by Pamela Yaye
Farrah burst out laughing. “True love? Ten minutes ago, you were dirty dancing with a Sony music producer, and now Nicco Morretti is your one true love?”
“Girl, you’d be in love, too, if you knew how much his net worth was!”
In her peripheral vision, Angela saw Demetri stride out of the lounge with his cell phone at his ear and a frown on his lips. Her eyes followed him out of the room and down the long, narrow hallway. He looked upset, but Angela wanted to speak to Demetri alone—without his entourage listening in—and knew this was her best chance to have some one-on-one time.
“Do you guys mind if I step outside for a minute?” Angela asked, her eyes glued to the window. “I need to speak to Demetri, but I won’t be long. Ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”
Remy smirked. “Don’t hurry back on my account. There are more than enough ballers here to keep me busy!”
Angela found Demetri outside the VIP lounge, leaning against the far wall. His head was back, his eyes were closed, and his hands were hanging loosely at his sides. He was the picture of calm, and seeing him like this—all relaxed—made Angela wonder if she’d made a mistake following him out into the hall. Deciding she had, she spun around on her heels, anxious to return to the VIP lounge and her friends.
“I like your perfume.”
At the sound of his voice, Angela turned and faced Demetri. He was standing in the middle of the hallway, staring right at her. Intently. Then, after a long, terse minute, he broke into a wide, disarming smile. One that put her on high alert.
“How was dinner?”
“Amazing,” she gushed. “Thanks for everything. The flowers, the food, the champagne. Everything was delicious.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Are we cool now?”
“That depends. Are you still planning to sue me?”
“I need you to stop dissing me on your show, Angela. It kills.”
She waited for Demetri to chuckle or break out into a grin, but when he didn’t, Angela knew he was serious. Dead serious. That stunned her. Demetri was a rich bad-boy athlete who settled disagreements with his fists, so why did he care what she thought of him? His sensitivity was endearing, a complete surprise, and Angela found herself even more intrigued by him.
“What’s it going to take to squash this beef between us?” he asked.
“You could do my show.”
“I don’t do interviews.”
“Why? Scared the questions will hit too close to home?”
“I’m not scared of anything.” Demetri’s gaze was as intense as the tone of his voice. He appeared stern, like a corporal, and spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve been double-crossed too many times to count, and I don’t have the stomach for lies and bullshit anymore.”
Pausing reflectively, Angela took a moment to consider his words. “That’s not what I’m about, Demetri. I’m not going to trick you or humiliate you on my show, but I will ask you tough questions. Questions my viewers are dying to know the answers to.”
“So, if I come on your show you’ll stop gunning for me?”
“I’m not gunning for you,” she said, shaking her head.
“You called me an immature, overpaid athlete who cares more about winning bar brawls than a baseball championship.”
Angela winced. Those weren’t her words. Sure, they’d come out of her mouth, but her Athletes Behaving Badly piece had been tweaked, cut and rewritten by the producers. On the day of taping, she’d dutifully read the teleprompter and was so busy trying to nail the segment in the first take, she hadn’t given a second thought to what she was reading. But Angela couldn’t tell Demetri that. He wouldn’t understand. Not after she’d criticized him for not writing his own blog. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I was a bit harsh,” she conceded, pinching two fingers together. “But if you come on my show, I’ll give you the opportunity to set the record straight. That’s forty commercial-free minutes to plug your endorsements, your charity and give a shout-out to your ten million followers on Twitter.”
Demetri raised an eyebrow. “Ten million? Is that a lot?”
“Most athletes don’t even have half that number, so I’d say you’re doing okay.”
“As long as I have more followers than my brothers I’m happy!”
They shared a laugh.
“Please reconsider doing my show,” Angela said, hoping to capitalize on their truce.
“Fax the questions to my publicist, Nichola Caruso, and we’ll look them over.”
“No way. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it my way.” Hearing the bite in her tone, she cleared her throat and took a moment to gather her thoughts. Convincing Demetri to come on her show was a daunting task, but Angela was up for the challenge. Every time Demetri smiled or stared deep into her eyes, her heart fluttered in her chest. “I want us to have an open, honest conversation, not a scripted interview with you and your team calling the shots.”
“You’re one tough cookie, Ms. Kelly.”
“I’m a Chi-Town girl,” she quipped. “What do you expect?”
Demetri shot her an amused look. “Can I have your number?”
“Why? So you can prank call my house?”
“No, so we can discuss this further,” he explained, stepping forward and sliding his hands into his pockets. “Maybe we can get together tomorrow and iron out the details.”
“I can’t. I already have plans.”
“With your boyfriend?”
“Don’t have one. Don’t need one,” she singsonged. “I volunteer at the food bank on Saturdays. You should come. We could always use more volunteers.”
“I just might.”
“Sure you will.”
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Because you’re Demetri Morretti, baseball player extraordinaire,” she said, raising her voice. “These days, celebrities don’t do anything unless it’s a planned photo op, and I hate to disappoint you, Demetri, but there won’t be any fanfare at the food bank.”
