re burned into my memory in a file marked
Perfection
.”

He exhaled slowly, his hot breath hitting the top of her head. “Jesus. Don’t say things like that when I’m wearing a towel.”

She twisted to face him, curiosity suddenly overtaking pride. “Are you wearing anything under there?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

She studied the rest of the team. Little John now had a short leopard-print sarong wrapped around his waist, while most of the other men waited either in towels or in their pants. A couple wore bikini-style swimming costumes that left little to the imagination. Was Liam wearing a pair of those?

She gave him an assessing glance. “Let me guess. Banana hammock?”

He pulled a face, momentarily taken aback before a teasing grin beat his surprise. “You should know better than anyone that I couldn’t fit my trident into a pair of Speedos.”

“I think you’d look good in them.” What the hell was she doing, opening herself up for humiliation like this, making it clear that she’d thoroughly enjoyed him and his body when he’d left her in no doubt that he was angry and willing to use those memories to hurt her?

His face turned serious, and he let his gaze rove so slowly down her body that she remembered what she was wearing—an outfit just as embarrassingly revealing as Speedos. Andre’s attention had turned away from her, and she could’ve taken this opportunity to change instead of baiting Liam. But he held her rapt, just as he had through most of their conversations—and all of their shagging.