Night Games

by Lisa Marie Perry

  Either way it wasn’t right, because she was more than even that.

  “Nate? What’s it going to be?”

  Tuned in to Charlotte, Nate sensed her laughter. He saw her toss her head back, chuckling at something the pinstriped journalist said. “I’m in,” he told Bindi, easing away from the game. “Bet it all if you want.”

  Nate made his way to the Titanium Club’s packed dining room and claimed a seat at Santino’s table. On one side of him was their father. On the other was Santino’s date for the night, Elaine. “Good party, Dad.”

  “I wish I could take credit,” Al said, clapping Santino’s shoulder, “but it was Gian’s suggestion. So all compliments go to him. And according to him, all complaints and the bill come to me.”

  Laughter followed. Then, when Elaine excused herself to the restroom, Al reached over to straighten Santino’s bow tie with a smirk. “My son. See that?”

  Santino and Nate exchanged confused shrugs.

  “Elaine. She looked back at you when she left for the powder room.”

  “So?” Santino reached for his wineglass but Al stopped him.

  “Listen. Every woman I’ve had a…deep connection with…from Gloria to Bindi, has looked back at me in a crowded room. Elaine looked at you.”

  Nate didn’t appreciate his mother and Bindi being lumped together that way, but his father was insistent upon making the point that his college friend Elaine was genuinely interested in Santino and just maybe… “Is this a prediction of some sort? That Santino and Elaine might end up getting serious?”

  “A possibility. The odds are in your favor, Santino. What do you think of that?”

  “I think it’s time you switched to something zero proof.” Santino took their father’s wineglass and replaced it with a crystal goblet filled with ice water. “I know Charlotte Blue had a chat with you and Bindi. She’s still here. Why?”

  “Our conversation was brief. Bindi says she invited her to the club to gamble, so let her gamble.”

  “Maybe someone should keep an eye on her.”

  Nate waited until the chef delivered the main course from the menu he’d personally prepared for Santino’s table before he slipped out of the dining area to the spacious gambling room. He saw Charlotte engaged in a lively blackjack game, her date nowhere in sight. He strode over.

  “Of all the gambling joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” He met her flustered look with a poker-faced expression and hovered behind her as a fresh round of bets were placed and the silk-vested dealer began whipping out cards.

  “Bogie. You own this casino? And here I thought seeing you tonight was just a kooky coincidence.” The dealer dished out a ten to accompany Charlotte’s nine and four. Giving up on the game, she moved a couple steps back from the table, allowing a man in a tuxedo to take her place.

  Nate did not move, and now she was wedged against him. The blackjack game was getting hot and folks were converging from all corners of the room. He used that to his advantage, wondering how long he could have Charlotte right where he wanted her. “I don’t own it. My godfather does. Earlier today at camp you mentioned looking forward to having time to yourself. Yet here you are. Would we really call you and I being here tonight a coincidence, Charlotte?”

  At the sound of her name being whispered across her ear Charlotte seemed to shiver. She looked different, so tame and exquisite. At camp she always showed up dressed to work hard and sweat plenty—and more than once this week he’d been struck with the urge to pull her into a private corner on the training estate and kiss her until all his pent-up want transferred from his soul to hers. She deserved to know what he faced every single day.

  “First of all, alone time is a wish that’s hardly granted. I drive practically forty miles every morning for a daybreak run at Cathedral Rock, mainly to get away from duties and expectations and…everything. And second of all, your stepmother invited my date and me up here.”

  Emphasis on the word date.

  “Bindi’s not my stepmother.”

  “That’s a formality. Something tells me you’re not her biggest fan.”

  “We have an understanding,” he said carefully as the sway of the gathering blackjack crowd bumped him closer to her. “She didn’t accept my father’s ring because she’s interested in playing the mommy role for two men who’re older than she is. How many stepmothers wear dresses that seem to be held in place by magic?”

  “Not magic,” Charlotte murmured, his nearness making her shift like a nervous cat. “Very strategically placed adhesive. Well, she does have redeeming qualities, like perfect teeth and generosity.”

