by Zoe Dawson
The hunger on his face made me crazy, and my desolation at the thought of losing him stripped me bare. As if against his will, he finally looked at me, and I saw the shimmer of moisture in his eyes reflected in the light. I cupped his face, anguish crushing my control. “Do you want this?”
“Ah, God, Lena,” he whispered, his face contorting with raw emotion as he reached for me. “I want you.” I went into his arms, and I felt a shudder course through him as he closed his arms around me in a rough, desperate embrace. “God, I want you,” he whispered hoarsely.
I tightened my hold, and he made a low, urgent sound.
It was as if I sensed his fear, sensed the cause of it, and with a hoarse groan, he shifted my head back and found my mouth, his savage kiss tasting of tears and pain and fear-driven desperation. And for me, there was a taste of fury on his lips, like the fury that had held him only moments before. Something just as raw, just as consuming, something connected to the loss of his will, his control, and his mother and sister. I was determined to do something about that, too.
I pulled away from his kiss, attempting to finish the conversation. “What are their names,” I asked.
His jaw worked, and he said, “Julia and Madison, but they’re gone, Lena. I had a burner phone to protect them from him all these years. My sister is graduating from college, and I can’t be there.”
“Why?”
“I smashed the phone. He made more threats, and I couldn’t take the chance,” he said, his voice catching, his chest heaving. “I don’t know where they are.”
“It’ll be all right. Everything will be all right. We’ll work it out. Trust me.” I wondered how he had handled losing his mother and sister at such a young age. And to not even know where they were now? It must be so, so hard.
His eyes were so hopeful as he nodded, lifting me in his arms. We turned toward the house.
Once in his room, his kiss turned hot, hungry and ravaging. Locking my arms around him, I yielded everything—my mouth, my body, my strength—driven by a need that burned through to my soul.
There was no turning back now. That chapter of his life just closed. He was taking a stand, and I was going to be right there beside him, come hell or high water.
I wanted it all.
—
I clutched at the hand rail in the shower as Gunner soaped my breasts. I’d given up questioning why it was like this with us. Insatiable didn’t begin to cover it. We’d finally crawled from bed twenty minutes ago, after Gunner woke up with a hard, oh-so-deliciously-hard problem to solve. We were supposed to be showering off and cleaning up in anticipation of me going to work and him training, but at the moment he was pushing me right up to the edge. Again.
“I thought it was…your turn,” I gasped, my thighs quivering as he slid his hands down between my legs.
“Lost track,” he said, then took the showerhead from me and rinsed off the suds, letting the warm water pound directly over my still-pulsating, sensitive parts.
I started to slide down the wall, but he replaced the gentle spray of the water with the even gentler touch of his tongue, helping me to keep my balance as the waves rolled through me again. “Illegal. Must be,” I gasped, clutching at his shoulders, shaking and shuddering as he kissed my thighs before finally standing and gathering me into his arms.
“I don’t think there’s a climax police,” he said, chuckling. He sat down on the built-in corner seat and pulled me onto his lap.
Heart still pounding, I tucked my head on his shoulder and blew out a long, shaky breath. “Thank goodness for that.” I smiled against his warm, slippery skin. “I’d get life for sure.”
Gunner tipped my chin up and kissed me. But this time it wasn’t meant to incite. Instead, it was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that made me want to curl up with him and go back to sleep in his arms.
But there was too much to do today, and I was determined to handle some things that had been on my mind. We had a ways to go before the reality of what we wanted could come true.
My phone buzzed on the sink. “Damn that thing,” he groused, but I was already climbing off him and reaching to turn the showerheads off.
“I know, I know,” I said before he could distract me anymore. “But we’re professionals, remember? I have other clients to handle.”
Gunner wrapped a towel around me from behind and pulled me back against him, nipping the side of my neck. “I like your special treatment,” he said.
“You’re incorrigible and cute and charming and irresistible.” The phone buzzed again. “Oh, for the love of God.”
Gunner laughed at my tone, so I whipped a towel at him, which he neatly caught before pulling me against him again. His athleticism be damned, he was so fast.
I pushed him away when I wanted to do the exact opposite. He snaked my towel off and snapped it at me. “Ditto, McHotstuff, only you’re very hot.” He tucked his towel around his hips, pulled a fresh one off the rack, and stepped up behind me to gently rub my hair.
“I’m glad that’s all clear.” I sobered. “I’m glad everything is now very clear.”
He pushed my head to one side and dropped a warm, damp kiss on my neck.
—
On my drive into work, I was so relieved about what had happened last night and his commitment to stick to our contract, his skating, and me. I was most happy about that. But I bit my lip as I hit the elevator from the garage to our floor. We were going behind my father’s back, Ray Canton had something up his slimy, scaly sleeve, and Gunner’s father was a completely unpredictable bully.
As soon as I got to our floor, I headed for Trista’s office. She was inside, dressed impeccably in a pair of slim black pants, a white mock turtleneck, and a stylish military jacket. Her wild curls were pinned back off her face.
