Quarterback Casanova (Kansas City Griffins #1)

by Lisa Rayne

  Lost in the memory, Dash caught only the tail end of something his foster sister said. “What?”

  “I asked, what got you thinking about our darker days?”

  He turned and wiped the residual steam from the bathroom mirror with his hand. “Naomi.”

  “You’ve seen her?”

  He squirted shaving cream on the counter then lathered half his face. “Yeah.” He picked up his razor and began to shave.

  “Did you finally give her a chance to explain?”

  The razor stopped mid-stroke. “About the story leak?”

  “Yes, about the leak. What else?”

  He’d told Naomi the story of what had transpired during high school to bond him and Peyton so close. Over time, he’d told her about his myriad foster homes, his juvenile transgressions, and the wild life that should have precluded him from going on to become a starter on a championship NCAA Division I football team and later a second round draft pick in the NFL. He’d told her those stories in confidence, never expecting them to pepper a column in the Sports Daily.

  “Dash?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Peyton signed loudly into the phone. “Maybe it’s time you did.”

  Water splashed as he rinsed the razor. “You’re much too forgiving. You always try to see the good in people. For a woman who grew up in foster care, and shitty foster care at that, you’re much too idealistic, counselor.”

  Adoption hadn’t happened for either of them. Although they were a year apart in age, they’d stayed close after he turned eighteen. She’d aged out of the system two years behind him and worked her way through college and law school. To this day, they served as each other’s lifeline. If she ever needed anything, he’d move heaven and earth—without hesitation or resentment—to be there for her, and he knew she’d do the same for him.

  “And for a man who grew out of foster care into a better life, you’re much too intractable, football star.” She sighed softly. When she continued, her voice was almost a whisper. “You should be able to tell the good guys from the bad by now, Dash.”

  “Once upon a time, I would have agreed with you. Anymore, I’m not so sure.” He switched the phone to his other hand, squirted more shaving cream on the counter, and lathered the other side of his face.

  “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I liked Naomi. Still do. The fact that you’re tied up in knots over this mess after all this time tells me you still do as well. You’re not completely over her or what she did—or what you think she did—wouldn’t continue to bother you so much. You’re not going to be able to move on until you two clear the air. Maybe it’s time you gave her a chance to explain.”

  Move on?

  They didn’t need to hold hands and sing Kumbaya. He wasn’t interested in any of that emotional catharsis crap. Naomi still got to him, yes, but he had no intention of letting it go beyond the bedroom. He wanted her—sexually. That was all. Enough with the mamby-pamby thoughts he’d been having before his foster sister called. He wouldn’t let Peyton—or his idle brain—confuse the matter.

  Finishing the other side of his face, he skillfully turned the telephone conversation to another subject. He shot the breeze with his foster sister for thirty more minutes before getting to the real reason for her call—a desire for an update on what was going on with that photo.

  She laughed when he told her about Naomi forcing his hand with DuChamps and the forced tropical island excursion. “I think you just got lucky, bro. This is your chance. Don’t blow it.”

  After they ended the call, he looked in the mirror, running a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. His chance? At what exactly?

  The alarm on his phone buzzed, warning him of the approaching departure time for the first flight set to take Naomi to Ibiza. He strolled into his bedroom and stopped when he glimpsed the discarded plane tickets on his dresser.

  Peyton’s voice echoed in his head: This is your chance. Don’t blow it. Followed promptly by Pete’s: Get your ass on that plane!

  He glanced over at the bedside clock then back at the tickets. “Shit.” He scrubbed his hands down his face. He had a decision to make.

  Chapter 7

  Flight 2350 to Chicago began boarding, Naomi looked around the gate area for Dash. She’d thought with a dictate from Martin DuChamps, he wouldn’t dare blow her off on this. Maybe she’d miscalculated.

