Someone Like You (5 page)

“What the hell would a European soccer star be doing in Edgewater?” she asked.

“Well,” Mr. Esdon said, “he played in England, but he's originally from around here. He grew up on Long Island. Maybe he came home for a family visit or something. Excuse me, won't you?” He quickly made his way over to the growing crowd of parents and kids. The other team had noticed the commotion, and someone must have spread the word. Pierce was at the center of a small crowd now and, except for a few random spectators, the entire field had all but cleared to see this man up close.

Now Abby felt ridiculous. First she'd let a stranger near her boys, then she'd spoken harshly to someone who turned out to be famous, practically accusing him of trying to kidnap or harm one of her players. Great. Just great. She didn't follow English football, how could she have known? Huffing out a frustrated sigh, she crossed her arms, hugging the clipboard to her chest.

Pierce Harrison, huh? She'd have to Google him when she got home. But while he was busy chatting amiably with the small crowd, signing autographs and posing for pictures, she studied him. Her initial brief assessment held: he was drop-dead gorgeous. Something about him made her insides buzz with heady warmth. But all those tattoos . . . his scruffy jaw . . . the way he glanced over at her twice with a hint of a smirk, brazen and cocky . . . he radiated danger. This was a very bad boy, she could tell. He might as well have had a neon sign on his chest: DANGER. HOT AND HE KNOWS IT.

So not her type.

Then again, did she even have a type anymore? Nowadays, she was practically a monk.

With a disgusted grunt at her thoughts, she turned away, dropping her clipboard to the ground and reaching for her water bottle instead. A few sips in, someone tapped her on the shoulder. “Coach?”

Abby whirled around. Pierce Harrison. He was taller than she'd realized, had to be six-one or six-two. He had the tight, leanly muscled frame of a soccer player, which appealed to her more than she wanted to admit. His wavy, dark hair was tousled, but gelled just a little in the front, begging to be played with. And that face . . . God, what beautiful features. Those
eyes
. Such a brilliant marine blue, fringed with long, dark lashes. Roman nose, great cheekbones, and a strong, square jaw covered in dark stubble, which only seemed to draw her gaze to his mouth. His full, sensual lips widened in a smile that revealed perfect teeth.

Jesus, this guy was too gorgeous. He probably ate women like her for breakfast.

She found herself speechless.

Luckily for her, he spoke. “I wanted to apologize”—he sounded sincere—“for making you think even for a second that I was some pervert coming over here to snatch up one of your players.” The smile turned a bit wicked. “That is what you thought, right?”

She felt herself blush furiously and cursed inside her head. “I . . . well, yeah. Wouldn't you? I mean—”

“Yeah, I would. I understand,” he said, the grin not leaving his face. “You were right to be concerned and protective. If some strange guy approached my nephews, I'd get in his face too. You did the right thing.”

“Oh.” Why did this make her feel worse, not better? God, she felt off-kilter. She took off her sunglasses so she could look him in the eye, an effort to seem in control. His very presence was turning her into mush. Talk about natural sex appeal. Her girly parts were doing a primal dance she had rarely experienced.
Get a grip, Abby!

“I'm also sorry I turned your soccer game into a circus,” Pierce said, gesturing with his chin toward the people behind him who were now starting to disperse as the referee blew his whistle to signify the second half would start in a minute.

“That's not your fault. I'm sure you get that a lot.”

“In England, yeah, sometimes. But not here.”

“Well, these are soccer players, so . . . anyway. I'm sorry I didn't recognize you,” she said. “I have to admit, I'm a little embarrassed.”

“God, don't be. I'm not famous here. At least, I didn't think I was. That one dad who recognized me? Apparently he watches European football religiously.” Pierce's grin finally faltered. “I left the sport. Two months ago. I'm not playing anymore. I'm officially retired, just here visiting my family over in Kingston Point.”

