Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) (19 page)

“And then boom, the vault was cracked wide open.  By the end of the interview, he was acting like he was talking to one of his assistant coaches, not a reporter.  Amazing, Hart.  Best interview ever.”

She was freaking adorable standing there graciously receiving everyone’s compliments with class and humility, while generously addressing several source-checkers and junior reporters who had given her important info on the Hawks…which she’d already known, but thanked them as if she hadn’t. 

Even as she nodded and murmured her thanks to the half dozen folks talking over themselves, as if her eyes were magnetized to his presence, her gaze sought out his and held.

As far as he was concerned, they were the only two people in the room, even as the workers gave her an array of shoulder-pats and one-armed hugs before they went off to either head home for the evening or join the few night owls who were gathering to grab a hard-earned drink. 

Jackson stayed on the side and waited. 

He wanted to be the last man whose arms were around her.  Period.  The
only
man whose arms got the pleasure of holding her, if he was being brutally honest with himself.

Finally, Leila said her last round of thanks to her crowd of admirers and turned to face him. 

Given the circumstances, he knew no one would say anything about his wrapping his arms around her like he’d been dying to do again since that day in his office.  So he did.  Not even Alan, the junior reporter who’d sneered at Leila after ‘the incident’ so much as blinked in surprise. 

Immediately after Leila had gone down to film her war room segment, Jackson had gone over to have a chat with Alan.  He’d never had a problem with the man before, so Jackson had laid it out there for him in cut and dry terms—the fact that he and Leila were attracted to each other, but how nothing could come of it because Leila knew how an office affair would look to her colleagues.   

It was a moment of weakness on his part, he’d maintained, and Alan’s eyes had widened in surprise.  After studying Jackson for a moment, the scowl on his face turned into a look of empathy.  Apparently, he’d had a small office romance of his own the year prior, which had resulted in one of the interns getting harassed by her peers until she quit.  The bottom line was that Alan admitted he’d had a knee-jerk reaction.  He knew Jackson wasn’t the type to let his personal life affect his professionalism, and Leila had never given anyone reason to believe that she was any different.  After promising to go over to apologize to her, Alan had looked Jackson square in the eye and asked man-to-man: “You really like her, don’t you?”

Surprised at the question—no one had asked him that about a woman in years—Jackson had found himself without an answer that could give justice to what he felt for Leila.  Admiration, affection, respect.  A growing friendship with a kindred football spirit unlike any he’d ever encountered before.  Along with a gut-piercing attraction, no doubt. 

And that’s when he realized what it all boiled down to.  “Yeah,” he replied with complete honesty.  “I like her.  A lot.”

Even Jackson could hear the surprise in his own voice over the statement, and Alan’s answering shoulder pat told him he wasn’t the only one who heard it.  Over the past few years, Jackson had slept with a number of great women, and the years before that, he’d even contemplated serious relationships with a few before they’d shown him the severe error of his ways.  But in all honesty, he hadn’t
liked
any of them near as much as he liked Leila.

Across the room, Alan gave him an encouraging smile before gathering the attention of the remaining reporters and analysts there with the declaration that he’d be buying the first round of drinks tonight.  They all cleared out shortly after.

Jackson smiled.  He’d have to remember to buy Alan a round—or ten—of drinks in thanks for the assist.

Bringing Leila into his body just a little more, Jackson looked down into her big honey brown eyes and flushed cheeks.  “Nicely done tonight, sunshine.”

When the pink in her cheeks—which had been just from the excitement and possibly the wine he’d seen her take a few sips of—turned a shade darker, and a whole lot more meaningful, Jackson felt himself fight like the dickens to keep from hardening like a rock. 

A feat he was noticeably failing at the longer her soft curves were pressed against him.

Jesus, she fit him perfectly.

It was a fast and furious fall down the rabbit hole after that.  Her hands slid across the muscles of his back in an unconscious caress moments before she gently smoothed out his tie like she’d done all those weeks ago.  This time, however, she used both hands, and the lower they slid down his tie, the more his arousal rose like a freaking moth to a flame.

The entire room blurred away. 

