They lay there for a time, tangled in one another’s sated limbs, both trying to regulate their breathing. Merrit absently slid her fingers back and forth along his spine as her mind tried to make sense of the contentment lacing through her body. Not just physical satisfaction, but a bone-deep gratification that might have even reached her soul. She’d never believed in the abstract concept of a soul mate. Until now. And wasn’t it just her dumb luck to have Heath Gibson as her soul mate, a man she could never trust.
“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had leaked out of her eye. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”
Everything was wrong. It had all sounded so easy back at the gala. Use Heath like he’d used her. Unlock her passion and obliterate Grant’s ugly assertions. She’d found her passion, all right, but what had it cost her? This was why Merrit didn’t stray from the course: she always ended up getting hurt. If Heath didn’t leave now, she’d do something crazy, like forgive him and beg him to stay.
Summoning her strength, she unwrapped her body from the cocoon of his larger one and slid off the bed. She kept her back to him as she pulled on her dressing robe. “You need to go.”
“Go?”
The word came out of Heath’s mouth with such force it practically ricocheted around the room. Merrit squelched down a shiver as she pulled the belt of her robe tighter and turned to face Heath. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him ready to pounce. His body—tanned from years of living and playing football in Miami—was dark and hard against the pale sheets. There was a small bruise forming along his collarbone from where she might have done more than just nibble. His hair was unruly from her fingers running through it. Those coffee eyes were narrowed but the heat within them still made her insides quake. Heath Gibson was every woman’s fantasy. And Merrit was a disappointment to all of womankind because she was kicking him out before the night was over.
“Yes, Heath, go. As in leave and don’t come back.” She was amazed at how calm her voice sounded when the rest of her felt like collapsing onto the bedroom floor.
“Whoa, Merrit, what’s going on here?” He began to scramble off the bed but Merrit put a hand up to stop him. She didn’t think she would be able to be so bold if he touched her again.
“What’s going on here is you are leaving.”
He sank back down on the bed again. “Merrit . . .”
“No!”
Heath let out an exasperated sigh as he wrapped his fingers around his head and squeezed. “If this is about before, I told you we needed to talk about it first.”
“And I told you, no talking! I don’t want to hear your excuses. Or your lies.”
He jerked his head up to stare at her, his face incredulous. “This”—he punched a fist into the mattress—“isn’t lying!”
Merrit took a step back in order to maintain her balance. “That”—she gestured to the bed—“was awesome,” she gulped. “But, like you, I want more. And I can’t have more with a man I don’t trust.”
He surged to his feet. “Damn it, that’s not fair! You haven’t even bothered to hear me out. You ran away from school without giving me a chance to explain. Ignoring my calls and letters. Hiding in Europe for the summer. Hell, you’re running away right now.”
Tears stung the backs of her eyes and Merrit had to swallow around the lump in her throat to get her words out. “I don’t have to hear you out. I know who you are.” She made her way over to the small writing desk in the corner of the room and pulled out the weathered Bible that Grandma Annie had given her for her first Communion. Inside it she tucked all her most treasured mementos: ticket stubs from her first Maroon 5 concert and the Blackhawks Stanley Cup Finals game and her acceptance letter to Notre Dame. She pulled out a worn piece of notebook paper, folded neatly into a perfect square.
“I know exactly who you are,” she said as she gingerly tossed the paper onto the bed between them.
Heath glanced between Merrit and the folded sheet of paper on the bed, a look of pained resignation on his face. Obviously he recognized what it was. The final bubble of hope hiding in Merrit’s chest burst. She stumbled toward the bathroom. “Please be gone when I finish in the bathroom,” she managed to choke out. “Or I’ll call my brother and he can drag you out.”
He made no protest as she locked the door behind her. She turned the shower on full blast before closing the lid to the toilet and sinking down on top of it. Merrit buried her head in her hands and allowed herself to do something she hadn’t done in nearly a decade: she cried.
Five
So that’s how she’d found out. Heath figured when Merrit had beat a hasty retreat out of South Bend all those years ago, someone had told her; most likely one of the jerks who’d come up with the game in the first place. Instead, he’d inadvertently given it away simply by leaving the stupid list lying around his apartment where she could see it.
Damn!
Heath took a swallow of coffee, reveling in the burn as it slid down his throat. His temples were throbbing again, this time from lack of sleep. He’d lain awake most of the night, the sound of her sobbing in her bathroom still echoing in his ears. It had taken every ounce of strength he had to dress and slip out of her condo when she’d been so upset. It was against his nature not to stay and talk it out or to comfort her. But he knew enough to realize a woman wasn’t rational when she was crying. So he hunkered down next door to regroup. No way in hell was he letting Merrit run away from him again.
He fingered the worn piece of paper, the incendiary that destroyed what Heath now knew had been the best relationship of his life. The familiar wave of guilt and shame washed over him and the coffee churned in his gut. It had all been a stupid prank fueled by young bravado, raging testosterone, and way too much beer. The “game” was to compromise a co-ed—the more introverted and bland the girl, the better. A list was drawn up with each item given a numerical value—the wilder the task, the greater the score. Danny Sanduchio had come up with the tattoo idea. Sadly, Heath couldn’t even remember what the end game was, what they were all vying for.
