Quarterback Casanova (Kansas City Griffins #1)

by Lisa Rayne

Momentarily stunned by her actions, Dash lost a quarter of a minute before he initiated pursuit.

  Naomi flew across the sand. She was fast. She’d been a college athlete, and she still kept in excellent shape. Of course, even with a head start, she was no match for a man who spent five and a half months out of the year trying to avoid two-hundred-plus-pound defensive lineman who wanted nothing more than to flatten him onto turf.

  When she looked over her shoulder, he was right behind her. Barefoot as well, he bore down on her and scooped her up. She shrieked. He spun her in a circle then headed for the foaming surf.

  “Dash, no!” she yelled, but he just laughed at her. She dropped her sandals on the sand when he continued towards the churning water. She gripped him tightly around the neck with both arms. “Dash, please, don’t!” she begged.

  He waded into the surf and released his grip with a dip. Her louder shriek made him laugh harder, but he didn’t dump her in the water. Instead, he dropped her legs, and holding her tightly around the waist, spun her again. She threw back her head and laughed, her legs rising in an arc behind her.

  It felt good to laugh like this. It felt even better to laugh like this with Dash. She’d thought they’d never be able to relax around each other again. Yet, here they were laughing, playing, like old times.

  He let her slide down his front until her feet touched the wet sand.

  As if synchronized, she went up on her toes and he leaned down to meet her. Inhibitions unleashed by the lull of their lazy afternoon together, they met in a kiss as wild as the surf that splashed around their ankles. They drank of each other.

  His hands roamed free, touching her through the fabric of her dress. They glanced over the peaks of her breasts, rubbed against the side of her thighs, and passed over the mounds of her butt.

  Her hands roamed too, first up through his hair then down to squeeze his backside. One hand snuck under the back of his shirt, feeling the ripples of muscles along his spine.

  Neither held back. Once ignited, the flames inside them cut loose like a California brush fire. Oblivious to their surroundings, their passion flared in a vertical From Here To Eternity moment.

  A wolf whistle sounded behind Dash, finally piercing their euphoria.

  Dash’s hands threaded her hair. He touched his forehead to hers. “God, I missed you.”

  “I missed you, too,” she whispered.

  “We were so good together.” He pulled back. “Why did you do it?”

  “W-What?”

  His eyes widened.

  She didn’t think he’d intended to ask that question.

  Now that it was out, however, he continued. “Why did you publish information I’d told you in confidence?”

  She searched his face. A sense of apprehension laced with a sliver of hope filled her at the thought they’d finally get to clear the air. “You really want to talk about this?” Her hand went to his forearm.

  His eyes shifted. She saw him shut down, taking the open and accepting Dash with him.

  “No.” He released her. “Never mind.” He spun and headed back up the beach.

  She jogged a few steps and called after him. “Dash, wait.”

  He kept moving.

  Idiot, she chastised herself. What an idiotic move. She shouldn’t have questioned his intent. He’d given her the opening she’d wanted for years. She should have taken it without hesitation, but she’d been so surprised, she couldn’t believe he was really giving her the opportunity to explain. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

  She continued to move after him, feet shifting in the sand.

  A little further up the beach, Dash snatched up his abandoned sandals and kept moving. A few steps from the promenade, he came along two men standing together. When Dash got close, one of them called to him. “Honey, if she didn’t do the job right, why don’t you let me give it a try?”

  Dash gave him a casual nod. “Thanks for the offer, doll. Maybe next time.”

  “Ooh-wee,” the bold stranger squealed and fanned himself. He turned to his companion. “Oh. My. Gawd. Did you hear that voice? Mister is all kinds of sexy.”

  The two men laughed and high-fived each other.

  “You are so brazen,” the second man said.

  A few steps past the duo, Dash shook his head and continued without looking back.

  The flirt cocked a hip and waved a hand in the air as he addressed his companion. “Honey, life is short. You’ve got to seize the moment.”

