Harlequin Superromance May 2016 Box Set

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Hold on a minute. I held off because of our deal about the camp. Then Kent was called away for the College World Series, and then the doctor gave you the promising but three more weeks diagnosis. I haven’t buried anything,” she said, pushing against his chest, but he was too solid to move. She’d promised Earl to hold off, but that wasn’t burying. And Jonas couldn’t know about that already. “I didn’t lie about anything.” She shoved again and this time he stepped back.

  “Right, right. You let someone else be the face of the story. You just provided the video evidence.”

  Heart pounding, she took a few steps away from him. “What story and what evidence?” But she had a feeling she already knew. They’d been there, she and Kent, when Jonas threw that horrible pass. She’d seen his face after it. She hadn’t shared the tape with anyone, though.

  Jonas dug in his pocket for his phone, tapped a few times and then handed it to her. She watched as the sports anchor for a rival local affiliate broke the story about Jonas’s injury, suggesting there was a cover-up within the Kentuckians organization. It was hard to breathe. Brooks sat down on the curb and watched the clip again. Blinked.

  “I can’t believe he went on-air with zero corroboration. He didn’t talk to doctors, no team comments, nothing from you. It’s all speculation.”

  “As he said, all the evidence he needs is that one throw.”

  “I didn’t give him the tape, Jonas. First, it does me no good to have someone else break a story—”

  “Except it might save face with the team. With Earl.” Their gazes clashed. “With me.”

  Brooks handed the phone back to him. “Second, my bosses would kill me because he works for another affiliate. Again, harmful to my career and livelihood. Third, if you really think I have so little integrity that I would go not only behind your back, but that I’d risk my professional reputation on that half-assed excuse for a story, you don’t know me at all.”

  “You made that deal with Earl and me about the camp and the interview.” Jonas shook his head, as if trying to convince himself she wasn’t innocent.

  “I agreed because it made sense. For my job. An unwilling interview that day or a willing interview later on? I’ll take the willing on that. Every single time.” She pushed the promise she’d just made Earl out of her mind; it was moot now, anyway. The rumors were out there and they would only get bigger until Jonas talked about the injury and his plans.

  “That’s your footage, though.”

  “It certainly looks like it, and that brings me to three: I don’t know how that anchor got it, but I’ll find out.”

  He squeezed his hands around his head and stared at the pavement for a long time. “Why did this have to happen now?”

  Brooks reached out. “We can get in front of it. Kent has probably left the affiliate already, but he’ll come back if I call. We can sit down at the condominium. You can tell your side of the story. By tomorrow morning the rumors will be replaced with facts.”

  “Which facts? The fact that I’ll be the quarterback of the Kentuckians this season? That isn’t fact.” He fisted his hands and pulled away from her. “It might be wishful thinking.”

  “Either way, it’s your story to tell,” she said. “There is the mud run coming up, we just finished up shooting at the camp. Even if you’re not the quarterback, you’re trying to change the party-boy image. If the doctors don’t clear you to play you’ve started the push to transition into something else. Coaching, maybe.”

  “I’m a player, not a coach.” Jonas blew out a breath. “If I want my position I have a workout to finish. You should go home.”

  “Jonas—”

  “Go home, Brooks. I’ll call you tomorrow to set up that interview.” He turned on his heel and walked quickly back to the training facility.

  Brooks watched him go, her heart hurting for him. He deserved to play. Despite all the tabloid stories and rumors, despite her own impressions, the man she had come to know over the past few weeks was a good man. He deserved to tell his story in his own way and in his own time. No matter what he’d done with his career to this point, he didn’t deserve to have half truths and speculation destroy it.

  * * *

  INSIDE THE TRAINING ROOM, Jonas checked the weight on a Nautilus machine, changed it to what he’d lifted before the injury and took his seat. Starting with his hands even with his chest, he pushed the handles up and out, grunting as he did. It didn’t hurt, though, so he pushed again, still hearing that newscaster in his head.

  A big problem heading into training camp. Our calls have not been returned.

  Yeah, well his call hadn’t been returned, either. Before leaving the facility to give Brooks a piece of his mind he’d called the television station, demanding they put the newscaster on the phone. They took his number and hung up. He could see the footage in his head and ordered his mind to relive that pass. Had it hurt as much as his expression indicated?

  For the life of him, Jonas couldn’t remember it hurting much at all. It was an ugly pass that fell far short of the target, but pain wasn’t part of the memory. Embarrassment was.

  He lifted the bar again, and then dropped it. He didn’t want to lift weights. Didn’t want to practice throwing. He just wanted all of this to be over.

  He wanted to forget the hurt look in Brooks’s eyes when he’d accused her. She was a better reporter—no, a better person than that. He knew it, and still he’d been angry enough to go after her integrity. If she’d wanted to flag his rehab she could have done it a dozen times during the camp, and the day of the throw was only one.

  She could have made some kind of spectacle of Mark.