  Someone bumped her shoulder, drawing her attention back to the boarding process. She shuffled along behind the dozen other passengers headed for First Class, a well-dressed pack of uppercrust day travelers and mostly non-communicative executives with their faces stuck in their smartphones.

  Her upgraded seat status should have excited her. The newspaper always made her fly coach. With Dash still MIA, the perk wasn’t giving her the rush it normally would.

  She sighed. Stubborn bastard. Why couldn’t anything ever be easy with Dash? Just once she’d like things to go the way she expected them to go. No detours. No side trips. No extra baggage.

  Sometimes she wondered how she’d gotten here. She’d never wanted a relationship with a jock. Her personal history had always made her avoid professional athletes like the plague. Dash had been no exception. She’d shot him down from first flirt, figuring a young white guy couldn’t be serious about her other than as a quick lay.

  He’d surprised her with his tenacity, pursuing her relentlessly until she’d finally given in simply to get him to leave her alone. She’d figured she’d go out with him once then kick him to the curb. No such luck.

  She should have known better. His reputation as a ladies’ man had preceded him. Women flocked to Dash like bears to honey, and she’d fallen right in line. On their first date, he’d charmed her so thoroughly she hadn’t been able to say no to the second or the third or the fourth date. She’d not only gone against her personal rule and gotten involved with a professional athlete, she’d gone and picked one who attracted drama like he carried the Bermuda Triangle vortex in his front pocket.

  What did she have to show for her lack of fortitude? She had a career that had taken a turn for the worse because her boss believed her perceived pipeline to firsthand football information had disappeared with her break from Dash. No one seemed to remember that she’d been a great sports reporter before she’d started dating Dash.

  This didn’t surprise her, though. The industry considered a reporter only as good as her last story. With no substantial stories to show from her past two and a half years of reporting, people dismissed her earlier bylines as the result of her bedroom chatter with one of the most promising up-and-coming quarterbacks in the league. Even as a backup, Dash shined as a spectacular player. He didn’t get to hit the field full-time, but when he did, he made a noticeable impact.

  Naomi peeked over her shoulder before stepping onto the plane, hoping to see him at the back of the crowd. Her eyes moved over a good-looking man in a stylish navy suit. Unlike his compatriots, he wasn’t clicking through his phone. His handsome golden-brown, almost bronze, face looked straight ahead. He seemed to be watching her scan the crowd. Her eyes flicked past him, but didn’t find Dash.

  As she turned back to boarding, she caught the gentleman’s eye again. He nodded appreciatively, and his mouth turned up in a slow smile. Naomi nodded back at him, trying to suppress a grin. It had been a while since anyone had flirted with her. Or maybe, it had just been a while since she’d noticed. She wasn’t sure.

  A flight attendant sporting “Angie” in black across her white name badge greeted Naomi as she walked onto the plane. When Naomi headed towards First Class seating, another flight attendant reached for Naomi’s ticket. “May I help you find your seat?”

  Naomi suspected the woman actually wanted to verify she truly held a First Class boarding pass.

  After checking the pass, the attendant motioned with her hand. “You’ll find your window seat on the right-hand side, about half way down.” She handed back the boarding pass. “Enjoy your flight.”


  “Thank you.” Naomi wondered if the attendant would have been as diligent if Dash had been with her. The jerk.

  True to his word, he clearly had no intention of helping her pursue this story. His mistrust of her was probably the predominant reason, but she suspected his unresolved childhood baggage fed equally into his resistance. The two of them made quite a pair.

  Dash’s neuroses stemmed from lack of attachment during infancy and a failure to bond with any parental figure or find acceptance in a substitute family. He worked hard to stay detached from those around him even though she could tell he craved a human connection.

  She, on the other hand, lived with insecurities stemming from rejection by her biological father. She judged every relationship against the likelihood a man could be counted on to stay. Yet, she found herself attracted to a guy who admitted staying wasn’t on his agenda.

  Co-dependent much?