Abby nodded, but thought,
Kingston Point?
If he has family there, they must be disgustingly wealthy. Her whole house could fit into any one of those tremendous Kingston Point mansions, three or four times over. It may have been only ten minutes away from Edgewater, but it was a totally different world. “Well, I hope you enjoy your visit.”

“I'm here—at the park, I mean—because I went for a run, then I'm meeting a friend here. His daughter plays at noon, the next game. He lives in Edgewater. Old friend from high school. So . . .” Pierce shrugged. “I don't know why I felt compelled to tell you that. I guess I just wanted to assure you I'm not some creepy guy.”

“No explanations necessary. It's a public park. But I appreciate it.” Abby wondered who the dad was and if she knew him, but before she could ask, the ref blew his whistle again. She shot a glance over at her team, who were now standing together, waiting for her directions. “I have to go, sorry. Nice to meet you.”

Pierce gazed down at her, and she felt a little jolt from the intensity of his stare. “What's your name, Coach? Didn't catch it.”

“Abby.” She held out her hand. “Abby McCord.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Abby.” His fingers wrapped around hers and the firm handshake sent a rush through her, a strange jolt of sensation. She pulled her hand back quickly, met his eyes one last time, then hurried over to her players.

As the teams ran onto the field to start the second half, Abby noticed that Pierce Harrison didn't leave. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he strolled over to the far corner of the field and sat himself down on the grass. It seemed he was going to watch the rest of the game as he waited for his friend to arrive.

Abby didn't know why that both unnerved and delighted her, but it did.

* * *

Pierce tried not to be obvious, but stole glances at Abby McCord more than a few times. She was adorable. Straitlaced. Very girl-next-door. Which had
never
been his type.

But there was something about her. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that she was extremely pretty. Maybe it was more complex, like he loved that she'd never heard of him. Either way, his interest was piqued. As he watched her team get their little butts kicked in the second half, he watched her, too. Man, she was wound up tight, he could tell just from the way she held herself. And as he watched her shout and cheer and try to spur her team into action, he had visions of what she'd be like in bed, all fired up and vocal like that....

What the hell? Christ, he hadn't been laid in two months, and his hormones were getting the best of him. But . . . Abby McCord was sweet to look at. He gazed openly.

“Excuse me . . . Mister Harrison?” came a woman's voice from behind him.

He quickly turned his head to see an attractive thirtysomething Latina woman standing there. “Yes?”

“I'm sorry to bother you,” she began. “My name's Sofia Rodriguez, and I'm on the board of the Edgewater Soccer Club. I got to shake your hand before, but not to talk to you. I . . . wanted to ask you something.” She twisted her small hands.

“Sit down,” he said, patting the grass next to him. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” she said as she lowered herself to sit beside him. “I was thinking maybe . . . I was wondering, are you going to be in town for a while?”

“Um . . . my plans are kind of open-ended right now,” he hedged. “Why?”

“Well, if you were available, and would even consider it, I'd love to have you do a guest clinic for the club.” She said the words quickly. “I saw how the kids responded to you, and then I Googled you on my phone . . .”

“Then you must know who I am,” he said quietly, “and that I'm not playing anymore. And why a lot of gossip sites think I stopped playing.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I don't care about gossip, and neither will the kids. But a clinic from a professional player? They'd
love
that. It'd be great for them.”

He cocked his head and asked, “If you don't care about gossip, that's great. But the kids' parents might.”

“It'd be a soccer clinic, for Pete's sake,” Sofia said. “You, the kids, an hour on the field. The parents can all watch if they want. It's got nothing to do with”—she searched for tactful words—“whatever happened across the pond. It's all hearsay, anyway.”

Surprised, he chuckled at that. Ah, the people in Edgewater were refreshingly normal. And straightforward, in that unique New York way. He heard Abby shout another desperate command at the team and glanced her way. Then he turned to look back at Sofia and said, “These kids sure could use a morale booster . . . some guidance, too. Definitely stronger training.” His mind reeled. Was he really considering this? “I mean . . . yeah, I've got some time on my hands, I'm just visiting family here on Long Island. . . .” He slid another quick side-glance at Abby as she squawked something and waved her hands frantically over her head.
Adorable.
“Let's talk, Sofia. What'd you have in mind?”

