The Unforgettable Kind

by Melanie Munton

  The feelings they inflict on me, however, turn my face white as a sheet.

  DROP THE STORY

  OR THE NEXT ENVELOPE WILL CONTAIN HIS HAND

  TELL THE COPS AND IT WILL BE HIS HEAD

  The paper slips through my fingers.

  I’m seconds away from burying my face in my trash can and retching.

  The message is clear. As is the story the note refers to.

  The ring of cheating NFL referees will be huge news if it gets out. Which means the people who have stake in such an operation will obviously go to great lengths to protect their investments. I guess this answers my question about who those people are, the ones paying off the refs.

  The mafia operates in this kind of cloak-and-dagger fashion. Making threats that don’t even attempt to be veiled. They’re the only ones who have the money and manpower to run this type of scheme. They’re the only ones who make sense.

  And they just threatened Kade.

  They didn’t even threaten me directly first. That’s how I know how serious this truly is. They went straight for someone who means more to me than I can ever express.

  They’re not messing around.

  Which begs the question, how the hell did they even know about Kade? It’s not like we’re dating. Hardly anyone even knows that we knew each other before he came to FNN. Hell, we’ve barely been able to even get along since he’s been here. How did they know exactly where to put the pressure?

  They can find out a hell of a lot if they follow you long enough.

  That leads to another disturbing question.

  How did they find out about the story? Who told them, and how did they know I was the one who reported it? As far as I know, only Mike, Kade, and the NFL commissioner know about this. Mike said he sent it directly to Mr. Simmons and only to him. Sure, I’ve done a little bit more of my own investigating—made some calls and sent out some emails—but it consisted only of probing questions. Nothing specific to this case. No one could make that connection unless they have inside information. It’s possible that Mr. Simmons leaked it to someone else, but why would he? He knows how bad this would make him and the entire league look.

  Oh. My. Shit.

  It would make the commissioner look bad.

  Speculation would run wild and his reputation would suffer, whether he actually knew about the scandal the whole time or not. If Mr. Simmons is involved, he’d obviously have cause to bury the story. But even if he’s not involved, he might still want to bury it just to save face and avoid some intrusive and damning publicity.

  My mind is spinning.

  My heart is aching.

  Is Aaron’s father, a man I once briefly thought could have become my father-in-law, in bed with the mafia? Did he give them information about me? The rational part of my brain wants to deny it until the cows come home. But that Spidey-sense tingles again, telling me that it’s certainly a possibility. It’s an awful big coincidence, nonetheless.

  My stomach rolls, and I bet my white face has turned a sickly green color. I’m fighting down the contents of my insides when there’s a knock on my open door. I look up to find Kade leaning into my office, hanging onto the door frame with heart-wrenching warmth in his eyes. For me.

  “Morning, Sam. Have you—” His smile drops, the warmth now replaced with concern. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  I hold up my hand when he starts to approach. “I’m fine. I think there was something wrong with that breakfast pita wrap I ate.”

  My words come out more dull than humorous.

  He notices.

  “You don’t eat pita wraps for breakfast.”

  “You don’t know that. Maybe I’m trying to get healthier.”

  His brow furrows skeptically. “You wouldn’t give up your cinnamon rolls any more than you would your coffee or wine.”

  I shrug nonchalantly. “What can I say? I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.”

  I pretend to straighten the stacks of papers on my desk in an effort to hide the scattered pictures and threatening note. God knows what he’ll do if he sees them. Probably take up his sword and try to defend my honor. Which would only embroil him in this mess even more.

  They just threatened to chop off his hand. And his head.

  Nope. He can’t find out about any of it.

  “Is this a social visit, or did you need something?”

  He’s quiet for another minute. I don’t look up, but I know he’s studying me in his maddeningly silent way. The last thing I need is for him to see how shaken up I am right now. He’ll know something is up, and he’ll start asking questions I haven’t yet figured out how to answer.

  “Are we okay after the other night?”

  That makes my head pop up. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to act all contrary as if nothing happened?”

  I recline back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. I intend it as a defensive posture, but in my current state, I suspect it comes across as more protective than anything.

  “We’ve never been ones to mince words, Kade. What are you really asking?”

  He strides over to the chair across from my desk, placing his palms on the backrest. “Okay, fine. My face was buried between your legs in that limo. I licked your pussy until you came on my tongue. And you taste sweeter now than you ever have. So, what I want to know is if you’re going to act like none of that ever happened. Like it didn’t mean something. Because, sweetheart,” he grips the backrest so hard the leather creaks beneath his hands, “it did. And fair warning, I’m going to want to do it again.”

  Somehow, his words puncture through my subconscious, making my insides flutter for a reason other than fear. If there’s one person in this world who could make me forget, even for a moment, that I’ve been threatened by the damn mafia, it’s Kade.

  Hell, I welcome that distraction right now.

  “I’m not that woman, Kade. I own my decisions, and I chose to let that happen. I won’t act weird about it if you won’t.”

  His eyes narrow.

