Fast Courting (9 page)

“Temporarily?”

“Mmmm,” she agreed, savoring a bite of sautéed lobster meat. “I guess it’s true that blood runs thicker than water. In time they came around. They had almost begun to accept the marriage when it fell apart.”

Having ravished his lobster first, Daniel raised his knife to cut his steak, then paused. “How did they react to that?”

Nia’s shoulders lifted in a sigh of appreciation, of genuine respect. “What can I say? They were wonderful. I had expected a never-ending stream of I-told-you-so’s. There wasn’t
one
. I was pretty shaken and they seemed to understand that. My mother even flew out to stay here for a week. We got to know each other…as adults. It was very nice.”

“Do you go back there often?”

“Once or twice a year. I flew back last November for Thanksgiving. If I can wrangle this
Western Edge
assignment, I may get there again next month.”

“Next month?” he asked, eyeing her more alertly. “You
do
get around.”

For a few minutes they ate in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Nia’s were surprisingly relaxed, centered on the pleasantness of Daniel’s company. It was only when curiosity got the better of her again that she spoke.

“If this was an ‘off’ day, what have you been doing? What
does
a coach do when there is no game?” It was one of the very questions she’d asked herself the night before, after the game she hadn’t had the courage to watch. With Daniel here and in a seemingly receptive mood, she had nothing to lose by asking…particularly when she had just gone on about herself at
his
bidding.

At first he remained silent, eyes downcast, fork poised above his plate. Was he hesitant about speaking, even after that embrace and the opening she thought she’d sensed? Had she imagined that…or simply wished it?

The mellowing of his features spoke of a decision reached in her favor. His smile curled its way right down to her toes. “I love the way people assume that a ‘free’ day is
totally
‘free.’ For the players it means a two-or three-hour practice, perhaps a team meeting, a movie. For me it means work on top of that—management meetings, films—”

“Films? A movie? Where does Hollywood fit into the sport?”

Daniel laughed. “I’m not talking about the standard Saturday night fare, though there’s many a Saturday night I do watch them. No, these movies are of the homemade variety, films of the team we’ll be playing next, even films of our last game with that team. It helps to understand the strengths and strategies of the opposition in planning our offense.”

Nia nodded her understanding. “So where does the coach fit into these practices and meetings and showings?”

“I
run
it all. I direct the practice, conduct the meetings, give a running commentary on the film as it rolls. For each time the team sees a film, I’ve seen it twice.”

“Really? But why?”

“In order for me to effectively coach, I need to know both the opposition
and
my own players like the back of my hand. I need to know how each one reacts in certain situations, against certain types of players.” His eyes glowed with inner satisfaction. “To my way of thinking, my greatest challenge as a coach is in the understanding, the behind-the-scenes study that results in the correct anticipation of a successful play.” Realizing that he’d divulged a little bit of himself, he hesitated, then grinned to lighten the air. “And besides, Harlan loves the movies. And he doesn’t like to watch alone. He prefers to have three or four of us in there with him.”

She frowned, not immediately placing the name. “Harlan …?”

“McKay. President and General Manager of the team.”

“Harlan McKay…” she repeated the name softly. “Harlan McKay…of course.”

“You knew him?”

“David knew him. And well, I think. I’ve never met the man.”

Having finished eating, Daniel sat back in his chair, leaving one long arm and its strong-fingered hand on the table. “Harlan is …an experience.” The twinkle in his eye spoke of a certain fondness. “He’s roughly sixty years of age, a widower who lives alone and has made the New England Breakers his family.”

“Is he easy to work for?”

“Easy?” He rolled the word around his tongue as though trying to taste its meaning. “Easy is a relative term. I find him easy to live with because I’m confident in what I do and therefore unthreatened by his peculiarities. I have, however, lost two assistant coaches because of him, and I’ve had to deal with the ruffled feathers of many of my players in the four years since I’ve been coach.” He smiled with an air of that very confidence of which he’d spoken instants before. “I think I’ve finally got Harlan under control, though.”

Nia’s eyes widened. “What, exactly, does the man do that irritates everyone?”

Daniel chuckled. “He lives the game twenty-four hours a day. I mean, when I tell you that he’s often called me at six in the morning to discuss a particular play he wants considered…”

“Oh, no…”

“Oh, yes! He broods constantly, analyzes every second of playing time, second-guesses everyone and everything. It can, on occasion, be troublesome.”

“I can believe it! But, how do
you
deal with him?”

“I anticipate his needs and try to satisfy them in a way that’s compatible with
my
life.”

“By winning?” she asked.

“By understanding Harlan. I think that he’s basically a very lonely gentleman who has no one to discuss his fears with. He desperately wants the franchise to be a successful one, and he worries constantly. Don’t get me wrong— he’s a genius at scouting out fresh talent and then securing it for us. He understands the business end of the sport; under his management, the Breakers have turned in record high profits. But he is …a pest. If I’m willing to hold his hand every so often, he’s content. So I simply pick my time and place for these booster sessions. By prearranging a meeting with him in his office this morning, for example, I tempered his impulse to call at dawn.” Pausing, he took a concluding breath. “Anyway, I think I’ve finally convinced him that I can do the job.”

“My Lord, with the Breakers’ record, he should be convinced!”

“Touché.” Daniel smiled with quiet modesty.

“But tell me, Daniel, what is it that you
like
about your job?” she prodded softly. “You’ve mentioned lots of minus points. What are the plusses?”