Chapter Four

As soon as Abby got out of the shower, still wrapped in a big fluffy towel, she locked the door to her room and fired up her laptop, ready to do a Google search on one Pierce Harrison.

All the way home, her nephew had rambled on excitedly. “I can't believe a real-life soccer star showed up! He was so awesome. Did you see what he could do with that ball? I wanna learn how to do that. Do you think he'll come to another game?” Her parents, who'd been watching their grandson from lawn chairs on the sidelines, had chuckled at Dylan's enthusiasm.

But Abby . . . something in Abby had been set off, leaving tingles and butterflies in its wake. Simply put: Pierce was
hot.
When he'd touched her, just to shake her hand, something had gone through her and hadn't left. Now, as she pulled on a purple T-shirt and a pair of comfy black shorts, she realized what that something was: pure lust. The guy was sex on a stick.

Her damp hair fell into her eyes as she sat on her bed. Reaching for an elastic on her nightstand, she typed his name into the search engine before pulling her hair back into its usual tiny ponytail. Her eyes widened as she saw the results.

Many pictures came up on the screen. God, he was easy on the eyes. She looked through the photos of Pierce . . . over a few years' time, in three different professional soccer uniforms, in various athletic poses. Running after the ball, standing on the pitch, coated in sweat, and often smiling a megawatt smile. Dressed to kill, out on the town, next to dazzlingly beautiful women.

He could model, if he wanted to. The man was ruggedly sexy with that hint of naughty, a very bad boy indeed. And drop-dead gorgeous. The gelled and tousled dark, wavy hair. The bright marine blue eyes. In many of the pictures, a day's worth of scruff covered that strong jaw, highlighting his full, sensual lips. He was six-foot-two, according to one of his bio pages, with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build. Then there were all the tattoos—and Lord have mercy, those legs. Works of art. Pierce's thighs and calves were carved like those of a statue, defined and rock hard. Abby had a quick flash of running her hands up those muscular thighs....

Pierce was all over the Internet. And right at the top, the most recent news from just the week before, stated it short and sweet:
Partying Star Leaves the League Amid Rumours of Bad Boy Behaviour.
The look on his face when he'd initially been recognized at the game flashed through Abby's mind.

“What the hell happened, Pierce?” she whispered to herself as she clicked on the link from a British gossip site. There was a picture of him dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, walking out of a building and scowling. The caption under that one read:
Harrison didn't seem happy when he left the London team offices after his brief farewell press conference.

Her cell phone rang beside her and she jumped, feeling oddly like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't. Snorting at herself, she answered it. “Hello?”

“Hi, Abby? It's Sofia Rodriguez. How are you?”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“Tough loss today for the Jaguars, huh?”

Abby frowned. “Yeah, well, can't win every time.”

“Of course not. Maybe next time.” Sofia sounded as friendly as always. “You have a few minutes to chat?”

“Sure, I'm just relaxing now. My parents took mercy on me and took Dylan to the park for a few hours.” They both chuckled as Abby pushed the laptop farther away, then stretched out and lay down. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, no, everything's fine,” Sofia assured her. “I wanted to let you know about something that happened this morning. You met Pierce Harrison, the professional soccer player? I approached him about doing a clinic for the whole club, all age groups. I thought the kids would love it.”

“Yeah, they would.” Examining her nails, she realized she desperately needed a fresh manicure. Maybe she'd go get a quick one before her parents and Dylan got back. “So did he say yes?” she said, nonchalant. Surely a celebrity wouldn't want to hang out with small-town, blue-collar kids in his free time.

“He did! He was all for it!” Sofia's excitement was palpable, and Abby was shocked. “He said he's going to be in New York for a while, probably through the end of the year, so he'd be here for the rest of the fall season. I already cleared it with the board, they were thrilled. He's going to do a clinic for the whole club next Wednesday evening. Anyone can go, boys
and
girls. And . . .”