Within seconds, he was having a helluva time remembering why he couldn’t strip her clothes off right then and there.

And judging by her rapidly dilating eyes, and her quickened breathing, she was too.

“There’s the belle of the ball!” boomed Lloyd from across the room.

Leila quickly dropped her hands and took a step away from Jackson as Lloyd made his way over to them with a beaming grin.

Jackson took a step back as well, all the while fighting the irrational urge to deck Lloyd on the spot for his awful timing.

Lloyd gave Leila a jolly two-shoulder squeeze with his paw-like hands.  “Now how the hell did you get a phone exclusive with the Outlaws’ head coach five minutes after they missed their draft pick, Leila?  I damn near cried real tears of happiness when I heard that beauty of an interruption during Steve’s continued Draft coverage—that the Outlaws had been on the clock for the eleventh pick, but just plain didn’t turn in the name in time…and that
DBC Sports Network
had the exclusive on what went down.”

Leila smiled modestly.  “I have a source at the Outlaws who made it happen.”

“Hell of a source.  I can’t remember the last time they—” Then a curious brow raised.  “Unless…is this the mysterious boyfriend that none of us have met?  First the war room and now the Draft exclusive.  Is he granting you some favors in exchange for favors in the bedroom?  Because I have to tell you, I’m in favor of that.”

Leila shot him a look of incredulous, slightly horrified, discomfort.  “Uh, no.  No on his being my boyfriend and a hell no on my ever doing anything like that for an interview.  My source and I are just good friends.  Period.”

Even though Jackson was well aware that Leila and her friend Nick had never dated, he still breathed easier hearing and seeing the mild trauma even the suggestion of something more than friendship caused.  The woman just had too many damn guy friends who she assumed all saw her like a sister since she saw them all as brothers.  But Jackson knew better.

Over the past few weeks of grabbing lunch at the food trucks outside of their building over their lunch hour and the occasional quick beer or quick bite they’d grab with their colleagues after work, Jackson had met at least a dozen of her guy friends.

They were all nice guys who respected the friend zone with her as far as he could tell.  Even so, every damn one of them would have a moment of weakness when their eyes would stray below her neck.  He didn’t blame them, they were guys with functioning eyes and she had the kind of body that those eyes couldn’t help but appreciate. 

Logic didn’t help the jealousy, however.

And while Nick was actually one of the guys that
did
manage to keep his eyes on Leila’s at all times, Nick brought out the strongest feelings of jealousy Jackson had ever had to stomach in his adult life.  Even the mere speculation of Nick being Leila’s boyfriend had sent a wave of possessiveness roaring through Jackson that would’ve made a caveman proud.

It took a long few seconds for the rushing tide of blood in his ears to clear enough for him to follow the conversation again.

“Well, however you got your friend in Reno to get us the exclusive with Coach Preston, you did good, sweetheart.”  Lloyd turned to double-thump Jackson on the back in triumph.  “Can I pick ‘em or can I pick ‘em?  Leila’s done more in a few weeks here than any of our other sideline reporters combined over the years.”

Jackson nodded and tossed out casually, “Yep, Leila’s the real deal.  Better talk to the boys upstairs to make sure the post-probationary period contract is strong enough to keep her here with us.”

The immediate look of true worry on Lloyd’s face, followed by what could only be described as a dignified scramble to the elevators, had both Leila and Jackson smothering back a laugh. 

Once Lloyd was out of earshot, Jackson turned his attention back to Leila, momentarily distracted by the reference to Coach Preston again.  Lloyd hadn’t been wrong—the interview had been epic.  And the curiosity was killing him.  “You spun the story a little to help the Outlaws, didn’t you?”

Leila looked around to make sure no one was around before giving him a half shrug. “I just angled the spotlight a specific way.  The Outlaws had run out of time trying to close-up a trade with the Rebels—”

“For their running back,” he guessed.

Her answering smile was impressed—and not at all surprised.  “Exactly.  The Rebels were dragging their feet and screwing with them.  Nick had texted me the second their time on the clock had ran out, pissed as hell.  I had a quick idea and texted him back…which resulted in DBC Sports getting the first—and only—interview to kill
all
speculation before tomorrow’s rounds.”

