by Amelia Judd
“You worked hard?”
“I didn’t have the natural ability other teammates were born with. I had to work hard to keep up.” His matter-of-fact tone held no emotion, suggesting neither bitterness nor pride over the statement.
Claire executed a dramatic eye roll. At over six feet of sculpted muscle, he looked like a modern-day Adonis. Who was he trying to kid? If he were any more naturally gifted, he’d be lethal. “Yeah. You’re really pathetic,” she deadpanned.
“That hurts,” he said, sounding way too happy to mean it.
She bumped her shoulder against his arm. “You know I’m kidding.”
“Are you sure? I can think of a few fun ways to convince you of my manliness.”
A strangled laugh of nervous energy slipped from her lips. Okay, she sounded a tad hysterical. At least she was controlling herself better than Sherlock, her neighbor’s overly friendly labradoodle, who had a latching-on-to-legs problem.
When they reached the outcrop, Ethan jumped onto a knee-high rock and turned back to hold out his hand.
She eyed his hand then her dress, and blew out a sigh. “Next time you make a clothing suggestion, I’m so going to listen,” she mumbled, giving him her hand.
“It’s good to know you’re starting to trust me.” He boosted her onto the rock.
Still holding her hand, he led her up and around a few more boulders, pointing out where she should step in a few tricky areas. After a few minutes of navigating the rocks, he dropped into a sandy alcove about the size of a small bedroom. The niche—surrounded by rock walls on three sides and Lake Michigan on the other—contained a large blue-checked blanket, picnic basket, multiple candles, and a bottle of her favorite wine artfully arranged in its center.
“Did I surprise you?” he asked, turning to look at her.
Claire froze, eyeing the most romantic setting she’d ever seen in her life. He’d done this for her. He’d cared enough about her to—
Stop! she yelled silently at her stupid, romantic heart. Her resistance had simply sparked his competitive nature, driving him to fight for what she said he couldn’t have. This elaborately constructed date was about winning. That was all. It didn’t make him a bad guy; it just made him … a guy.
Claire bit down hard on the inside of her lip and managed to resist a full body sigh.
Where were they? And she didn’t mean their secluded alcove in the sand. Her relationship with Ethan confused her more than a fifty-page document from legal. She honestly didn’t know where they stood anymore.
Were they pretend dating or actually going out? Was he only in this for the thrill of the hunt, likely to move on once she slept with him? Or did he want something more from her? If so, what? And even if he did want something more, did she have anything more to give him?
She’d not been able to make a relationship work with the father of her children. What made her think she could make one work with a hot, young soccer star, or any man for that matter? Jack might be right. Maybe she was too controlling and independent to share her life with a partner.
And maybe she should have swallowed her pride and let Kat auction her off on a pity date. At least then she would know exactly where she stood with the guy.
Who would have thought hiring a pretend boyfriend would cause so much real confusion in her life? Technically, she might not be paying Ethan, but he knew that was the idea. And she knew business and pleasure mixed as well as oil and water. So why had she thrown the two together in a small town like Silver Bay and shook the heck out of them anyway?
They were never going to blend. Now she’d have to wait for things to settle down before she could clear out all the little chunks of business floating around in her personal life.
Rubbing the heart-shaped pendant hanging around her neck, she drew in a breath and looked down at Ethan to find him waiting for her response. “Yeah, Ethan, you surprised me. And not just tonight,” she admitted and gave a long exhale.
He grabbed her hips and lowered her to stand beside him in the sand, his hands warm where they lingered.
“And that’s bad because … ?” He studied her with a serious expression.
“If I’m surprised, it usually means I don’t understand what’s going on. That doesn’t sit well with me.” She looked down at the blanket, candles, picnic basket, and bottle of wine. “And I really don’t understand what’s going on. No one can see us tucked away down here, so this can’t be for show.”
“You still think I’m using romance to get laid?”