  There had been little skirmishes between some of the kids.

  She’d stuck by their deal: raising awareness for the camp and the need for programs like it in exchange for the interview.

  Jonas let the bar drop back down and sat up. Even then, she didn’t push for the interview.

  Still, he had insinuated she was guilty. This wasn’t just about him. Someone had used her footage to out his shoulder issues, but the network would expect her to have broken the story.

  The door opened and she walked through, the setting sun hitting her blond hair and making it glow. She wore a strapless yellow dress that hugged her torso and then skimmed over her hips. Through the thin fabric he could see the slim outline of her legs, the fullness of her hips.

  His ridiculous need to keep every struggle quiet was hurting her. Until the doctor insisted surgery was his best option, he had thought he was stronger than this. Stronger than the boy he’d been who swilled Maalox by the carton because he was worried he wouldn’t live up to his mother’s expectations. He wasn’t trying to be someone he wasn’t, and still he’d been afraid to let anyone see that weakness.

  She crossed the black, rubberized floor, a serious expression on her face. Shoulders back like a soldier, only she wasn’t standing for inspection. She looked as if she could take the enemy hill.

  “I’m not going to let you push me away,” she said when she got to the weight bench. “I’m not one of your red carpet girls who is only around for the parties and five-course dinners and limo rides. Especially since I navigated that red carpet alone. You’ve never taken me to a five-star restaurant, and the one time we showed up at the same club we left ten minutes later.”

  “I told you before I don’t need you running press for me,” he said, determined to send her right back out the door. This wasn’t just about him any longer. This time his mistake could come back on her. “I’ll have my agent send out a press release. I’ll do the interview with you and whatever that jackass was trying to pull will be old news by the weekend.”

  “I’m not trying to run press for you.”

  “Yes, you are. We’re friends—”

  “You called me your girlfriend a couple of
nights ago,” she interrupted.

  “Fine. We’re in a relationship.” Funny how using that word in connection with her made his palms sweat.

  Brooks put a knee on either side of his hips and laid her mouth across his. Her lips were hard against his one second and soft the next. With her arms around his shoulders, she pressed her body against his, and Jonas couldn’t stop his own arms from circling her hips and holding her in place. She drew back.

  “I’m not going to let you push me away.”

  Jonas blinked. He’d been about to make a point. A good point. A solid, Brooks-saving point. All he could think about this second, though, was kissing her again. Slow and easy. Kissing her long enough that he wouldn’t remember the innuendo in that report.

  Right. His career. Her career. Keeping her at a safe distance because while he expected to be back on the field in September that wasn’t a definite. And if he didn’t have football, what could he offer her?

  Jonas lifted her off his lap and gently pushed her back. Then he stepped to the other side of the weight bench because he knew if she were within arm’s reach, he’d cave. He would kiss her again. Get lost with her again. Make love with her again.

  All of that with-her stuff was great for him. Being with him could very well be bad for her.

  “We need to talk about this, not just the story,” he said and then pointed his index finger toward her and then back to himself. “About this. I’m not good for you, not right now.”

  “I’m twenty-eight years old. I can decide what’s good for me,” she said and straightened her shoulders.

  “What are your bosses going to say when they see this report? Are they going to jump for joy that their sideliner has been in Kentucky for a couple of weeks and has filled her reports with news from a kid’s football camp?” Brooks folded her arms over her chest. “Or are they going to look at you getting scooped and cut their losses?”

  “I didn’t get scooped. Scooped means someone got the full story before I did. All I did was keep innuendo out of my reporting.”

  “Do you really think they’ll see it that way? Because I’m not a fool, Brooks. I know drama makes headlines and headlines sell advertising and advertising underwrites the paychecks.”

  “When I tell them what happened they won’t fire me. Besides, I have you in my back pocket.” A smile spread across her face, those green eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. “People like me so I’ll find out who stole our footage. I’ll report the full story about your injury and that jerk will be sorry he ever went into the sports world.”

  “Good, get that game face on.” Now came the hard part. Because while she was covering the bases on the story, he was going to cover her whether she liked it or not. “Until all of this goes away, I think it’s best if we keep our distance from each other.”

  Brooks blinked as if he’d just spoken to her in Greek.

  “That way no one can play the ethics card against you.” His intention dawned on her and she narrowed her mouth and folded her arms. “The story won’t just be will I play. It will be what did Brooks Smith know and when did she know it and did playboy Jonas use sexual favors to keep her quiet.” He clenched his jaw. Maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but not by much. The press was notorious for building a person up and then cackling as they brought that same person down.

  “As long as we know—”

  “I’m serious. They’ll be relentless. You’re from the news world so you know what it can be like, but you’ve never had those cameras and those questions peppering you for days on end. I have. Those first two years I was a Kentuckian it was all about what I didn’t do on the field or why I couldn’t hold my offense together or how the defense let me down. The pressure and the questions were crushing. What I did on the field didn’t matter. What I said to the reporters did.”

