by Cindi Madsen
“It was good. I was feeling a bit restless myself.” With all the wedding events, he’d have even less time over these next few days, and there were still so many positions to fill, not to mention the draft. The only benefit to having a shut-out season was getting top pick, and he needed to find the right piece to help complete the puzzle, which would be a lot easier if the bulk of the pieces weren’t currently in a messy pile.
But that wasn’t the only reason he’d tossed and turned so much last night.
He’d kept thinking about Charlotte’s head against his shoulder as she slept. About her laugh and her smile and how much fun he’d had with her the past four days. It’d been a long time since he’d let anyone in besides his immediate family, yet he could feel himself opening up to her, and something about that both calmed him and scared the shit out of him.
Mostly he’d thought of that moment in the hallway and how much he’d wanted to kiss her.
Since she didn’t say anything else, he added, “I figured I should take the chance to run along the beach, especially before it got too warm.”
“How’s your knee?”
“Fine.” He ran a hand through his hair, realized how sweaty he was, and gestured toward the bedroom area. “I’ll jump through the shower and then you can explain the crazy wall to me.”
“Calling it the crazy wall doesn’t exactly make me eager to comply.”
“When are you ever eager to comply?” he teased, and a knot he hadn’t realized had formed in his chest loosened when she cracked a smile.
They were okay.
Although her smile wasn’t as bright, and she had to work for it. Something had upset her. And if it was someone, he’d make sure they regretted it.
Stifling his urge to seek and destroy, he focused on her. He moved closer and brushed his fingers down her arm. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m totally fine. I just need coffee. I bet you could use some, too.” She reached for the phone on the desk. “I’ll put in an order.”
Evidently, it was going to take some extra digging. He’d get to the bottom of it, but he’d let her order her coffee and explain what she’d done before trying again. Since his mom informed him Charlotte was going to need a few hours off in the middle of the day for spa time, and tonight was his brother’s bachelor party, they’d need to get as much work done as possible in the limited time they had.
He also wanted to get as much Charlotte time as he could before then. Another thing that caused a strange mix of trepidation and calm.
Yep. Pretty sure I’m losing my mind over this girl.
Was it bad the thought that immediately followed was that if it meant a few days to explore and enjoy this connection between them, he’d happily slip into madness for a little bit?
…
Torture.
This was torture, sitting here listening to the whoosh of fabric, knowing that behind that bathroom door, Lance was getting undressed.
Charlotte’s attempt to swallow was thwarted by her sandpaper-dry throat. She stared at the closed door, her mind replaying what he’d said last night about how she’d have to initiate any kissing. She still could hardly believe he’d laid it all out like that—that he even wanted her in the first place. Her eyes narrowed, and for a delirious second or two, she wished for X-ray vision.
The spray of water sounded, and she wondered what Lance would do if she snuck into the bathroom, yanked back the shower curtain, and told him she was going to join him.
Heat streaked through her body, growing faster and hotter until her entire body was aflame.
It’d be so satisfying to see the shock on his face. To be that brazen and bold.
It’d break every rule. Of the team’s and of mine and…
For once that didn’t seem as big a deal as it should.
He has those big hands and long fingers…those muscular thighs, that ripped torso. She could picture the way the water would pour over them, and while she was picturing stuff, she figured she might as well reach out in her daydream and run her hand over those pecs and abs.
She imagined his eyes darkening, the way they did last night when he’d had her almost pinned against the door, the inches between them proper yet not and still way too much.
The knock on the door brought the real world screeching back.
Fanning her face in a futile attempt to cool herself down, she rushed to the door and accepted the large pitcher of room service coffee, along with the two breakfasts she’d ordered.
“Do you feel all right?” the guy asked, concern filling the creases of his forehead. “You look flushed. If the A/C unit’s not functioning properly, I can call and—”
“It’s fine, thank you!” She scribbled her name and closed the door. Hazards of staying at a place where the staff were so friendly, she supposed, but had he not ever delivered food to someone who’d been flushed from sex?
Not that she’d had sex. Unfortunately. Or good on her, cheers to being strong! Or… Shit, she was a mess. Not just a conflicted mess, but one who was suddenly using British phrases she’d never used before. No wonder the room service guy was concerned. She walked over to the thermostat and made the room a couple of degrees cooler for good measure, then focused on doctoring her coffee with the creamer in the mini-fridge.
A few minutes later Lance emerged, freshly showered, hair wet, smelling all soapy fresh. Like with her earlier attempt to steel herself, the cooler temperature didn’t much matter.
“Breakfast is here,” she said, her voice way too high. To keep herself from saying anything else that might reveal her traitorous preoccupation, she quickly shoved a piece of bacon in her mouth.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, but she ignored them and settled on the couch with her plate.
They ate in silence for a while before he pointed his fork at the wall. “You think we should pick Darius Fox first?”