“No.” Claire shook her head. “You promised me you wouldn’t, and I trust you. But I can’t help feeling”—she cringed in apology—“suspicious. Like you have an ulterior motive.”
“I’d say it’s more a product of changing goals.” He shrugged.
“I don’t follow what you mean.”
“Since I’m a guy, I’ll use a sports analogy to explain. When I first found out LA was considering me, all I wanted to do was make the team. So I fought hard to prove that I deserved a chance. Once I was on the team, my goal shifted from getting a spot on the roster to securing a starting position. Once I did that, I worked at upping my goals scored as well as becoming a leader on the field to make myself as indispensable as possible.”
“And how does that apply to this?” She gestured to the romantic little alcove.
“When I first met you, pretending to be your boyfriend sounded like an entertaining diversion so I agreed to help out. After I got to know you, my goal changed. This”—he copied her sweeping gesture of the sandy nook—“is me showing you that I’m not pretending anymore.” He tilted his head, considering. “Not sure I ever really was.”
She sucked in a breath as panic sliced through her. “But this was supposed to be a business deal.” The words tumbled out before she could conceal the hysteria edging her voice.
The corner of his lips tilted up in a knowing smile. “For me, this was never about business.” He trailed his thumb down her jawline. “You’re special to me, Claire.” He skimmed his fingertips down her arm and took her hand in his. “I planned tonight to show you that.”
“I’m sorry.” Her stomach twisted in a giant knot of guilt. “When I propositioned you in that bar, I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“Are you sorry it did?”
She shook her head and blew out a sigh. “No. Which makes me feel even guiltier. I like being with you. A lot. But I know whatever is going on between us is temporary. I don’t want anyone to end up hurt when it’s over.”
“Like when your marriage ended?”
“No.” Claire gave a humorless chuckle and drew back in surprise. “Even though everyone assumes the divorce devastated me, it didn’t.”
Ethan tugged her hand to lead her to the blanket. “We’ve danced around the subject for weeks. Now seems like a good time to tell me about your marriage over a glass of wine.” He sat down on the blue-checked blanket and started opening the bottle of red next to him.
Still standing, Claire chewed her lip and watched him efficiently remove the cork and fill two wine glasses set on top of the closed picnic basket. With a persuasive smile, he lifted one glass toward her and patted the spot next to him.
“Fine,” she said on an exhale and carefully maneuvered into a sitting position with her legs bent and tucked beside her in the short dress. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything you’re willing to tell me.”
Staring at the calm water, she sipped the wine he handed her and thought for a moment before answering. “I met Jack at one of my mom’s charity functions when I was home for the summer before my last year of college. He was eight years older than me, suave, and sophisticated. I’d only dated college guys before him. In comparison, his serious manner seemed so mature.” She gave a humorless chuckle. “I didn’t realize how restricting it would feel once the romance wore off.” She drew in a breath and shook her head. “Anyway, we dated through the summer and then long-distance during my senior yea
r. He proposed the day I graduated, and we were married by fall. Ty came along just under a year later and Grace thirteen months after Ty. We were married for seven years when Jack filed for divorce. That was almost four years ago now, but it seems like another lifetime.”
“Why’d you get divorced?”
“To correct the mistake we made by getting married in the first place.” She swirled the glass of wine in her hand and stared at the spinning scarlet liquid.
“What made it a mistake?” Ethan asked gently.
“A lot of things. Me being so young, our age gap, our short engagement, his personality, my personality. Looking back, I can see a ton of signs that our marriage wouldn’t work. But the allure of romance blinded me to them.” She drained her glass of wine.
“Claire … ” Ethan waited until she turned to meet his gaze. “Did the bastard cheat on you?”
“No.” She set her glass back on top of the picnic basket. “Gemma works as a receptionist in one of the doctor’s offices Jack calls on. He met her after our divorce and fell instantly, magically in love.” Somehow she managed not to roll her eyes. “Apparently, Gemma refused to date him at first. She thought he should focus on his kids after the divorce.” Claire smiled at the memory. “At the time, I didn’t think much about her refusal to jump into a relationship with Jack. Looking back, I have to give her credit. She made him take it slow until she was sure it was okay with Ty and Grace.”
