by Mel Curtis
“Yes, Jack, you did hear Evan.” Back to the photographer, Amber was being chirpy, bouncing lightly on her toes, an answering jiggle in her breasts.
Evan clenched his fingers, vividly remembering the abundant softness of those breasts. “You’re bluffing.”
“Jack wants to say hello.” Amber held out her pretty pink rhinestone studded cell phone.
“Okay, I’ll play along.” Evan took the girly device. “How are you, Jack?”
“I’m a hell of a lot better now that I know those Rules are working.”
Damn. It was Jack Gordon. Amber’s smile lit up her whole face. Evan twitched with the urge to kiss that smile out of existence.
“I just got off the phone with Spinks,” Jack was saying. “And he said you came back into practice with a new game. Go to lunch with Amber and quit fighting this thing.”
Like hell. Evan handed the phone back to Amber. “Say goodbye, Jack.”
“Goodbye, Jack.” Amber tossed her cell into her grocery bag-sized purple leather purse and then considered him. “You know, you can trust me.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Evan glared down at Amber. “But you can’t trust me. Or anyone else for that matter. This is L.A., home of the media backstab.”
Her composure firmly in place, Amber walked in a circle around Evan, checking him out from head to toe, sending his blood pressure into the red zone. It was obvious she’d learned two could play the physical chemistry manipulation game. She stopped in front of the driver’s side door, just out of reach, back to the click-happy voyeur once more. “I don’t see any scars.”
Evan held himself very still. Had Amber seen the bullet wound on his thigh on Saturday? Adrenaline burned through his veins. He had to get away from Amber, her goody-goody intentions and her lusciously kissable lips. “Why would you think I had scars?”
She cocked one hip, clearly unaware of the turmoil her words caused. “Because it dawned on me in there that you keep everybody at arm’s length and think everybody’s out to use you.”
He forced himself to laugh. “You’re so naive. Haven’t you wondered why Jack insisted your brother be absent from our meeting on Saturday?”
“No…I…”
“Thought he liked you better?” She was an amateur. Evan nudged Amber out of his way. The touch, light and brief as it was, sent another power surge through his system. He paused, staring down into Amber’s chocolate eyes, wanting her with an intensity that was starting to alarm him.
Amber nibbled on her bottom lip, turning away, as if she, too, felt the hypnotic pull between them. She pretended interest in the Ferrari, running her fingertips lightly over the curve of the fender as she walked the length of his car. Evan mentally stripped her of the clingy T-shirt and snug jeans. Amber turned abruptly and caught him looking. Her creamy cheeks flushed a soft pink as she gave a sideways glance toward their audience. “That photographer has a clear shot of us. You’ve had plenty of time to set me up.”
She’d lobbed an easy one Evan’s way. All he had to do was close the distance between them and give the media what would surely be a death blow to Amber’s reputation and to that bogus Foundation of hers. But his feet were immovable, cemented to the ground.
Sensing her reprieve, Amber brightened. “I’ve always wanted to drive a Ferrari. Can I drive it to lunch?”
“Why don’t we pick up something and go to my house? I’ll lose him on the freeway.” What in the hell made him say that?
She shook her head. “Why don’t we go to Matteo’s? A chopped salad sounds good.”
“Do I look like a salad guy?” Evan rubbed his mouth in case he’d been drooling. He was hungry all right, but for something more satisfying than lettuce. The pressure of everyone’s expectations, including Amber’s, was dragging him down. It was time to reassert control over his life, starting with a couple of hours of deeply satisfying sex. Maybe she’d succumb if he got rid of the photographer and agreed to have lunch with her.
Amber flicked her gaze over him, sending more electricity to a system already on overload. “More like meat and potatoes.”
“We’ll go to Patrick’s Roadhouse.” Evan unlocked the car, swallowing a curse at his own stupidity and wishful thinking. Chances were, unless Amber was on the menu, lunch with her would only leave him unsatisfied.
