by Avery Flynn
“Just take them off,” Madison said. “This is Miami. You don’t need hose.”
“I get blisters with these shoes if I don’t wear hose.” They were Gucci knockoffs some guy was selling out of the trunk of his car. Leslie didn’t make it a habit of approaching the cars, let alone the trunks, of strange men, but the shoes had called to her from that trunk. She had to rescue them. “They look like the real thing, though, right?”
Madison appraised her shoes. “It’s uncanny. That guy who peddles them from the trunk of his car?”
Leslie grimaced. “Yeah.”
Madison nodded. “I know him. Took me two pairs before I learned. They’re gorgeous but they shred your feet. Softer leather would take care of the blister problem.”
Madison could afford the real thing, now, being married to Alex Dare. Leslie planned to be able to afford the real thing someday. She eyed the shoes with a mixture of adoration and hate, and then kicked them off. She moved to take off the hose, and then hesitated.
She really had no choice. Either take the hose off or interview Dean Wilson, former running back for the New York Wolves, with a huge run in her stocking.
“Just do it. They won’t be here for a bit. In the time you’re taking to consider it, you could’ve had them off already.” Madison got up from her chair and crossed the large office to close the door.
Madison Evans Dare’s office was located at the Thunder Dome, the Thunder’s corporate offices. She was the reason Leslie was here. She’d given Leslie several story ops since she’d started running the new training program that helped prepare football players for life outside of the game.
Thanks to Madison, Leslie had access to many players, not only from Thunder, but from other professional teams as well.
“Okay.” Leslie quickly tugged down the pantyhose, making sure her skirt covered her bottom and other areas. In her haste, she didn’t realize until they were in her hand that she’d whipped her panties off too. “Oh, God.”
Madison laughed. “Just shove them in your Prada knock-off reporter’s bag. Same guy sells bags?”
“Yeah, he keeps them in the backseat.” Leslie jammed first the pantyhose and then the panties in the bag. She took a deep, calming breath. “There.”
“What’s up with you today? You’re kind of out of sorts.” Madison watched her curiously.
Leslie shook her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Bullshit. Tell me.” Apparently Madison’s social worker bullshit radar was in full gear.
She sighed. “If I don’t get a great story from Dean Wilson, I’m out of a job.”
Madison pulled a face. “What? Why? You’re a great reporter.”
Leslie smoothed her skirt down and stepped back into her shoes. She winced. She really did need to buy better shoes. “The Miami Star has been sold. The new owner is bringing in his own talent, with the exception of an editor. Ned is leaving, but he’s choosing the new editor to fill his spot. Apparently the new owner trusts Ned to choose someone who will make the change seamless.”
Madison gave a little shrug. “It should be no problem, then. You’re fantastic.”
Leslie tipped her head to the side. “Well, thanks. I like to think so. But I’m up against another reporter for the position.”
Madison’s brows furrowed. “Who?”
“Spencer Baine.” The name tasted bitter in Leslie’s mouth.
Madison rolled her eyes. “Ugh. He’s a bottom dweller. It should be no problem, then. The job is yours.”
“Spencer’s father is friends with Ned. He’s some bigwig real estate mogul. Rumor is that Spencer has a trust fund that he can’t get his grubby hands on until he shows he is a responsible member of society, and can hold down a job. Apparently he burned through a ton of Daddy’s money after graduating from Harvard. Spoiled rich kid stuff.”
Madison squinted. “Why doesn’t he just become a car salesman or something?”
Leslie sat down and slumped in the chair, already feeling defeated. “He fancies himself a journalist. It’s what he went to Harvard for. Anyway, Ned is making this a fair competition. Still, I don’t trust Baine. He’s pond scum. He’ll fight dirty.”
Madison gave a dismissive wave. “Just wow Ned with your work. This story is a good one. And it’s yours. Dean hasn’t spoken to the media since he’s come out of the coma six months ago. He’s been focusing on rehab and he’s bounced back amazingly. But he is not a big fan of reporters. He was in the news pretty steadily before the accident.”
Dean Wilson. He was a player on and off the field. Leslie remembered some news story about him and the wife of a prominent politician a couple of years back.
But according to Madison, he was turning over a new leaf. He had a new lease on life. The nasty tackle that had launched him into the air and dropped him on his head had knocked him out cold. For two years. He’d woken up a new man.
Every radio station, TV news show, and newspaper wanted the scoop.
And she was getting it. Thanks to Madison and her husband Alex; program director of the Thunder. What they were doing was amazing. Their unique program focused on training the players to budget their money and reintegrate into the real world once they retire from the game. There was no other program like it.
Dean Wilson would be participating in the program. He had the background, and he was an inspiration, especially for football players who were forced to retire due to injury, as he had been.
Madison sat down in the chair across from her. “You’re just a better writer, Leslie. You always write about the players in a way that really brings them to life. People see that they’re actually people under the football uniforms. You have a rare gift. Not all journalists can pull that off.”
Leslie glanced up at Madison and gave her a shy grin. Madison was classy, with her willowy frame and blonde hair tied back in a twist. Leslie admired her and valued her opinion. She was the perfect combination of lovely and kind; truly beautiful inside and out. “Thanks.”
