I grabbed a bottle for him and one for me. I sat them on the desk before dragging over the chair Van used the day before and placing it in front of Joel’s desk. This actually received a small grin from him. The scar pulled the left side of his face up further than the unscarred side. I hid my empathy. I couldn’t even imagine what could cause such a horrific injury.
I sat down, pushed his water closer, and dug out my recorder. “Thank you for your time.”
All semblance of a smile was gone. “Did I have a choice?” His voice was rumblier than Van’s, if that was possible.
Here went nothing. “Of course. I need experience in running down a story, so I would have stalked you until you finally gave in, so that’s your choice.”
He didn’t laugh or smile at my joke. “You have experience in stalking?”
I matched him, serious look for serious look. “No. That’s why I need to practice that particular skill. Shall we get started?”
“By all means.”
I clicked the button on the recorder. “I’d like to ask you about the stadium.” I wanted to get behind his stoic expression and figured I could impress him with my knowledge. “You have the second-largest rugby stadium in the U.S. Would you mind telling me how it came about?”
His grunt wasn’t what I expected. “We have the largest league stadium in the country. You have your facts wrong.” Irritation was apparent in the clipped sentences.
I bit back an expletive. “Well then please explain because there’s a stadium in Vegas that holds ten thousand more people than yours.” This man frustrated me to no end, and I had trouble staying calm.
Another grunt. “That’s sevens.”
Sevens. I’d read something about sevens. “Okay, you’ve stumped me and I have no idea what sevens are.”
“What sports did you play in high school and college, Ms. Avesque?”
“And what does that have to do with rugby, Mr. Stelson?” I kept my gaze locked on his. It amazed me how anger took my usually shy demeanor and threw it out the window.
“Absolutely nothing, but I’m curious about your background and why you’re working a story on rugby when you clearly have no previous knowledge.” I could hear his mental pain of having to deal with an uneducated rugby idiot in each clipped word.
Joel had no plans to make this easy on me. I ground my teeth because I refused to get into a word war about rugby that I would hands down lose. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve never played a sport in my life beyond what was forced on me in PE. As a matter of fact, I have two left feet and the hand-eye coordination of a dinosaur with flappy arms. What I am good at is research and I spent many hours preparing myself for this interview. Is there anything else you’d like to know or do you think you could explain sevens to me?”
God I was a bitch, but I could see the twitch of his lip as he fought a smile. He held it back and I sighed internally. Hostility with this brother and sexual pressure from the other. I wasn’t sure which one was worse. Both took me far outside my comfort zone.
“Sevens is played with seven players and the rules are vastly different than league ball or union ball. Sevens, league, and union have separate rules similar to the differences in NFL football and arena football.” He let the words sink in for a few seconds. “The stadium you speak of, Sam Boyd, is for sevens. I own and play in a fifteen-man league team. The Slam has the largest league stadium in the U.S.”
I gave him a small smile for answering my question. I saw no end to the research I needed to do. Chances were good I’d never understand the nuances of rugby, which frustrated the hell out of me. “Whose idea was this stadium?”
He didn’t hesitate. “It was mine. We found some local investors, the city also helped fund some of it to bring business in, and my brother and I put up the rest.”
“I was told your father invested.”
Joel’s face tightened imperceptibly, but he answered. “He put up some of the money in the beginning, but he’s been paid back.” Joel’s fingers tightened and released, drawing my eyes.
He made it obvious I shouldn’t continue this line of questioning. My focus returned to his eyes. “You’re what, twenty-eight?”
“Twenty-seven. You’re what, nineteen?” he asked blandly.
He was purposely egging me on. “Twenty-three.”
His eyes quickly ran over my body—again assessing. He shook his head. “You look much younger.”
No, I didn’t, and for some reason, this was a game to him. “You look much older.” Holding back a smile was becoming harder as I tried egging him on too.
He didn’t like that. “Next question, Ms. Avesque.”
