Wanted Distraction (3 page)

“Because you had no intention of dating me.” I tore my eyes from his and scanned the area for the waiter. “I need a glass of wine,” I mumbled as my stomach took a severe dive south.

Our server was nowhere in sight, but I did see plenty of people taking note of us, some seemingly working up the nerve to ask for an autograph, or to just talk to Carter in general.

He said, “The Rattlers’ management sent over a huge amenity basket, including wine. Why don’t we go talk in my suite? This corner of the patio isn’t so bad, but I still feel like we’re in a fishbowl. I’d rather talk in private.”

I nodded, an odd, visceral pull making me stand without even thinking twice about it. I collected my things as Carter dropped a generous tip on the table for our water service.

We left the restaurant, no doubt creating a buzz in our wake, although Carter kept a respectable distance. Luckily, the foliage on the property provided enough shadows for us to blend into as we made our way around the swimming pool and traveled a secluded path that led to the back half of the resort. We didn’t pass any guests on the walkway, for which I was grateful. Given the way I’d dressed, I suspected I looked as though I was a woman Carter had picked up at the bar.

Interestingly, he appeared nonchalant about whether or not we were spotted together. He was quite casual about the whole thing. In fact, he inched closer to me and placed a hand on the small of my back. A wicked thrill chased down my spine and I shuddered.

He spared a glance down at me, a brow crooked. “It’s late spring in Phoenix and you’ve got a chill?”

I laughed. “Hardly.” The temperature had crested ninety today.

He grinned and a knowing look crossed his handsome face. Of course my intense attraction to him was obvious—it was impossible to hide. But I was no longer that awestruck pixie I’d been in high school. I knew a thing or two about sexual chemistry and, as best as I could tell—from my point of view anyway—Carter and I had it in spades.

When we reached the door to his suite, he fished his electronic keycard out of his pocket and inserted it in the slot above the brass lever. The green lights flashed and he cranked the handle and pushed the door open, his other hand never leaving my back.

He gave me a gentle nudge and I stepped inside his hotel room, all sorts of thoughts suddenly springing to mind. It wasn’t just a room with a bed in it, so I should not have instantly thought of rumpling the sheets with Carter. How absurd that notion even popped into my head. But then again… It wasn’t the first time I’d imagined getting naked with him. I’d fantasized about it on numerous occasions over the years. And here I was, in his suite.

To talk and have wine, I reminded myself. Yet I couldn’t quite dislodge the idea of sleeping with Carter. It was more than an idea. It was a burning desire that made my nipples pucker and my pussy throb.

The door closed behind us and I jumped.

“You okay?” he asked. “You’re not worried about being alone with me, are you?

A strangled laugh fell from my lips.

“Please,” I said. “I totally trust you. Though perhaps
you
should be worried about being alone with
me
.”

I was shocked those words had leaped off my tongue, but there they were, lingering between us.

To break the awkward moment, I told him, “I could use another glass of water, if you don’t mind. Little toasty outside.” That was a blatant lie. It’d cooled down substantially after the sun had set, and the climate had been pleasant as we’d sat on the patio. Plain and simple, Carter had my insides blazing.

Clearly he was on to me. “Right,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. His eyes glowed seductively in the dim lighting, the lamp in the corner by the sofa providing the only illumination in the room.

I wondered if his thoughts ran the same direction as mine. I wasn’t a sex fiend by any stretch of the imagination, but with him, I supposed I could become one.

He moved around me and crossed to the mini-fridge in his partial kitchen. A large, round table sat in the dining area, and a basket of goodies took up a vast portion of it. He hadn’t been kidding about the size of the delivery.

“You could eat and drink for a week out of this basket.”

With a laugh, he said, “You’re probably right.”

Retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge, he poured two glasses and handed one to me.

Then he asked, “What do you prefer—white or red?”

I eyed the labels on the bottles of red still nestled against thin, accordion-style shreds of filler in the Rattlers’ colors of copper, teal and black. Whistling under my breath at the expensive varietals—I knew high-end wines because I’d covered a number of wine festivals for the magazine—I selected a Sangiovese.

“This will do nicely.”

“You have good taste.”

He took the bottle from me and uncorked it as I sipped my water. I liked watching him do even the simplest things like work a wine pull and fill our glasses. He moved fluidly, almost gracefully, despite his size. And his big hands weren’t the least bit clumsy. His fingers were long and tapered, and I couldn’t help but think of them trailing languidly along my inner thigh or brushing over a bare breast.

My own fingers shook slightly as I exchanged my water for the wine. We touched the rims of our glasses together as his gaze locked with mine.

“It really is good to see you, Cherish. I’ve thought about you over the years. Wondered what you were up to, if you’d gotten married and had kids.”

I held up my bare left hand, the backside facing Carter. Wiggling my fingers, I said, “Still single. Haven’t met anyone who curls my toes enough to have a long-term relationship with.”

It occurred to me that wasn’t entirely true. Just thinking of Carter could do the trick. But he’d always been out of my reach, so my fantasizing about him hadn’t gone further than breath-stealing kisses like the one we’d had at prom, or sexy vignettes I’d conjured in my mind whenever I thought of him.

He took a sip of wine, then asked, “Want to sit?” He gestured toward the sofa.

With a small laugh, I said, “I’m supposed to be interviewing you, aren’t I?”

“Why don’t we sideline that for tonight?” He took my free hand and led me over to the couch, in soft yellow with deep crimson, Southwestern accents. His touch was simple and comfortable, yet electrifying at the same time. His warm, supple skin felt heavenly against mine, and there seemed to be no awkwardness over the intimate contact. Certainly not on my part. I had no desire to pull my hand from his, so I left it in the cozy cocoon he created.

We sat next to each other, our twined fingers resting on his thigh.

