Jessica clutched the blankets to her chest as the blonde sat up, blinking her eyes. The woman mumbled, “Is breakfast ready?”
Jessica turned on Simon, and through tight lips, said,
“Your guest just woke up.”
The light in Simon’s eyes made her heart sink, but what did she expect? Hadn’t she just told Megan never to trust an athlete? None of them could resist the women who flung themselves at their feet. Not even Simon.
He crossed his arms over his bare chest, but at least he had jeans on, even though his fly was open. At least he had underwear on. “You still here?”
The woman rubbed her eyes. “I must’ve passed out.” So Simon managed to have two passed-out women in his condo in three days. That had to be some kind of record. Jessica growled, “Your breakfast is on the counter.
There may even be enough for two.”
“She’s?” Simon’s smile wavered. “This is, oh hell, I don’t remember your name, luv. She came back here with Ivo, and I thought she left with Ivo.” The woman stretched her arms over her head and shoved off the blankets. “I’m Amber. I meant to leave with Ivo, but I must’ve passed...fallen asleep. He probably didn’t want to wake me up.” She tugged at her wrinkled, black cocktail dress.
Pressing her hands to her warm cheeks, Jessica swallowed. She’d come off as possessive and jealous when she had no right to be either. She gestured toward the counter. “I can make you some breakfast.” Amber’s eyes shifted to Simon and then back to her.
“No, thank you. I’ll just get a taxi home. My friend drove to the club last night, but she, uh, didn’t come here with us.” Jessica called the taxi, and Simon slipped Amber three twenties to cover the cost. They all chatted until Isaac buzzed them when the taxi arrived.
Amber left, and Simon sat down to his breakfast, which he’d let grow cold.
“Do you want me to stick that in the microwave for you?”
He speared a tomato, and dangled it from his fork.
“That’s all right. It’s not too bad.” He sure didn’t act as high-maintenance as he looked.
Curiosity about Amber’s friend, left behind at the club, gnawed at her, but she didn’t want to give Simon the third degree. She pulled up a stool and perched on its edge. “So you got to know one of your teammates last night?”
“Yeah, he’s a good kid. After we had dinner, we stopped at a few places.”
“Isaac said you didn’t get in until two in the morning.
Must’ve been more than a few places.” He cocked his head at her. “You sound like my mum.” He just gave her the entrée she needed. “That’s sort of what I’m supposed to be. It’s my job to get you settled and acclimated before practices start.”
“You’ve done that.” He waved his arms around the condo.
She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “It’s also my job to keep you out of trouble.” He smacked something on the counter between them, and she jumped, her eyelids flying open. “You’re doing a lousy job at that.”
The Daily Fix, with the picture of Simon’s submerged car on the front page, lay accusingly between them. Seems the sentiment about her job performance was unanimous.
She creased the edge of the paper. “I’m sorry about the car.”
His warm hand clasped hers and he squeezed it.
“That’s the second time you’ve apologized. Once is always enough. Besides, keeping me out of trouble is a tall order. I don’t envy you that job.”
Time to haul out the feminine appeal she’d polished in those beauty pageants. She left her hand in his, adding a slight tremble while she dropped her lashes. “One problem, Simon, that really is part of my job description. Evan read this rag in Hawaii and came down on me for failing at my most important gofer duty.”
He released her hand and toyed with his fork, drawing, what looked suspiciously like goal posts, in the egg yolk that smeared the plate. He sucked in his cheek, and his blue eyes clouded. Those feminine charms must be a little rusty. He glanced at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Evan told you to keep me out of trouble until practice?”
“Yeah, you know, just so we can deliver you safely and soundly into the hands of the Waves.” He obviously chaffed at toeing the line as much as she did.
He ran his hands over his face, emerging with a smile.