“Don’t need any.” He took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Can you enter all of the necessary information in here?”
Angela knew Demetri wasn’t going to show, but to humor him she took his cell phone and entered the details. They were on good terms—for now—and until he agreed to do her show, she was going to be on her best behavior. But once they taped the interview, all bets were off.
“I’ll be there at nine o’clock.”
Laughing, she slid his cell phone back into his front pocket. “I’ll have to see it to believe it.” Anxious to get back to her friends and away from the gorgeous baseball player, Angela spun around and waved a hand high in the air. “Good night, Demetri. Thanks again for dinner.”
“Hold up.”
Capturing her forearm in his palm, he slowly drew her toward him. Their faces were close, their bodies touching. The air was thick, saturated with the scent of his desire. His rich, refreshing cologne made Angela feel light on her feet.
“Not so fast, beautiful. We’re not done talking.”
Angela swallowed. Her mind was spinning, and her flesh was scalding hot. She didn’t trust herself to speak, not with the way she was feeling inside, but managed to croak out a response. “I have to get back inside. My girlfriends are waiting for me.”
“But you haven’t given me your number yet.” He drew his gaze from her lips to her eyes and ran a hand down the length of her arm. “How are we supposed to get to know each other if I have no way of reaching you?”
Angela stared at him openmouthed. He’s joking, right?
Standing chest to chest with Demetri Morretti in the darkened hallway was asking for trouble. Angela knew it. Felt it. But she didn’t move away. Not when her legs were shaking uncontrollably and her feet were glued to th
e floor. Angela started to speak but struggled with her words. His smile was so sweet and wild, outrageous thoughts attacked her mind. Scared Demetri was going to kiss her or worse, she stepped back. Right into the wall. Now she was stuck, trapped with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.
How in the world did we get here? Angela wondered, licking her lips. A week ago, Demetri was plotting her demise, and now he looked as though he wanted to kiss her. More shocking still, she wanted to kiss him, too.
Checking her thoughts, she ordered her horny body to get under control. Nothing good could come out of fooling around with Demetri Morretti, and Angela wasn’t willing to ruin her career or her reputation for one night of carnal pleasure.
“You have the perfect look for TV, you know.”
Angela blinked. “I do?”
“You come alive in front of the camera.” He spoke in a whisper, one that made shivers dance along her spine. “You have an incredibly sexy voice and perfect diction.”
“Perfect diction?” A nervous giggle fell out of her mouth. “I’ve heard a lot of crazy pick-up lines over the years, but that one’s a first.”
“Pick-up lines are whack. I prefer to speak from the heart.”
Her heart stood still when he touched her cheek. “What would your publicist think if she knew you were out here flirting with me?”
Lines of confusion wrinkled his forehead. “It’s none of her business.”
“But you’re lovers.”
“I’m single. Have been for over a year.”
“I saw a video of you guys on Entertainment Tonight,” she said, unable to conceal the note of accusation in her voice. “You looked awfully cozy in Maui with her last week.”
“Are you keeping tabs on me?”
Angela couldn’t think of a witty comeback and knew if she spoke, her feelings would betray her, so shook her head instead.
“Nichola’s like a sister to me. There’s nothing going on between us.”
“You’re not friends with benefits?”
“I don’t believe in that. Not my speed.”
Angela threw her head back and let out a laugh. “Yeah, right! Athletes are the biggest players on the face of the earth, and when it comes to deceiving women, they have no conscience.”
“I’ve never been a player. Now, my brother Nicco is a different story.” A grin crimped his lips. “He loves chasing women and doesn’t have a faithful bone in his entire body.”
“And you do?”
“Most definitely.”
“So, all those tabloid stories about you dating various Hollywood starlets are lies?”
“There’s only one woman I’m feeling right now. She’s a tenacious TV newscaster with bright, beautiful eyes and a gorgeous smile, but unfortunately, she thinks I’m a complete jerk.” Demetri bent his head low and dropped his mouth to her ear. “Don’t know if I can change her perception of me, but I’m going to try. Starting right now....”
Then Demetri covered her mouth with his lips.
Stunned, Angela felt her eyes widen and her breath catch in her throat. She couldn’t describe the feelings that washed over her when their lips touched. The urgency and hunger of his kiss overwhelmed her. His caress was tender, his hands soft, and his lips were the best thing she’d ever had the pleasure of tasting. Using his tongue, he parted her lips and eagerly explored every inch of her mouth.
Loud, heavy footsteps reverberated around the corridor. A bulb flashed, flooding the hallway with a harsh, bright light. Pulling away from Demetri, Angela covered her face with her hands and turned her body toward the wall.
“Get out of here!” Demetri shouted, sliding in front of Angela. Shielding her with his body, he pointed a finger at the grizzly-haired photographer snapping pictures with his high-powered camera. “Scram, or I’ll shove that camera down your throat!”
Two bouncers, in black muscle shirts and jeans, appeared at the end of the hallway and snatched the photographer up by his jacket collar. “This clown must have snuck up here through the bathroom window,” one said. “Don’t worry, Demetri. We’ll take care of him.”
