Playing to Win

by Sami Lee

He took a step forward, closing the physical distance between them. The emotional distance he could do nothing about. He wasn’t equipped. He curled his hand around Abbi’s nape and drew her close, slowly, until their lips met. The little sigh that escaped her was involuntary, he knew, and all the more valuable for it. Sam swallowed it into his mouth, letting the kiss linger but not deepen. If he deepened it, if he took her mouth again, he’d be as lost as he’d been before they had sex.

  Because even the slow brush of their lips made his self-control tremble.

  He pulled back before he made a bigger fool of himself than he already had. He forcibly dropped his hand from her neck.

  “Goodnight, Abbi.”

  She didn’t reply as he turned and left.

  Chapter 5

  Abbi woke the next morning feeling the oddest mixture of misery, exhaustion and horniness.

  After Sam had left last night, she’d crawled into bed and tried to sleep, but it had been impossible. She’d tossed and turned for hours, recalling that last kiss they’d shared with a sadness she couldn’t understand, remembering what had been the best sex of her life and feeling her body grow aroused. She’d been thoroughly satisfied but still wanted more, from a man who hadn’t been able to get away from her fast enough.

  It was pathetic. Even more pathetic that her harried coupling with Sam was the best sex she’d ever had. What did that say about her previous lovers?

  That not one of them had ever desired you with such ferocity or taken you with such raw passion. It had been so…primal and overwhelming. It had made her feel like a W-O-M-A-N. It had been…

  Abbi growled with annoyance because she was thinking about it again, getting turned on. She was longing for something she couldn’t have. She’d wanted an easy, no-strings-attached affair with Sam Cormack, no emotions, no damage. Why had she ever thought that was possible?

  Oh, right. She’d been so horny last night she would have told herself anything to justify doing the deed with Sam. But if her sleepless night had taught her anything, it was that she wasn’t built for meaningless, casual encounters. She’d felt more than mere sexual satisfaction last night, especially when Sam had held her so close afterward. He’d clung to her as though he never wanted to let her go and it had made her feel cherished. Needed.

  Then he’d let her go pretty darn quickly, and that had stung like the devil.

  “Grow up, Abbi. Get over it,” she said to the quiet bedroom, the one Sam hadn’t wanted to share with her, not even for a night.

  Giving up on sleep, Abbi rose at six o’clock and jogged to the gym two blocks away, where she worked out for an hour before jogging back. A long shower and some breakfast had her feeling better, strong enough to face the day’s events. Which unfortunately involved meeting Sam at the children’s hospital.

  The visit had been planned for weeks, her idea of damage control. A ready-made story that would hopefully counteract any negative press Sam’s antics engendered. It was one of the few things Sam didn’t object to. In fact, he’d agreed right away without any fuss whatsoever.

  So that’s how Abbi would approach today, she decided. She’d go and do her job without any fuss. She’d be completely professional. That meant not thinking about how it felt to have Sam inside her, his hips grinding into hers and his tongue in her mouth.

  She could do that.

  * * * *

  Sam knew he owed it to the kids in the hospital ward to pay them his full attention. He ignored the newspaper photographers who were recording his every move and the news cameraman from a local station. When you were a professional footballer, press coverage was a part of the deal, but accepting it with grace was still an ongoing process for Sam. He’d never been as closely scrutinized playing Aussie Rules as he was here in the NFL. He’d had a bad-boy reputation back then, but the club had never worried too much about it, and he’d never been assigned to a publicist.

  Which was the only reason Sam could come up with as to why he was being so friggin’ stupid about this one. He’d slept with her. No, fucked her like some randy lion in mating season, then he’d practically bolted. He wouldn’t blame Abbi if she hated his guts.

  “Can you sign my cast too, Sam?”

  Sam pushed aside his self-recriminations and smiled at the kid in the bed. He couldn’t be older than nine. “Sure thing, kiddo. What’s your name?”

  “Jermaine.”

  Sam used his marker to write it on the kid’s leg cast. “And how’d you do this to yourself, Jermaine?”