  “Generosity?”

  “She gave me a pig flashlight. I have to say I wasn’t sure about her…. She didn’t tell me right off that she knew you. I thought she might not be on the up-and-up. Anyway, it makes sense now, seeing as how you and she apparently don’t get along.” A roar erupted from the table, and Charlotte leaned forward to see the excitement, bringing her firm ass right against the front of his trousers. Without thinking, without even breathing, Nate slid his hand over the fluttery fabric of her fuchsia dress to splay his fingers against her belly. Inconspicuously, shielded by tuxedos and party dresses, he fit her to him.

  Charlotte turned her face to the side. If she made a move to get away, he would let her go. But if she wanted to stay, to remain locked to him…

  “One minute you don’t want me around. The next you want me.”

  Even whispered, the words were risky to say aloud in a crowded room. That she’d taken such a chance compelled him to react in kind, match her risk for risk.

  Nate’s hand ventured lower, from her abdomen to a place that teased his memory, bringing him back to the Rio, to those moments in which she was his.

  Charlotte inhaled deeply as he smoothly slid his hand upward. “The basketball game. You quit out of nowhere.”

  “Because of this.” Nate rolled his hips against her behind, and she gasped faintly even as her body automatically arched back to meet him. The intensity of the blackjack game escalated, the room heady with a collective rush of adrenaline and endorphins. Repeating the hip roll motion slowly once more so he could savor the tautness of her abdomen under his hand and the suppleness of her behind hugging his crotch, he said, “Maybe the reason I don’t want you around is that I want you too much.”

  As if unnerved by his words, Charlotte said tensely, “I have to go. Part of the gamble is knowing when to walk away.” Scooting around him, ready to flee, she dropped her hand and Nate caught it, automatically weaving his fingers through hers.

  A series of groans and protests shot up as the dealer claimed another win. And when Charlotte squeezed Nate’s hand before pulling away and rushing off from the crush, he suspected he’d screwed up and lost a part of himself to her.

  That detail wasn’t confirmed until he spied her hurrying out of the Titanium Club with her date following close. At the door she turned sharply as if she’d forgotten something, then settled her gaze on Nate.

  She’d looked back at him.

  A blinding succession of flashes and clicks was a disorienting reminder of why he couldn’t just go charging after Charlotte and figure out a way for them to explore what they mutually desired—without everything else falling apart.

  Two men with cameras prowled the place like wolves invading a sheep pasture. Paparazzi. Uproar ensued, and Nate, along with his father and godfather, assisted security in muscling the pests out.

  On a suspicion, he sought out Bindi in one of the shadowed recesses of the room. “Paparazzi, Bindi?”

  “Uh, you’re welcome.” Unfazed, she sipped from her wineglass. “I’m just keeping you and your family relevant. Trust me, when things get ugly in Team Franco versus Team Blue, you’re going to want to have the media on your side.”

  It would be virtually effortless to let Charlotte take the heat for Bindi’s machinations, for him to let the battle begin and prove to his father that he was capabl
e of saving their family, but Nate couldn’t let anyone doubt that in this situation Charlotte was innocent and hadn’t brought the paparazzi with her into the Titanium Club. Yet coming to her defense this time wouldn’t change the truth that she was still a Blue, still a trainer bent on conquering his territory….

  Still a woman he wanted but couldn’t have.

  Chapter 9

  It was dark, clouds forming a soft gray haze in the sky, when Charlotte rolled off the comfort of her mattress to see a silhouette darting across the villa bedroom. “Martha?” she said around a yawn, twisting the knob on the nightstand lamp.

  Dim white-gold light washed the room. No longer concealed by shadows, Martha froze—in the same jeans and floral-patterned bustier top she’d been wearing when she’d gone out the previous evening. “Well, you have bed hair but probably didn’t get it sleeping.”

  Martha shook out her hair, going over to her designated pajama drawer in the dresser they shared. “Why does it feel like you’re accusing me of something?”

