Harley Brennan, Running Back

by Jean C. Joachim

  “When Sarah stuck her head in the library looking for you, I almost had a heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I bet you are. Your offer to vet the women for me…were you planning to toss them all?”

  “That wasn’t part of the plan. I’d never even considered snooping around and reporting back to you. But when I heard Helen scheming, I couldn’t keep quiet.”

  “True. Keeping quiet was never your strong point.” He rested his hand on his hip.

  “Hey! No need to be insulting.”

  “You’re not going to turn me against them so we can be together?”

  “I’d never do that. It’s dishonest, manipulative…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  Silence hung heavy in the air.

  “In fact, to be totally honest, Vanessa looks like the best shot for you.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘best shot’?”

  “She seems to be the most sincere. I mean, what can you tell by grabbing a few snatches of conversation? But the others seem to like her.”

  “Funny you say that, because she’s my top pick right now.”

  Forgetting she was naked, Shyla pushed up and rested her arms on the tub wall.

  “I didn’t know you were…undressed in there,” he said, moisture gathering on his upper lip.

  Shyla ducked down and looked away. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  “Forgot you were naked?” His eyebrows rose. “Don’t apologize.” He grinned.

  “Guess I’m just too comfortable around you.”

  He chuckled. “Used to being undressed with me?”

  “Something like that.” She cast a look at the horizon.

  He got closer, and his voice deepened. “Seeing you like that. Damn, Shy. You’re still the best.”

  She raised her gaze to his. He cupped her cheek and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Then, he lifted his head. “What I wouldn’t give for one more time with you,” he whispered.

  “Me too.”

  A zing of desire shot through her at the look of lust on his face. She pushed up a bit, baring her breasts to him. He didn’t miss an inch.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  She gripped his shoulders, pulling his lips to hers again. “Join me,” she breathed in his ear.

  “No suit.”

  “Didn’t stop me.”

  “Nothing stops you.”

  “Is that bad?”

  His laugh was low, deep, and sexy. “Hell, no.”

  Her libido snapped to attention. He’s not yours. Wake up. He doesn’t want you. He wants those other girls, and he’s going to have one of them. To have and to hold, forever. Not you. Just one more time. Once more, then I’ll let go.

  Her self-control went south. Need pulsed through her veins as he shoved his shorts to his ankles. He turned sideways, but not before she saw he wasn’t immune to her, not at all. Although he wasn’t fully erect, he was on the way. Gooseflesh popped up on her arms, despite the heat.

  Tears formed as she thought of him soon to be married to someone else.

  With a quiet splash, he was in the water next to her, his eyes feasting on her, his arms snaking around her waist, drawing her to him. Being undressed with Harley had been standard operating procedure whenever they had managed to steal a weekend, or even a night, together.

  Even shadowed, he wore a hungry look. He licked his lips, and she could imagine them pressed against parts of her body.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.

  “I know,” she squeaked.

  He tilted her chin up to where the reflected moonlight made her tears glisten. “Don’t cry, baby. You have an amazing career. You’re going straight to the top. Academy Award material. You’ll be famous. Every actor, producer, and rich guy in the world will be at your feet.”

  “Yeah, right. I’m holding out for the Shah of Iran. Oops, he’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Harley laughed.

  “Why am I so unhappy without you?” she asked. “We made the decision together.”

  He covered her breast with his palm. “We’ve got a little time here for a proper goodbye, Shy. What do you say?”

  “I say, let’s do it. One last time.” Her voice shook slightly.

  He took her hand and kissed it. “You’re irresistible. A goddess.”

  “Do what you do better than anyone in the world,” she whispered.

  His kiss was gentle. But Shyla was having none of that. Pent up need burst through. She opened for him and hunger took over as the ache for Harley grew in her loins.

  She maneuvered onto his lap. He squeezed her flesh, repeating her name in her ear. Her hands had a mind of their own as they slipped through the hair on his chest. He was a drug she was addicted to. His scent, the feel of his skin, and the taste of his mouth teased her.