  “Fell off my skateboard.” Jermaine pouted. “Mom took it away from me.”

  “Your mum’s a very smart lady.” Sam held in a chuckle. “Mums usually are.”

  “You talk funny. You say mum instead of mom.”

  “That’s because I’m from Australia.”

  Jermaine’s eyes grew wide. “Is it true that there are spiders that eat birds in Australia? And kangaroos you can ride to school?”

  Sam laughingly told the kid it wasn’t true about the kangaroos, but told him to stay out of north Queensland if he didn’t want to run into a Bird Eater. He eventually moved onto the next kid, then the next, answering all their questions about his accent and signing their footballs or NFL posters. He didn’t have to fake a smile as he sometimes did at press events. He liked kids and always related well to them.

  Abbi would probably say that was because he was still immature himself. He glanced up and saw her talking to one of the photographers, and something tumbled inside his chest. She was so gorgeous in her navy skirt suit, her hair up in a neat ponytail. He remembered how that silken mane had swirled around her shoulders last night. He imagined how it would look fanned out on a crisp white pillow and he ached with regret.

  Why hadn’t he stayed the night with her?

  Because you’re a big chicken, Cormack. You like her a bit too much and it scares you.

  Sam saw the photographer leave and realized all the press had cleared out. They’d gotten their pictures and enough to write them up in tomorrow’s paper. Sam was glad. He needed to talk to Abbi. Needed to tell her…

  Something. Anything that would take that bland I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-you look off her face.

  As he began to head her way, a figure in the corner bed caught his eye. A girl, maybe twelve years old, hunched over a book, her shoulders frail and drooping. Despite the hospital’s air conditioning being set at a comfortable temperature, the girl wore a brightly knitted beanie and a dressing gown.

  A chill ran through Sam. When he was a kid, his mother’s sister, Judy—a woman he’d always called Big J, who had vibrant red hair and a booming laugh—had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. He’d seen the bright life force rapidly seep out of her, leaving nothing but a pale grey shadow behind. Not being married, Big J had lived alone, so Sam’s mother had insisted she stay with them during her treatment. A rambunctious kid, Sam had never known how to deal with the strange quiet in the house, and he’d spent most of his time outside kicking his football.

  The memory of that always shamed him a little, although his avoidance was understandable. He’d only been eleven. His instinct now was to leave the girl alone, as her body language told him to.

  Coward.

  He had no hesitation when it came to putting his body on the line, but when it came to difficult emotional situations, Sam always chose to run, like he had with Big J’s cancer. Like he had from every woman since Tiffani. Like he had last night.

  Overcome with the idea that he needed to take a stand at last—now—before he ran out of places to run and ended up lost, Sam headed toward the corner bed. As he passed Abbi, he held up a hand, five fingers out to indicate he’d be five more minutes. She looked surprised but nodded to indicate she’d wait.

  The girl in the bed didn’t look up as he approached.

  “Hi,” he said. Still no response.

  Leave her be, Sam. He’d tried, she wasn’t interested in conversation. There’d be no shame in taking off.

  Instead,
Sam tried again. “I’m Sam.”

  Sounding bored, the girl said, “I know who you are.”

  “You a football fan?”

  She scoffed at that. “No. Everyone made such a big deal about you coming though. They wouldn’t shut up.”

  “Yeah, it’s kinda weird. Some people like me,” Sam drawled, half amused, half stung by the girl’s candor. He pointed to the book still clutched in her hands. “What are you reading?”

  She finally looked up at him then, and the impact of her huge grey eyes was like a blow to the solar plexus. There was hostility in them, but it didn’t quite cover the sad weariness there. “It’s a book,” she said slowly as she lifted the cover to show him the title. Then she spelled it for him. “B-O-O-K. You know, words on a page, all the pages bound together. They’ve been around for a while now.”

  Sam held onto his side, pretending pain. “Oh, girl, stop. My sides are splitting.”

  “You’ll live.”

  Her sarcasm held a hint of desolation that made Sam’s heart feel like it was about to shrivel to the size of a prune. Was the girl terminal? Sam rejected the horrible idea. Surely if she was here for treatment there was hope.