  “Not accusing. Observing.” Charlotte cracked her neck and turned to smooth her bed linens, not so much to make sure she had a well-made bed to come home to but to give Martha privacy to change. Her sister wasn’t modest and had a particularly aggravating habit of throwing propriety to the wind whenever the mood hit. “Bed hair aside, it’s almost four in the morning and you’re just getting home.”

  “Didn’t think you’d notice, since you were so busy getting dolled up for your date with that Chaz dude. He was all Ma could talk about. Chaz this, Chaz that. Gag me.”

  Charlotte heard her sister flop on the bed with a sigh and knew it was safe to turn around again. “Ma pushed me into that date. It’s my own fault for letting her. But, Martha, I pay attention to you even when you think I don’t.” She got out of bed and gathered Martha’s strewn clothes off the floor and deposited the pile in the adjoining bathroom’s hamper. “Who’s the guy keeping you up all night?”

  “Lottie, the better question is, why isn’t there a guy keeping you up all night?”

  Refusing to be baited, Charlotte made quick work of her early-morning ablutions, threw a loose purple crew-neck shirt over her sports bra and fitted shorts, then grabbed her running shoes and duffel from the closet.

  Martha’s whisper sliced the silence. “About Ma and Pop. If they ask where I’ve been—”

  “I’ll tell them I don’t know.” Charlotte shrugged and turned off the lamp as she prepared to go. “It’s the truth, after all.”

  “Right. If Claussen gives you a decent break today, why don’t you come by the stadium for lunch? You haven’t even seen my office yet. It has a window. With a view. I feel very important.”

  “I might take you up on that.”

  “Good. Then we can hash out why you turned down Maxim and still haven’t made a decision about Sports Illustrated. You should be all over this. It’s a chance to tell the world what you want to accomplish in sports training. And you’d get to show off your runner’s bod.”

  “In what? A string bikini?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  Charlotte sighed. It wasn’t about shyness or camera fright. It was about the importance of what she had to say and how easily provocative photos could overshadow that, especially if word got out about her recent hot history with Nate Franco. She was new on the professional-sports scene, and her mother had warned her during the Slayers’ team party that everyone was watching.

  Everyone was indeed watching, yet no one could agree on who they wanted her to be. Magazines wanted her to be sexy. Her players wanted her to be a trainer who’d take their crap with a smile. Martha wanted her to be cooperative. Danica wanted her to be careful. Her parents wanted her to be their statement. Nate Franco wanted her to be…

  She couldn’t be sure, especially after last night at his godfather’s casino. And that pissed her off. She needed to be clear where she stood with him. He said he didn’t want her around because he wanted her. How was she supposed to react to that?

  “Say yes to Sports Illustrated,” Martha encouraged. “If you’re asked to wear a string bikini, so what? Rock it. Use it to your advantage. Give them a killer interview, and make Ma and Pop proud of you. Sometimes I think that’s your endgame in all this—getting their approval for once.”

  She wasn’t in sports to please Marshall and Tem. In fact, she’d defied their wishes and the “more appropriate” paths they’d pointed out to her. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to prove them wrong. They don’t think I can train our boys.”

  “Or stand on your own without some guy they’ve cherry-picked for you.” Martha nuzzled her face into her pillow. No doubt her makeup smudged the pillowcase but she was evidently too tired and carefree to let it bother her. “We’re whispering in the dark, like children. As long as I live under their thumb, I’ll never grow up.” She yawned. “Go run. Good night. Or good morning. Whatever.”

  *

  The Fiat was damp with drizzle by the time Charlotte pulled onto NV-592 W. Fidgeting with the radio channel search button, she bypassed KNPR, which usually kept her company during her morning drive to Mount Charleston, and left it on a station playing talk-free hard-core hip-hop. Many people clung to this flavor of music; some found inspiration in the poetry of the words. But after a full set that closed with a posthumous Tupac hit, she jabbed the power button and let in the quiet.