Sofia's voice trailed off before launching back in with an apologetic tone. “Please don't take this the wrong way, you've been doing a great job with your team, the best you can and I know that—but, well, since your team hasn't won any games yet, and isn't doing so well . . . he's going to help you. For the hell of it, I asked him if he was interested in doing any sort of coaching, and he said yes to that, too. So . . . as of now, Pierce is your co–head coach for the Jaguars.”

A cold wave whooshed through Abby and she sat up fast, blinking. “What?”

“It'll be so good for the boys,” Sofia said. “The boost to their esteem, as a team, that alone will be huge. Especially after he works on their skills. It'll be great for them! And for you. I mean, he really knows what he's talking about, he can help.” She seemed to pick up on Abby's silence and added, “He doesn't have rank over you, you're equals. Partners. Think of it that way.”

Abby's mouth had dropped open, and she closed it to start chewing on her bottom lip. “Um . . . I know I'm just a volunteer and all, but . . . should I be insulted? Because I'm not sure at the moment.”

“Don't be insulted!” Sofia cried. “This isn't, like, a demotion or a slap or anything. Abby, listen. I've known you a long time, right?”

“Yup.” Sofia was ten years older and grew up only a few houses away. Abby easily remembered when Sofia used to babysit for her and Fiona. Now, Sofia was married with three boys of her own, all of whom were on different teams in the Edgewater Soccer Club.

“I would never insult you. It's meant to
help
you. You and the kids. It'll be good, you'll see.” Sofia paused before adding in a teasing tone, “And hey, it's not like the guy's hard to look at.”

Abby snorted out a laugh. “True.”

“Please! That's all you can say? Come on, Abby.” Sofia laughed. “I'm married, but I'm not dead. Pierce Harrison is one fiiiine-lookin' man. Admit it!”

“Okay, yes. Agreed. But I have to ask you—why on earth would he spend his time in Edgewater, coaching little kids?” Abby wondered. “I mean, surely he's got better things to do with his time.”

“Um . . . actually, he might not.” Sofia paused. “Do you know anything about him?”

“No,” Abby said. She glanced over at the laptop and blushed at her lie.

“Well, Google him. He just quit playing recently, and he's visiting with his family here, over in Kingston Point.”

“That, I knew.”

“Google him and see why he quit. I, um . . . I think maybe he misses the sport,” Sofia said speculatively. “And he does have time on his hands. And he likes kids. So why not?”

“He likes kids?” Abby repeated in surprise. “He told you that?”

“Yeah, but I could see that just by how he interacted with them, couldn't you?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Abby conceded, thinking of how at ease he was with the boys, even when they swarmed around him like a bunch of eager puppies.

“And . . . I think maybe being around kids right now might be good for him, too.”

At that, Abby's brows puckered. “What do you mean?”

“Google him,” Sofia said. “Okay. Just know Pierce will be at practice on Monday night, ready to roll.”

“Got it.” Abby bit her lip, not knowing what else to say. “Well . . . thanks for the heads-up.”

“Of course. But you can really thank me later,” Sofia said, “when the Jaguars win their first game. See you next week.”

Abby clicked off her phone and flopped back onto the pillows. The movement brought her laptop back to life and Pierce Harrison smiled up at her from the screen. Her new co-coach, huh? So much for staying far away from him. But most importantly, Sofia was right about one thing: It'd be so good for the team. The boys would feel so proud, knowing they had a soccer star as their coach, showing them the ropes. She couldn't deny them that.

Google him.
She heard Sofia's voice in her head. Well, now that she'd basically been commanded to, she made herself comfortable and grabbed the laptop again. The article was still on her screen, and she read through it.

Something didn't add up.

