by Desiree Holt
“I don’t think so.” She frowned. “Let’s just try to stay out of each other’s way. Oh. And one more thing. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring any of your women here.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “My women?”
“Yeah. You know. Your usual harem. By the way, if your phone still has Bad Company’s Feel Like Makin’ Love as a ringtone, put it on mute.”
A smile threatened again. “You don’t like the song?”
“Well, it’s certainly appropriate for your lifestyle, I’ll say that.”
His face sobered. “Shay—”
“I’m sure your salary’s plenty big,” she interrupted. “You can spring for a hotel room when the need arises.” Under her breath she muttered, “Which will probably be about every night.”
“What did you say?” he demanded.
“I said you probably won’t be sleeping here much.”
“That’s a low blow.” She heard the edge of anger in his voice. “Is that how you think of me? Really?”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Before he could say anything else, she headed back to her room and slammed the door again. She knew she was being childish. Juvenile. But holy hell. Joe Reilly in her space for a whole week. Maybe more. How was she supposed to handle that?
* * * *
Joe stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, now clear of the earlier steam from his shower. Not bad-looking, he told himself. A few more lines in his face and just a hint of gray in the hair. The thing bothering him, however, was the lust flaring in his eyes, lust put there by the little go-round with Shay Beckham.
The image he’d carried with him from the last time he’d seen her, however brief the contact, was spot-on. Something he’d wanted to chalk up to an aberration on his part. An overactive imagination.
Hank had been in New York, staying with his sister for a couple of days, and Joe drove into the city to have dinner with him. When Shay opened the door and he’d looked at her, his system had gone into full-blown shock. Gone was the skinny kid and the developing teenager. In their place was a ripe, mature woman who made the spit dry up in his mouth and his cock try to urge him to do things strictly off-limits.
Then he saw her today and bam! The vision slammed into him again. Even tired and cranky, with no makeup and dressed down in jeans and a sweatshirt, she made his body sit up and take notice. His cock was already sending him a message and his balls ached like crazy.
This was Shay. Hank’s baby sister. The skinny little kid who used to stick to them like gum to a shoe. She wore a big Keep Away sign.
As a teenager, having a little kid hero-worship him stroked his ego. It tickled him to have his best friend’s sister hang out with him and Hank and talk football, unless of course there were females around. Then he’d made sure to let her know she was a pain in the ass.
He cringed now as thoughts from the past bounced around in his brain, memories of the dismissive way he’d always treated her. There was no dismissing her now. This Shay was a luscious, desirable woman and the way his body responded to her froze every nerve with shock. If she were anyone else, he’d already be figuring out a way to get her out of her clothes and horizontal.
“I said you probably won’t be sleeping here much.”
Her barbed words cut deeply. To think Shay still saw him the same way.
He’d always thought of himself as a man who loved women. Who was lucky women loved him. He enjoyed the hell out of them. For a lot of years he’d been jazzed by the dating game. It was heady stuff to be envied by others for a steady string of gorgeous women and certainly fed his ego. All those years he’d never given a thought to how people saw him. He rocked it on the field and reaped the benefits of his success with the female population.
Still, it had stunned him to suddenly realize he was tired of the eternal conga line of women in and out of his life. What was once his juice had suddenly became old hat.
Things had changed so much in the past five years. He was in a much different place. As his life continued to evolve, so did the things he wanted from it. Like settling down. Getting married.
What he really needed was a woman like Shay.
Joe blinked and looked around, as if someone had actually spoken the words out loud. Where in hell did that thought come from? Again he reminded himself that she was off-limits to him. Right, right, right. Maybe he could tattoo it on his brain. Even thinking of her that way was off-limits. He needed to keep telling himself that.
Okay, time to get dressed and find someplace to eat. Maybe he’d pick up a pizza and bring it back. Or Chinese food. Then early to bed. And sleep, if he could do it with Shay only a few feet away from him.
He wondered what she’d say if she knew about the work he did with kids? With teenagers? Obviously her entire image of him was crafted from those wild years and the accompanying tabloid coverage. But so much had changed. He had changed. Did she ever watch his television show? If so, what did she think of it?
Fuck, Reilly. Enough. Get your head out of your ass. Once more, idiot. She’s Hank’s baby sister. It would be nice if she liked him but it wouldn’t kill him if she didn’t.
He hoped.
Heading toward the front door, he bumped into the woman in question coming out of the kitchen. In place of her travel outfit, she now wore a T-shirt and skimpy shorts and was carrying a glass of water. When they bumped, her hand jiggled, spilling drops from the glass on both of them.
“Crap.” She shook her hand to rid it of the moisture.
“I already showered,” he teased. “Remember? You saw me?”
“Okay, okay, I’ll say it.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry. And I’m clumsy. Shoot me.”
She hurried into the kitchen for a paper towel, bright red staining her cheeks. Joe swallowed a smile when she busied herself blotting his shirt, frowning as she did so.
“There.” She stepped back and studied his chest. “I think you’re good to go.” She crumpled up the paper towel. “Wherever you’re going.”