“Hey, how’s Gunner?”
“He’s all right. We’re holding strong.”
“Yeah? His father is a monumental dick.”
“Agreed.” I sat down. “Hey, can I talk to you about Wayne?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I want to take him from you.”
“What? Why? Did he complain?”
“No, nothing like that, Trista. I just can’t get it out of my head what you said about not liking violence. I should have realized why. With Matt and what happened.”
She sat back, and her eyes went dark. “It’s part of the job to represent athletes, and Wayne is an MMA fighter, but my brother, Matt, is definitely part of the reason. He’s never going to be the same after that bar fight. He was always so wild. I really hate violence.”
“It doesn’t have to be. We’ll work on another client for you. Are you okay with that? I would never want you to have to compromise your principles. This agency is not only about clients. We care about our agents.”
We called Wayne and conferenced with him. He said that he was impressed with the way I had handled this situation and, if Trista was against violence, he was happy to switch agents, no problem. He made it clear that she had done her job very well, and he hated leaving Trista but would be happy to work with me. After we had hung up, Trista said, “You handled that well, and it’s a nice slap to Ray’s face.”
“Why is that?”
“Wayne was his client before Ray got fired from Mavrick.”
“No kidding.”
“Yeah, Wayne told me. He wasn’t very impressed with Ray, said he was shady.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“I’ve got Dulcie looking into some irregularities,” Trista said.
Dulcie Lane was our CFO. She was top-notch, and if there was anything to ferret out, she was the one to do it. “Let me know if you come up with anything.”
Hannah came through the door and smiled. She handed me a latte. “You’re late. Again. Does this have something to do with a very hot, very sexy skateboarder?”
I bit my lip and got up and closed the door. It was time I confided in my friends. They were both supportive and worried ab
out me, and Ray, and the whole PR nightmare that could blow up in my face, and I loved them for it.
Once I was back in my office, my assistant ushered in my ten o’clock appointment.
“Isaiah. It’s good to see you again. Thank you for coming in.”
“Sure. I’ve been thinking about what you said. I think I’ve made up my mind to go to the NBA.”
“I believe that would be a mistake.”
He sat forward, his brow furrowing. “What? Don’t you want me to sign with you?”
“Of course I do. I think you’re extremely talented and have a great amount of potential, but I held something back when we talked.”
His brows rose and his eyes darkened. “You lied to me?”
It felt good to come clean with him. If I lost him as a client, that was on me. “Not exactly. I just didn’t mention it.”
“Why?” he said, sitting forward.
“Because back then I was all about winning.”
He nodded, looking confused. “Winning is important.”
I smiled. “Yes, it’s important, but it’s not everything. I was pushing you because of a rivalry between myself and another agent. I’m not very proud of that.”
Isaiah sat back in his chair. “Well, I do thank you for being honest with me now. And straightforward.”
“Go to college. And not just because your mom wants you to. I’ve watched you play, and you are really very good. Especially in sizing up your defenders and attacking off the dribble, looking to either score at the basket or hit a jump shot.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. “You’re the only one I’ve talked to who has told me to do that. Why do you think I should go to college?”
“You are an elite offensive talent who, almost certainly, will score lots of points for whichever program you choose.” I leaned forward for emphasis, my tone softening. “But you could benefit from a college program that would tweak your style to ease your transition to the NBA. You have borderline tunnel-vision scoring mentality, and it should be relaxed in favor of an approach that features a great willingness to distribute to others in better scoring positions.”
He huffed a laugh, his eyes gleaming. “You sayin’ I’m a ball hog, lady?”
“I’m saying that the pressure to perform and outdistance your competition causes tunnel vision.” I folded my arms over my chest. “It’s a fine line to walk, being part of a team and advancing your own interests. And, ultimately basketball is a team sport.”
“What if I get hurt?” Worry was now evident in his voice. “What if I lose my chance at the NBA?”
I put a reassuring look on my face and in my tone. “I don’t think that will happen. I think you’re going to be even more of a hot property, and I’d like to be part of that, Isaiah. Mavrick would be honored to have you with us. Your aunt has her own pressures, but those other agents just want a piece of you. I care about you, Isaiah. This is and will always be about you.” I got up and came around the desk and sat on the edge. “Building a personal relationship where trust and mutual respect rule is just as important to me as a professional relationship.” I could see my words sinking in, that he was considering everything I said. “Whoever you decide to hire in the long run should have your best interests at heart. I would advise you not to get an agent until you graduate, so you don’t mess up your college eligibility. Just give it some thought and don’t let anyone, not me or Ray or your aunt or even your mother, make any decisions for you. You’re the one who will have the regrets.”
The Mavrick philosophy was simple. Build relationships instead of buying clients. People who buy athletes and the athletes who allow themselves to be bought were just cheating themselves.
After Isaiah left, my phone rang. “Helena, it’s Regina Morton on the line for you. She’s Isaiah’s aunt.”
“Put her through.”