  She dropped her laptop bag and cardigan into the aisle seat reserved for Dash. A seat it appeared would go unoccupied. She went up on tiptoe to heave her carryon into the overhead compartment. It dangled precariously on the edge before human heat suffused her backside. Naomi glanced over her shoulder to see the man in the navy suit reach over her head and push the carryon firmly into the compartment.

  Once the luggage was stowed, he looked down at her.

  His intense dark-chocolate eyes took her off guard. “Um. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” The rich baritone of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “I couldn’t let that land on such a beautiful head.” He winked before continuing up the aisle.

  He looked as good from the rear as he did from the front.

  But not as good as a certain pro quarterback.

  She nearly groaned out loud at the wayward thought. Just when she had evidence her double X chromosomes might no longer be immune to other attractive men, Dash Janssen had to traipse through her mind and derail all hope for a liberated libido. Crap.

  She snatched a fresh blanket out of the overhead. She freed the rough, gray fabric from its hygienic sealed plastic bag and discarded the plastic into the seatback pouch before taking one last glance towards her tall, dark, and gorgeous Good Samaritan. Tossing the blanket and her cardigan into the window seat, she grabbed her laptop bag and stashed it under the aisle seat one row forward. She plopped into Dash’s seat, clicked her seatbelt into place, and pulled the blanket across her lap.

  A female voice came over the plane speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare for takeoff by making sure your seats are in the upright position and your seatbelt is securely fastened low across your lap. All carryon luggage should now be stowed in the overhead bin or under the seat in front of you, and all electronic devices should now be turned off and stowed until such time as the captain indicates it is safe to turn them back on. If you will direct your attention to the front of the plane, Angie will review our safety procedures.”

  Naomi checked her phone one last time in case Dash had tried to contact her. When she didn’t find any messages from Dash, she put the phone on airplane mode and bent to put it in her laptop bag. She’d have to figure out how to work this investigative trip now that her star lead hadn’t seen fit to show.

  A duffle bag plopped down in the aisle beside her feet, causing her to jump. She looked up from her bent position to see Dash shrug his jacket off broad shoulders. He folded the jacket, secured it under the duffle bag handles, which he strapped together with the Velcro closure attached to one side, then easily hefted the bag into the overhead compartment.

  “Move it, Pellier. You’re in my seat.” He watched her from behind his Oakley sunglasses.

  “Cut it a little close didn’t you, Janssen?”

  He leaned in, purposefully invading her personal space, and smiled. “Did you miss me? Thought I wasn’t coming?”

  “No.” She turned away from that smile to unnecessarily adjust the tightness of her fastened seatbelt. “I didn’t miss you. But, yes, I wouldn’t have put it past you to bail on this whole operation.”

  “No such luck, sweetheart.” Arm along the back of her chair, he leaned even closer and placed an index finger under her chin to turn her face back to him. “I’ve decided we need this time together. Now scoot. This is my seat.”

  She snatched her chin off his finger. “You snooze you lose, Janssen. You can have the window seat.” She twisted her legs towards the aisle. “Climb through.”

  He scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He flicked open the seatbelt and scooped her up. Dropping into the seat, he planted her firmly in his lap.

  A loud squeak escaped her lips. Horrified, she looked around to see if anyone noticed the spectacle he was making of her. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Dash? Let me go.” She rocked forward in an attempt to get free.

  His hand tightened on her waist. “If you want the aisle seat, Pellier, we’ll have to share.” He adjusted, turning her to fit snuggly against him in the widened seat. “I plan to make the best of the current situation. Might as well start with the plane ride over.” He glanced down at her lips before focusing his eyes on hers.

  What was there about a brown-eyed blond that was so smolderingly sexy? Those light, yellowish-brown eyes of his made a woman tingle inside when he focused on her. Melt in your mouth delicious, that’s how she used to describe him, and he still pushed all her hormonal buttons.

  He also made her nervous.

