Catching the Player (Hamilton Family)

by Diane Alberts

  He picked her back up, and she breathed quickly, her hair flying at the sexy maneuver. “She was right.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “You’re a natural, too.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. I’m just following your lead.”

  He grinned, picking her up and spinning in a circle. She bent her legs in the air, mimicking what she’d seen on television automatically. “That’s kind of how dancing works. It’s a lot like sex, in that way.”

  She gasped, gripping his shoulders tightly. “What?”

  “One partner takes the lead, the other follows.”

  She almost giggled but managed to hang on to her dignity by a small thread. “True,” she managed to say without sounding like a schoolgirl. “That is how it works.”

  “Indeed,” he said, his voice low as he set her down on her feet again.

  “What else did your mother have you learn?” she asked to fill the silence.

  His lips twitched. “How to set a place setting properly, the importance of a year on a good bottle of wine, ice skating, and pretty much everything you could possibly imagine.”

  “So, you were rich, then?”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” he admitted.

  She nodded.

  “You?” he asked after a short silence.

  “Not rich. Never was.”

  “This house is perfect, though.” He started moving again, sweeping her into her kitchen. “Mine’s too big. I need to move.”

  She laughed. “I think it’s perfect.”

  “Five bedrooms for one person, when I have no intention of ever adding on to that one person?” He snorted. “It’s too much. I got too cocky when I started out, and I needed a big place to show my success. It was stupid, and I was young. A place like this, in the city, would be much better suited to my needs.”

  She nibbled on her lip, dying to ask him whether, if he fell in love with someone, he would walk away, but it was none of her business, really. After he left, the only time she’d see him would be on her television on Sunday afternoons.

  “What’s your biggest dream?”

  “To dance with Wyatt Hamilton in my living room,” she said immediately. “Oh…wait…guess I need a new dream.”

  He laughed shortly. “Yeah, you do.”

  “What’s yours?”

  “Uh-uh. That one doesn’t count. I want the real one.”

  She hesitated. “I guess the opposite of you. Become financially stable. Pay off my house so I’m mortgage free, once I actually buy it—which I’m thinking of doing. I want to live my life, find someone who fits nicely in it, and start a family. Adopt a dog and a cat. Be…happy.”

  He said nothing at first, just tightened his grip on her hand, but then he said, “You rent now?”

  “Yeah, but the owners want me to buy.” She paused. “I’m considering it.”

  “Nice.” He locked eyes with her. “I hope you get all those things you want.”

  “Me, too.” She licked her lips, which were way too dry all of a sudden. “What is your biggest dream?”

  “To be remembered for the rest of all time as one of the best quarterbacks ever,” he immediately replied. “It’s been my dream ever since I was old enough to throw a ball, and I doubt that’ll ever change.”

  She rubbed his back as he danced, their movements slower with each step they took, until they were basically just holding one another and swaying slightly. “I think you’ll get that, Wyatt. That, and more.”

  “I hope so,” he murmured, his eyes still on hers. “Kassidy…”

  Something charged the air, shooting off sparks, yanking them together bit by bit until there would be nothing left between them but bare skin and sweat. For a second, just one blissful second, he lowered his head, and she swore he was about to kiss her again…

  Right until he let go of her, stepping back and dragging his hands down his face. “More champagne?” he asked, his voice slightly higher.

  “Yes, please,” she managed to say.

  She was going to need it if she was going to survive the night…

  With Wyatt Hamilton convinced he couldn’t touch her.

  Chapter Seven

  Four hours later, they collapsed on her bed, breathing heavily. After they’d danced, they talked for a while, finishing off the bottle of champagne, and then he’d come up with the bright idea to try yoga. Only, it hadn’t been such a bright idea, because every time she twisted and turned and fell, laughing, it had taken all his control not to crawl on top of her and kiss her until that laughter turned into groans and moans of pleasure. He couldn’t touch her. She deserved more than a night in the arms of a playboy like him, one who could never be hers.

  Still, against all logic, he wanted her more than anything.

  He wasn’t satisfied with just this.

  What the hell is going on with me?

  Yawning, she rolled onto her side and smiled at him, her lipstick long gone, her hair sticking up everywhere. She was still, hands down, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he was, without doubt, enamored with her. He wasn’t sure what to do about that.

  What to say.

  So, he said nothing at all.

  She smiled sleepily at him and rubbed her nose. She was glowing ethereally. “Do you need something to change into? I mean, all I have is girl clothes, but you’re welcome to use my pajamas. Warning, though. They’re all gowns.”

  He frowned. “Gowns?”

  “Yeah. Like…dresses.”

  He grinned up at her ceiling fan and rolled onto his back. Since they’d drunk way too much, they’d decided it would be a good idea for him to spend the night, and she had insisted he sleep in her king-size bed with her, since it was large enough for both of them—including him and his, as she called it, big-ass muscles. The fan whirled slowly, blowing a gentle breeze down on them. She shivered, so he sat up and tugged the comforter at the bottom of the bed over her body. “I’m good in this, thanks. If Anna found out I wore a gown, she’d tell the press.”

