“Izzie’s not my stepmother.”
“That’s a formality. Something tells me you’re not her biggest fan.”
“We have an understanding,” he said carefully as the sway of the gathering blackjack crowd bumped him closer to her. “She didn’t accept my father’s ring because she’s interested in playing the mommy role for two men who’re older than she is. How many stepmothers wear dresses that seem to be held in place by magic?”
“Not magic,” Waverly murmured, his nearness making her shift like a nervous cat. “Very strategically placed adhesive. Is there not something you like about her? What about her perfect teeth, or her generosity?”
“Generosity?”
“She gave me a pig flashlight. I have to say I wasn’t sure about her.… She didn’t tell me right off that she knew you. I thought she might not be on the up-and-up. Anyway, it makes sense now, seeing as how you and she apparently don’t get along.” A roar erupted from the table, and Waverly leaned forward to see the excitement, bringing her firm ass right against the front of his trousers. Without thinking, without even breathing, Jeremiah slid his hand over the fluttery fabric of her dress to splay his fingers against her. Inconspicuously, shielded by tuxedos and party dresses, he fit her to him.
Waverly turned her face to the side. If she made a move to get away, he would let her go. But if she wanted to stay, to remain locked to him…
“One minute you don’t want me around, Jeremiah. The next you want me.”
Even whispered, the words were risky to say aloud in a crowded room. That she’d taken such a chance compelled him to react in kind, match her risk for risk.
Jeremiah’s hand ventured lower, from her abdomen to a place that teased his memory, bringing him back to the Rio, to those moments in which she was his.
Waverly inhaled deeply as he fit himself against her ass. “The basketball game. You quit out of nowhere.”
“Because of this.” Jeremiah rolled his hips, grinding, and she gasped faintly even as her body automatically arched back to meet him. The intensity of the blackjack game escalated, the room heady with a collective rush of adrenaline and endorphins. Repeating the hip roll so he could savor the tautness of her abdomen under his hand and the suppleness of her sweet ass hugging his hard cock, he said, “I don’t want to walk around with a hard-on or come in my pants every day.”
As if unnerved by his words, Waverly said tensely, “I have to go. Part of the gamble is knowing when to walk away.” Scooting around him, ready to flee, she dropped her hand and Jeremiah caught it, automatically weaving his fingers through hers.
A series of groans and protests shot up as the dealer claimed another win. And when Waverly squeezed Jeremiah’s hand before pulling away and rushing off from the crush, he suspected he’d screwed up and lost a part of himself to her.
That detail wasn’t confirmed until he spied her hurrying out of the Titanium Club with her date following close. At the door she turned sharply as if she’d forgotten something, then settled her gaze on Jeremiah.
She’d looked back at him.
A blinding succession of flashes and clicks was a disorienting reminder of why he couldn’t just go charging after Waverly and figure out a way for them to explore what they mutually wanted—without everything else falling apart.
Two men with cameras prowled the place like wolves invading a sheep pasture. Paparazzi. Uproar ensued, and Jeremiah, along with his father and godfather, assisted security in muscling the bastards out.
On a suspicion, he sought out Izzie in the shadowed recesses of the room. “Paparazzi, Izzie?”
“Uh, you’re welcome.” Unfazed, she sipped from her wineglass. “I’m just keeping you and your family relevant. Trust me, when things get ugly in Team Tarantino versus Team Greer, you’re going to want to have the media on your side.”
It would be virtually effortless to let Waverly take the heat for Izzie’s machinations, for him to let the battle begin and prove to his father that he was capable of saving their family, but Jeremiah couldn’t let anyone doubt that in this situation Waverly was innocent and hadn’t brought the paparazzi with her into the Titanium Club. Yet coming to her defense this time wouldn’t change the truth that she was still a Greer, still a trainer bent on conquering his territory.…
Still a woman he wanted but couldn’t have.