He’d been attracted to the pretty little math tutor the first day they’d met. The game just gave him an excuse to chat her up. He wouldn’t have played otherwise. From what he’d heard, the elegant raven-haired beauty came from a rich Chicago family. To hear the other students talk, Merrit was either an ice princess or harbored some social anxiety disease. But she’d been neither one of those. Behind the quiet reserve was a self-assured girl with an impish smile that made Heath want to slay dragons for her.
She hadn’t smiled last night, though. His chest ached at being denied the sight.
Heath shot out of the kitchen chair and paced to the window overlooking the street. From this same vantage point earlier that morning, he’d watched as Merrit marched down the sidewalk toward her car, escorted by her brother. The only thing in her hands had been a purse, which he took as a good sign.
Dragging his fingers through his hair, he tried to come up with a plan. One that would allow him to explain everything to her. It had never been a game to Heath. None of it. Certainly not after their first kiss. The girl he’d coaxed into kissing him all those years ago had tasted fresh and sweet. Her naiveté and her blossoming passion were addictive and, at times, it was hard to tell where he ended and she began. Throughout that spring, Heath hadn’t thought about football, his future, or anything else besides the feeling of being with Merrit. Of being inside her. It was raw and new and . . . perfect. He just hadn’t known how perfect until he ruined it.
The Merrit he remembered no longer existed, apparently. Instead, the woman he’d had sex with last night was wild and sassy. Heath was tight and hard just thinking about her. He wanted the old Merrit, but he craved the new Merrit like a junkie needed a fix. All he had to do now was find a way to reason with her.
Heath’s phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. It
was late morning on a Saturday and the rest of the world was chugging away while he pondered the riddle that was Merrit. He glanced at the caller ID: DeShawn Wilson, the Blaze’s star running back. Heath groaned as he remembered he’d agreed to meet DeShawn and a few of the other Blaze players for a round of golf that afternoon. His situation with the Blaze players was a precarious one; he’d played in the league for ten years, but now he was responsible for coaching and disciplining other players. Coach Richardson had advised Heath not to get too chummy with his charges, but the idea of waiting around all day for Merrit to get home was making him crazy.
Hell, smashing a little white ball to smithereens suited his mood. He loved golf and it always relaxed him to play. It was definitely what he needed to clear his aching head today. He’d come up with a plan to deal with Merrit while he was on the links. And when he beat DeShawn and his teammates, he’d be asserting himself as their new position coach. Decision made, he answered the phone.
• • •
“You’re not eating again,” Blake whispered in Merrit’s ear.
She shoved a piece of eggs Benedict around her plate with her fork, her appetite seeming to have deserted her along with her common sense. Last night had been a colossal mistake. Clearly her heart wasn’t as hardened as she thought because this morning it felt as if it had been ripped from her chest and used for a game of pickup football. Sex with Heath had only proven to her how much she’d missed him all these years. Sure, their hot encounter the night before had gone a long way toward reviving her long-dormant passions, but it had left her feeling more alone than ever. Getting over Heath a second time was going to be excruciating because now she knew he was the one man who could spark that kind of passion in her.
When she emerged from the bathroom last night to an empty condo, she’d been both relieved and disappointed. And she hated herself for her ambivalence. Sleep had eluded her. Even freshly showered and with clean linens on the bed, Heath’s presence still lingered in her bedroom. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel his fingers on her skin, his breath whispering in her ear, and his mouth pleasuring her body.
“You’re all flushed, Mer. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She brought her hand to her cheek at Blake’s words, embarrassed by her thoughts. Glancing around the outdoor patio of the country club, she sighed with relief, as most of the other customers enjoying brunch weren’t paying any attention to her. Jay McManus, the only other person at their table, was on his cell phone, which seemed to be permanently affixed to his ear. In spite of his electronic appendage, however, Merrit doubted the man missed much, and she didn’t need McManus or her brother probing into what was really bothering her.
“It’s just a little warm out here, that’s all,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Blake breathed an explosive sigh. “I swear, I’m going to kill that man.”
Merrit was sure her blush had faded considerably at her brother’s words. As angry as she was at Heath, she didn’t want Blake tangling with him.
“If it’s the last thing I do”—he gave her hand a little squeeze—“I’m going to ruin Grant Hillier. He’ll never work in advertising in Chicago or anywhere else. Not if I can help it.”
Releasing a soft sigh of relief, Merrit relaxed. She could care less about Grant, but she wasn’t averse to using him to hide behind. After everything he’d said and done, the jerk still proved useful in distracting her family from delving too deeply into what really bothered her.
“Forget about Grant.” She patted her brother’s hand. “He’s not worth your time.” Placing her napkin on the table, she stood up. “I’m just going to walk through the air-conditioning for a minute and grab some fresh fruit from the buffet. Will you order me a ginger ale, please?” Not giving her brother a chance to tag along with her, she quickly made her way inside.