“Hey, my favorite brother and beautiful lady.” Ren’s bumble bee-like Hummer was parked a few slots down from Evan and the seven-footer towered over its fender. “Are you taking lunch?”
The smile Amber gave Ren was brighter than anything she’d ever bestowed upon Evan. He should have seen what was coming next.
“We are,” Amber said. “Would you like to join us?”
“Truly?” Ren looked at Evan like a seven-foot tall puppy that wanted to be adopted.
“Sure,” Evan grumbled. “Follow us to Patrick’s Roadhouse.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Amber pointed out, walking around the car.
Evan chose not to answer.
Amber slid into the Ferrari’s passenger seat, bringing the scent of coconut with her. “It still smells new. Don’t you love new car smell?” She closed her eyes and breathed deeper, as if new car smell was an orgasmic experience.
Evan wanted to bury his nose in the crook of her neck and do the same.
“I’ve wanted to ride in this car since that cop pulled you over.” Her grin was unrepentant. “Could you tell?”
Numbly, Evan nodded, dragging his gaze away from Amber as he brought the engine roaring to life.
“Okay,” Amber confessed. “I’ve wanted to drive this car since the day that cop pulled you over.” That admission was the least of her sins. As she watched Evan put the car smoothly into gear, his long muscular limbs moving in perfect tandem, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel, she couldn’t help but remember how sinfully good his hard length felt pressed against her body.
Amber swallowed and concentrated on the sleek Ferrari, hoping that would cool the steady thrum of desire Evan created when his eyes met hers. Under his heated gaze she had the strangest urge to shed layers rather than pile them on. The leather was butter soft beneath Amber’s hands and the seat firm. Evan’s Ferrari was a car that was built for speed – powerful, lean and sexy – just like Evan.
Amber sighed. So much for distractions. Evan’s earlier question about trust had rattled her more than the paparazzi stalking her. Why had Jack banned Blue from the meeting? Did Jack think Amber was easier to control?
Of course, he did.
Amber sank back in her seat and watched Evan drive efficiently through traffic without a trace of the speed demon he’d been on Saturday, which was odd considering he’d been upset by the post-practice interview. His college career seemed a sore subject. Evan was always in control…well, except for that time in her bathroom…and maybe when she chased him out of Jack’s office and he’d gotten that speeding ticket. If Amber had been grilled by Brock, who quite possibly had a fading shiner courtesy of Evan (based on their animosity toward each other), she would’ve been venting and road-raging through traffic.
But Evan didn’t pop the clutch or send her head jerking back once. She didn’t have to worry he’d lose Ren. Evan may have been wound as tight as a top, but he wasn’t about to spin out of control. He drove the way he played basketball – with an intense determination to get the job done. For the first time in a long while Amber relaxed.
“Someday I’d like to live by the ocean,” she admitted, as they merged onto Highway 1 and the ocean came into view, glittering against the bright blue sky. “I’d like to wake up every day to fresh air, not smog.”
“Beverly Hills is by the ocean.”
“That’s my dad’s house.”
“Was your dad’s house.” Evan cast Amber a strange look. “Where do you live?”
“Pasadena,” Amber admitted, bracing herself for his derision. When none came, she leaned back into the seat and enjoyed glimpses of the ocean between beach houses, condos and ocean f
ront businesses. Until a black SUV glided into view behind them in the side view mirror. Hadn’t the guy taken enough pictures of them in the parking lot? Amber checked her bag to make sure her water pistol was there and loaded.
Evan cleared his throat. “On a clear day. You know…those rare days when there’s no smog? If you squint, you can see the ocean from my house.”
Despite her rising anxiety, Amber chuckled.
“Today’s a clear day,” Evan added, straight-faced.
Amber choked. She was being shadowed by tabloid trash. There was no way she was going to be photographed disappearing into Evan’s lair. Correction. No way the Dooley Foundation CEO should make time with her biggest client’s superstud. Luckily, the shamrock green gaudy exterior of Patrick’s popped out in front of them, saving Amber from having to answer.
The enemy didn’t go for subtlety. Red hat backed into the spot next to them. Not out on the street. In the next parking space.