“Defense wins championships. He has a record number of sacks, along with interceptions, and for such a big dude, he’s remarkably fast.” She set her plate aside, stood, and walked over to the wall. She explained the names along the top, the connecting lines, and how her system worked, along with how she’d come to those conclusions. “A star means the names lined up with the reports our former GM, coaches, and the rest of the staff made. I put an X on the ones they picked that I disagree the most with, although I’m not saying they’re wrong, for the record.”
Lance walked up behind her, and she wished she weren’t so acutely aware of how close he was. Of his height and the arms that’d hugged her after she’d scored her first touchdown and how amazing he smelled. “We need a quarterback.”
“I know,” she said.
“Everyone likes Richards.”
“Another thing I know.”
“And? I want to hear your thoughts.”
“He’s a three-quarter quarterback. We need one who can go four, plus overtime. Rookie quarterbacks also take a while to train, and often they’re on the skittish side, especially when the going gets rough. They rarely make the playoffs—and have a .355 winning percentage of those games when they do—and so far none have made it to the Super Bowl. I’m just not sure he’s the player to pull us out of our losing streak and get us our best chance at playoffs.”
When Lance didn’t say anything, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “What? You disagree?”
“No. I’m just…” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’m so turned on right now.”
Heat streaked through her again, more savage than before, and apparently she should’ve set the damn thermostat to sixty degrees. “I… I’m right there with you.” She should take it back, but she couldn’t, not with her gaze trapped by the intensity in his. “But we’re drifting toward dangerous territory.”
He stepped closer, not touching, yet she could feel every inch of his tall body. Every ounce of oxygen whooshed out of her lungs and she was afraid to move or to speak, and even more afraid not to say what she should.
“What if I just think about violating a rule?” He asked it lightly, but the question was heavy with flirtation. His voice dipped lower, and goose bumps skated across her skin when he added a husky, “Maybe picture it in my mind.”
Now she was imagining tipping her head back a bit more so his mouth could descend on hers, how his scruff would scrape lightly across her skin. “The problem with that is thoughts lead to actions,” she said, her voice way too breathy.
“But there are no punishments for thoughts, correct? No reprimands?”
Lifting her chin in a facsimile of firmness, she spun to face him and attempted some fake it till she made it sternness. “I’ll, uh, see that you’re thinking about it and reprimand you anyway.”
Instead of looking repentant, a smirk twisted his lips. “Now I’m picturing that.”
“Lance, this is… We shouldn’t…” She started past him, needing space to keep herself in check, but he gently placed his hand on her elbow, halting her steps.
“I’m sorry. I slipped there for a second, but I’ll try to behave.” He crossed his arms tightly across his chest and gripped his elbows, as if that’d be enough to keep him on his best behavior. Amusement flickered through the eyes that met hers. “Please finish explaining your crazy wall.”
He was so damn impossible. And sexy. And holy shit I’m in trouble. She turned back around and rattled off her last few thoughts.
He reached over her and flipped the board to the other side, where he’d written a long list of names. “And your top pick for GM?”
She hesitated before pointing at the second name from the top. “He was in the middle of transforming the last team he worked for, but the owner, who’s made nothing but stupid decisions, fired him before his plans could come to fruition. It’s sad because they’ll probably benefit from what he did anyway, but then they’ll go downhill again.”
Lance made a noncommittal hmm. His fingers wrapped around her shoulders, and she tried to stifle her earlier thoughts about his hands. “Now, tell me what upset you so early in the morning. Why were you so bothered that you came in here and did weeks’ worth of analysis in a matter of an hour?”
“Thirty minutes,” she said, and his fingers dug in a bit deeper.
“Spill.”
Chapter Fifteen
Subconsciously, part of the reason she’d shown up at Lance’s room so early might be because she’d wanted to talk to someone. Needed to, really. But she still wasn’t sure it was a good idea. It was so personal and possibly TMI when it came to subjects that were okay to talk about with your boss.
But tidbits about her dad had spilled out here and there already. Shannon wasn’t a good option—she’d point out that she was enabling him again, or maybe tell her that she’d warned her not to get her hopes up that he’d change, and Charlotte didn’t want to hear what boiled down to “I told you so.”
“My dad called this morning.”
Lance didn’t push. He simply waited, those long fingers still curled around her shoulders.
“He’s in rehab.” There it was. The secret she’d kept buried deep. There was a difference between telling people he was a gambler and admitting he was lost to the addiction that’d cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars, his reputation, and any chance at ever coaching again.
She slowly turned to face Lance, the desire to watch his response stronger than her instinct to hide the way it ripped her apart inside.
“Gambling?” he asked, and she nodded.
“In my attempt to win his affection, I accidentally enabled him enough to turn him from a frequent gambler to one who lost everything.” If she hadn’t been wrong about that game, the other dominos wouldn’t have fallen, not so fast and not so hard.
“That’s bullshit. You’re not responsible for any of that.”
