Rules of the Game

by Sandy James

  I picked up the beer and sipped mostly foam while those steel-blue eyes continued to take their measure of me. I tried to sit up a little straighter, wondering what he saw when he looked at me. I wanted him to see Kathryn West. God help me, he probably saw Maddie Sawyer.

  “How much?” he finally asked.

  “How much? You mean to escort me?”

  A lock of hair fell across his forehead when he nodded. All I wanted to do was reach over and brush it back. Then I’d run my fingers through that gorgeous black hair, and then…

  I hoped this spontaneous heat I’d just plunged into would leave as quickly as it arrived. It was going to be hard enough to pull this off. If I lusted after the guy the whole reunion weekend, I wouldn’t be able to be the aloof and in-control Kathryn West.

  His laugh sounded perfect too. “Are you going to tell me how much, or are you just going to sit there and stare at me all night?”

  I was staring? The beer had made my thoughts a little fuzzy. I never could hold my alcohol. “I guess we’d be talking about a thousand, maybe? I’ll pay for the train ticket, and—”

  “Train?”

  “Yeah, I hate to fly.”

  “Where’s the reunion?”

  Here was the potential deal breaker. I’d finally gotten a live one on the hook, and he was about to wriggle free. “Pottsville.”

  “Where’s that?”

  I was afraid he would ask that. No one ever visited Indiana on purpose. Only the Indy 500, a Colts home game and perhaps, as in my case, some parental guilt got most people to voluntarily travel to the Hoosier State. “Indiana.” Figuring he’d be running for the door at any moment, I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to witness his retreat.

  Funny thing, but when my eyes opened, he was still sitting across from me.

  “When?”

  “You’re thinking about taking me up on my offer?” I held my breath.

  He put his bottle down and leaned back in his chair. “Slow down there, angel. We don’t know anything about each other. What’s your name?”

  “Maddie. Maddie Sawyer.”

  “Well, Maddie Sawyer. Nice to meet you. I’m Scott Brady.” He scooted his chair away from the table and stood up. “Let’s shoot some pool.”

  Chapter Two

  “No, not like that, Maddie. You’re holding the cue all wrong again.” Scott slipped behind me, pressed his broad chest to my back and put his big hands over mine.

  Heat raced through me like an electrical shock. I had never been much good at pool, but four beers and Scott standing too close sure weren’t helping matters much. I really should have eaten something for dinner other than the stale pretzels the bartender had brought with my last refill, but I hadn’t expected to be drinking so much. Or shooting pool. Or having a gorgeous man rub up against me. Repeatedly.

  “Like this.” His hands guided mine to make a perfect shot. “Seven ball in the corner pocket.” His breath brushed warm against my ear, sending a delightful shiver racing over my skin.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled as I awkwardly tried to brush his arms aside. Having him this close had started to wear on my already frayed and very tipsy nerves. We’d played several games of pool, and I’d grown steadily worse. Scott must have seen how flustered I was getting, because he started taking on a concerned teacher voice and showing me how to make tough shots.

  Every single time he touched me, my stomach did a delicious flip-flop. If skin touched skin, my whole body flushed hot. The guy was turning me on more than any man I’d ever met, and he wasn’t even trying.

  It’s just the beer.

  I was still sufficiently sober to know how stupid that excuse was.

  Checking his watch, Scott frowned. “I hate to end the evening, but it’s time to get going. I’ve gotta get up with the sun.”

  In my dirty little mind, all I could think about was a certain part of his anatomy that probably also rose with the sun. I gave my head a sobering shake.

  Did that mean he worked construction? Didn’t they always start around dawn? I tried to picture what a rugged guy like Scott did to earn a living. He had to work hard to build muscles like those. Was he a carpenter? Or a mechanic? I even pictured him working some highway crew, pounding a jackhammer into the concrete.

  I wanted him to pound into something else.

  Me.

  Beer always made me stupid.

  Scott took my pool cue and pushed it into the wall holder. Then he put up his own cue.

  There was only one thing left for me to do—I had to ask the million-dollar question. The alcohol gave me courage. “Have you decided whether to go to the reunion with me?”