Amber couldn’t breathe. Lyle’s column. Paparazzi. The front of the sports page. Someone was always waiting for her to stumble. Amber wanted her private life back. There was only one way she knew how to regain control over the situation.
Somehow the yellow water pistol found its way into her hand as she came around the back of the Ferrari, arm at her side to keep it out of sight.
With a beleaguered glance at the intruder setting up shop on the hood of the SUV, Evan took Amber’s free arm and shielded her from the camera, but waited for Ren to park his bumble bee assault vehicle. Ren was lost in a cycle of in-and-out, trying to fit the Hummer in the narrow space.
“How’s the Flash looking against Denver?” Click-click-click.
“Ignore him,” Evan counseled under his breath.
“Are you two a couple? How about a kiss?” Click-click-click.
Amber caught Evan’s eye. There was hesitation in their silver-gray depths, as if he was considering it. Another picture of the two of them would damage the Foundation’s credibility.
“Is it true that Oliver’s game improved after you two had sex?” Click-click-click.
Amber’s finger twitched on the trigger. Evan’s jaw ticked.
“Is there another sex video with Amber in the works?” Click-click-click.
Amber let out a war cry and darted around Evan, sending a targeted stream of water onto the man’s red hat. She’d been practicing in the back yard, driven to marksmanship by days of red hat’s torture.
“What the fuck?” Swinging his camera into safety, the enemy ran through an impressive list of obscenities.
Amber was lifted into the air by a pair steely arms. She kicked and twisted, trying to get in another round as Evan shouted for Ren and made for the safety of Patrick’s.
“Go back. Go back.” Amber bicycled her silver pumps in the air.
“Are you out of your mind? Acting like a child is only going to make it worse.” Evan dropped Amber unceremoniously inside the door and confiscated her pistol. Before turning back to the action he warned, “If you don’t behave, I’ll kiss you senseless for the camera. Do you want that?”
“Uhh.” Amber managed to shake her head slightly. She was no longer sure why her legs were trembling.
Water gun in one hand, Evan walked back to Ren with the same commanding strides that Amber admired on the court. That didn’t mean she didn’t resent Evan for calling her a child. Even children resented being powerless.
“I make a living with this camera,” Red Hat was shouting. “I’m calling the cops.”
“Sir. Good sir.” Ren was placating as he approached the man. “Are you injured?”
“I’m not hurt, you moron. She shot me with water.”
Faster than a striking snake, Ren’s arm darted out, trapping the irate photographer by the throat against the SUV. His normally zen-like face was contorted in anger. “Then I suggest you consider that every human being is the author of events around him.”
Evan slowed to a relaxed walk, despite the way Amber’s adversary still struggled.
“My friends and I require space.” Ren shifted and the cameraman stopped moving. The smaller man’s face paled.
“Need any help?” Evan asked.
“No. We have an understanding, do we not?” Ren held his position until Red Hat managed to nod. “I give you leave to go home and contemplate what I have said.” Ren released the photographer and ambled toward the restaurant.
Red Hat wasted no time peeling out of the parking lot.
Evan fell into step with Ren. Both men spoke quietly to each other and then exchanged grins. Something light fluttered in Amber’s chest. The Lone Ranger accepted help from Tonto. Not to mention they both saved the impulsive bar maid.
Evan’s grin faded when he reached Amber. “Damn it, Amber. You could have gotten someone hurt.” He handed the water gun over to the hostess. “You’ve got to let that shit roll off your back.”
Hugging herself, Amber refused to acknowledge guilt or blame. “He’s been stalking me for days. It’s been my experience that photographers stay far away from water, even when a child tries to defend herself.”
“What the man said was unacceptable,” Ren said, taking Amber’s side. “A woman has few weapons to defend herself.”
Still smarting from the way Evan didn’t understand her situation, Amber risked a glance at him.
His expression was stony. “Ren, if you acknowledge these piranhas in any way they smell blood and close ranks in greater numbers. I don’t want them harassing Amber either, but ambushing the guy as if this was the O.K. Corral wasn’t the right way.”