  “As for it happening again…” I consider my next words. “Let’s just take it one day at a time.”

  Because I’m still not sure if I can trust you not to run again.

  He looks satisfied enough with that answer. “Works for me. I’m taking you to dinner tonight, though.”

  Against my better judgment, I grin. “That’s taking it one day at a time?”

  He returns the grin with one of his own. “It’s just dinner, Sam. No limos this time.”

  How disappointing.

  “What if I say no?”

  That grin of his turns smug. “You won’t.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I have a surprise for you later that you don’t want to miss.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “You’re My Best Friend”

  by Queen

  Kade

  “I’ve been meaning to try this place,” Sam says when we’re finally shown to our table at the new burger bar downtown.

  After our limo escapades the other night, I wasn’t about to let her turn me down for dinner.

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “Haven’t had time lately.”

  I have to wonder if she also hasn’t had someone to go with since she and Simmons ended things. Not the time to think about that, though.

  She came here with me.

  And if I have anything to say about it, she won’t be going on anymore dates with anyone but me. Ever again.

  This renowned burger bar has become famous for their unique specialty burgers, like The Bender Ender. It’s literally a Belgian waffle over two eggs, with bacon, powdered sugar, and maple syrup, all between two hamburger patties.

  I scour the beer list. “I thought you’d appreciate a place like this.”

  She looks at me in amusement. “A burger joint? What are you trying to say? That I’m simple? A low maintenance woman?”

  My eyes
lift to hers before drifting over the rest of the restaurant. “It just seemed like…us.”

  Laidback, casual, comfortable. Do things their own way. That is me and Sam. And a burger like The Bender Ender? It might look like a mess from the outside, but once you get a taste for it, you know there has never been a more heavenly combination.

  Like us.

  Her green eyes tell me she understands. “I guess I’d agree with you there.”

  That small capitulation is just one more victory to add to my list that I hope continues to grow. The feeling hits me even harder now after what I walked in on in her office earlier. She’d looked like she was about to lose it. Her face was pale, her hands were shaking, even though she tried to hide it.

  Something is going on with her.

  And I damn well intend on finding out what that is.

  But I’m not pushing it. I’m going to wait for her to come to me, and the only way that will happen is if she trusts me again. If I can wait that long.

  We get through a round of their alcoholic milkshakes before our food arrives. It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen Sam since that first day in her office, and it looks damn good on her. Leaning her elbows on the table, she unconsciously pushes her tits together, displaying a healthy amount of cleavage in her tight V-neck red dress.

  She’s a fucking siren in that dress.

  Sin incarnate.

  And every man that’s had her in his sights tonight knows it.

  Knowing she dressed up for dinner with me touches a deep, primordial part of me. Knowing she wanted to look good for me makes me feel like a fucking primal beast, needing every dick in this place to know who this living, breathing temptation of a woman belongs to.

  She hasn’t even taken you back yet, idiot.

  No, but I’m getting there. I think.

  I watch her attempt to take a bite of her burger. Something with a Hawaiian thing going on because there’s a pineapple slice the size of a pancake in the middle. Somehow, she’s able to make her efforts look both comically adorable and sexy.

  “Any news on the Super Bowl job?”

  She dabs her mouth with a napkin. “No, not yet. Apparently they’re not announcing it until the last possible minute. But the game is just over a month away, so it can’t be that much longer. I did hear a rumor that they’re thinking of going with Harvey Oleander from ESPN2. I guess he’s been doing a lot of non-profit work lately, and they think it’ll look good for the network or something.”

  Her voice is laced with disappointment.

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “We’re literally in the business of news and gossip. Stuff gets around, and you hear it.”

  I scoff. “They’re a bunch of morons if they don’t pick you.”

  She laughs. “Mike said something similar.”

  I have every intention of continuing the conversation, but I take my first bite of my Bender Ender and lose every thought in my head. I don’t even realize the loud groan I hear comes from me.

  “Holy shit.”

  She smiles. “Good?”

  “Amazing. Think I just found my new favorite spot.”

  When we discuss our families, I’m pleased to hear that her relationship with her dad has vastly improved. They talk on a regular basis, and he’s dating someone who seems to make him happy.

  “How’s Drake and the family?”

  I like seeing her get all excited when she talks about the most important people in her life. Her eyes absolutely sparkle at the mention of her brother and his wife and daughter.

  “Everyone’s good. He’s thinking about retiring after next season because they want to have another baby. And Laylah is the most precious thing ever. Drake doesn’t stand a chance if they have another girl.”

  I have to say Drake settling down and getting all domestic was a huge shock to me. With my involvement in the game over the years, he and I have actually become friends, though he doesn’t have a clue what went down between me and his sister. At least, not to my knowledge.

  He’d once been one of the biggest man-sluts in the game, and I know Sam used to worry about him never getting his shit together. But I couldn’t have been happier when he’d told me he was getting married years ago. Sam doesn’t know it, but seeing Drake’s love for his wife had been another motivating factor in my determination to win her back. I want what he has, I’d thought to myself.