  “No.”

  My heart stopped beating for a moment. “No?” My voice sounded more like a frightened squeak than a word. No as in he wouldn’t go, or no as in he hadn’t decided? My brain just didn’t want to work anymore. I was too tired, too tipsy and too afraid he was turning me down.

  He shook his head. “No, I haven’t decided.”

  I tossed him an indignant sigh. “Well, why not?”

  “Slow down, angel. We need to spend a little more time together before I decide.”

  “Don’t you need the money? I figured a guy like you could use some cash.” I realized what an idiot I was right after the words slipped out. Shit, one of these days I really needed to learn to engage my brain before throwing my mouth into gear.

  Those blue eyes narrowed, and I could feel my face flush warmer.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I shouldn’t have said—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” Scott grabbed a weathered leather jacket from the back of a chair. “Look, lady, you don’t even know anything about me. Maybe I’m not some biker. Maybe I’m really some yuppie lawyer who has tons of dough but just wants to hang out with the guys and ride a motorcycle. Maybe in my real life I wear Armani suits to work and have a mansion on Long Island.”

  I chuckled. “People like that don’t hang around places like this, and they don’t drive Harleys.”

  “Ride,” he scolded. “You ride a motorcycle. You don’t drive one.” I could have sworn those handsome eyes were laughing at me. “So you think you already know everything about me? You think I’m exactly what you see? No more, no less?”

  “I always trust my first impression. You probably need the money, and I’ll make it worth your while.” Funny, but my words sounded a little slurred and quite bossy. “Let me give you my number. You can think about it and give me a call.”

  “No.”

  That word was starting to annoy the hell out of me. “No?”

  “I want something from you first.”

  “If you’re trying to negotiate price, I told you I’d pay—”

  “You want my services, Maddie? Then I want something in return. Other than money.” His gaze raked me from head to toe. “You’d be perfect.”

  Well, shit. My brain was really not at its peak efficiency, but this I understood. Perfect or not, guys were all alike in the end. They only thought with their groins. “This is my game. You don’t get to change the rules. I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “Didn’t ask you to.”

  Was I supposed to be happy or disappointed with that hasty answer? “Then what else could you—”

  “I want you to go out with me. I have some friends who are constantly trying to set me up with dates, and I want you to convince them you’re my girlfriend. You know, I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Tit for tat.”

  Hearing the word tit coming from Scott’s lips forced out a silly and entirely immature giggle I tried to swallow. It was his fault for suggesting I sleep with him as a way to pay him back for going to the reunion. That was what he’d said. Wasn’t it?

  I suddenly couldn’t remember. I concentrated instead on his suggestion that I go out with him, but I didn’t understand why he’d even brought that up. Maybe when I was sober again, I could sort through it all. “But you just said you wanted to take me out, I figured that meant yo
u’d wanna…you know.”

  “I didn’t say we’d go out so we could have sex. Get your mind out of the gutter. I need help convincing my friends we’re a couple.”

  Beer or not, Scott wasn’t making any sense. “Why would you want to trick your friends?”

  He held his jacket up as if he wanted me to put it on. I obliged him. I couldn’t remember if it was cold outside or not. For all I knew, the seasons had changed because it seemed like a year had passed since I walked into this bar. While he might be a roughneck biker, at least someone had taught him manners. I slid my arms into the jacket and let him wrap it around me. It smelled wonderful. All leather and male. I never wanted to give it back.

  “Because,” he finally replied, “I’m sick of them trying to fix me up with everything in a skirt.”

  I followed him out of Trixie’s. He only had to help steady me twice when I tripped where the floor became warped. I sure hadn’t noticed those defects when I arrived.

  The subway was only a couple blocks away. I checked my watch and realized it was getting awfully late. “I’d really like your help with my reunion. Can we talk more about this later?” I fished around in my pocket, pulled out a wrinkled business card that only had my real name and my cell phone number, and handed it to him. “I’m gonna catch the subway.”