  “So you became the life of the football party because a few reporters asked some hard questions?” Brooks shook her head.

  “No. I became the life of the party because when my teammates weren’t thinking about those hard questions, they played better. We all did. It was us against the world, and we made the world want us despite the fact that we didn’t make the play-offs most years.” He couldn’t stand there and not touch her. Jonas stepped over the weight bench and caressed her cheek. “I’ve never in my life felt the need to protect someone. I want to protect you. I’m going to play. I will be cleared, I’ll play, and I’ll finish fixing up my image. I’m not going to let you drag yourself down into the mud with me, I’m just not.”

  He placed a kiss on her pert nose. “I respect you too much to let you sacrifice yourself for me, and it would be a sacrifice, believe me.”

  “I can handle the pressure.”

  He had no doubt about that. Still, Jonas didn’t want her to have to handle it.

  “I made this mess. Until last season, I screwed around with this opportunity, and then I was injured. I’m the one who refused to talk about the injury. If I’d handled things differently that reporter wouldn’t have had a story to tell. Let me do this. Let me protect you.”

  Brooks bent her head to kiss his thumb as he caressed her cheek. “I’m going to tell you one more time I don’t need your protection. I don’t expect you to listen, but I’m saying it anyway,” she said.

  Jonas pulled her into his arms and held her for a long moment. If this was the last time he’d hold her, he was going to make it last. Memorize every curve and angle of her body. He kissed the crown of her head. But not on a dirty weight room floor.

  He wanted to take her home, to his home. To the farm. He wanted to see her on that big sleigh bed, tangled up in his striped sheets. Wanted to see her standing at the kitchen sink or sitting at the dining room table.

  “Take me home,” she said. Her voice was quiet in the room. Brooks laid her head on his shoulder and put her arms around his neck as he led her out.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I DIDN’T REALIZE you had a secret hideaway,” Brooks said after a moment. They sat in his truck in front of a white farm with bright blue shutters and a matching tin roof. Her parents had put a similar one on their house a few years ago, in black, to match the roof the renovators had put on the barn. The same deep porch with a swing. A couple of ancient rocking chairs on one end. Not the kind of place she had expected.

  Especially not when he’d taken her to the condo barely a week before.

  “I wanted somewhere no one knew about,” he said, “and I wanted to share it with you.”

  His words sent a shiver down her spine. They’d made love several times, but he’d never hinted he lived anywhere but the condo.

  She turned to look at him. “I’m glad you brought me here.”

  “I didn’t want our last time to be on the rubber floor in the weight room. Very uncomfortable,” he said, grinning at her. There was a sadness in his eyes that let her know this wasn’t a joke to him. He really did want this to be their last night together.

  Well, to hell with that. The longer she stayed with him, Brooks decided, the better her chances of showing him she didn’t need protection from that idiot anchor and his half-assed report. Of course, if she told him that now he would probably drive her back to the barn and this would get nowhere.

  “I’m not under any illusions, Jonas.” Her voice was loud in the cab. “I won’t lie and tell you this is just chemistry because I don’t believe it is. I like you. I admire what you’ve accomplished in the last six months. And let’s face it, you were the Beast to my Belle for a little stretch there.” She reached across the cab and took his hand. This time the burn that always came when they touched was light, a little sizzle along her arm, but just as sweet as the hot fire that usually burned.

  “I did save your butt that day. And a sweet little butt it is.” He chuckled and finally looked at her. “I don’t thin
k this is chemistry, either, but that doesn’t change my mind. I won’t get in your way.”

  “You aren’t in my way. You aren’t bringing me down. When the network offices open tomorrow I’ll call my boss. We’ll do the interview when you’re ready—”

  “Tomorrow. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “Okay, tomorrow. What I’m telling you is I want to be with you, but I’ll settle for just being two people who enjoy spending time together for tonight.”

  “I didn’t think girls from Kentucky played fast and loose with their reputations like this.”

  She grinned at him. “I haven’t lived in Kentucky for a long time. And how many times do I have to remind you I was brought up on football? We athletic types take what we want when we want it.”

  “We’ll probably both regret it in the morning.”

  “I know.” She reached across the cab and when he would have spoken again, rested her hand against his stubbled cheek. “Jonas. I won’t regret tonight or any other morning or afternoon or night we’ve been together. Not a single second of it.”

  He was around the old truck, opening her door before she could say more. Handing her down onto the ground and holding her elbow as the soft earth sucked at her kitten heels. Their footsteps echoed against the porch floor, and inside a tiny lamp illuminated a supple leather couch and chair.

  Stairs leading to the second floor split the living and dining areas. So much like the house she’d grown up in that she could almost guess the number of steps it would take to circle both rooms. His old tennis shoes sat beside the front door, a stack of sports magazines littered the cherry coffee table. No flowers. Only a couple of decorative pillows. Unlike the condo there was no chrome and glass. No ego wall.