Evan’s statement made Amber’s heart pound a bit faster and her lips curl upward. She hadn’t been sure if Evan was going to try another power play and kiss her in front of the camera. He’d been handed two opportunities to do so today and hadn’t taken the bait either time.
“You must admit,” Ren said. “What our beautiful Amber did was brave.”
“I don’t have to admit anything,” Evan grumbled, taking Amber’s arm. “Not until I’ve had food.”
There was a scuffle while they tried to get settled in the booth. Evan and Ren couldn’t sit across from each other without hitting their knees, so Amber and her tote were relegated to the corner next to Evan, where his thigh crowded against hers. Heat radiated from his body fueling the now familiar thrum of awareness to another level. Still fighting the after effects of the water pistol ambush, Amber scooted as far into the corner as she could. Evan may have come to her rescue, but that didn’t mean she was conceding the battle between them.
“I’m sorry your college team didn’t win, Evan,” Amber said, extending an olive branch.
Evan stared past her out the window, pulling his leg away from hers. Amber stopped herself from drifting over into his space.
“It was a shame,” Ren said. “His was a Snow White team.”
“Cinderella. Cinderella team,” Evan said with a shake of his head.
“I mix up Disney characters,” Ren mumbled. “Belle, Sneezy, Princess Leia…”
“Still stings, does it?” Amber said, patting Evan’s shoulder because she knew it would annoy him and anything that perturbed Evan gave Amber some breathing room. “I know how that goes. In the fourth grade I lost the spelling bee when I misspelled abalone. Mary Illeri won. I got the last laugh though. She became a studio exec and lost millions along with her job when she remade Mission Impossible as a musical.” That last part was totally made up, but Amber preferred to think that Mary was not a total success.
“I liked it better when we didn’t talk to each other,” Evan deadpanned.
“I’m trying to remember what my dad used to say to Blue when he lost. It was something totally liberal like, well, everyone got to play. As if that would make Blue feel better.”
“It would make me feel better,” Ren said brightly.
“You’re being chirpy,” Evan pointed out to Amber.
Amber realized her hand was absently rubbing her pants leg where Evan’s thi
gh had touched hers. She crossed her legs and clasped her hands on top of the table. “So, did everyone get to play in the championship? You said earlier that Brock had a couple of points.” And hadn’t Brock been spitting fire about Evan’s career? While Evan had been nonchalant about the entire thing. Except his gray eyes had gotten a faraway look to them at one point.
Life is all about bluffing.
That’s what Evan had said on Saturday. Amber accidentally kicked Ren in the shin, distracted by the idea that Evan’s problems today might stem from this one college game. She apologized halfheartedly.
“Everyone played.” Evan sounded tired, which was unlike him. “That’s what coaches do when they know they’re going to lose. They put in the rest of the team.”
Maybe Amber could wear Evan down to the point he’d admit the truth, to himself as well as to her. Admit. Expose. Expose Me! That had to be part of the ego deflation program. Get the subject to voice the truth. Amber could barely contain her excitement, so much so she nearly forgot what they’d been talking about. “Uh…And…this was an important game, huh?”
Both men gaped at Amber.
Evan edged further away from her. “The championship game. Geez, sometimes I forget you were dropped here by aliens.” When Ren’s eyes widened, Evan added, “It’s an expression. It means she doesn’t know shit about anything.”
“Like me.” Ren brightened.
“Yes, just like you,” Amber said, unable to resist Ren’s infectious smile. “So, the guys who played in the championship get bragging rights with their grandchildren and you don’t?”
“In my country it is a great honor to sit the bench and drink water with the real stars,” Ren put in.
“Like me.” Amber raised her water glass.
“You’re not making me feel any better.” But one corner of Evan’s mouth twitched as if he was fighting a smile.
“I know what’ll make Evan feel a lot better.” She leaned over the table, including Ren in the fun.
That devilish glint reappeared in Evan’s eyes. “Do you?”