Picking up a plate from the buffet line, Merrit watched as a silver-haired gentleman carefully piled strawberries onto a plate held by an elegantly dressed woman, stooped with age. The woman’s hand shook gently, nearly sending the berries scattering across the floor, but the coy smile she gave the man lit up the room. Merrit’s belly squeezed. Her grandmother looked at her grandfather like that despite decades of marriage. Even her parents, whose relationship had been tested more than once, shared a glance laced with desire when they thought no one was looking. A sadness permeated Merrit’s bones as she realized she’d never have what the older couple had, because beneath that loving gesture and look was a solid foundation of trust. And she wasn’t going to trust a man ever again.
Mindlessly filling her plate with melon slices, she made her way back outside, hoping her brother and his friend would hurry up with whatever business they were conducting. The Callahan Agency handled all the advertising for Jay McManus’s hugely successful software company, and Merrit was sure her brother was hoping to secure the Blaze as a client once Jay took over the team’s ownership. Their friendship wasn’t necessarily a guarantee in the cutthroat business world both men inhabited, however.
“I was surprised to see Heath Gibson on the team’s coaching staff.” Her brother’s words caught Merrit off guard, nearly causing her to dump her fruit right in his lap. He speared her with his patented what the hell? look before grabbing her plate and gingerly placing it on the table. Arching an eyebrow at her, he continued his conversation. “I figured that guy would go on to endorsement heaven or a career in broadcasting. He’s certainly got the face and the charisma for it.”
“Yeah,” Jay said, not bothering to look up from his phone as he tapped out a text message. “Apparently he doesn’t have the brain power for broadcasting. Not right now, anyway.”
An appalled gasp escaped her mouth before she could stop it. Heath was in no way dumb! In fact, he’d been an Academic All-American at Notre Dame.
Blake chuckled. “That explains why they had a freshman tutoring him in college.”
“I never said that I tutored him,” she argued. “I’m pretty sure he tutored other guys on the team. And if you think he’s so stupid, why did you hire him to be a coach on your team?” she challenged Jay.
Perhaps she’d argued her point a little too vehemently, because both men were staring at her now. Her brother eyed her as if she were an alien being—it was a look she’d seen on his face repeatedly throughout her teenage years—while Jay peered at her shrewdly.
“As I won’t own the team until the end of the upcoming season, coaching decisions are left to my godfather, the current owner, and the team’s very capable general manager, Hank Osbourne. And I didn’t say Gibson was stupid, Merrit. I said he doesn’t have the brain power for broadcasting, right now,” Jay said quietly. “He took a wicked hit to the head last season that left him with a lingering concussion. The bright lights of a TV studio are too much for his mind to handle until it heals.”
The breath seized in Merrit’s lungs. Had Heath’s injury been that bad? She’d assumed he’d retired because he’d aged out, not because he hadn’t fully recovered from a concussion. There’d been a lot of talk lately about athletes who suffered concussions and the lasting impact they could have on player’s life. Merrit wrapped her arms around her body to keep from shivering.
“He’s going to be fine,” Jay said, as if sensing her anxiety. “When it became known that he’d have to delay his broadcasting career for a while, Matt Richardson snatched him up. Presumably because he is very smart.”
Merrit tried not to squirm in her chair as relief pulsed through her. She avoided her brother’s all-knowing eyes while she tried to remind herself that whatever happened to Heath didn’t concern her. She had a week left in the audit. After that, she was heading back to Chicago to heal her broken heart for good this time.
“But that doesn’t mean he can’t work as a spokesman,” her brother was saying. “Like I said, he’s got the charisma the ladies love. We can work around the bright lights.”
“As long as he’s wearing the Blaze insignia, I have no problem with it,” Jay said with a laugh before glancing back down to his phone’s keypad again.
Four hours later, after Merrit had survived the brunch and dropped her brother off at the airport, she tried in vain to focus on the audit report’s supporting documents spread out on the small dining table in her condo. But her concentration was on the fritz. Instead, she found herself worrying about Heath and his injured brain. She’d scoured the parking lot when she arrived at the condo complex earlier, but without knowing which car was his, she had no idea whether he was at home or not. Or whether he was okay. Surely if his injury was serious, he wouldn’t be living alone. Maybe she could just knock on his door and make sure he was alright. But that would mean having to speak with him and Merrit wasn’t prepared to do that ever again. She didn’t trust herself. Heck, she didn’t trust her traitorous body.
Heath’s body had been functioning just fine last night, she reminded herself. Her insides heated up at the thought of just exactly how fine. Jay McManus had to have been wrong about the severity of Heath’s injury. Except Heath didn’t stay at the gala. And he’d been sitting outside in the dark. Merrit threw down her highlighter in disgust. Here she was worried about a man she’d vowed never to see again. A man who’d preyed on her and made a fool of her. A man whose touch still had the ability to drive her insane. She’d just go out for a quick stroll to clear her head. And while she was outside, she might check for any cars with Florida tags.
A Numbers Game Page 4