“I don’t want you to lose your job, Jessica, so I’ll behave myself...at least for the next few weeks.” Her heart skipped around her chest. He didn’t want her to lose her job? Why should he care, unless that kiss on the beach meant something to him? Like it meant something to her? She’d tried to pretend that night was like so many others in her life. A ride up the coast in a brand new Ferrari hot off the lot, driving the Ferrari into the Pacific Ocean, kiss on the beach.
Just your run-of-the-mill date.
But the heat of that kiss lingered, along with the easy compatibility she’d felt sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Simon on the sand. Did he feel it too?
She dropped the feminine wiles. She didn’t need them with Simon anyway. She didn’t even like them. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“As long as you stop with the poor, pitiful, I’m only a helpless female act. I get enough of that at home with my sisters.”
“You have sisters?”
“Three of them, all younger, all annoying as hell, and not one brother to back me up.”
“They don’t spoil you?” Despite all the sports star trappings, he didn’t seem spoiled at all.
His eyes widened as he scooped up his dirty dishes.
“Spoiled? I had to do my share around the house, including the dishes, and we didn’t even have a dishwasher.”
“Well, then your mom deserves credit for treating you all equally and not favoring her only son.” The dishes clattered in the sink, and Simon turned slowly, gripping the counter behind him. “My mom died when I was ten. My youngest sister was only two, so my grand-mum helped out.”
“I’m sorry, Simon. How did she die?” Maybe that explained the melancholy that occasionally stole over him like a dark fog.
“A car hit her on her way home from work. She’d just gotten off the bus. My dad was out of work at the time, so she’d taken a job at night.” He turned back to the sink to scrub the dishes. “So how do you plan to keep me off the streets of L.A.?”
She didn’t want to exchange family histories anyway.
“Ah, that’s why I dropped by this afternoon. She hopped off the stool and grabbed one of the bags by the door. She placed it on the floor, next to the coffee table and dropped onto the sofa still tousled from Amber’s crash landing.
Wiping his hands on a towel, Simon came away from the sink to watch her pull her treasures out of the bag.
“Chess.” She plunked the heavy chess set on the coffee table. “Parcheesi. Trivial Pursuit.” She continued to name the board games as she piled them on top of each other. She grabbed the smaller bag and dumped out a deck of cards and wrapped stacks of red, white, and blue poker chips. “And poker, if you’re a gambling man, and I bet you are.”
Simon laughed. “You’re going to keep me home at nights by playing games with me?”
“Do you like games?”
“Sure I do, but you’re going to be bored. You can trust me, Jessica. You don’t have to stay here and watch over me. You’re not the one who has to stay out of trouble.”
“I trust you, but you’ll be lonely on your own, won’t you?” Didn’t he want her to stay?
“Believe it or not, I know a few people in L.A. You can go out and do what you normally do. Have fun. I don’t want to hold you back.”
Actually on her new salary and her determination not to beg Mom and Dad for trust money, doing what she normally did involved a few movies with friends and a few boring dates. And playing chess with Simon Bosford sure beat the hell out of either of those prospects.
She stamped a self-sacrificing look on her face and included a sigh for maximum effect. “It’s my job. You’re my
job.”
His mouth curved up at one corner. She hadn’t fooled him at all. Maybe because she couldn’t take her eyes off those sexy lips of his when he smiled, sparking a blue fire in his eyes. The phone saved her from making an even bigger fool of herself.
He grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
While he paused, she pretended to study the games on the coffee table. He knew people in L.A.? She foolishly thought she had him all to herself.
“Yeah, thanks a lot. You owe me sixty quid too. I paid for her taxi.” He rolled his eyes at her.
Must be Ivo, and Simon had told her the truth about Amber.
“Hold on. They’re probably here somewhere.” He dangled the phone at his side. “Jessica, do you see a bunch of papers anywhere? Ivo picked them up yesterday and thinks he left them here.”
She pushed up from the sofa as her gaze swept the messy room. A stack of papers balanced on the edge of an empty bookshelf. She picked them up, glancing at the top page of the important-looking documents. She walked them over to Simon and put them on the counter by his elbow.