“I don’t know. Yes, he makes his own decisions, and I think he would’ve continued to gamble no matter what, but once he saw what I could do with stats and numbers… That’s when his gambling took on a new life, one that scared me, but I didn’t stop.” A tight band formed around her chest. She’d never confessed this much to anyone. “We were finally spending time together, and it was nice. I also justified it by telling myself that when I wasn’t with him, he lost more often. But maybe losing more frequently would’ve forced him to slow down.”
“I doubt it. There aren’t hundreds of casinos out there because people slow down once they get a taste for doubling and tripling their money. Those are the stories everyone tells, of course. How they paid for their entire trip with their winnings.”
She’d heard that one from Dad and from several of his friends. “We had a good run.
But I’m sure you know better than anyone that all the facts and figures in the world don’t account for everything.”
“You mentioned the illusion of the perfect game before,” he said, reminding her that she had. To apply to love. At least that was metaphorical.
“Well, his luck ran out during the worst possible time. I could blame the refs and the fact that there were a lot of injuries and that it was the first game the quarterback performed so poorly, but it doesn’t matter why.” She reached up and twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “He got into trouble with some people who were determined to get their money back, and he ended up losing everything.”
Lance continued to watch her face, not talking, not judging—from what she could tell. She debated telling him about how, in order to pay them, her dad bet against his own team and then made moves to ensure they lost, but his lawyer had settled a lot of lawsuits in the name of reasonable doubt. It also seemed unfair to bring up Dad’s past mistakes when he claimed he was working hard to overcome them.
Maybe he is. Maybe I’m just paranoid and jaded.
She stuck to the recent development, about how he’d come to her to ask for help. After a long, emotionally exhausting talk, she’d convinced him to go into a facility, something she was also paying for. “This morning he calls and tells me that between the treatments and the new medication he’s on to help with his impulse control, he’s all better. He wants to leave early and get a job because he says he’s ready to start his new life, and he can’t stop worrying about how he can do that if he doesn’t even have a job.”
“And you have your doubts he’s better?”
“It makes me feel bad to say it, but I highly doubt it. Years of addiction that spiraled out of control, and he claims a month is enough to cure him? When I dropped him off, they suggested two to three. Why not finish just to be sure? It was also expensive enough that I want to demand I get my money’s worth.” She rubbed at the twinge in her chest, not that it helped. “That probably makes me a bad person, too.”
Lance placed his hand on the side of her neck and gently tipped up her chin with his thumb. “The fact that you’re paying for it in the first place proves you’re not a bad person.”
“The question is, am I just an enabler? Or am I truly helping?”
“I think this is one of those instances that intent matters.”
“Like murder,” she said.
Lance chuckled, but the humor quickly faded, a serious expression replacing it. “It’s normal to want to help out your family. Especially when he’s your only family.”
“But?”
“No buts,” he said. “Do you need more money?”
She simply gaped at him for several seconds, shocked at the…offer? She was pretty sure that’s what it was, and the whirl of affection it caused beat out her bruised pride. Not that she could or would ever take it. “No. The consulting fee will help. I’m just not sure if I should assure him I can help him financially while he gets on his feet, because what if that makes him more determined to leave instead of stay?”
“I get that.”
The way he’d listened while remaining so nonjudgmental was what she’d truly needed. She placed her hand on the center of his chest, focusing on the steady beat of his heart—a heart that clearly had more gold
than ice, no matter what he claimed. “Thank you for letting me talk it out.”
He covered her hand with his, holding it against the firm pecs she’d gotten an eyeful of this morning. “Anytime.”
“Now I want to throw myself back into work so I don’t have to worry about it again until tonight, when I can’t fall asleep because of it.”
“Well, if you can’t fall asleep, you should come over and not sleep with me.”
She bit back a smile.
“I’m serious. I’m too stressed with everything to sleep anyway.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, even though she shouldn’t. “Right now, though, give me a work challenge. Something that’ll keep my mind nice and occupied until I’m supposed to meet up with the girls for manis and pedis.”
“Figure out how to get us our defenseman and a quarterback who can go the distance without breaking the salary cap.”
It was more than a challenge—more like an impossible mission that’d require so much math that she’d see figures for weeks—and it was exactly what she needed.
Chapter Sixteen
Bachelor party time. Lance wondered if something was wrong with him, because the thought of the party only exhausted him.
He also wasn’t in that big of a hurry to hang out with a bunch of dudes, not when there was a certain woman taking up all his brain space.
But he’d do anything to make his brother happy, so he put on his game face and climbed into the limo.
There was another black limo ahead of them, and through the windshield, he watched as Stacy, her bridesmaids, and the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about walked toward it. The women were laughing, and he was glad to see that Charlotte was part of the group.
Since he wouldn’t be around her and a lot of horny guys most likely would be, he was less glad about the fitted purple dress that showed off her hourglass figure, along with a few inches of thigh. She’d put on fishnet stockings that immediately made his mind dive into the gutter, and if she could see him now and read the thoughts written across his face, she’d definitely reprimand him.