“Oh, I think I hear them coming. Yes, that’s Ian’s voice.” Madison stood and waited to greet Dean Wilson and the president of Miami Thunder, Ian Dare.
Leslie followed suit, standing with her pad and pen, and scribbled a last preliminary note as she listened to voices approach.
“Don’t be nervous,” Madison whispered. “You’ll do great.”
Leslie opened her mouth to say she wasn’t nervous, but decided against it. She was nervous as hell. She needed to get this right, or she’d be out of a job before the end of the week.
“Leslie!” She lifted her gaze in time to see the tall, handsome, and imposing figure of Ian Dare and an extremely sexy man come through the doorway. Dean Wilson’s green eyes locked onto hers and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
Her heart did a somersault in her chest and butterfly wings fluttered in her belly. The photos and news footage she’d seen of Dean Wilson didn’t do him justice.
Get a grip. So he’s good-looking. Big deal. Lots of football players are.
But it wasn’t just his looks. His nose had definitely been broken at least once, and his jaw was a little too large, but the man seemed to ooze sex. His entire presence was sensual. Was he even aware of that? He must be.
And his eyes…Good Lord. They were…hypnotic.
“Leslie Benson, this is Dean Wilson, New York Wolves alumni.”
“Ian’s being kind. I was forced to retire. I’m sure you know the story.” Dean grinned at her and held her gaze longer than necessary for polite introductions.
Leslie remembered that she wasn’t smiling. She tried to place one on her face, but the effect the man had on her was so disconcerting that all she could manage was a twitch.
Then he gave her a lopsided, boyish grin and that did it. She dropped her gaze to his full lips and a loopy smile crossed her face. Those lips were so full and kissable. She could kiss them all day long. Then all night long. Then all day long again.
She heard Madison clear her throat
softly and out of the corner of her eye, she saw her shift her weight.
Say something! Anything! “Yes, I did hear that,” she all but sputtered. “Is everything okay, now?”
He squinted at her. “I don’t know. Which one of the three of you am I talking to?”
Leslie felt her eyes widen.
Dean chuckled. “Gotcha.”
She giggled. Stop it! Don’t giggle. It’s not professional. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wilson.”
“Call me Dean. Mr. Wilson is my dad.”
She lifted her eyes to his again, and noticed that his intense gaze still penetrated hers. A furious flush moved over her entire body, heating her neck and face. She knew she had to be turning scarlet. She tried his name on her tongue, and found that it tasted like candy. “Dean.”
“Before we go forward with the interview, I need to warn you. Since the injury, my mental filter is sometimes a bit faulty. So if I say anything to offend you, I apologize in advance. When that happens, I usually don’t realize that I’ve said something offensive until I see the obviously unimpressed expressions on the faces around me.”
“You must be a blast at parties,” Madison grinned.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been to any since I woke up,” Dean said, “but I could really use one. I’ve slept through a bunch. I’ve been missing out.”
Leslie scribbled a note on her notepad. “Has your brain injury resulted in any other manifestations that might be troubling to you?”
“I think they’re more troubling to others. Licking window glass and performing a striptease while singing the national anthem has given a few people pause.” He winked at her.
Leslie stared. The picture in her head wasn’t all that troubling.
“Kidding,” Dean said. “It hasn’t been that bad. It’s really just the lack of filter thing, poor or no impulse control depending on the situation, and the occasional word salad. You know, mixing the words in a sentence up. But I’m not ruling any other manifestations out. So be warned.”
Leslie smiled and tried to focus. “Is your lack of filter and impulse control temporary, or a permanent result of your trauma?”
His smile widened and he tilted his head a little; his strawberry blond waves bounced a slightly. Stray locks hung softly over his forehead and around his ears. “Your hair is really pretty.”
“Oh, thanks.” She cleared her throat. “It’s a tangled mess today. All the humidity.”
He studied her hair, and then his eyes flicked back to hers. A secret smile tugged the corners of his lips. “No, it’s really nice. It suits you. Love the cat-eye glasses, too. Really funky.”
“Thanks.” Leslie pushed her red cat-eyes up out of habit, feeling exposed.
She tried to keep her gaze on his face, though her eyes wanted to drift down to his large chest. He’d clearly been working out, trying to get back into shape. All that rehab was working.
And no filter? Did that mean he couldn’t lie? “You’d make the perfect boyfriend.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to stuff them back in. Seemed her filter was missing, too. “I mean, you must be a lot of fun. Interesting, I mean.”God. Shut up!
Dean chuckled. “I don’t know about that. I didn’t have a great track record before the accident. Not sure if getting my head bashed in has been an improvement.”
“I’m sure it has. I mean, not that you were bad before, or anything.” Leslie shook her head. What the hell was wrong with her? She glanced at Madison, who grinned at her, brows lifted.
“How would you like me?” Dean asked her.
Leslie felt her mouth drop slightly open. “Excuse me?”
“Would you like me here, sitting, and you can just fire questions away at me?”
“Oh! I’d like you sitting, yes.” I’d like to climb on top of you and sit in your lap.