  She eyed his dress pants and partially unbuttoned shirt. “I wouldn’t tell.”

  She was unbelievably adorable when she blushed like that. “I’m fine, it’s not the first time I’ve crashed in my suit, and it won’t be the last,” he said.

  “Don’t you normally take them off, though?” She bit her lip. “With other girls you spend the night with but don’t…spend the night with.”

  “Sometimes,” he said idly. Reaching out, he played with a piece of her hair, tugging on it gently. “Sometimes not.”

  He didn’t tell her she was the first woman he spent the night with that he hadn’t slept with. This wasn’t exactly chartered territory for him. It was bad enough she had a hold over him without knowing it. If he told her, there was no telling what would happen next. Being with her had been…fun. Yeah, that’s right. Fun. He didn’t really have fun anymore.

  Instead, he focused on his game, on and off the field, and flitted from one chick to another, never stopping long enough to actually learn anything about them, for one very good reason…

  So he couldn’t fall for them.

  But he’d broken his rule. He’d gotten close to a girl, and he liked what he saw. A lot. Now, there was nothing left to do but sober up and leave in the morning before he did something he regretted, like tell her how much he liked her. He didn’t want to lead her on, to make her think he wanted more than a night of fun when he didn’t.

  And never would, no matter how much he liked her.

  “How old’s your sister?”

  He let go of her hair. “She’s probably about your age.”

  “Which is…?” she asked teasingly.

  Shit. Didn’t he read somewhere to never guess a woman’s age? “I might not be a relationship guy, but even I’m smart enough to sense that this is a trap…”

  “Fine, don’t guess my age,” she said, chuckling. “Tell me hers.”

  “Twenty-six.” He flopped back again. “She’s engaged.�
�

  “I’m twenty-four.”

  “Shit.” He rolled toward her, smiling. “You’re practically a baby.”

  “Hardly,” she scoffed.

  “When I was twenty-four, I was barely able to throw a ball.”

  “That’s not true. You had great stats that year.”

  He blinked. “You memorized my stats?”

  “Of course I did. I love football.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “Tonight has been…surreal. Thank you for dancing with me, and teaching me yoga, and…”

  Kissing her? Was that what she’d been about to say? He hoped not. If she thanked him for that, he might just have to do it again. “I agree. But it’s not over yet.” Unless she wanted it to be. Was that what she hinted at? “Or is that your polite way of kicking me out of your bed?”

  “No, of course not.” She bit her lip. He’d learned that she did that when she was thinking, or stressed about something. “You can stay all night if you want. I don’t mind.”

  “Don’t have to be in early for work?”

  She smiled. “Nine. But that’s not exactly early. You?”

  “Practice at ten. Not early, either.”

  She tapped her fingers on the bed between them. “Are you nervous for this weekend?”

  “Not really.” He shrugged. “I don’t really get nervous…like, ever.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Ever?”

  “Correct,” he said. “I’ve got to be the calm one out there. If I’m losing my shit and scared to lose, my team will sense it, and it messes up the whole vibe.”

  She locked eyes with him, her lips parted slightly. “But that’s on the field. What about, like, real life? Dates? Interviews? Sex?”

  “Sex doesn’t make me nervous.” He scooted closer to her, but then stopped himself. Bad. Fucking. Idea. “I know what I’m doing in bed, and as I said, it’s like dancing. One partner takes the lead, and the other enjoys the ride, so to speak.”

  Her cheeks pinked even more, and her breath quickened. “Do you like to be in control, or do you like to enjoy the ride?”

  Shit. He shouldn’t answer that. But, in his defense, he hadn’t started this topic. She had…and she deserved an answer, right? “I like to be in control. What about you?”

  His voice sounded deeper than usual.

  Fuuuuck.

  “I…” She licked her lips, shifting slightly. “I guess I…I guess I’d like to enjoy the ride.”

  “You guess?” He frowned. “Are you…have you never…?”

  “I have,” she said quickly, passing pink and going straight to red at this point. “Just, only with one man, and not in five years.”

  “Jesus.” He rolled onto his side so he could see her. Her mouth. Her eyes. Her slim, curvy body. Everything about her screamed perfection, and yet she’d kept herself locked away for five years because of an asshole who hadn’t treated her right? That made him sad. “You need to get out there. I meant what I said earlier. You’re the whole package. Some guy would be lucky to call you his.”

  She took a breath, her eyes glassing over with what might have been tears, but they disappeared when she blinked. “I’m going to. I’m going to live again.”

  “Good.” Although, for some reason, the idea of her living through other men didn’t sit well with him. In fact, he was pretty sure he was about to hurl. “You deserve happiness.”

  She bit her tongue. “So do you.”

  “I’m happy,” he said, perhaps a little defensively.

  He wasn’t sure why, though.

  “I’m going to remember this night, this conversation, fondly,” she admitted. “I’ll never forget that, for one night, I had a guy like you in my bed.”

  Unable to resist, despite the warning bells going off in his head, he pressed his mouth to her forehead, kissing her sweetly. Somehow, someway, it was even more personal than the kiss he had given her earlier in her living room. “Even when there’s another man next to you?”