  What did he mean they needed this time together? He’d been the one to end things, and he’d kept his distance over the last two and a half years despite her many attempts to contact him. With what they had unresolved between them, how could he continue to flirt with her without conscience or remorse?

  This was a game to him, plain and simple. He had a competitive spirit. She’d won the last two rounds. She’d gotten out of his house without getting in his bed, and she’d secured his exclusive cooperation for her story by getting his team owner to intervene. She had no doubt Dash was formulating his next play.

  Understanding his game, she leaned into him and patted his chest. “Make the best of it. Sounds like a wise decision.”

  She tried to keep it light and flirtatious, but the closer position allowed her a full whiff of his cologne. He wore Mont Blanc Legend, that woodsy cologne he’d had on the night they’d met and the night they’d first made love. He usually reserved the scent for evening outings. He had to have worn it purposely to get to her. The sandalwood in the fragrance seduced her with memories of being twirled by him on the dance floor, being curled against him on the couch, being held by him naked body against naked body. Her flesh heated for him instinctively.

  Something in her face must have revealed her mood shift because his eyes darkened and then narrowed. Before she could move, he kissed her hard and quick on the lips. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “A wise decision indeed.”

  She stifled the urge to touch her hand to her mouth. The kiss had been quick, but no less potent because of its short duration. She needed to pack on thicker body armor for this battle.

  “Ah-hem.” They glanced up to see the stern face of Angie the Flight Attendant. “Please take your seat miss and fasten your seatbelt. We’re preparing for takeoff.”

  Naomi scrambled to her seat and glared at Dash from under an embarrassed pallor. Leaning down, she retrieved her laptop from the bag she’d stowed beneath the seat in front of Dash. She had a deadline to meet. As happy as the cooperation of the Griffins organization had made her boss, she still had another story to submit by the time they landed in Ibiza. She’d focus on her article instead of how yummy Dash smelled or how luscious his lips had felt. She tucked the laptop in the seatback pouch in front of her until after takeoff.

  She glanced sideways at Dash. He watched her, his desire unhidden. She had a feeling he suspected her plan to use the computer as a shield to avoid interaction with him, but
it didn’t matter. Hopefully, he’d leave her alone during the flight.

  Naomi wondered how safe she’d be alone on this trip with Dash after all. Maybe Ray had been right. Getting from Kansas City to Chicago shouldn’t be a problem. But then she had to get from Chicago to London before they made it to Ibiza. Sitting this close to him smelling scrumptious all the way to London would tax her willpower.

  A bell dinged and the captain announced they were next to depart. Once they reached cruising altitude, Naomi pulled out her laptop and went to work. She managed to ignore most of Dash’s activities, but when the same flight attendant came to check on him for the third time, her concentration completely faltered.

  Dash thanked the attendant for the extra bottle of orange juice she’d brought him unbidden. Under her eyelashes, Naomi watched the woman blush as she slid a hand across Dash’s shoulder. Naomi tensed.

  “You’re welcome, sir. Just let me know if you need anything else.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks again …” He glanced at her name badge. “… Darla.”

  The sexy purr of Dash’s voice got under Naomi’s skin. Annoyed with herself, she put away her laptop, pulled the blanket over her, and turned towards the window. If Dash wanted to flirt, fine, but she didn’t have to watch.

  When the attendant walked away, Dash leaned towards her. “I’ll be back. I need to visit the little boys’ room.”

  Still turned towards the window, she quipped. “Humph. All those free drinks finally catching up with you?”

  He slid his hand under the rough gray fabric of the airline blanket. She stiffened, surprised by the move and the tingle it sent woman deep. She feigned aplomb. Slowly turning her head, she peaked a brow and stared pointedly at the hand buried too close to the apex of her thighs.

  His hand slid further up, causing her breath to catch. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. When I come back, I’ll be all yours for the rest of the trip.”

  She shoved his hand away. His knowing look irked her, but she refused to let it show.