Simon spoke into the phone. “Yeah, I have them.
Tomorrow’s good.”
He replaced the phone and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Evan left me some paperwork of my own to review, and I better get to it.”
She knew a dismissal when she heard one. She snagged her purse from the floor and hitched it over her shoulder. “Okay, have fun with that.”
“Thanks for breakfast.”
She continued toward the front door. “You’re welcome.
Just try to keep a low profile.”
“I think I need help keeping it low.” She stopped, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart palpitating, as if she were waiting for an invitation to the high school prom from the star football player. She twisted her head over her shoulder. “Do you?”
“Will you come back and have dinner with me later and take me on in a game of chess? You don’t have to cook. I’ll order in.”
She turned, and his hopeful smile took her breath away. “Sure. What time?”
His hunched shoulders relaxed, and he pulled his hands from his pockets. “Make it seven.” She swung back toward the door. “See you at seven.” She floated on cotton candy to the penthouse elevator.
The high school football, make that soccer, star just asked her to the prom.
***
The heavy fragrance of lilies warred with the aroma of chicken cacciatore wafting from the container on the counter. He hoped she liked Italian. He’d forgotten to ask, since women usually went along with whatever he suggested. He didn’t want to come across that way to Jessica. Maybe he already had, since she asked if his sisters spoiled him. If she only knew.
When Mum died, he’d had his hands full helping Grandmum with the younger girls. Dad blamed himself for Mum’s death, and the alcoholic haze he descended into made him useless around the house. That’s when he pinned all his hopes on Simon to go to university and find a stable career.
It didn’t seem to matter how much money Simon made playing football, Dad never respected it as a career for a grown man. Maybe because he’d failed at him himself. In fact, Simon had followed in the old man’s footsteps exactly, dropping out of a prestigious public school to play football, except for one difference. He became a successful player while Dad had been cut from his English club squad after the first year.
Mum always encouraged them to study, to read, to learn, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. After she died, Dad had him apply for a scholarship at Sandringham, and he got it. But he hated it there—dressing for dinner, talk of polo and holidays at Costa del Sol. The other boys ostracized him and slagged him off for his working-class Yorkshire accent. He didn’t fit into their world. Until he got on the football pitch.
They noticed him then. Of course, his concentration on sport caused his grades to drop, and he eventually lost his scholarship and left the school. Dad never forgave him. He warned him, “You’ll never be a success without a university education.” Guess he proved him wrong. Didn’t he?
He checked his Tag Heuer watch and crouched before a cupboard to search for a serving platter. The deliveries from Jessica’s shopping spree had just kept on coming, and he put away a bunch of dishes this afternoon.
He’d held his breath when he asked her over for dinner.
A quiet dinner and a game of chess didn’t seem her kind of evening, but then apparently, Evan gave her instructions about his care and feeding. If she wanted to salvage her job, she’d have to keep a close eye on him, even if she’d rather be out partying. He’d have to make a quiet dinner worth her while.
The low-profile edict worried him. It gave substance to Franco’s assertions yesterday morning that the Waves expected him to show up to practice in shape and ready to earn his money playing soccer, not lending his name to soccer gear. Evan could’ve done a better job of cluing him in on that little detail. Evan played up the endorsement deals so much, the soccer had gotten lost in all the zeros.
He dumped the last take-away box, which contained salad, into a bowl just as a knock sounded on the door.
Never seemed shy about using her key before.
He pulled open the door, and she held up a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag from a pastry shop in the other.
A thin sliver of skin peeked out between the top of her lowslung jeans and the bottom of a red, V-neck sweater. Her dark hair danced about her shoulders as she tapped the pointed toe of her red shoe. “Wine and dessert. Can I come in now?”
She looked spicy enough to eat. He banged his bad knee with the door as he swung it open. “I took care of the wine, but I forgot dessert.” Or maybe he had another dessert in mind. Spicy and sweet.