“Please call me Cami.” For some reason I began enjoying our game. Maybe it was because I knew he didn’t like me. It could be all reporters in general, but something made me think specifically that it was me. Joel’s non-sexual animosity had my confidence soaring. This made absolutely no sense, but maybe I was getting the hang of the investigative journalist thing.
The eyebrow on the unmarred side of his face lifted. “Next question… Cami.”
I settled into my chair actually appreciating the sound of my first name passing his lips. “Thank you, Joel. Tell me what you dream of in regards to your future in rugby.”
He folded his arms in front of him and leaned forward a bit. I wondered if he was attempting stronger intimidation tactics. Stupid man, he had no idea that his hulking muscles had the exact opposite effect on me.
“I’ll only be on the playing side for another few years. I love the sport, but I’m interested in managing the team and doing both is difficult. Most of our players have full-time jobs and that’s hard when you play at our level. They’re here for the love of the game and not the money, though a little more would be nice. Our guys work their asses off. On tour, their pay is about one-hundred dollars a day. Their employers support our team by giving them time off to play. Without all the help,” he pointed around the room, “this wouldn’t be possible.”
To love something that much. I didn’t love my job at all, but had to pay my dues. I understood that. Joel’s teammates played with little hope of greater reward and the thought humbled me. “Is rugby in your blood?”
He unfolded his arms and sat up straight. “It’s all that runs in my veins.” His eyes dared me to question that statement, but I couldn’t help looking at his bare arms and chest. It’s not like the sight of them left my mind since we began talking. “Would you like a closer look at my veins, Cami, so you can see if I’m telling the truth?” The rough words were soft, tempting, and sexy as hell. When had Joel flipped his curmudgeon switch?
Darn my light skin and blushing cheeks. Damn my affinity to muscular men and athletes in general. I gazed back into his eyes, ignoring my rising temperature. “Several people have mentioned that rugby is in their blood, but no one gives a good explanation. Do you think you could try?”
His eyes continued to challenge me. “I can only imagine what Van told you,” he said with a touch of disgust.
My cheeks grew hotter and the shy part of me came charging to the forefront when I least wanted it. I wanted to hide under his desk.
“It’s about passion—the fans, the match itself. More importantly it’s about the camaraderie and deep commitment by everyone. The men and women who play rugby respect each other. The fans are loyal to their color but have respect for the opposing team. There isn’t another sport that rivals a rugby player’s or fan’s passion.” He ran his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, subtly flexing his muscles. His sexuality wasn’t on purpose like Van’s—Joel’s moves were completely natural.
Maybe that’s why my shyness dissipated and I suddenly wanted to feel Joel’s bulging arms around me.
Seemingly knowing where my thoughts were heading, his voice grew huskier. “I’m not explaining it well enough because it isn’t about words; rugby just is.”
God, his passion. And damn my raging sexuality. As this realization hit, Joel smiled. It
wasn’t like the previous one. This was full out and uninhibited. His scar ran from the outer corner of his lower eyelid to the edge of his upper lip; jagged edges that pulled the skin of his cheek tight. Scar tissue made the ridge of the scar more pronounced. I wanted to touch it. Touch him.
I realized he watched me closely, his smile fading. “Next question...”
How many times could I ask myself what the hell my problem was? I looked down at my notebook to give me some time. When I glanced back up, Joel’s gaze was glued on my face and I could barely think. “What position do you play?” Lame, but it was all I could come up with. My notes made no sense whatsoever.
“Full back.”
At my blank, or maybe it was a sexually dazed look, he described his position. “I’m the last line of defense. When I’m not on attack, it’s all about the hands.”
“Hands?” His were monstrosities double the size of mine, and I couldn’t help staring and imagining his hands smoothing along my skin. I think he was internally laughing at me. It was something in his eyes. He seemed to know I was fascinated with every part of his body.
“Good hands are important in rugby,” I choked out.