CHAPTER NINE
It was dark, clouds forming a soft gray haze in the sky, when Waverly rolled off the comfort of her mattress to see a silhouette darting across the villa bedroom. “Aly?” she said around a yawn, twisting the knob on the nightstand lamp.
Dim white-gold light washed the room. No longer concealed by shadows, Aly froze—in the same jeans and floral-patterned bustier top she’d been wearing when she’d gone out the previous evening. “Okay. Let’s examine this. You have bed hair but probably didn’t get it sleeping.”
Aly shook out her hair, going over to her designated pajama drawer in the dresser they shared. “Why does it feel like you’re accusing me of something?”
“Not accusing. Observing.” Waverly cracked her neck and turned to smooth her bed linens, not so much to make sure she had a well-made bed to come home to but to give Aly privacy to change. Her sister wasn’t modest and had a particularly aggravating habit of throwing propriety to the wind whenever the mood hit. “Bed hair aside, it’s almost four in the morning and you’re just getting home.”
“Didn’t think you’d notice, since you were so busy getting dolled up for your date with that Sam guy. He was all Mom could talk about. Sam this, Sam that. Gag me.”
Waverly heard her sister flop on the bed with a sigh and knew it was safe to turn around again. “Mom pushed me into that date. It’s my own fault for letting her. But, Aly, I pay attention to you even when you think I don’t.” She got out of bed and gathered Aly’s strewn clothes off the floor and deposited the pile in the adjoining bathroom’s hamper. “Who’s the guy keeping you up all night?”
“Waverly, the better question is, why isn’t there a guy keeping you up all night?”
Refusing to be baited, Waverly made quick work of her early-morning ablutions, threw a loose purple crew-neck shirt over her sports bra and fitted shorts, then grabbed her running shoes and duffel from the closet.
Aly’s whisper sliced the silence. “About Mom and Dad. If they ask where I’ve been—”
“I’ll tell them I don’t know.” Waverly shrugged and turned off the lamp as she prepared to go. “It’s the truth, after all.”
“Right. If Walsh gives you a decent break today, why don’t you come by the stadium for lunch? You haven’t even seen my office yet. It has a window. With a view. I feel very important.”
“I might take you up on that.”
“Good. Then we can hash out why you turned down Maxim and still haven’t made a decision about Sports Illustrated. You should be all over this. It’s a chance to tell the world what you want to accomplish in sports training. And you’d get to show off your runner’s bod.”
“In what? A string bikini?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Waverly sighed. It wasn’t about shyness or camera fright. It was about the importance of what she had to say and how easily provocative photos could overshadow that, especially if word got out that Jeremiah Tarantino knew his way around her vagina. She was new on the professional sports scene, and her mother had warned her during the Villains’ team party that everyone was watching.
Everyone was indeed watching, yet no one could agree on who they wanted her to be. Magazines wanted her to be sexy. Her players wanted her to be a trainer who’d take their crap with a smile. Aly wanted her to be cooperative. Veronica wanted her to be careful. Her parents wanted her to be their statement. Jeremiah Tarantino wanted her to be…
She couldn’t be sure, especially after last night at his godfather’s casino. And that pissed her off. She needed to be clear where she stood with him. He said he didn’t want her around because he wanted her. How
was she supposed to react to that?
“Say yes to Sports Illustrated,” Aly encouraged. “If you’re asked to wear a string bikini, so what? Rock it. Use it to your advantage. Give them a killer interview, and make Mom and Dad proud of you. Sometimes I think that’s your point in all this—getting their approval for once.”
She wasn’t in sports to please J.T. and Joan. In fact, she’d defied their wishes and the “more appropriate” paths they’d chosen for her. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to prove them wrong. They don’t think I can train our boys.”
“Or stand on your own without some guy they’ve cherry-picked for you.” Aly nuzzled her face into her pillow. No doubt her makeup smudged the pillowcase but she was evidently too tired and carefree to let it bother her. “We’re whispering in the dark, like children. As long as I live under their thumb, I’ll never grow up.” She yawned. “Go run. Good night. Or good morning. Whatever.”