She swooped into the kitchen. “You picked up food from Il Diávolo. I love that place.”
He followed her, stopping at the edge of the counter to collect the bowls and plates. “Awww, I was hoping you’d think I cooked all of this.”
“You already told me you don’t cook, remember?
Besides you have to do a better job of hiding the evidence.” From her fingers, she dangled a bag emblazoned with the red logo from the restaurant.
“Sounds like you’re familiar with the tactic.”
“I’ve used it once or twice.”
“To impress a man?”
Tilting her head, she rested a hand on her hip.
“Actually, my parents. Never wanted to give anyone I dated the wrong impression.”
“That you’re a good cook?”
“That I’m a homebody.”
She didn’t give him that impression, considering she’d been married to a rock singer. He’d make sure she stayed entertained tonight.
He laid it on thick by lighting two candles and placing them in the center of the table. Jessica positioned the vase of lilies next to the candles and touched a petal with her fingertip. “These are beautiful. Where’d they come from?”
“Flower shop on the corner down from the restaurant.” She flicked the petal. “You walked, didn’t you?” Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “I saw the restaurant on our jaunt back from the Polo Lounge the other day. It looked interesting.”
“You keep walking around L.A. and you’re going to get a reputation as an eccentric Englishman.” Not exactly the reputation he had in mind, but if she liked it, he’d take it. He tapped the bag from the restaurant. “Devil.”
“Huh?”
“Il Diávolo means devil.”
“Do you speak Italian?” One perfectly arched brow rose.
“A little, and I studied Latin, so it’s easy to figure out some words.”
“You studied Latin?” The other perfectly arched brow rose. “Did you do that during the downtimes when you weren’t kicking soccer balls around?” He sat to her left, inhaling her sweet feminine scent that outdid the flowers, and poured two glasses of red wine. “I studied Latin in the posh public school I attended. Public meaning private for you Yanks.”
“I know. I’ve watched my fair share of Masterpiece Theatre. I guess I missed the school part in your bio, which claimed you started playing for the London United team when you turned sixteen. I also don’t recall reading that you came from a veddy veddy upper crust, public school, kind of background.”
His tight grip on the stem of his wineglass loosened and he laughed. “You do a veddy veddy bad English accent, and you’re right. I wouldn’t even call my background middle crust. My father was an out-of-work factory man, and my mother worked the night shift at the local grocery.” She swirled her wine, which cast a ruby glow on her lips. “How’d you get into the rich kids’ school?”
“Scholarship.”
She grimaced. “That must’ve been hell if English school kids are anything like their American counterparts. I went to one of those schools myself, but I came in from the right side of the tracks. The scholarship kids had it tough.”
“Kids are kids.” Figured with her beauty-queen background she came from money.
She sipped her wine and ran her finger along the edge of the glass. “Your status must’ve risen when you played soccer.”
She got right to the point, and its sharpness needled him. How’d she manage to so easily wheedle through the chinks in his armor? “It did. I leveled the playing field, so to speak, when I got on the pitch. Of course, it cost me the scholarship. You can’t travel all over the country playing football and study at the same time.” Clinking her glass to his, she said, “But you remember your Latin.”
“Who knew it would come in handy some day in deciphering restaurant names? So your parents had money?”
“Man, you kicked that ball right back at me.” She sawed into a piece of chicken. “Yeah, my parents had money, lots of it, all in nice little bundles with strings attached.”
“They can yank the strings all they want, but if you’re not tied to them they can’t affect you.”
“Believe me, I’m working on that.”
“By marrying inappropriate men?”
She dabbed her lips primly and folded her hands in her lap. “My marriage to Jimmy Doe followed all the rules of a proper marriage—a twenty-four hour courtship, a one-hour engagement, a wedding ring purchased at Caesar’s Palace, and an exchange of vows before an Elvis impersonator.”
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