“Shay.” He cupped her elbows and kept his voice low and even. Steady. Why did he get the impression he spooked her? He’d have to think about that. “It’s okay. It’s just a shirt. And it’s washable. Got it?”
“Yes.” She still wouldn’t look at him. “I, um, think I’ll just go back into my room.”
Damn!
“Wait.” He didn’t want her to retreat, even though he knew he should just leave it alone. Especially since—shock!—just touching her made him so horny he was afraid his cock would strangle itself.
“I’m going to my room, Joe.” Why did she refuse to look at him?.
“Wait. I, um, was going to head out for some dinner. Want to join me?”
She looked down at her outfit and then raised her eyes to him, a tiny smile teasing her mouth. Finally. “Where are we dining? Goodwill?”
“You know what? I don’t think I’m in the mood for a restaurant. How about if I order a pizza delivered? You can choose the toppings,” he coaxed.
What the hell was he doing? He needed to put space between them until he figured out what was happening here. Preferably several city blocks.
“Why do you want to eat with me?”
Of course he didn’t have a sensible answer for her. He just knew it was important to get her to say yes.
“Um, because I’m hungry and you’re hungry so, food together?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “There’s a special on tonight about Joe Montana and I plan to watch it.” She waved her hand at the living room. “In there, on the big-screen television.”
He chuckled. “Really? Your big hero? The man you raved about incessantly when you were younger? Okay, I think I can handle that.” He winked. “Although we both know I’ve got him beat in all categories.”
“In ego, maybe.” She tilted her head and looked up at him again. “You sure you want to do this? Buy a pizza and share it with me?”
“Sure, kid. It will be like old tim
es. Only without Hank. We’ll just eat his share.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Was that disappointment on her face, or was he just imagining it? What did it mean? Did she regret accepting his invite, or did she read something more into it? Well, regret just wouldn’t work. This pizza thing was just damn stupid if he wanted to put space between them. Where was his brain when he needed it to work?
“I’ll call it in,” she told him. “I have the number on speed dial.”
“You and Hank don’t do much cooking?”
“Hardly.” She fetched her smart phone from her room and punched in the number, snapping out her order. “Lots of pepperoni and mushrooms,” she warned Joe when she hung up.
“Yeah?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I would have thought with all those years in New York you’d want pineapple chunks and chicken.”
“Please,” she mocked. “Do I look like I’d eat designer pizza?”
He watched her refill the water glass and take a long drink from it. The play of muscles in her throat as she swallowed fascinated him, as did the shift of fabric over her breasts when she lifted her arm. He noted the outline of her nipples beneath the flimsy T-shirt, a sure sign whatever was scratching at him was doing the same to her. His palms itched to cup those mounds and he curled his fingers to keep from reaching out to her.
Again the devil in his head, the really horny one, reminded him this was Shay. Hank’s baby sister. He needed to keep repeating it to himself. What the fuck was wrong with him? Now here she was. In this house. With him. Alone. And his brain and his dick seemed to be getting different messages.
Shit!
“Hello?” A hand waved in front of his face. “Anyone in there?”
“What? Oh, sorry.” Damn. He’d just spaced out. He hoped drool wasn’t running down his face. “Late hours catching up with me.”
“Maybe you should cut back on that list of women.”
Again with the women.
“Shay, look at me. Put down your empty glass and turn around to me.”
“You don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped.
“Please turn around and look at me. Okay?”
She set the glass in the sink and turned slowly, leaning back against the counter. Unfortunately when she did it stretched the T-shirt even more against her nicely rounded breasts and her nipples that reminded him of the gumdrops he loved. He forcibly restrained himself from smacking his lips.
“What?” The word was filled with belligerence.
“We haven’t seen each other much in a lot of years. Many, many, many years.”
“Yeah? So?”
“Did it ever occur to you I might have changed? Maybe I might not be the guy with the overload of testosterone anymore?”
She barked a laugh. “Right.”
“Maybe I’m a lot more like Joe Montana than you think, him who you so revere.”
“Hardly.” Was it possible for someone shorter than him to look down her nose at him? “He was never Mr. Playboy with a gaggle of females hanging off his arm. He was always business. Nothing more.”
In two strides, he was in front of her, his fingers wrapped gently around her upper arms. She tensed immediately and her lips thinned. He eased his hold, but he didn’t back away.
“I may not be Montana but I’m not the person you think I am, either. And somehow I’m going to make you see the truth of it while we’re here together.”
He was close enough to her now he could feel the outline of her body. The way her eyes widened, he knew she could also feel his, including his raging hard-on. Faint pink crept up her cheeks and he moved an inch or two backward. The air between them, though, still crackled with shockingly unexpected sexual energy.
“So.” Her eyes were still glued to his. “Exactly how were you planning to do that?”
Fuzz was wrapped around his brain, the effect of being this close to her. “What? Do what?”
She gave a breathy little laugh. “Make me see how different you are now.”
As he was digging in his woolly brain for an answer, the doorbell rang. Shay pressed her hands against his chest and pushed.