  The music hadn’t helped her compartmentalize the thoughts and anxiety that surged through her mind like floodwaters. The pressure to protect her career and her parents’ team battled against her urgent need to make all the personal choices she wanted, screw the consequences.

  As she drew closer to Mount Charleston the rainy darkness gave way to a foggy dawn. The stretch of road up ahead was still fairly visible and wouldn’t get in the way of her south-loop eight-miler. As a precaution, though, when she parked outside the closed-gated Cathedral Rock picnic area, she grabbed a slim flashlight from the glove compartment and jammed it into her waist pack along with her phone, drink bottle, lip balm, pepper spray and keys.

  At this time of morning there were rarely any visitors, even in the areas that remained open twenty-four hours. There was nothing but the scent of rain-dampened foliage colliding with that of a doused forest fire’s lingering smoke, the scenic views of aspens peppered along the steep trail, the sounds of tiny creatures scurrying about in the underbrush and her shoes hitting the ground hard, the pounding of her heartbeat and the cool air against her damp skin as she ran at a steady pace.

  Concentrating on the incline of the trail and the adrenaline flowing through her system, she pretended to outrun her worries about work and family and the man she couldn’t avoid—and didn’t want to. Made believe that for this pinch of time she was alone and free. Imagined that there weren’t a grain of truth to Alessandro Franco’s “word of wisdom” last night.

  You’re only as good as the worst thing you’ve ever done.

  Charlotte had never claimed to be “good” and didn’t find it fair that her career and her parents’ perception of her depended upon how perfect she could be…that the worst thing she’d ever done, no matter how irrelevant to her professional abilities, could cancel out what she’d done right.

  “Deal with it, Blue.” And she ran faster.

  About a mile later, at a sharp bend in the trail, she stopped for a stretch and a healthy sip of her diluted Gatorade. Fog moved around her and through the trees like translucent ribbons. Securing the drink bottle in her waist pack, she took off around the bend only to drop into a crouch at the sound of rocks and twigs crunching under someone’s heavy footsteps.

  Pepper spray was good. Her uppercut—even better. Satisfied with that, she compensated for the limited visibility by focusing with her ears.

  More footsteps.

  She waited. Better not to break the jaw of a hiker or even just another runner.

  “Charlotte.”

  Automatically she sprang up and let loose a
series of expletives.

  Nate’s form parted the billowing fog. Arms raised, palms out, he took another step forward. In jeans and a wrinkled gray tee, he looked scruffy. “How much longer you plan on yelling?”

  “Um. You nearly scared the bejesus out of me, so, yeah, I’m entitled to a little yelling.” Charlotte paused to inhale deeply because she’d apparently been holding her breath while evaluating the threat. “By the way, you came real close to getting a face full of pepper spray or my fist, and if either of those had happened, you’d be the one yelling. For mercy.”

  Nate lowered his hands, considering her words. “There’s something hot about a woman who can fight for herself.”

  She schooled her features into an impassive expression, not willing to let him throw her off guard. “It’s what I do best.” Around them the woods were quiet. It was unusual to encounter another visitor on this route at sunrise. “So. You hit the trails now? And here I had you pegged for a gym addict.”

  “Weights at my place, but when I need cardio, I take it to the streets. I always figured the city was as good a place to run as any…” Nate cast a glance upward at the scenic view “…but maybe I can get why this is your hideout.”

  “A Vegas girl like me can appreciate some peace and quiet every now and then. This trail’s easy enough to handle before a full day’s work, and the best thing about it is that it’s practically a ghost town before the place fully opens to visitors. Every once in a while my sister Danica joins me, but usually it’s just me and the birds and occasionally the Palmer’s chipmunks.”

  “The what?”

  “Palmer’s chipmunks. Ascend high enough around here and you’re likely to spot one. They’re striped, typically stick close to the ground and consider this little region their hangout.” She leaned forward and smoothed a wrinkle on his sleeve. “Nate, did I even tell you I run Cathedral Rock?”