  Naomi agreed with him, but she’d missed her opportunity to seize the moment. Dash disappeared up the promenade, and sand tossed over her toes as her feet halted. She wiggled her digits free of the twin holes formed by the abrupt stop. She’d chased after that man once and made a fool of herself. Such a scenario wouldn’t play out again. Let him hold on to his pride. She certainly intended to hold on to hers this time.

  The sun’s rays beat her shoulders. Turning back towards the surf, her mind tossed no less than the bluish-green liquid foaming along the beach. Maybe it was for the best. Curiosity had gotten the better of him; nothing had truly changed between them. He still didn’t have enough respect for her to listen to her side of the story. His slip up could be expected amidst the ambiance of the Balearic villa. If they weren’t careful, breathing the air of this cross between modern-day Eden and lover’s paradise would tempt them into dangerous behaviors.

  Fists balled tight at the end of arms spread wide over a tightly gripped hem, she groaned deep in her throat and began to twirl erratically. Who was she kidding? She’d fallen smack dab in the middle of dangerous behaviors with one impromptu kiss on the beach. Intoxicated by the sun, scenery, and people, she’d succumbed to the equivalent of a geographic roofie.

  Her head fell back, throwing her off balance. The twirling stopped. Fists akimbo, she dropped her head to watch the sea kiss her feet. The sandy granules between her toes loosened and flowed out with the back wash. Along with them eased away her temporary foolishness. Eyes closed, she tucked away the vulnerable woman who’d almost succumbed to the romantic déjà vu that was her and Dash’s prior life and drew on the mantle of tough-as-nails investigative reporter.

  A tear she couldn’t fight rolled down her left cheek. She’d survived losing Dash once. She wasn’t prepared for feeling as if she were losing him all over again. The pain surrounding her heart snuck beneath the resolve but didn’t lessen it. She was through letting Dash get under her skin.

  She headed back up the beach, snagging her sandals along the way. Time to stop holding hands and playing remember-when and start doing what she came here to do. She was going on a hunt. Time to find out who took that kiss picture and why.

  *

  Naomi looked over the dimly lit hotel bar room. Shadows danced slowly around mahogany wood tables, discreetly masking the patrons yet avoiding the pathways that made navigating the floor safe. She’d been looking for Dash for hours. Their reconnaissance yesterday hadn’t yielded any answers.

  He’d ended the day frustrated. She suspected the frustration stemmed from their moment on the beach as much as from the lack of new information about the photo or its photographer. She’d tried to reclaim the opportunity to clear the air between them, but he’d turned her down.

  Her eyes continued to trail through the bar for a glimpse of the man she hadn’t seen since they went to bed—separately—last night. She’d looked for him upon awakening this morning, but gave up when she’d realized he was out of the hotel. She’d used the time to do a little more investigating. She had news to share if only she could find him.

  She’d learned that Ibiza actively promoted itself as a gay-friendly destination. The large numbers of openly gay men they’d encountered yesterday made perfect sense now. Ibiza made a logical location to stage a story of a public figure’s secret life as a closeted gay man. Why someone would target Dash for such a setup, however, still didn’t make sense. Motivation to end his career with the Griffins hadn’t panned out. She hadn’t uncovered a suspect with enou
gh to gain from such a result.

  About to give up her search for Dash, Naomi headed for the bar. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a familiar face. He sat at a table in the back corner.

  She sauntered towards him. Stepping up to the table and dropping her purse, she said, “So this is where you’ve been hiding.” Her hand stuttered on its way to pull out a chair. “What on earth have you done to your hair?” She took in the slightly shorter, trendy cut, perfectly gelled and styled.

  He looked up. His eyes travelled down her frame, stopping noticeably at her chest and hips. “Who wants to know?” His voice was smooth and even, edged with a little boredom. He shifted back in his seat, arm extended as if to keep his drink from getting too far away.

  “Who wants to—” Her head tilted. Something tittered at the edge of her brain, but she pushed it aside. “Ha. Funny.” She looked around the room. “Hiding out?”