◆◆◆
The Fiat was damp with drizzle by the time Waverly pulled onto NV-592 W. Fidgeting with the radio channel search button, she bypassed KNPR, which usually kept her company during her morning drive to Mount Charleston, and left it on a station playing talk-free hip-hop. Many people clung to this flavor of music; some found inspiration in the poetry of the words. But after a full set, she jabbed the power button and let in the quiet.
The music hadn’t helped her compartmentalize the thoughts and anxiety that surged through her mind like floodwaters. The pressure to protect her career and her parents’ team battled against her urgent need to make all the personal choices she wanted, screw the consequences.
As she drew closer to Mount Charleston the rainy darkness gave way to a foggy dawn. The stretch of road up ahead was still fairly visible and wouldn’t get in the way of her south-loop eight-miler. As a precaution, though, when she parked outside the closed-gated Cathedral Rock picnic area, she grabbed a slim flashlight from the glove compartment and jammed it into her waist pack along with her phone, drink bottle, lip balm, pepper spray and keys.
At this time of morning there were rarely any visitors, even in the areas that remained open twenty-four hours. There was nothing but the scent of rain-dampened foliage colliding with that of a doused forest fire’s lingering smoke, the scenic views of aspens peppered along the steep trail, the sounds of tiny creatures scurrying about in the underbrush and her shoes hitting the ground hard, the pounding of her heartbeat and the cool air against her damp skin as she ran at a steady pace.
Concentrating on the incline of the trail and the adrenaline flowing through her system, she pretended to outrun her worries about work and family and the man she couldn’t avoid—and didn’t want to. Made believe that she was alone and free. Imagined there wasn’t a grain of truth to Luca Tarantino’s “word of wisdom” last night.
You’re only as good as the worst thing you’ve ever done.
Waverly had never claimed to be “good” and didn’t find it fair that her career and her parents’ perception of her depended upon how perfect she could be…that the worst thing she’d ever done, no matter how irrelevant to her professional abilities, could cancel out what she’d done right.
“Deal with it, Greer.” And she ran faster.
About a mile later, at a sharp bend in the trail, she stopped for a stretch and a healthy sip of her flavored water. Fog moved around her and through the trees like translucent ribbons. Securing the bottle in her waist pack, she took off around the bend only to drop into a crouch at the sound of rocks and twigs crunching under someone’s heavy footsteps.
Pepper spray was good. Her uppercut—even better. Satisfied with that, she compensated for the limited visibility by focusing with her ears.
More footsteps.
She waited. Better not to break the jaw of a hiker or even just another runner.
“Waverly.”
Automatically she sprang up and let loose a series of expletives.
Jeremiah’s form parted the billowing fog. Arms raised, palms out, he took another step forward. In jeans and a wrinkled gray tee, he looked scruffy. “How much longer do you plan on screaming?”
“You scared the hell out of me, so, yeah, I’m entitled to a little screaming.” Waverly paused to inhale deeply because she’d apparently been holding her breath while evaluating the threat. “By the way, you came so close to getting a face full of pepper spray or my fist, and if either of those had happened, you’d be the one screaming. For mercy.”
Jeremiah lowered his hands, considering her words. “There’s something sexy as fuck about a woman who can fight for herself.”
She schooled her features into an impassive expression, not willing to let him throw her off guard. “It’s what I do best.” Around them the woods were quiet. It was unusual to encounter another visitor on this route at sunrise. “So. You hit the trails now? And here I thought you were a gym addict.”
“Weights at my place, but when I need cardio, I take it to the streets. I always figured the city was as good a place to run as any…” Jeremiah cast a glance upward at the scenic view “…but maybe I can get why this is your hideout.”
“A Vegas girl like me can appreciate some peace and quiet every now and then. This trail’s easy enough to handle before a full day’s work, and the best thing about it is that it’s practically a ghost town before the place fully opens to visitors. Every once in a while, my sister Veronica joins me. Usually it’s just me and the birds and occasionally the Palmer’s chipmunks.”