She caught Ian’s knowing smile and the way he tilted his chin down, looking up at her with obvious amusement.
Oh, Lord. Please help me not look like a complete idiot in front of this freakishly sexy man.
“Okay.” Dean sat in a chair next to and slightly facing her. “Please be gentle with me. I haven’t done this in a really long time.”
Mmmmmm. Leslie stared at him. She nodded. “Oh, okay.”
His slow smile made heat gather in her nether regions, and she squirmed slightly in her chair.
He leaned forward, closer to her, and his proximity made her all by swoon. The man was like a drug. A sexy, yummy drug.
When he spoke, his voice was like a purr, and seemed to vibrate through her. “Leslie, normally, because of my current circumstances and my nonexistent filter, I’d ask the media to agree to follow a specific line of questioning. But I’m going to trust you to cut out anything I say that is inappropriate.”
She felt his nearness, smelled his clean soap-and-water scent, and her brain went completely and utterly muddled. She murmured, “I don’t usually have a specific list of questions when I interview. I let the interview happen organically. So how about if I come up with a list of questions and you can go over them and think about them. Take some time to form your answers?” She smiled, pleased with herself. That sounded pretty good, considering her state.
Truthfully, though, she was the one who needed some time. She was a mess.
And although she wished she could ask the questions now and get the honest truth from him, it wouldn’t be right. It would be taking advantage. Sweet Jesus, she’d love to take advantage.
“I’d really appreciate that. Thanks, Leslie.” He gave her a grateful smile that she felt straight down to her toes.
I get to see him again! “Sure.”
There was a beat of silence, during which Ian and Madison seemed to observe the obvious chemistry between Leslie and Dean. She felt the need to fill it. “I think what you’re doing is really important. Injured and former players need to see that it’s possible to have a life beyond football when their careers end. You’ll be helping so much. They’ll know they’re not alone.” She felt as if she was rambling, and her lips remained parted as she waited for something smart to come out of her mouth. It didn’t happen.
But despite her intense attraction to Dean, she meant what she said. Her sincerity came from a place deep inside her that she didn’t tell anyone about. She had been an athlete once. Running was all she’d cared about back then. Until something happened to completely change her universe, sending her reeling and lost. That had been a dark time in her life.
Then she’d found journalism. It had been the thing that steadied her.
Dean’s clear green gaze moved down to her lips. “Thanks, Leslie. I look forward to it. It means a lot to me. For these kids, football is the be-all and end-all. They can’t past anything see the game and sex. Not necessarily in that order.”
There was the word salad he’d referred to. She glanced at Ian and Madison, both who seemed as taken with Dean Wilson as she was. They simply smiled at him, his weakness clearly endearing him to them.
Just as it was to her. His weakness made her want to hug him. And kiss him. And make him all better. She felt a dirty grin cross her lips.
He noticed, and offered her a grin dirty enough to rival hers.
She felt her breasts plump in response, her nipples peak. Heat pooled between her legs. No. No, damn it. Stop it. She straightened in her chair and placed what she hoped was a serious, thoughtful expression on her face. And she resisted the urge to squirm again. Her sensitive areas responded to Dean Wilson in ways that made her feel a little panicked. She had no control over her body around him. It was downright vexing.
Someone was speaking, and she tried to concentrate, but couldn’t pull her eyes away from his face. She found looking at his face to be distracting. It was so interesting. He looked like a boxer. Strong and tough, but with an underlying vulnerability.
Don’t look at him, she thought. Break his spell.
She forced herself to look down, and her eyes traveled over his ch
est, down his flat belly, and settled on his crotch. Oh, boy.
Apparently she had an effect on him, too. She looked back up at his face. He lifted his brows, slightly; his lips curving in an obscene little smirk. He was reading her body language expertly.
Frantic, Leslie scribbled another note. How now brown cow? It was all she could do. She was helpless.
“Leslie,” Ian said.
She looked up. “Yes?”
“A few of us are taking Dean out on the town tonight. Madison, Alex, Dylan. Riley will be there. She’d love it if you came with,” Ian said.
“Oh,” was all she managed to say. Her mind was swirling with thick mental fog, as if she’d taken too much cold medication. Drugged. That was it. She felt drugged.
Dean Wilson was like a drug, and he hadn’t even touched her.
Crap. She was in trouble.
“So seven o’clock. We’ll start the evening with dinner at Prime 112.” Ian’s steely blue gaze caught her like a deer in the headlights.
For the past four years, Leslie really hadn’t noticed men all that much. She was focused and driven, determined not to let a man get in the way of her goals. She’d made that mistake before, and it had derailed her life for years.
Not this time.
But he was so sexy. And he had that vulnerability thing that she’d never seen in a man before. He had an inner strength that was apparent, because he was a fighter. Despite his head injury, he was fighting his way back and creating a life for himself. He was trying to give back, and to make a difference.
Tonight might be a chance to score the best interview she’d had yet. It was her one opportunity to get a great story.
And despite the obvious effect Dean Wilson had on her, she meant to get that story.
She just had to keep her head in the game. She lifted her face and smiled brightly. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Ian gave a single nod. “Good.”
Madison said, “Alex and I will pick you up at six thirty.”