  Scott was already shaking his head before all my slurred words finished slipping from my mouth. He shoved the card into the back pocket of his Levis. “I’m not letting you on the subway alone. You’re drunk.”

  “I don’t get drunk.” I’d learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago.

  His disbelieving laugh didn’t make me mad like I thought it should. “Well, you did tonight. I’m taking you home.”

  “But you were drinking too. I hate people who drink and drive. Bunch of assholes who don’t give a damn if they kill someone. But you’re a nice guy. So I don’t think you drive drunk. Right?” Why was I rambling?

  “I don’t ever drink and drive, and I think drunk drivers are assholes too. I quit at two beers, Maddie.” A quick glance at his watch. “That was almost two hours ago. I’m as sober as a preacher on Sunday.”

  He dragged me over to a motorcycle that appeared too big and far too dangerous for me to ride. Even if I was drunk, I wasn’t stupid. What had I been thinking? Kathryn might be able to ride on one of those monsters. Hell, she’d probably enjoy the rumble of it between her thighs. To Maddie Sawyer, all it looked like was the potential cause of a major road rash or a head injury that could turn me into an organ donor.

  “On that?” I pointed a shaking finger at the Harley. “You can’t expect me to ride on that?”

  Scott nodded.

  “I’ll fall off.”

  He shrugged as if he didn’t care before he let me off the hook. “I’d never let you fall. Or I’d least be a gentleman enough to come back and get you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Picking up a black helmet, he pushed it toward me. “I’ll even let you wear my helmet.”

  My palms smoothed over its the glossy surface while I considered whether to go with him. Kathryn West would go. Kathryn West would climb right on board. Kathryn West would toss the helmet aside, grab Perfect Man around that trim waist and lean her cheek against his back. God, I wished she was here right now. But she’d vanished with the second beer.

  I’d probably have to wait at least a half hour for a train. “Fine.” I tried to don the thing. It didn’t seem to fit. I pushed and tugged until I finally gave up. The stupid helmet was half on, half off, and I couldn’t see a damned thing.

  Scott’s chuckle came from my left. “Let me help.”

  A little maneuvering and a big push and I was wearing his helmet. At least I could see again. I flipped up the tinted visor, wondering if I could possibly look as ridiculous as I feared I did.

  “Where we heading, angel?” he asked.

  “Times Square.”

  He threw a muscular leg over the Harley. “You live in Times Square?”

  “Forty-sixth Street. Close to Restaurant Row. Do you know where it is?” He was probably from a borough and didn’t know much about Manhattan. I couldn’t decide if he was a Queens kind of guy or if Brooklyn was a better fit. Thank God, he didn’t have an accent. Maybe he was like me and had grown up someplace else.

  The engine growled to life. Scott answered, but between the muffling of the helmet and the roar of the motorcycle, I couldn’t hear him. He straddled the seat and gave the space behind him a pat. I threw a leg over and almost fell to the other side of the street. A strong hand gripped my elbow and dragged me back. He grabbed my calf and showed me where to put my foot. I fumbled around on the opposite side until he took mercy on me. His fingers guided my foot to the place it could rest. After I finally got settled, Scott eased the motorcycle out into traffic while I clung to him like ivy on a brick wall.

  * * *

  As I entered my apartment, Scott followed. I knew I was in trouble when I heard the thundering of heavy paws hurrying down the hall. My dog, Cleopatra, came bounding into the foyer and greeted Scott with a growl and a St. Bernard salute—two paws pressed against his chest as she stood on her hind legs. Whenever she did that to me, which was almost anytime I came home, she could look me in the eye while she slobbered on my face in greeting. With Scott, she was staring at his chest.

  Damn, but he was tall. And big. Funny, but here I was alone in my place with a guy I didn’t even know. A guy the size of a linebacker. For all I knew, his face could be gracing the bulletin board at NYPD headquarters. But I wasn’t afraid of him. Not even a little. Maybe it was the alcohol dulling my common sense. Maybe it was the fact that he was incredibly handsome. Maybe it was because I was laughing in my mind, thinking this could be the beginning of either a great porno or a cheesy slasher flick.