  She took in the near capacity crowd, noting that more male-male couples filled the room than male-female. Dash sat alone, but at the moment, he didn’t look entirely out of place with this crowd.

  His comment to the gentleman on the beach yesterday floated through her memory. Thanks for the offer, doll. Maybe next time. She’d assumed he was being glib, using his natural charm to make light of the situation without being rude to the flirt.

  Had she missed the obvious? Maybe he hadn’t been kidding.

  Her stomach dropped. Had he been using that natural charm of his on her this whole time? Wouldn’t be too hard for him to do. She was still in love with the guy. Her objectivity had flown out the window the moment he’d kissed her at his house.

  She looked back at him. Should she consider herself amongst that illustrious club of women who had fallen for a secretly gay man? Was that why none of her theories about possible motive for planting the photo had panned out? Maybe it wasn’t a fake.

  She needed to approach this story as if she weren’t holding a secret torch for the guy. Time to find out if he already knew more than he let on about the gay-friendly atmosphere of Ibiza. “Have you been snowing me this whole time, Dash?”

  “Who’s Dash? And what exactly do you think he’s been snowing you about, dollface?”

  “Cut it out. The high-brow haircut and the Queer Eye makeover may make you feel like a different person, but the face is a dead give away.”

  His right brow peaked. “Queer Eye makeover?” He looked down at his Gucci dinner jacket, layered over a pale khaki cotton shirt and linen pants. A size twelve brown Italian leather loafer—worn sans sock—rose to hang over his knee. He placed a large manicured hand at the ankle of his now-crossed leg and let his warm brown eyes drill into her. “I’ll ignore the insulting implication that I need a gay man—or anyone for that matter—to dress me since you clearly have me mistaken for someone else. Or, maybe you’re just a raving lunatic. Which would be a shame since you’re absolutely divine.”

  He motioned towards the chair she stood behind. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me why my obvious style and amazing good looks have brought out your bitchy side.”

  The amused smirk that graced his face was one she’d seen a thousand times. Yet, this time, something different lingered at the edges. Dash’s smirk rarely held much true mirth. He laced it with open sarcasm and barely-concealed distain. An obvious joie de vivre filled this smirk. The man before her was genuinely amused by this turn of events, not in the least upset about being outed.

  She hesitated, looking around the room again before settling her eyes back on him. “Drop the charade, Dash. You need to stick with football and give up on acting. It’s time to admit that you’re gay and that photo was real.”

  He stood, reached for his wallet, and pulled out some bills. “Sweetheart, why don’t you accompany me upstairs so I can demonstrate why that comment is wrong on so many levels?”

  Naomi looked closer at the liquid brown eyes openly showing their attraction to her. The corners crinkled a bit, a familiar attribute in a face she’d loved for years, but, again, somehow different. This time his body language, the pattern of his speech, and the nuances of a face that was the same but different registered all at once with Naomi.

  “Good Lord.” A chill rolled up her spine, making a lightheaded contrast to the wave of heat building from her temples down. “You’re not Dash. Are you?” The question whispered from her lips as she reached for the back of the chair and missed. The room tilted.

  A large hand grabbed hers and pulled her against a hard chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Easy, sweetheart.”

  “Naomi.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My name is Naomi.” She spoke into his chest. “Not sweetheart. Not dollface.” She looked up at him. “Na-o-mi.”

  He smiled, making Dash’s dimples peek out at her. “It suits you. Okay, Naomi, I think you need to sit for a minute.”

  He lowered her gently into a chair and motioned for a waiter to bring her a drink.

  When the beverage arrived, he pressed a wine glass into her hand. “Drink.”

  She looked at the pinkish liquid in the glass then eyed him, leery of the unknown libation.

  He wrapped his hand around hers on the stem of the glass and lifted it towards her lips. “I thought you might need something a little stronger than water. It’s sangria.”