Pierce had suddenly, mid-season, resigned from the sport due to a bad knee he was afraid of doing further injury to? She called bullshit. His knee was fine. She'd seen him
just that day,
lightly keeping the ball in the air, tapping it from his knee to ankle and back again with skill, dexterity, and ease. Later on, she saw him jogging to the parking lot then back to give something to Sofia. He'd jogged easily. And he'd just volunteered to help coach a boys' soccer team, several times a week. He wouldn't have done that with a hurt knee, no way. Something in her gut said there was a lot more to the story than what she had read.

She went back to look at another link, then another . . . and before she knew it, an hour went by. Gossip sites had speculated that he'd gotten involved with a married woman, along with some “behaviour unbecoming to a professional footballer,” and the team's owner hadn't been happy about it. It wasn't rape or anything like that, thank God. But sleeping with a married woman seemed to be what the buzz was about. A woman who'd been married to someone powerful, which may have caused a problem. Something in her gut twisted at that. Was Pierce that careless?

There were lots of mentions of his football stats, coverage of games, all of that. He wasn't a top player, but solid. He'd sustained a respectable career for over a decade and been mildly famous in the UK. And there were many, many photos. Most were from football games, sports award shows, charity events, and the like. But there were plenty of photos of him with various beautiful women, out on the town or at posh events. Between his movie-star looks, his good scoring record on the field, and his notoriety off the field, he was the paparazzi's dream guy.

Something in her chest squeezed as she concluded her instincts had been right about one thing—Pierce was a player. In all those pictures, he wasn't with the same woman twice. Some of the more gossipy sites talked about Pierce's legendary bachelor status and drunken pub crawls. If any of it was even half true, he went through women like she went through pints of Ben & Jerry's. Yup, he was a very bad boy indeed. Reckless, wild, and like catnip to women. She needed to stay
far
away from someone like him.

So why was she spending her precious free time combing the Internet to read about him? Twirling her ponytail restlessly, she had to admit curiosity; he intrigued her. And if they were going to be working together, why not? This was the twenty-first century; most people Googled each other practically as soon as they met.

Digging deeper, she eventually came across articles about the Harrison family. Four generations of big business, each generation gaining more wealth and power than the one before. They were worth billions.
Billions.
Their home, the sprawling and ornate Harrison compound in Kingston Point, was worth roughly one hundred million dollars. Abby let out a low, soft whistle. To say Pierce's family background was a different world than hers was the understatement of the year.

Not that she needed money like the Harrisons had—God, who needed money like that? Harrison Enterprises was an international powerhouse. Palatial estates; connections to other rich, famous, powerful people; charity foundations; glitzy functions . . . her brain got tired just trying to take it all in.

Feeling stalkerish, but unable to stop, she found a few posts specifically about Pierce's past. His growing up in Kingston Point, the fourth child of Charles Harrison II, CEO of Harrison Enterprises, and Laura Dunham Harrison Evans Bainsley, a former B movie actress. Their ugly divorce happened when Pierce was only six years old. Clearly Pierce got his looks and brilliant eyes from his mother, who'd been stunning. He'd gone to a few private schools; Abby would bet her car that he'd been expelled from at least one. He just had that vibe.

Abby finally sat back against her upholstered headboard, all the stories and images swirling around in her head. It seemed that Pierce Harrison had led something of a tangled life. The guy in the articles was strong, possibly boorish, and surly, on and off the pitch. But the guy she'd met that morning was charming, polite, and respectful. Which one was an act? Or, maybe somewhere, the two sides of his persona met? Well, she'd find out soon enough, if they had to work together now.

She tore the elastic out of her now-dry hair and ran her fingers through it. She totally felt like a stalker now. A wave of self-recrimination washed through her, turning her cheeks pink. Pierce Harrison was gorgeous, sexy, charming, and from a different universe. No matter how primal her body's response was to him, she had to keep sharp around him. She only had to coach the team with him a few times a week until the beginning of November. She could do that.

Annoyed at herself, she turned off the laptop and decided to go get a quick manicure. Maybe a pedicure, too. She had a little bit of time to herself, so she'd make the most of it. And put Pierce Harrison right out of her head.