“Good hands make a rugby player.”
Not a glimmer of teasing came with the words. So why did I feel a sexual pull to find out exactly what those hands could do off the field? I was having trouble concentrating and happily didn’t push when Joel said he needed to get back to the gym. He didn’t walk me to my car, only opened the door at the front entrance to the stadium.
“Cami?”
I gazed up as I ducked under his arm to get out.
“My brother is bad news. I love him, but he doesn’t treat women well.” His blue eyes appeared darker with the warning, or maybe it was the shadowed entrance.
I moved away before speaking because under his amazing arm was not a place I could linger. “Thank you. I’ve received that specific warning from several people.” I felt his gaze burning into my back as I walked to my car.
Chapter Ten
For the first time, I watched league rugby matches opposed to sevens and union on YouTube. I don’t know what I expected, but being confused even more wasn’t it. I shut down my laptop and headed for a local fast food drive-through for a salad.
I was on the field again at two. From my discussion with Van the evening before, I knew a little more about the practice drills. I walked up into the stands and watched from there. I used my recorder to remind myself of things to ask Van. After practice, I tried sneaking out, but Van called for me to wait up.
Sweat and dirt took nothing away from his sexual pull. It may even have made it stronger. I don’t know where my cave girl mentality came from, but I had a horrible feeling it was here to stay. I’m sure I could find a man at my office who would happily partner me to sports events. If not, maybe I could join some of my co-workers when they had tickets. I needed to attend something with lots of muscle on display and somehow get it out of my system. Running away for years hadn’t helped.
“About dinner tonight,” Van said as he ran up beside me.
“Dinner?” Poor Van was playing with fire and he didn’t even know it.
“Do you have more questions?”
“Do you still have octopus arms?”
He shook his head not bothering to hide his smile. “You slay me. I’m trying to help you out before the game tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
He was so bossy. “So you’re not asking.”
“I would ask if this was a date, but it’s business, remember?”
Now I was shaking my head. I had no willpower with him. None. “I’ll see you at seven, but no restaurants you own. I’m buying.”
He gave me a sexy smirk before running through the tunnel and disappearing. I’d stayed through the entire practice and didn’t have much time to shower and get ready.
I showered quickly before going through my suitcase. I had packed one real bra. It came with matching pink panties. I wasn’t a thong girl, they left me too exposed. This bra didn’t hide my breasts and I put it on refusing to consider why. I chose one of two dresses I brought with me. The material accented my figure but covered my breasts with a modest neckline. There were only so many steps I could take in one night. The conservative hemline went halfway down my thighs, and if I was careful I could even bend over. I wore flats and felt much less likely to fall on my ass. It had been years since I’d dressed for a man.
“Wow!” Van said as soon as I opened the door. His eyes latched onto my breasts immediately.
“Wow yourself.” I blushed, but responded without an iota of coyness. He wore nice jeans and an untucked button-up black shirt. As I glanced down, I noticed two motorcycle helmets hanging from his hand. “Uh, no. I am not getting on a motorcycle with you and especially not in a dress.”
He laughed, and for the first time tonight, took his gaze from my body and glanced into my eyes. “You haven’t worn a dress since I’ve met you and I didn’t think to warn you. No way are you taking that thing off. Pull a pair of pants on and you can stuff them in your bag after we get to my surprise.”
He couldn’t be serious. “You want me adding pants beneath this dress?”
“Hell no, but I’ll survive.”
The look in his eyes told me to shut the door in his face, but elevating desire for adventure stopped me. I’d never been on a motorcycle. I turned, grabbed a pair of jeans from my bag, and went into the bathroom without a word. I slid the pants up my legs while gazing in the mirror. My reflection showed how absolutely ridiculous I looked. I adjusted the straps of my scrap bag so it rested on my back and quickly walked out of the bathroom so I wouldn’t change my mind. Van lay stretched out on the bed, his hands behind his head, his deltoids bulging, and his legs crossed at the ankles. Oh, and did I mention his deltoids? Hell, I wanted to bite one.