“And what about you? Was it okay with you?”
“At first, I admit my pride was stung. He dumped me and replaced me within a year.”
“And you haven’t dated since the divorce.”
“Some.” She shrugged. “Nothing serious. Work and the kids keep me busy.”
“Once bitten, twice shy?”
She took a deep breath, choosing her next words carefully. “Dating often leads to marriage. I’m not sure that’s the right path for me to go down again.” Claire dropped eye contact, slipping off her sandals, and scooting to the edge of the blanket to dig her toes in the sand. “Some people are better on their own.”
“I disagree,” Ethan said. “Every victory is sweeter and every loss is easier when you’re part of a team. It’s true in sports and in life.”
“Marriage isn’t a game.” She turned to meet his eyes again.
“No, but it involves teamwork and trust. When I was playing, there were games where I couldn’t connect with the goal to save my life. On those days, I had to trust my teammates to carry me on their backs. And I let them because I knew I’d do the same for them the next day, or next week, or next month. That kind of support comes from being on a team.”
“Maybe you’re the one who should get married, Lucky.” Claire summoned a teasing smile, hoping his nickname would lighten the mood. “Or maybe you could join a rec soccer team at the community center. Or a book club. Or a knitting group. Or—”she tilted her head in question—“you could return to your old club and adoring fans for a bucketload of money.”
She picked up her empty glass and extended it toward him. “Why don’t you give me a refill, and we can make a pros and cons list for each option?”
Ethan sighed and filled her glass. “Why doesn’t anyone believe I’m actually retired?”
Claire took a sip of wine and stared at the waves lapping onto the shore in front of them. Soothed by both the lulling sound of the water and the slow slide of the red wine into her system, she considered his question. “Because most people can only dream about being a professional athlete, and they can’t imagine walking away from that dream if they had the choice to stay,” she mused, keeping her words quiet and contemplative rather than combative.
“Maybe I have a new dream, a new goal.” Intensity edged his voice, making him sound unusually serious, solemn even.
Legs stretched out in front of him, he reclined back on the blanket and propped himself upright on his elbows. He stared back at her with those penetrating blue eyes that seemed to see all the way to her soul.
“Care to share what that new goal is?” She sounded breathless, which didn’t surprise her. Ethan had always been able to take her breath away, even on that first night in the bar.
The corners of his lips curled slightly upward, and his eyes lit with an emotion she couldn’t read. “Not yet.” He held her gaze as one, two, three languid waves rolled to shore. “But soon.”
Holy smokes. Her heart raced. Even though the temperature had dropped with the setting sun, she felt flushed.
“Now, let’s eat,” he said, his voice regaining its normal carefree tone. “I need to load up on carbs before attempting to ride back on the bike from hell. Or”—he looked at her with boyish earnestness—“do you think your bike’s handlebars could hold you? I could give you a ride.”
“Nope.” She shook her head, slow and emphatic. “Not going to happen. If I rode into Silver Bay on those handlebars in this dress, I’d be the talk of the town before we even reached my street.”
Ethan’s face brightened with a megawatt, dimple-activating smile. “Not a problem. I’ll ride on the handlebars, and you can pedal.”
Claire snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes. “That would cause an even bigger scene. How about I disengage your locked brake so you can ride your own bike?”
Ethan blew out an exaggerated sigh and started digging food out of the picnic basket. “My idea would have been a lot more fun.”
“You’re an international soccer star. You’re used to being the center of attention. I’m not.” She unwrapped a bowl of chilled, fresh-cut fruit that he pulled from the basket. “I’ve watched your highlight reel. The crowd’s reaction when you scored the game-winning goal in the first-round World Cup match a few years ago blew me away. Women were shrieking. Grown men were crying. Everyone seemed to be chanting your name and cheering like you’d just saved the planet from a zombie apocalypse.”