  She reached for him, closing her fingers around him, feeling the silkiness of his skin and the hardness of his desire. He slipped a finger inside her. She moaned, easing her head down to rest on his shoulder. He bent to kiss her throat, adding a second digit, beginning a rhythm. Her hips arched up against him as her eyes drifted closed.

  The heat inside her grew to match that of the water cradling them.

  “Do it, do it, do it. Take me, Harley, God,” she gasped, clinging to him, gripping his back, digging into his muscles.

  Harley encircled her waist and rearranged them so that she was sitting on the seat and he was kneeling between her legs. He pushed them up, so her knees were bent. His shaft, hard as a rock, rested against her thigh. Shy hooked her ankles behind his back, pulling him closer until he was almost inside her. One thrust, and he entered.

  She groaned, rising to meet him.

  “Shy, baby,” he muttered against her damp hair, while moving his hips back and forth. He lifted her generous breast out of the water and sucked the hard nub into his mouth. She arched her back, hissing as he tugged, raising her heat level more. Passion spiraled up and up, as he moved in and out, again and again. His muscles rippled under her fingertips, his breath, hot on her neck. The basic, sexual scent of sweat, after shave, and Harley spiked her desire. When his thumb found her center, a huge orgasm ripped through her. She clenched around him, burying her face in his neck.

  Harley wrapped his long fingers around her rear and pulled her to him. He shuddered once, closed his eyes, thrust hard, and stopped. Breathless, the lovers clung to each other. Shyla licked his throat, enjoying the salty taste of him. He ran his hands over her chest, around, and down to her rump, again and again.

  There were so many things she wanted to say, but words were too feeble to describe what had just happened. She tightened her grip and hugged him with all the yearning denied for so long. He combed his fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face.

  “Sweetheart,” he said.

  “Sweetheart, my ass! What the fuck are you doing?” A loud, masculine voice broke the spell.

  Harley and Shyla bolted upright. She covered her breasts with her arms before sinking down in the water to chin level. Harley shielded her by guiding her behind him.

  “Dan? What the fuck?” Harley exclaimed.

  “Is that Shyla Hollings? It had better be one of the contestants and not one of the crew.” Dan’s words dripped with accusation.

  “What difference does it make who it is?” To Harley, the best defense had always been a good offense. “I’m free to sleep with whoever I want. There’s nothing in my contract about that.”

  “You’re right. But there is in hers.” Dan pointed his index finger at the set designer.

  Harley sucked in a breath. He turned his head to speak over his shoulder. “Shit. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” she whispered into his ear.

  “Fuck. Why didn’t you say something? I didn’t know, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  “But she knew. Get your clothes, Ms. Hollings, and let’s go.”

  S
hy reached over to retrieve her cover-up.

  “The least you could do is turn around, Dan,” Harley barked.

  The producer did as the star requested. Shyla put the garment on in a flash then shoved her feet into flip-flops. She stopped to cup Harley’s cheek and brush her lips against his.

  “Decent?” Dan asked.

  “I am,” she responded.

  “Let’s go.” He walked briskly, with Shyla shuffling along behind him. She blew a kiss to Harley and followed the producer back inside.

  When they got to her room, Dan stood aside for her to open the door. He followed her in. When the door closed, he exploded.

  “What the fuck? You’re the best designer we’ve ever had. Why would you do something so goddam stupid?” He flung the closet open, yanked her suitcase from the shelf, and threw it on the bed. “Pack.”

  “Pack?”

  “You’re fired, and you’re going home. On the first plane. I’ll wait.”

  “I’m sorry, Dan. It wasn’t planned. It just happened,” she said.

  “Do you always sleep with people five minutes after you meet them?” He glared at her.

  “Well, I…we…I mean,” she stammered, sensing heat in her cheeks.

  “Oh, fuck, no. Don’t tell me you knew him before?”

  She nodded as words stuck in her throat.