  She took a sip. The sweet liquid had pieces of chopped fruit in it. She took a longer swig, enjoying the superb taste. Lowering the glass, she studied the Dash lookalike. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Why didn’t who tell you what, sweet—” Her chafing look made him reconsider his words. “Um, why didn’t who tell you what, Naomi?” He returned to his seat.

  “Your brother. Why didn’t he tell me he had a twin? Was he trying to protect you?”

  “Um, first of all, since my only brother is not biologically related to me, he can’t be my twin. And, second of all, what exactly would he need to protect me from?”

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded piece of newsprint. She opened it halfway and placed it in front of him to display the photograph of two men kissing.

  His face tightened. He pulled back. “Ah. I was wondering when someone would make a proactive move on that. Sorry, sweetheart. If this is about blackmail, you’re a day late and a dollar short. That little charade,” he nodded towards the paper, “blew my deal to hell two weeks ago. Not that I would have been susceptible to blackmail even then.”

  He downed the rest of the liquid in the highball he’d previously abandoned and stood again. “I must admit I approve of the rep they sent to work me over. We might have had more fun, however, if you’d’ve allowed me to escort you to my room before you tipped your hand.”

  He stepped away from the table.

  She grabbed his wrist. “Wait.” She pointed at the paper. “So that is you?”

  “As if you didn’t know.”

  Her grip tightened on his wrist, and she flipped the paper the rest of the way open with her other hand.

  He stared down at the headline and frowned. Sliding his wrist from her grasp, he picked up the clipping and read, “QB Dash Janssen’s Secret Homosexual Lover.”

  He stared at her, his curiosity piqued. “Dash Janssen?”

  She nodded her head, watching his expressions closely.

  He skimmed the article. “He’s a professional quarterback?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat back down. “So, I take it he’s not after my money.”

  She laughed. “He’s not after you at all. I’m the one who pursued this lead.”

  “Why?”

  She reached out her hand. “Naomi Pellier, reporter with The Kansas City Sports Daily. Pleased to meet you.”

  He didn’t take her hand. The look on his face suggested he lumped her in the same category as paparazzi and pedophiles.

  She dropped her hand. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No.” She sat back in her chair.
“What did you mean your only brother isn’t biologically related to you?”

  “I’m adopted.”

  She stared at him. “You’re adopted,” she said under her breath, more to herself than him. She took a long, slow drink from her wine glass.

  “Yes. And you’re after a story. You came here to get the dish on this guy’s homosexual lover. Right?”

  “I came here to get the truth.”

  “The truth. The truth with a heavy dose of journalistic spin.”

  “Dash is a professional quarterback. If he’s been hiding that he’s gay, it’s news.”

  “Why does he have to be hiding anything? If he’s gay, why does he—or any gay man—have to go around announcing their sexual preference? No one insists that heterosexuals do that.”

  “I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s how American society works—”

  He scoffed. “Ri-ight. Which is exactly why I spend most of my time outside the States.”

  “So, I take it you don’t watch football much?”

  “No. I was raised a soccer jock. Played my way through college. I watch football occasionally when I’m home, but because I’ve been living in Europe for the last five years, I tend to follow world soccer.”

  She nodded. “Which means you missed the tabloid spread on Dash.” She took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not here to stir up trouble. If Dash is gay, I’ll break the true facts about the story and give Dash a chance to tell the story his way. No tabloid sensationalism. If he’s not—which is what he’s claimed all along—I intend to be the one to expose that photo as a fraud.”

  She picked up her wineglass then put it down without a sip. “Although … I guess … since you’ve admitted that’s you in the picture, the picture’s not a fraud. It’s just misleading.”

  The stranger picked up the news clipping. The shot didn’t have him full on, but you could see enough of each man’s face to identify them. “This is clearly me in the picture.” His brow creased.

  The rough edge to his voice caused by his confusion sent a shiver up Naomi’s spine. “Geez. You even sound like him. This is so strange.” Her hand lifted and eased towards his face.