“I think the pizza’s here. You need to get your wallet out.”
Pizza. Wallet. Yeah.
He took another step back and headed for the door. Pizza. What he needed more than food, though, was another shower. A cold one.
“Bring the food in here,” Shay hollered from the living room.
When he put the box down on the coffee table he saw plates and glasses already set out, and—hallelujah!—two ice cold bottles of beer.
“Can’t watch Joe without beer,” she joked.
“Which Joe?”
“Ha!” She busied herself dishing out the pizza. “The real one, of course.”
* * * *
Why did he have to sit this close to her? His very nearness panicked her, eroded her self-control. She’d grasped at the Joe Montana thing like a lifeline, hoping to create a barrier between them. Change the feel of whatever it was buzzing in the air between them.
Needing distance, Shay had deliberately taken a seat at the far end of the couch, leaving the rest of it for Joe to stretch out. Instead he plunked himself down right next to her, sending her body temperature spiking. This was a bad idea. Very, very, very bad. She should have turned down Joe’s invitation and sent him out to eat. Someplace. Anyplace. And worn a caftan that covered her from neck to toes to disguise her body’s automatic reaction. It seemed not even Joe Montana could do anything about her reaction. How pathetic was that?
Where were all her good intentions, the resolutions she’d made in the cab ride from the airport? Here she was sharing a house with Joe Reilly, with temptation rapping on the door. It just wasn’t fair. If Hank were here, she’d kick his ass for putting her in this position. She wasn’t a saint, for God’s sake.
Damn him, anyway.
“So what made you move back from New York?” Joe asked, startling her out of her reverie. “I thought you really liked it there.”
She realized she was staring at him and gave herself a mental shake, shrugged and swallowed a bite of pizza. “It got old after a while.” And the men sucked.
Joe cocked an eyebrow. “Hank mentioned you were doing gangbusters in your design job. Told me you were excited about it.”
She nodded. “I was. I still am. I enjoy creating the designs, making someone’s idea come to life.”
“But?”
She took a sip of beer. “But I decided I liked San Antonio better. And my boss made me a great offer. I work from here and head into the city about every six weeks for meetings. Thus the plane ride today.”
The look he gave her was filled with curiosity. “I can’t believe you’re happier here away from the glitz and glamour of the Big Apple.”
“Yeah?” She sniffed. “Maybe you never noticed, I’m not exactly a glitz-and-glamour kind of woman. I love San Antonio. This way I get the best of both worlds.”
His gaze poured over her like warm melted chocolate. “There wouldn’t be some man in the mix, would there? I’d be very upset if someone messed with my girl.”
“Your girl?” She chuffed. “One, I’m not yours. I’m not anyone’s. Two, I’m not a girl any more. And three, my private life is none of your business.”
“No?” He picked up another slice of pizza, bit off a piece, and chewed thoughtfully. “Maybe it should be. Hank not being here and all, I should probably make sure you’re doing okay. You know, kind of be your guardian.”
“My guardian? Are you for real?” Shay barked a laugh. “Hank doesn’t meddle in my business. You don’t need to, either. Remember, I’m not a kid who needs her nose wiped.”
He reached out and cupped her chin with one of his large warm hands—quarterback’s hands—and looked straight into her eyes. The look in his eyes stunned her. He was actually looking at her as a female. Desirable, even. His touch sent delicious shivers racing over her skin an
d the look in his eyes made her body want things that were impossible with this man. She needed to pull away for her own salvation but she couldn’t seem to make herself do it.
“No.” His voice was hot and slow, plucking at her nerve endings. “You are definitely not a kid. Not anymore.”
Shay wanted to tell him not to touch her but those fingers were like electric wands sending jolts through her system. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. When he reached for a napkin and dabbed at her lower lip, she wanted to bite him instead of the food.
“A little sauce.” His mouth turned up in a lazy smile. “Wouldn’t want Montana to see it, right?”
Montana.
The program.
Right.
When she turned her head, he was forced to move his hand. She picked up the remote and clicked on the television. “It’s about time for the special on Joe, so, no talking, please.”
For the first time she had to work to concentrate on a program about her hero. Video of him played out on the screen, shots of him tossing his unbelievably accurate passes to his favorite receiver, Jerry Rice. Of the celebrations following each of his four Super Bowl victories. Of his cool head under fire as the ultimate field general.
To her dismay she found her mind wandering to the Joe sitting next to her, all six foot four of his powerful masculinity. She was more acutely aware of him than she could remember. She couldn’t help stealing glances at his very male body next to her, long legs stretched out to the coffee table, muscles flexing in his thighs every time he shifted. Whatever he’d splashed on his body after his shower was driving her nuts, too. The clean woodsy male scent she always associated with him drifted across her nose and seemed to surround her. Tantalizing her.
No, no, no. This was all wrong. Control, she reminded herself. Control, control, control. She could do it.
“—don’t you think?”
“Huh? What?” Embarrassed, Shay realized she’d zoned out and Joe was saying something to her.
His sexy laugh rumbled through her. “I guess old Joe really does have you hypnotized. You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?”