  We try to steer clear of work talk, but it inevitably makes its way into the conversation.

  “Heard anything from Mike about that whole cheating ref situation?”

  She chokes on the food in her mouth and has to take large gulps of water to wash it all down.

  I know her too well, and I’m not stupid. That reaction is an admission of some kind of guilt. I have a feeling that whatever she’s hiding probably has something to do with her investigation into this matter.

  “Um, nothing yet. He sent everything off to the commissioner the other day. Now, we just have to wait and see what he says.”

  I drop my fork, sending it clattering onto my plate. “The other day? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Her eyes apprehensively lift to meet mine, confusion filling them. “I forgot? It’s been a crazy few days. Was I supposed to tell you? Nothing major has happened yet. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

  It’s important that I don’t sound like an asshole here, but I’m really trying to not lose my shit.

  “It is a big deal. If word gets out about this, especially the possible mafia affiliation, it’s going to blow up huge. This is the type of thing that ruins lives for the ones implicated. People take that fucking seriously, and they’ll take some insane risks to make sure they don’t go down for it.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Her voice has an edge to it, sounding almost frantic or…panicky. “Yeah, there’s going to be a media shit storm if this all turns out to be true, but we’ll deal with it.”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn about the media. I’m worried about you. Word might get out that this started because of what you found. And Jesus Christ, Sam, it’s the mafia. When they have a problem with someone, they don’t exactly care how high profile that person might be. From what I understand, they’re very practiced at making ‘accidents’ happen.”

  “I’ll be okay,” she says with more confidence than I feel. “If and when the story breaks, names will be protected, at least on our side of things. No one is going to come after me.”

  That better be fucking true.

  Cris hasn’t passed along any information that would indicate the mafia is aware of the situation, let alone Sam’s involvement with it. But if Mike went to the commissioner, that means he felt it prudent enough to investigate, which means that things could just be heating up. I need to remind Cris to stay on top of things up north. The second anyone associated with the Espositos gets a whiff of this story, I want to be informed immediately.

  Because I won’t allow any of this to touch Sam. Or anyone to touch Sam.

  No fucking way. Not happening.

  Enough of the heavy.

  If I keep thinking about worse case scenarios, I’m liable to kidnap her and keep her locked up in a basement somewhere until all of this blows over.

  I throw my crumpled napkin onto the table. “You done eating? Your surprise is going to start soon.”

  ***

  “You’re kidding me!” Sam shouts as we enter the indoor venue. “Bob Segar? I thought these tickets were all sold out.”

  She’s got the biggest smile I think I’ve ever seen on her face. When she looks at me like that—like I’m fifteen feet tall—I feel like I can do absolutely any-fucking-thing.

  I guide her through the crowd with my hand on her lower back. “I have a connection. I knew it would probably be our last chance to ever see him in concert, and I know he’s one of your favorites.”

  We reach a clearing just as the band plays the first notes. She doesn’t look at the stage, though. She’s staring at me�
�mouth gaping, eyes wide—as she steps forward and slinks her arms around my neck.

  “I can’t believe you did this,” she whispers. “Thank you so much.”

  These tickets could have cost me ten million dollars, and I still would have found a way to buy them for her. Just go to the bank and ask them for one of their low interest Winning Back Your Girl loans, right?

  But anything is worth it if the reward is getting this kind of reaction from her.

  “You’re welcome, Sam.”

  I hold her as long as she allows, savoring the precious moment. She goes nuts when Bob himself steps out onto the stage, and I’m right there with her. That’s pretty much how it goes for the rest of the concert. She sings the words to every song, and I end up watching her more than the band.

  It’s one of the best times of my life.

  When they play “Night Moves” and Bob’s crooning voice comes over the mic, I take the love of my life into my arms. And just like the night of our first kiss on a clifftop, we dance.

  She doesn’t fight me.

  Not once.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “You Shook Me All Night Long”

  by AC/DC

  Sam

  I could almost forget the last eight years ever happened.

  Kade has turned back into the old Kade tonight—my Kade—by taking me to the concert and being all sweet and considerate. I haven’t had this much fun in years. Somewhere between my first and fourth drink, I stopped worrying about what’s happening between us and about the envelope full of pictures and threats, and decided to just enjoy living in the moment. The past will always be there to dig up and dissect later. Everything with the referee ring will be there to fret over tomorrow.

  Tonight is for reveling.

  Sexual tension has been hovering over our heads like a storm cloud all night. It only gets more potent as Kade walks me to my door after the concert.

  I know what I’m about to do.

  I’ve already made that decision, and I refuse to consider the consequences right now. Arousal is throbbing too powerfully between my legs to ignore.

  So, when I unlock my door and he stands there on the threshold like he’s not sure if he’ll be invited inside, I ease the door open wider, cocking my hip out in a provocative pose. The movement causes my dress to slide farther up my thigh, exposing more skin. His eyes track every centimeter the material moves, his gaze flickering with the flames of fiery lust.