“That was quick,” he said with his fuck-me grin. So not helping.
“That’s not your bed.” I fought not to drool. The picture of him lying there was now burned into my memory. I had enough trouble sleeping with thoughts of his body floating around my tired brain. His grin only widened. With athletic grace, he slowly stood keeping his eyes on me the entire time. My heart wanted to explode; he looked like he would pounce. Disappointingly, he turned and grabbed the helmets from the dresser. He led me out of the Inn to his bike.
“What is it?” I asked as I admired the chrome and size of the bike.
“A Harley V-Rod Muscle. She’s a beaut.”
“She?” He’d seemed surprised I referred to my car as a she, but he was doing it too.
“Absolutely,” he said with a wink. “Come on, my surprise is waiting.” He handed me a helmet, sat his on the bike’s seat, and helped me adjust mine. He ever so lightly hit his palm against the side of my helmet after adjusting the chin strap. Why was everything he did so incredibly hot? For a second, I thought he would kiss me, but he behaved himself.
After his own helmet was on, he slung his leg over the bike and twisted at the waist helping me on behind him. He started up the Harley and the engine vibrated throughout my body. My inner thighs pressed into his hips and heat ignited across my jeans-covered flesh. I was close to having a spontaneous orgasm.
Van took off and I had no choice but to wrap my arms tightly around his waist. He was completely untamed, a bad boy, and everything I needed to avoid. But sitting on the back of his bike loosened more of my inhibitions. Wild Cami screamed into the wind.
We took a side road out of town and started winding through tree-lined hills. The sun was going down, making the scenery even lovelier. The fresh air blew across my face. No streetlights, but the headlamp from the bike lit up the street as the sunlight faded. I molded the front of my body to Van’s back as he took the corners. It scared the crap out of me, but the exhilaration was intoxicating. He drove for about fifteen more minutes before turning onto what looked like a private drive. He rounded a corner and a huge two-story home lit up by outside lighting app
eared out of the dark. Conservative Cami, hiding in the back corner of my mind, got nervous.
Van stopped the bike about twenty feet from the large front porch and switched off the engine. He put his hand out assisting me down before swinging his leg over the seat. Next his helmet came off and then mine. He smoothed my flyaway hair before his hands dropped to his sides. It must have been the look on my face.
“This is your surprise?”
His smile reflected the evil twin brother of bad boy. “Your dinner awaits.”
“Van.” I said it somewhere between a sigh of frustration and nerves that decided to suddenly flare.
He ignored me and took my hand. “Come on, I’ll show you around.” He led me up the porch and through the front door. There was nothing masculine about the front room; antiques, Victorian furniture, and art. So not what I expected.
“This is where I grew up,” he said softly.
“Your mother’s house?” Now the decor made sense.
“Now mine and my brother’s. We share the place.”
“You both live here?”
“Yes, but he has a date tonight and won’t be home until late. Come on into the kitchen and I’ll grab the chicken for the grill. I have potatoes in the oven and a salad made.”
“Your domestic side.”
“The easiest thing I could think of to make. I can grill, but kitchen duty is not my strong suit.”
This was not a good idea, but wild Cami pushed my nerves aside. I followed him into the kitchen walking past a winding staircase that I guessed led up to the bedrooms. Modern appliances filled the kitchen, and I envied the space. I would love to run loose in here. My tiny apartment had a small L-shaped counter with two barstools. It had a total of about three square feet to move around in. This room was a chef’s dream.
“Your mother liked to cook?”
His grin disappeared for a moment. “No, well yes… all this is new. Joel likes to cook.” He uncorked a bottle of red wine and poured us both a glass. His grin came back. “To good food and better rugby discussions,” he said clicking my glass.
Kick (Completion Series) Page 6