He nodded.  “Ensuring they’d be able to trade out during their third round pick tomorrow...for the Sentinels’ second string running back and fourth round pick,” he concluded.

She grinned, with no small amount of admiration.  “I knew you’d figure it out.  They’ll be sliding Davis out of his current position to allow the adjustment—”

“Which you kept quiet to stop the Vipers from poaching Hernandez in the second round.”  He shook his head, marveling at her quick thinking.  “
And
you got a two-for-one deal because that ends up giving the Miners a leg up over the Marauders at the start of the second round, who’ll inevitably be making a deal with the Rebels over their second round pick and defensive back.”

She released a gusty sigh, as if simultaneously releasing the pressure of the secrets she’d been keeping for the past few hours off her shoulders, and thanking him for being the only being on the planet who spoke the same language that she did. 

A hesitant look crossed her features.  “You think I should’ve told the whole story?”

“Nope, not at all.  That was a brilliant strategy.  We only have three NFL teams on our network.  Cultivating a strong relationship is paramount to everything we do here.  Some of the other network sportscasters and hosts were shining the light on the missed pick, with negative jeering and pure gossip on who the Outlaws had been trying to make a deal with.  A total waste of air time.  You found a way to make news
and
help two teams in our network.”

Nodding his approval, he predicted, “Come tomorrow, I guarantee everyone who cares in Utah will be getting an earful from sportscasters about how your interview helped the Miners shifting their strategy with their late first round pick, and inevitably getting them the exact thing they need to build the strongest 4-3 defense they’ve had in years.”

She shrugged modestly.  “I was just lucky Nick texted me to get me an in.”

“Bullshit.  He knew you were the only field reporter with the chops to be able to figure all this out in time before the Vipers got on the clock.  I bet you dollars to doughnuts you’ve just made a loyal connection with Coach Preston…which would bring the total up to two head coaches in your growing fan club.”  He smiled.  “Skip called me.  Not only was he impressed that you figured out what a dozen flashy sportscasters had been speculating about—inaccurately—from the moment the Hawks made their pick, he caught you muttering under your breath five moves into the future on the chess board of the upcoming picks and trades while watching the Draft on your phone.”

She slapped a hand to her forehead.  “I didn’t even realize I was doing that.”

“Skip thought it was cute, and impressive, to say the least.  I’m pretty sure the old guy wants to adopt you.”

“Oh my God, don’t get me started.  I’d let him adopt me in a heartbeat.  Seriously, I still can’t thank you enough for getting me some time with him outside the war room today.  Did Skip tell you he yanked me inside the belly of the beast to say a quick hi to all the coaches and analysts after they’d made their selection for the night?” 

Stars drifted into her eyes.  “Those were the eight most eye-boggling seconds of my life.”

Jackson grinned at her affectionately.  “He did tell me.  And then I chose
not
to tell him that you have basically a photographic memory when it comes to stat boards.”

“Oh sweet lord, I kid you not, I’m probably going to be dreaming all night long about my own war room for fantasy football drafts in August.”

The woman just had no idea how adorably sexy she was.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Jackson was starting to picture it all again.  The wife, the kids.

The future.  Free of the ‘complications’ embedded into the DNA of his life.

…Dangerous thoughts that were so far out of reach it was laughable.

Even so, he didn’t shove the picture away like he normally did when it crept up on him.

Because for the first time ever, the woman in the picture wasn’t hidden in the shadows, but rather, standing right there in the sunlight looking up at him.

With shining, Disney-worthy amber eyes and a smile he wouldn’t mind spending an uncomplicated lifetime staring at if he could.

CHAPTER SIX

After spending all of Sunday sleeping off the exhausting, thrilling three days of the NFL Draft, Leila had returned to work expecting it to be just another Monday morning.

Sure, her interviews had headlined on loop on all five affiliates of the DBC Sports Network, and quotes from her interviews had been written in half a dozen newspaper articles as well—which she’d admittedly cut out and zip locked just in case she ever picked up scrapbooking.