“The what?”
“Palmer’s chipmunks. Ascend high enough around here and you’re likely to spot one. They’re striped, typically stick close to the ground and consider this little region their hangout.” She leaned forward and smoothed a wrinkle on his sleeve. “Jeremiah, did I even tell you I run Cathedral Rock?”
“Last night at the casino, you mentioned driving way out here to get away from expectations. So this is what you do—come here at a crazy-ass time of morning to run, then hit the showers at Desert Luck? And before you ask, I know you shower at the facility every morning because your hair’s always wet and you smell like that flowery stuff you shampoo with at the end of training days. That fragrance follows you everywhere.… I heard a coach say the staff lounge has never smelled so good.”
“Rose hips and jojoba.”
“Powerful stuff. It could boost morale.”
“Doubt it. That’s more about player-to-player relationships, solid man management, and whatnot.”
“Then maybe it boosts only my morale.”
His heated stare fastened on hers the way his hands might pin her wrists to a mattress.
“Nice detective work,” she managed to get out. At least her voice was strong and not all swoony or shaky.
Jeremiah edged closer. “Still, it wasn’t easy to find you in the middle of all this. I lost time searching the north loop. I was about to give up when I saw your car outside the gates.”
“You interrupted my run for a reason. What is it?”
“Paparazzi crashed the Titanium Club minutes after you left. Camera flashes lit up the damn place like fireworks. People pulled out their phones. Those assholes were in my godfather’s private club on my brother’s birthday.”
Waverly straightened, ready to jump into defense mode. “Like you said, that happened after I left. I’m not friends with the paparazzi. Blame anyone you want—just not me, because I had nothing to do with it.”
“I know you didn’t, Waverly.”
It took a long moment before she absorbed the magnitude of his words. “Despite my showing up with a journalist and then having a not-exactly-friendly chat with your father, you believe me?”
“Yeah. But you can see how someone could interpret those facts as proof that you have an ax to grind and set this up. That someone being my father.”
“Fantastic. So by simply accepting his fiancée’s invitation to the club, I’ve given your father ammo to make even more outlandish accusations against my family?”
Waverly stilled. The memory of standing at the blackjack table with Jeremiah’s fingers pressed against her, his body hard behind her, stunned her with a burst of euphoria that was laced with frustration. Once again they’d begun something they couldn’t—shouldn’t, better not!—finish. “Did you tell him how you kept track of me? That you were dry-humping me at a blackjack table?”
“Saw no reason to get into specifics. Just know that he’s aware the paparazzi gaining entry isn’t your fault. I’ll admit he didn’t want to accept that at first, but I persuaded him.”
“You did that for me?”
A muscle ticked at his jaw. Clearly he was very carefully selecting his response, as if navigating a minefield. “It was the right thing to do.”
Waverly jerked her chin in a semblance of a nod. She could thank him and walk away or stay and find out if the desire she’d felt in his touch and voice last night was still alive in the light of a foggy day. Leave it alone, her saner self warned even as the words tumbled from her lips. “Do you always do the right thing?”
His gaze dragged over her, as erotic as a lick on bare flesh. “Not always.”
“You didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to find me here. We could’ve discussed this at camp.”
“Fuck camp.” His deliberate pause wasn’t lost on her, and the slow tilt of his mouth at her nervous swallow made it evident that he damn well knew it.
“Whose bed did you leave to come out here at such a ‘crazy-ass’ hour, anyway?” There, she’d asked in a sort-of-frank, sort-of-veiled fashion whether or not he was sleeping with someone. Because God, she needed to know.
“My bed. In an apartment that’s mine and mine alone. You’re not the only one with a hideout.” Jeremiah ventured closer. She held his gaze, slowly moving off the trail and deeper into the canopy of trees, and he was keeping up with her…joining her in the foggy semidarkness.
“And that journalist of yours. Where is he?”
The Penalty Page 12