  She wasn’t his problem. This kid who he thought now might be closer to fourteen than twelve. Well, if the attitude was anything to go by. He didn’t have to put up with her crap. He didn’t know her from a bar of soap. It made no sense for him to hang around.

  Sam pulled out the chair by the bed and sat in it. “You know, I’ve never read it. What’s it about?”

  She swung her shocked gaze to meet his. “You’ve never heard of Harry Potter?”

  “Of course I’ve heard of it. But I don’t know much about it. I was always more into sports than reading.”

  She snorted. “No shit.”

  “Hey.” Sam mock frowned. “You kiss your parents with that mouth?”

  Her expression clouded once more. “It’s just me and my Mom since my dad left. She had to work today.”

  On a Saturday, which probably meant she was a waitress or some other low-paid employee, trying to make ends meet because her husband dumped her and her sick daughter. Anger sliced through Sam. “Well, that sucks.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments. Sam crossed his legs at the ankles and watched the girl read, wondering if there was anything he could do for her. An autograph wouldn’t cut it, especially since she didn’t give a hoot who he was. He felt helpless, and guilty that he was healthy and able-bodied while this kid who should be outside making trouble in the sun was stuck in a hospital on a Saturday afternoon. Where was the justice in life?

  He couldn’t do anything for her, and he wanted to run from the situation, run from the knowledge of his own insignificance. But then the girl spoke for the first time without hostility. With a weary resignation, yes, but not seething anger. “The name is Holly. And it’s Leukemia, in case you’re too polite to ask.”

  Sam took a moment to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack when he spoke. He kept his tone light. “No one’s ever accused me of being too polite. Think you can do me a favor, Holly?”

  She looked at him like he was nuts. “Do I look like I’m in a position to help you?”

  “With this, yeah.” Sam’s lips twitched. “Would you tell me what happens in these Harry Potter books? I’m sick of being the only one at parties who doesn’t know who the half-blood prince is.”

  * * * *

  Fifteen minutes after the press event had officially ended, Sam was still in the hospital ward, talking to the girl in the corner. Abbi leaned on the wall nearby to watch them. Something ached inside her at the casual ease with which Sam spoke to the young girl. If he felt awkward at all, it didn’t show.

  In fact, he hadn’t appeared uncomfortable once all day. He was great with kids, a natural. He’d make a terrific dad someday.

  The thought of some other woman being pregnant with Sam’s baby intensified the ache inside her. To distract herself, Abbi tried to keep her mind on the job she was being paid to do. She knew she ought to get a shot of Sam with the girl. A big healthy footballer taking a genuine interest in a clearly ill child—it would have made a great PR shot. The social media crowd would love it.

  She reached inside her handbag and then stopped. Larry Prince would probably read her the riot act if he found out she’d ignored such an opportunity, but Abbi couldn’t bring herself to intrude on the private moment Sam was sharing with this girl. It would be wrong. If he’d meant to make a public spectacle of a perfectly innocuous conversation about muggles, he would have had it while the cameras were rolling. The fact that he hadn’t made Abbi respect the hell out of Sam. He had a deep sense of integrity that was as attractive as his sexy smile and his perfect athletic body.

  Abbi sighed. So much for her career. First she has sex with her client, and then she deliberately ignores a great publicity opportunity because she was mooning over him. She enjoyed her job, but maybe she didn’t have the killer instincts required to be as highly successful at it as someone like Larry Prince. Perhaps she should have been a ballerina after all, like her seven-year-old self had dreamed of being.

  She hadn’t realized she was smiling until Sam said, “What’s so amusing, Abbi?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just rethinking all my life choices, that’s all.”

  Sam raised a brow at that. Did he think she was referring to her decision to engage in sweaty sex with him last night? Like they’d both agreed, that had definitely been a mistake. Yet despite her second-guesses and her sleepless night, Abbi couldn’t bring herself to wish it away. If she was going to make that kind of mistake, she was glad it had been with Sam and not some shallow jerk that would make her wince at her stupidity every time she thought of it.