  I really shouldn’t drink. All it does is get me in serious trouble.

  Despite my dog’s rudeness, Scott grinned, obviously not intimidated by her bluff of a growl. He put both hands on her face and petted her by roughing her fur and making her jowls flap, the exact way she liked to play, which immediately ended the rumble she made deep in her throat and earned him her heart.

  How did I know he’d charmed my dog? Because Cleo gave him a very wet lick up his whole face before she dropped back to all fours and padded across the room. She jumped up on the couch, where she knew she wasn’t supposed to sit, plopped down and tossed me a smug dog smile.

  “Sorry.” I hurried across my open-concept condo to grab a kitchen towel. I walked back over to Scott and gently wiped away the trace of spit Cleo had left on his face. He smiled, reaching out to smooth his fingers over my cheek, mimicking what I was doing to him. The action seemed so intimate, it took me by surprise.

  His fingers were warm and slightly calloused. The masculinity of his touch took my breath away. Scott didn’t sit behind a desk all day. This man worked with his hands. I found him so utterly appealing, I couldn’t seem to focus on anything except the feel of his fingers on my skin and the look of his full lips.

  With a heart-stopping grin, Scott dropped his hand and stepped around me to roam my great room. He acted as though he had all the time in the world to peruse my things. His fingers brushed over the hibernating laptop on my desk. His gaze wandered over the framed pictures of me and my family. His booted feet deftly sidestepped the piles of magazines and books scattered around the room. He came to a stop in front of my bookcase and seemed to be reading every title.

  “Kathryn West,” he finally said.

  How in the hell had he figured out my pen name? I couldn’t remember, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t told him I was a writer. “Um…yeah, about her. I can explain.”

  Scott’s smile warmed me all the way to the tips of my toes. Then his words took away my concern. “What’s to explain? You own ten copies of every one of these books. She’s got to be your favorite author, right?”

  I actually giggled in relief. “Right. My absolute favorite.”


  After his turn about the room, he came to stand in front of me. “Are you taking me up on my offer?”

  “Offer?”

  “To go out with me.”

  “Out with you?” Thank God, my wits came tumbling back. “If I do, you’ll go to the reunion with me? I’ll still pay you, of course.”

  “Of course,” he drawled as if I’d missed the punch line of some joke. “I’ll decide after you convince my friends I don’t need to be fixed up with every unattached woman in New York City.”

  If he wanted me to act like his girlfriend for one night, I wouldn’t see it as a hardship. In fact, I would throw myself into the role with gusto that would make any improvisation coach proud. “If I satisfy them, then you’ll go with me to Indiana?”

  Strong hands settled on my shoulders. “Because we’re playing by your rules, then yes, I’ll go with you to Indiana. Assuming we’re still talking after you meet my friends.”

  His smile was simply too much. I needed to kiss that sexy mouth. The beer gave me false courage. I leaned in, pushed up on my tip-toes and brushed a quick kiss over his lips. He frowned and took a small step back, appearing too much as if he was flinching away from me.

  I reacted as if he’d slapped me. The dish towel I was still holding hit his chest and dropped to the floor. “Since my pathetic kiss offended you so much, you can show yourself out.”

  Scott didn’t storm out. Instead, he put his hands on his hips and glared at me like Daddy used to do when he was getting ready to launch into one of his you’re-in-a-world-of-trouble-young-lady lectures. “You’re right,” he finally said. “That was a pathetic kiss.”

  My temper had a long fuse. I could usually keep my cool while everyone else went into meltdowns. Alcohol cut that fuse down to a votive candlewick. I was seriously looking around for something heavy to throw at his arrogant head. “Gee, thanks.”

  The distance between us closed in one step, and he reached out and cupped my face in his hands. “If you’re gonna kiss me, do it like this.” His mouth captured mine, absorbing my surprised gasp.

  Scott sure knew how to kiss. His lips were as warm and soft as I’d imagined, and the moment he nudged at my lips with his tongue, I opened my mouth, welcoming the invasion. Those incredible arms wrapped around me as I pushed mine around his neck.