The bouncers dragged the photographer into the elevator, and the doors slid closed.
“Angela, are you okay?
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She touched a hand to her lips, to the exact place where Demetri had kissed her. His soft caress, along her bare arms, caught her off guard. Slowly, he turned her around. Her breath came in quick, shallow gulps. Not because she was scared but because she was overcome with desire and wanted nothing more to pick up where they’d left off.
“You’re shaking.” Demetri took off his jacket and draped it over her delicate shoulders. “Don’t worry. Those pictures will never see the light of day. The bouncers will confiscate his camera, then toss him out into the back alley.”
Angela released an audible sigh. “That’s good to know.”
“Let’s head back inside. You look like you could use a drink.”
“No, you go ahead. I need to use the ladies’ room.”
“Then I’ll wait right here.”
“Demetri, that’s really not necessary.”
“It is to me.” A smile dimpled his cheeks. “Go on. I’ll be patiently waiting right here.”
As he watched Angela walk down the hall, his gaze slid along her hips and her long, toned legs. And when she slipped inside the ladies’ room, he released a long, slow whistle. He couldn’t believe it. He’d kissed Angela Kelly—the woman who’d slandered his name on national TV. He was so hungry for her, he wanted to call it a night and head back to his place. In a moment of weakness, his desire for the provocative newscaster had overruled his logic, and he’d acted on his impulse. Angela Kelly was a spitfire, a woman full of contradictions and surprises, and he was interested in learning more about her. A lot more.
He slumped against the wall and rubbed a hand over his face. He felt as if he’d been struck upside the head with a foul ball, and the more he tried to censor his feelings, the stronger his desire for Angela Kelly grew. His brain went into overdrive, entertaining one outrageous thought after another. Thoughts of sleeping with the enemy.
Now it’s a whole new ball game, he decided, casting a glance at the ladies’ room.
And that excited him.
Chapter 10
The Cook County Food Bank was a large brick building bordered by broken-down houses with rusted for-sale signs. When Angela pulled into the parking lot and saw the litter on the ground, she made a mental note to speak to the director about hiring someone from the Ninth Street shelter. The participants in her employment-readiness class were desperately looking for work, and one of them would do a good job keeping the area spick-and-span.
Exiting her car, she spotted Farrah on the other side of the lot and waved in greeting.
“Hey, girl,” Farrah said, heaving her tote bag over her shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until the afternoon.”
“Why? I told you I’d be here bright and early.”
“I know, but when I left Dolce Vita, you and Demetri were still going strong.”
“We were talking, Farrah. Just talking,” Angela stressed.
“More like gazing and flirting and touching!” Her eyes twinkled and her smile was tinged with amusement. “I saw you guys all hugged up on the couch. And at one point, Demetri was even holding your hand. Don’t try and deny it. I saw it with my own eyes.”
A smile appeared across Angela’s mouth as the memory of last night played in her mind. Fast-forwarding past the interviews she’d done and the argument with her crew, she mused over the hot, tantalizing kiss she’d shared with Demetri—the one that had stolen her breath. It was two minutes of heaven, the most electrifying and passionate kiss she’d ever experienced. After returning to the VIP lounge, she’d sat with Demetri in a quiet
corner, talking and laughing. At the end of the night, long after the restaurant had closed, he’d walked her to her car and given her another long, slow kiss. One that kindled her body’s fire and unleashed her desires. But Angela couldn’t tell her friend that. “My boss ordered me to get Demetri on my show, so I have to be nice to him until he signs on.” To convince herself, and Farrah, she gave a shrug of her shoulders. “It was nothing.”
“It sure looked like something.”
Ignoring the dig, Angela followed Farrah up the rickety wooden steps.
“When are you seeing him again?”
“Hopefully, he’ll agree to do my show, and we can tape the interview by the end of—”
“No one cares about your show,” Farrah said, flapping a hand in the air. “I want to know when you and the sexiest man alive are going on your first official date.”
“Farrah, it’s not like that.”
“Oh, yes, it is! You want Demetri so bad that lust is literally oozing from your pores!” Farrah’s head cocked to the side, and she reached out and patted Angela’s stomach. “Before you know it, you’ll have a little bun in the oven and be planning a lavish summer wedding!”
Angela slapped her hand away. “You’re worse than Remy!” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “She demanded to be my maid of honor and begged for Nicco Morretti’s address and cell-phone number all in the same text!”
The women cracked up.
“Would you hurry up and open the door? I’m roasting out here,” Angela complained.
Farrah rummaged around in her oversize gold purse. “Sorry, girl, I can’t find the keys. I know they’re in here somewhere but...”
Loud music pierced the morning air. Fully expecting to see a group of teens cruising down the block in a lowrider, Angela glanced over her shoulder. She watched dumbfounded as a sleek, black Lamborghini turned into the food-bank parking lot.
Her eyes widened. Feeling her knees give way, she grabbed the railing to keep from falling headfirst into the bushes. No way! It can’t be!