  Fortunately, Sam didn’t pursue the topic. Instead, he gestured to the girl in the bed. “Abbi Lehman, this is Holly Johnson. Abbi tells me what to do and rips me a new one when I stuff up, that sort of thing.”

  “Wow,” Holly said. “That must blow.”

  Being told by someone in Holly’s situation that her life sucked was a new low. But Abbi tilted her lips, assuming the girl was joking. Or hoping she was. “I have a great dental plan though.”

  “Should come in handy when you need braces.”

  Abbi found herself running her tongue over her teeth. Were they crooked?

  “I guess it’s time to go,” Sam said to Holly. “My minder’s been keeping time.”

  “I haven’t…” Abbi tried to protest, but Holly and Sam ignored her as they clarified the detail about how the first Harry Potter book ended.

  “So next time you’ll tell me about book two, yeah?”

  Holly eyed Sam dubiously. “You realize you could just go on Wikipedia and read the series summary.”

  “Nah. I like your humorous embellishments.”

  “In that case,” Holly put on a lousy Groucho Marx voice, “I’ll be here all week.”

  “See?” Sam laughed as he stood. “I’ll catch you later, Holly.”

  “Nice to meet you, Holly,” Abbi said as she turned to leave with Sam. The girl gave her a jaded stare and said nothing.

  Abbi remained silent too as she and Sam left the hospital. It wasn’t until they were both out in the sunshine, walking through the car park to their cars, that she asked, “You’re going back to visit her again?”

  “I think she could do with the distraction.”

  “That’s really nice of you to think of her like that.” It really, really was. “You know, this is the kind of thing the public ought to know about you.”

  “Huh? No.” Sam frowned. “I didn’t sit with Holly to get attention.”

  “I know. But perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if I planted a story about it.”

  “Nope. No way. I’m not using the kid like that.”

  “Technically, it wouldn’t be you using the information. It would be me. Your publicist, the one who’s supposed to keep your image squeaky clean. This kind of st
ory—”

  “Holly’s not a story,” Sam said heatedly. “She’s a person. A kid with Leukemia, for Christ’s sake. And she doesn’t seem like the type who’d want to be part of a media campaign. So the answer is no. Do not run a story about her, Abbi. Okay?”

  Shame moved through Abbi at the note of censure in Sam’s command. “Okay.”

  As they neared Abbi’s car, Sam stopped walking and encircled her wrist. He used the grip to turn her towards him. “I mean it. Promise me you won’t use it.”

  “I promise, Sam. I’m not completely ruthless. But I wouldn’t have been doing my job if I didn’t suggest it.” Abbi scoffed. “Not that I’ve been doing my job very well at all lately.”

  “What do you mean? You’re damn good at what you do.”

  Abbi shook her head. “If this was Larry Prince you were speaking to, he’d insist on using the information because he’d know it was in the best interests of your reputation.”

  “And his company’s reputation, don’t forget that. Larry looks after Larry. I like that you’re…” His voice trailed off as he studied her.

  Abbi’s heart started to pound as she nervously contemplated the myriad ways Sam could finish that sentence. Unable to stand it any longer, she finally asked. “I’m what, Sam?”

  “Nice.”

  “Eww, Gawd,” Abbi exclaimed. “I’m nice?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nice is boring.”

  Sam laughed, a low, sexy sound. “Abbi, you are not boring. You think I was bored last night when you were writhing against me, begging me to fill you? Pleading with me to make you come?”

  Abbi’s stomach quivered at the reminder and her panties filled with damp heat. She struggled to keep her wits about her, which took a monumental effort when Sam moved his hand down from her wrist so they were aligned palm to palm. He linked their fingers, and the way their digits slid together was absurdly erotic. “Didn’t we…” She cleared her throat. “We both agreed last night was a mistake.”

  “We made a mistake all right,” Sam said, contradicting his words by leaning his body in close to hers. Abbi’s nipples hardened as his chest brushed against them. “But I think the mistake was thinking once would be enough.”