  “You stupid, fucking bitch! That asshole better not be in love with you. He’s made commitments. Shyla, there are women in love with that idiot. What about them? What about the show? You made a promise, in writing.”

  “Don’t call him an idiot.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  “No. Don’t call me a stupid, fucking bitch, either.”

  While he continued his tirade, tears ran down her cheeks. She snatched her clothing from hangars and laid it in the suitcase. Drawers were emptied and the contents dumped into her luggage. All the while, she cried silently.

  “And don’t think I’m not going to tell Gunther Quill, because I am. That’s going to be my first call, after you leave. What the fuck am I going to do now? Where the hell am I going to find another designer?”

  “I could stay? Promise to stay away from Harley? You could lock me in my room?”

  He snorted. “You wish. No way are you staying for one more minute. After you’re packed, the limo is taking you to the airport.”

  “Please don’t call Gunther Quill.”

  He shot her a hostile look. “Of course I’m calling him. I hired you on his say-so. He’s gotta know what a double-dealing bitch you are.”

  The words slapped her across the face as much as if it had been his hand. She bit down on a finger to keep from sobbing, but the tears ran faster.

  “Go in the bathroom and get dressed.” He picked up his cell.

  “If you call Gunther, my career’ll be over. You know how vindictive he is.”

  “You should have thought of that before you fucked Harley Brennan. Jesus Christ. You didn’t even have the decency to do it in a room.”

  “I told you. It wasn’t planned. It was spontaneous. He just showed up…and…”

  “Never mind! I don’t want to hear it.” He turned away to speak on the phone with Sarah.

  Shyla scooted into the bathroom. Her shaking hands made getting dressed difficult. A wave of nausea hit her, sending her to the toilet. Her legs trembled, and weakness washed over her. She sank down on the floor. Humiliation shamed her. How could she tell anyone what had happened? Would she ever work again? Harley was gone, and her career teetered on the edge. Her life, like an Earthquake, rumbled and threatened to collapse.

  Once dressed, she splashed cool water on her face, rinsed out her mouth, brushed her teeth, gathered her toiletries, and cracked open the door. Dan was gone, but a sleepy Sarah, dressed in a bathrobe, stood in his place. Shyla couldn’t face her.

  “Shy, what a stupid mistake. I won’t give you a hard time. I’d guess Dan already took care of that. Let’s go. The limo’s outside, and your ticket is waiting at the Eagle Airlines counter.”

  “Sarah…I’m sorry.”

  “I know. I know. Hate to lose someone as talented as you. But those are the rules.”

  Shyla nodded, grateful Sarah wasn’t yelling at her too. She wished she could have said goodbye to Harley. She’d probably never see him again. Parting like this broke her heart even more. He’d feel guilty about her job. He sure as hell wouldn’t ever call her after all this.

  Her shoulders drooped as she struggled with her suitcase. The limo driver jumped out, took the bag, and loaded it into the trunk. He didn’t say anything, but shot her a sympathetic glance.

  Pain ricocheted through her as she stared out the window at a gorgeous sunrise. It would be another breath-taking day on St. Thomas. Harley would wake up, and she’d be gone. Fired and flown back to the States. Without even “goodbye.” Would he care? Maybe. But he was ready to go on with his life, take the next step, make a new commitment. And she was stuck, stupidly in love with someone she could never have.

  * * * *

  After Dan led Shyla away, Harley returned to his room and tried to go back to sleep, but was too upset to rest. He picked up the phone, but hers went straight to voicemail. Finally, by six o’clock, he dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep. A knock at ten woke him. He scratched his stubble as he stumbled to the door. It was Dan.

  The producer pushed his way inside. “You’re not up? What the hell?”

  “Where’s Shyla?” Harley yawned and headed for the bathroom.

  “Gone.”

  The running back returned with a toothbrush in his mouth and toothpaste foaming around his lips. “Gone?”

  “Yep. Sent back to the States. Fired. It’s all spelled out in her contract.”