“Did you just advise my nephew to go to college instead of drafting into the NBA?” she asked, with no preamble. I could tell she was a woman who wanted the right answer for her nephew. I was confident that Isaiah was in good hands with her.
“Yes, I did.”
“Do you have a moment?”
I smiled. “Of course I do.”
We spent the next half an hour talking about Isaiah, her sister, his life, and how her sister had protected him as best she could, how she was a single mother and had fought tooth and nail to give him the best life she could, and how devastating her medical bills were. I encouraged her to apply for aid from Max’s Headstart Foundation that was specifically there to help families of victims with head trauma.
After I was done with that, I called our private investigator and asked him to find Julia and Madison Smith.
Chapter 13
Gunner
“Ah, almost,” I said, jumping off the wall and helping Kim to stand up after her tumble. She was heavily padded as usual, so the fall hadn’t hurt her. “So close.”
May had flowed into June and June into July. My second LSJ competition was fast approaching. It would be a quick three-day trip. Los Angeles was only a half hour away by plane, and Lena’s corporate jet would take us there. I was feeling strong and confident that it would go the same way the Pro Open had gone. Performing didn’t stress me out, but the fact that my dad would show up again did.
I was giving Kim pointers. Her mom was happy to allow her to skate, but with the proper gear. She had watched me skate several times, and I asked her to show me her progress. Right now she was working on perfecting her ollie.
“I have been practicing every day since you showed me how to do it.” All her “s’s” came out as “th’s” instead because she was missing her two front teeth. It made me smile.
“Then you are going to be perfect at it in no time.” I reached for her skateboard. It had definitely seen better days. “You’re pushing too hard when you’re trying to level out the board. Just brush it with your toe. So snap and then level. It’s two motions but looks like one. Eventually, you’ll get it and then it’s all muscle memory from there.”
“Okay,” she said. A blond curl had escaped her helmet. She grinned a gap-toothed smile at me, and a memory of Maddy punched me hard in the heart.
“Also, keep your tongue in your mouth at all times. I noticed you stick it out when you’re concentrating.” She was watching me intently. “You could snap your jaw shut and bite it bad.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked, tuning in to my mood like she could read my mind.
“Everything is fine. You just remind me of my sister when she was young,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.
“Oh. You miss her,” she said, the straightforward honesty of her tone increasing the longing I had to see her again.
“I do.”
“You should visit her. That always helps.”
“She’s far away.”
“Oh, that’s hard. I’m sorry, Gunner.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and hugged me.
I was startled for a moment, but I quickly reached down and hugged her back, my throat suddenly tight. “Thanks. Now get to that ollie!”
I sat back down while she skated around. I couldn’t shake the sadness I felt in smashing the burner phone. I desperately wished things could be different, and I could have any sort of relationship with my mom and my sister. But with my dad acting so unpredictably, it was still impossible.
Kim captured my attention again, and she had good balance on the board. She set up and then bam, popped and landed her first ollie.
“Awesome, Kim!” I said, jogging over to her and slapping a high five.
She bounced up and down on her toes. “I can’t wait to show my mom! Maybe she’ll get me a real board!”
“You definitely could use a replacement.”
“Yeah, she wasn’t sure I would keep riding. So she got me one used. But my birthday is coming up. Maybe you could come to my party.”
“Sure. Wouldn’t miss it.” All of a sudden, the kid’s stomac
h rumbled like the San Andreas fault. “What’s going on there?”
“I usually eat a snack now.” She giggled.
“I’d say your stomach is reminding you very loudly.” I headed toward the house. “Come on.”
She followed by setting down her skateboard and popping ollies all the way to the sliding glass door. I chuckled. “You got that pretty good.”
“Yeah, must be that muscle memory kicking in.” She was silent for a minute. “Ah, Gunner. What’s muscle memory?”
I lifted her to one of the bar stools and went to the fridge. Getting out the milk, I poured her a big glass and set it in front of her.
“Your muscles learn what you did before, and it gets easier to do it again.” I pulled down the jar of peanut butter and a sleeve of crackers. “How about peanut butter crackers?” I asked. “I can make that easily.”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “So, muscle memory is like learning the multiplication table and remembering that two times two is four?”
I opened the jar and the smell of the peanut butter filled my nose. My chest got tight, and the memory of my little sister hit me hard.
I can’t understand this stuff, Gunner. Math sucks.
I set the plate of peanut butter crackers in front of her. “You can, Maddy. It’s the multiplication table. It never changes. That’s what I like about math. No guessing, just answers. You only have to memorize.”
“What’s that?”
“Getting it to stick in your head…like peanut butter on crackers.”
She popped one into her mouth. “Mmm. I wish learning how to multiply was as good as eating peanut butter crackers.”
“Gunner?” Kim said, her face scrunched up into a frown, studying me intently. It was as if she were aware of the memory of my sister flashing in my head, brought on by the talk of multiplication tables and the smell of peanut butter—my sister’s favorite snack, mostly because it was the only thing I could make when I’d been young. I grabbed a knife and slathered peanut butter on several crackers and put them on a plate.