“Yeah.” Without pausing or even looking up from rummaging the picnic basket, Ethan chuckled. “That felt good.”
“Good?” Her voice shot up an octave. “You gave the entire nation something to celebrate, to be proud of. That would feel pretty freaking amazing to me, and I’m rarely a fan of attention.”
He stilled and looked up at her with a lopsided grin. “Okay. Yeah. It did feel pretty freaking amazing.”
Toying with the heart-shaped pendant around her neck, she tilted her head in question. “Aren’t you going to miss it?”
“Nah,” Ethan said, pulling a decadent-looking chocolate torte from the picnic basket. “There are a lot of pretty freaking amazing experiences out there. Care to share one with me?” His voice was playfully seductive as he extended the torte toward her.
Claire eyed the dessert and licked her lips. “Absolutely,” she breathed.
In a flash of movement, the torte went flying. A second later, Ethan snagged an arm around her waist and toppled her onto the blanket, beneath him.
“I meant the chocolate dessert, you big lug,” she said, laughing and playfully squirming beneath the muscled weight of his body.
“Oh, my mistake.” Only inches away, Ethan grinned down at her with a wicked, teasing look in his gorgeous blue eyes. “Should we eat, then?” He pushed upward, a few inches away from her chest, as one of his large thighs slipped between both of hers.
The delicious weight and pressure of his leg made Claire squirm for an entirely different reason now.
She let out a soft moan of pleasure and gripped his arms to hold him in place. “No. Stay. I like you there. Right there,” she said, unable to resist arching against him. Holy smokes. Maybe she was as bad as her randy neighbor dog after all.
“I like—no, scratch that,” he said in a rough voice. “I love being right there too.” He dipped his head to claim her mouth in a teasing, coaxing kiss. “Actually,” he murmured between kissing, licking, nibbling her mouth, jawline and neck, “it’s killing me that I’m not even closer to you right there.”
“Mmm,” she moaned and tightened her grip on
him. The thought of him being right there over and over and over again stole her ability to form coherent words.
“But a promise is a promise.” He rolled off of her, landing on his back beside her with a muttered curse. “No romance to get laid.”
“What? Oh. Yeah. Okay. Right,” she panted next to him. “Smart decision. Very mature. Very responsible.”
Ethan’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Glad you think so. Right now, I’m not sure if I should be proud of myself or pissed off at my own idiocy for making that promise.”
She clamped her mouth shut before she could blurt out the truth—that for once in her life she ached to toss mature and responsible into the lake. Every fiber of her wanted to make crazy, passionate love on that blue blanket in the sand until Ethan didn’t have the strength to stand, let alone ride that bike of his back into town.
He pushed himself into a sitting position. “We should probably move this picnic closer to the bike path. A highly visible, well-lit spot … ” He scanned down the length of her body and then back up, locking his overheated gaze with hers. “Before it’s too late.”
She wanted to push his shoulders backward to the ground, straddle him, and kiss him until the heat she saw in his eyes exploded into searing passion. The instinct to touch him threatened to overwhelm all rational thought.
Damn. She needed to get a grip. Forcing back the disorienting desire, Claire pushed her dress down from its hiked position around her waist, stood, and walked toward the lake. She needed space to regroup.
Twenty steps away, at the point where dry sand turned to wet, she closed her eyes and drew in deep gulps of lakeshore air. The lap of the placid waves mingled with the clatter of Ethan behind her, tossing everything back into the basket, rushing to get them out of there “before it’s too late.”
But Claire recognized the emotion expanding her chest and stealing her breath and knew her stupid heart was starting to blur the line between romance, sexual desire, and love again. She wrapped one arm around her waist and gripped the pendant around her neck in her other hand. With a grounding breath, she fought against romance’s hypnotic, intoxicating pull. Knowing firsthand the price of getting swept off her feet, Claire hoped liked crazy it wasn’t already too late for her.