  “I guess it depends on the guy, doesn’t it?”

  He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent. He should go as soon as the booze cleared from his mind, or maybe earlier, via Uber, but he didn’t actually want to do so. Irrationally, it felt like once he left, his spot would immediately be filled with another man. He didn’t want her alone and miserable, but the idea of her being in love with another man made him miserable.

  What did that even mean?

  He hadn’t even fucked her, for Christ’s sake.

  She wasn’t his. He didn’t want anyone to be his.

  And yet…

  Obviously, she deserved every happiness in the world. She deserved a man who would stay by her side and love her, and show her she wasn’t as boring as she liked to believe. Someone who would do yoga with her every night, and dance to no music, and wouldn’t leave in the morning because he refused to jeopardize his career. He pulled back, cupping her cheeks but firmly reminding himself that she was not his for the taking. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

  She blinked, holding on to his wrist. “Sure. Anything.”

  “Promise me you’ll live? That you’ll stop thinking you’re boring and not worth getting to know? Because I can assure you, as a man who spent the night with you…you so are.”

  “I promise.” She flicked her tongue over her lips. “You made it so easy to take that first leap of faith, to jump with both feet into new things, and I’m going to keep on doing it. Keep on jumping.”

  “No more being afraid?” he asked.

  “No more being afraid.” She rested a hand behind his neck. “Can you promise me something?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you ever need anything—just a person to talk to, or a friend to do yoga with, someone to kiss without strings attached—call me. I’ll be here, and I will never expect more out of you than you’re willing to give me.” She locked eyes with him. “Never.”

  It would be so easy to take her up on that offer. To take what she was willing to give him, and give her nothing in return. It was what he did. Who he was. But with her…

  He wanted to do better.

  To be better.

  An unfamiliar emotion swelled within him, choking him. He ached to pull her into her arms, whisper that she didn’t need to date anyone else, that she could just fuck him, and then prove it to her through actions instead of words. He did none of those things. Instead, he said, “I promise.”

  With that, she smiled, closed her eyes, and moments later, she was asleep.

  Just like that.

  He watched her sleep for a little while, and his eyelids grew heavier with each breath she took. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, or when he’d fallen asleep too, but at some point, he must have, because when he opened his eyes, dawn was creeping over the sky and his head was clear of any lingering effects of alcohol, which meant…

  It was time to go.

  Turning his head slowly, he gazed at her beauty without her noticing. She had her hands folded under her cheek, and her eyes had drifted shut. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, and her cheeks had a rosy hue to them that he’d never forget. She was asleep next to him, wearing her dress from the night before, and he was also still fully clothed.

  He didn’t want to move.

  Didn’t want to stop holding her against him.

  That was his cue to leave.

  Still, he didn’t move.

  He glanced around the room. Light blue walls. Dresser topped with perfume, jewelry, and one family photo. A couple of romance books. A closet filled with clothes. A chair in front of a makeup mirror, with cups filled to the brim with brushes. Hair products were scattered over the top of the vanity, along with some makeup, too. All the things that he would assume a woman would have in her room were present, yet there was something special about it all. It was as if he saw into her life a little bit and understood her better.

  Every shirt hanging in her open closet was prim. Proper. Pretty. Everything was put together with careful c
onsideration. In its place. Properly organized. When she’d shown up on his doorstep and sung that song, she’d been begging for someone to take her out of her carefully constructed shell. She’d been dying to live.

  She told him that he’d helped her find that thrill she’d so desperately needed. If that was true, then he could walk away from her happy. He’d helped her change her life.

  He would have to be content with that.

  It was all he could offer her.

  Gritting his teeth, he rolled out of the bed, making sure to be silent as he walked over to her dresser where he’d seen a pen and a notepad. He could see the indent in the paper where she’d written something, and he touched it, tracing her elegant scrawl.

  She had pretty writing. Much prettier than his.

  Picking up the pen, he jotted down a quick message. After he finished, he tore the paper off, folded it in half, and placed it on the pillow where his head had been moments before.

  After one last look at her rosy cheeks, parted lips, long lashes, and soft blond hair, he slipped out of her bedroom, grabbed his shoes off the floor, and walked out the door just like he’d said he would all along. And true to his word…

  He didn’t look back even once.

  Chapter Eight

  One week later, sweat rolled down Kassidy’s cheek, and she held on tightly, putting every ounce of strength she had into thrusting her body forward. Her heart pounded fast, echoing in her ears, and she let out a groan as she pushed even harder, straining every muscle to get closer to her goal. Nothing happened.

  “Son of a bitch,” she snarled, kicking the hutch.

  Howling, she clutched her toes and hopped in circles, shooting death glares at the offending piece of furniture the whole time. This morning, she’d woken up and decided her living room was boring and had the bright idea to change things up. Changing things up had gotten her a hutch that was stuck on a loose plank in the floor, and a throbbing toe.

  Still, she didn’t regret her choice.

  Changing things up was a necessity in her new life.