“How about I send over tickets to this weekend’s game?” he suggested. “We can meet in the locker room afterward for the interview. If the team wins, it’ll be a great start to my career here.”

I nodded, but felt compelled to ask, “Why did you leave the 49ers for arena football?”

Taylor had said she thought there was a story with that situation. I’d sniff it out for her and give her credit in the magazine if she’d really been onto something. Maybe Carter had been offered a heftier paycheck. That was always newsworthy when it came to professional sports.

He took a bigger gulp of wine this time, then set his glass on the coffee table. He said, “Would you mind if I got out of this suit jacket?”

“Of course not.” Although, that meant I could no longer hold his hand hostage.

I instantly missed his warmth and the connection to him.

He shrugged out of his jacket, but didn’t bother loosening his tie. I wondered if he thought I wasn’t as at ease around him as he seemed to be with me. Did he still think I might have reservations about being alone with him in his hotel room? The notion made me slightly angry. What did I have to do to prove to him I trusted him—and that I was on cloud nine being this close to him?

“I’m not afraid of you, Carter. Take your tie off too. Get comfortable.” I gave him a serious look and added, “You don’t have to act so tentative with me, or so…I don’t know. Reticent?”

He cleared his throat, as though to dislodge his retort. Then he loosened his tie, though he didn’t remove it.

“I’m not trying to offend you, Cherish. All those protective feelings I had toward you in high school came back to me the second I saw you. Only this time… It’s me I should warn you about.”

I stared quizzically at him, a dismal thought occurring to me. “Please don’t tell me you’re gay. That would just crush me, Carter.”

He laughed heartily, surprising me. “That is definitely
not
something you have to worry about. I am so very straight—in fact, I’m having all kinds of straight-guy thoughts about you.”

My clit tingled and my pussy clenched. I could barely breathe, but managed to say, “Do tell.”

Carter laughed again as he shook his head. “Don’t encourage me.”

“Why not?” I demanded as excitement shot through me. “Surely you’ve noticed I’m wildly attracted to you.”

He seemed to give my words thought, then said, “Surely
you’ve
noticed I can’t keep my eyes off you. My hands, however, need to be another story.”

I frowned as disappointment gripped my very soul. “You’ve lost me.”

He stood and began to pace. Raking a hand through his thick, dark brown hair, he told me, “You are incredibly beautiful, Cherish. And you’ve completely blindsided me tonight. I’ll admit I’d considered contacting you when I knew I was coming back to Phoenix, but I also knew it was a bad idea.”

My heart sank. “Oh?”

Carter came to an abrupt halt and faced me. “The thing is, I always liked you. I mean
really
liked you. But your size made me nervous. It still does.”

I got to my feet as well and planted my hands on my hips as annoyance skittered through me. “Hey, I’m not Tinkerbell anymore. Take a good look, stud. I’m all grown up.”

He chuckled at my words, and no doubt my irritation.

“I can see you’re all grown up. That’s the problem.” His warm brown eyes skimmed my body and he added, “You’re amazing. And goddamn, I really want to kiss you. But I can’t.”

I gnawed my lower lip briefly, then ventured, “You’re engaged? Or involved with someone?”

Not that I’d be surprised, but I hadn’t allowed myself to consider the possibility, since he hadn’t been connected with anyone publicly in a few years.

But he quickly chased away the dread that settled in by saying, “No, I’m not involved with anyone. I haven’t been for a while.”

He closed the gap between us and took my hand, urging me to sit with him once more.

“So you’re attracted to me,” I said, “and I’m attracted to you. Why is that cause for alarm? And if you say anything related to my size, I’m going to kick you in the shin.”

He grinned at me, and my stomach flipped. “I don’t think of you as Tinkerbell anymore. In fact, I’d completely forgotten the nickname.”

I could kick
myself
for having reminded him. “Then what’s the problem?”

Carter gave me a long, contemplative look. My curiosity soared off the charts, but I forced myself to patiently await his answer. His expression turned grave, and
that
was cause for alarm.

In a tight voice, he said, “You asked me earlier why I gave up my career with the 49ers for arena football. It wasn’t an easy decision to reconcile in my mind, but technically a no-brainer. The truth is, I can’t heave the ball down a hundred-yard field anymore. Arena ball is played on a fifty-yard field. A much more manageable distance for me.”

His inner turmoil swirled in his dark irises and the agonized look made my chest constrict.

“What’s the deal, Carter?”

“Off the record?” he asked, his jaw set.

“Absolutely. I swear I won’t write a word about any of this if you don’t want me to.”

Sorry, Taylor.

He was quiet a moment, then let out a long breath. Finally, he said, “The truth is, I need surgery. I’ve got a crushed rotator cuff and a partially detached biceps I’m only making worse by continuing to play. It’s my throwing arm. I have an MRI every few months to monitor the situation, but the fact is, I need to have the shoulder operated on sooner rather than later. I had intended to do it during the 49ers off-season, but management wanted to put me on the disabled list and look for a new starter. So I put it off. Then the Rattlers came calling, and I saw a different opportunity. They’ll give me the chance to get the operation and still be their star.”

“Oh, Carter.” I reached over and placed my hand atop his. “I’m so sorry.”

He looked miserable as he said, “I need this season. I need to kick ass on that field and take the team to the championship game to prove my worth. The contract I signed is for an unprecedented amount, and I have to show the team and management I’m worth it.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself.”

“I don’t have a choice.” The conviction in his voice—mixed with a hint of resignation—was compelling, and it further stirred my emotions. “This stint with the Rattlers will likely be my last. They know about my arm, but offered me a three-year deal anyway. I assured them I could win games for the term of the contract. And they really wanted me. Now I’ve got to see this through, because no other team is going to pick me up if I continually have complications with my shoulder and am constantly on the DL.”