  “You fired her for sleeping with me?” Harley mumbled with a full mouth, before retreating to the sink.

  “That’s the contract she agreed to—any hanky panky with the star, and she goes.”

  “Shit! That’s a mean thing to do. All we did was have sex. Last I knew, it wasn’t illegal between two consenting adults.”

  “Look, Harley. Don’t play the naïve, athlete, asshole with me. This show is predicated on the star finding love and making a commitment. How can you make a commitment to one girl if you’re in love with another? You signed a contract too. And we’ll hold you to it. This is business. So, don’t get any ideas about screwing the show, because we’ll sue you for breach of contract. We’ve done it before, and we have very deep pockets.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Damn right, it is.”

  “What the hell do you think I’d do?”

  “I don’t know. But that doesn’t mean you won’t pull out at the end. Call the girls ugly bitches. I have no idea. But you can’t do that, and you’ve agreed to our terms, in writing.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. How the hell do you think I feel? I’ve got several girls here I’m really interested in. Do you think I want to break their hearts? Crush them? I have no desire to do that.”

  “Then fix this.”

  “How? Is this going to become news? On TV, the Internet, and in the papers?”

  “Better not. Shyla signed a confidentiality agreement. She’d better keep her mouth shut.”

  “I doubt she’ll talk. Would you tell people? I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

  “No one here will, or they’ll be fired.”

  “Shit.” He sank down on the bed. Have I killed Shy’s career?

  “My sentiments exactly. I hope she was worth it. Now, get dressed. The women are expecting to have lunch with you.” Dan exited the room.

  Harley turned on the shower. Was she worth it? Damn right, she was. His mind recalled the feel of her skin, the taste of her mouth. How many times had he buried his face in her hair, drinking in the sweet scent and been transported to a fresh forest after a rainfall? He couldn’t count that high. The way she moved when they made love, their rhythm, totally in sync. He could anticipate her, knew what she
wanted before she did. Her rack—beyond description. He squeezed the soap until it popped up out of his hand, trying to recreate the sensation of her flesh.

  Not to mention how she turned him on, how excited he got within seconds of knowing they’d be making love. No woman had ever affected him that way. Not that he had trouble getting it up. On the contrary, he usually had trouble keeping it down. Especially with Shyla. The glow in her eyes, her sexy grin, inviting him to come and play, switched his motor straight to third gear. She could have wound him around her little finger, but never had. Never played games with him, strung him along, lied to him…until this gig.

  As he washed his hair, he wondered how he’d be able to get back into choosing among the contestants for a wife. When he’d thought Shyla was gone completely, when she’d turned down spending the night with him at the hotel, he had been certain it was over. He’d approached Marriage Minded with a positive attitude, deciding that he’d find his future partner here, or give up and become a monk. Well, maybe not a monk, but a perennial bachelor.

  Now, things were different. The flame almost snuffed out by Shyla had been rekindled, and the spark burned as bright as ever. He smoothed lather on his face and picked up his razor. He had to make the effort. He had to be sincere. He had to find another girl to replace Shy. There isn’t just one soulmate per man, is there? What would happen if Shy died, or got married?

  God forbid. He slipped his shirt on and pulled up his jeans. That’s it. I’ll pretend Shy’s engaged. Then, I’d have to find someone else. He gave a quick smile at finding a solution, combed his hair, and headed out to the hall, toward the dining room.

  It was time to find his wife. She was waiting for him. All he had to do was pluck her from the bunch, like the prettiest, sweetest-smelling rose. Cathy, Vanessa, Melanie, Cassandra, or Roxanne? Piece of cake, right?

  Chapter Six

  Shyla got off the plane and jumped in a cab. On the way to Penn Station to take the Amtrak train to Delaware, she gazed out the window. Spring bloomed in New York City. The sky was clear, and sunlight warmed the leather seat of the car. Flowers splashed vibrant pinks and purples in boxes perched on apartment sills.