His response held no hesitancy. “The game,” he stated with a gently helpless smile. “I love the game. I always have. I always will. When I was a kid—” he began, then cut himself off just as Nia perked up. It would have been the first time he’d talked of his childhood. Her disappointment was eased, however, by the positively endearing look of excitement that brought his features alive.

“Ach, it’s still the same! There’s that very special feeling when the rhythm is right, just right.” His hand made a flowing motion, simulating a gently undulating wave. “You know it’s there. Everything comes together.” He spoke more softly, with the drama of reenactment. “You take the ball on the rebound and make a fast break, hurl an outlet pass downcourt, then follow while your teammates pass it on the outside. You slice in through the center, outstretch your opponent’s attempted block to snatch the ball from high in the air…then you hook it through the hoop in one continuous motion.” Nia listened to every word, entranced by the boyish enthusiasm and very evident devotion that emerged. “Whew!” He shook his head in amazement, as though he had just physically executed the play and couldn’t quite believe it. “It’s great!”

In the wake of his impassioned replay Nia could only smile and accept the fact that Daniel Strahan did, indeed, love his game. He had spent far less actual time on this brief discourse than he had spent on the negative aspects of his work, yet his enthrallment with it was indisputable.

“Sorry.” He grimaced in belated embarrassment. “I get carried away every once in a while. I didn’t mean to bore you.”

“Bore
me? That was great!” It had been impossible not to catch his excitement.

His gaze sharpened. “It didn’t upset you?”

“You mean…because of David?” At Daniel’s nod she tried to explain, to herself as well as to him. “It’s somehow different…when you speak of it. I can see now why you put up with the strange hotel rooms and the phone calls at six, not to mention your goons yelling ‘Heeey, Professor’…” She caught her breath. “Why
did
he call you that?”

He shrugged off the significance of the nickname. “I got tagged that way when I was a player. You know these media people.” He lowered his voice pointedly. “They love tossing around nicknames. Makes them feel knowledgeable. The joke in the league is that a rookie knows he’s made it when a nickname sticks.
Our
rookie made it this year.”

“Oh?” She met his expectant grin with one of her own. “Do tell.”

Eagerly, he launched into an explanation. “Luke Walker. From Indiana State. His specialty is the sky hook. They call him …‘Skyman.’ ”

Resting her elbow on the table, Nia propped a hand beneath her chin. “Luke ‘Skyman’ Walker? You can’t be serious…” His nod refuted her claim. “That’s too much. But…what about ‘Professor’? How did you come by that particular tag?”

Daniel’s gaze beamed straight into her. If she thought to trick him into divulging personal information under the umbrella of basketball, she was mistaken. Having decided on his own that the time was right, he spoke carefully, quite conscious of each word.

“I’ve always been a reader—on the plane, waiting for buses, whiling away the idle hours. On the road I often escape to a local library. It’s one way of being with old friends.”

She could understand exactly; she viewed bookstores in much the same light. “I know the feeling. But…there has to be more behind the moniker….”

He hesitated before continuing. “There is. I take courses at Harvard whenever I can fit them into my schedule. I’m often caught studying for exams.”

Nia’s face brightened at the image he’d created. “You are? That’s great! What do you study?” She was fascinated. It was certainly a new twist to the stereotypical career athlete.

Having come this far, Daniel took a breath. Slowly, he let it out. “Psychology. Human behavior.” He watched her reaction closely. “I’m interested in what makes people do what they do.”

Nia couldn’t suppress the grin that slid to her warm lips. “So
that’s
why you’ve asked me so many questions about my background…and about my relationship with David. You’re analyzing me!” There was a note of accusation in her voice, but it was mild and without real condemnation.

“No, Antonia.” He softly caressed her name as his eyes echoed the action. “I’m only trying to understand you.”

She heard his words, yet it was what he hadn’t said that troubled her. Why did he wish to understand her? What was it he wanted? Did he see her as friend or foe, woman or writer? Was he struggling with the distinction just as she was?

As confusion clouded her gaze his grew more taut as well, as though to confirm her final thought. Despite the ease that had characterized the conversation during dinner, neither could come to broach this particularly personal vein. For Nia’s part, she wasn’t sure what to say. For Dan’s, he was still wary of saying it.

The awkward silence was broken when he cleared his throat. “Here. Let me give you a hand with these dishes,” he offered, pushing back his chair and standing to tower above the table.

Motivated by nervous energy, Nia wasn’t far behind. “No, no. That’s all right. I’ll take care of them later.” Intuitively, she knew she’d need that scrubbing time to work Daniel out of her system once he’d left. But he ignored her and proceeded to carefully stack the plates, then headed for the kitchen. “Daniel…please!” she protested. “There’s really no need.”

Putting the flatwear on the counter, he determinedly shoved up the sleeves of his sweater and rolled his shirt cuffs back. “I’ll just do the broiler pan,” he growled. “You can take care of the rest later.”

Had her voice been working properly, Nia would have verbally acquiesced. But something in her throat discouraged sound, a something relating to the sight of two forearms, sinewed and straight, brushed with a most masculine helping of dark brown hair. Daniel reached to turn on the water. Her eyes followed his hand, then worked back over his wrist to the strength she so admired. What woman in her right mind would not want that hand stroking her or that arm crushing her against the granite wall of an equally well-muscled chest?

Those arms—warm, manly, strong. She drew in a swift breath at the reckless rush of sensation brought by the sight of those arms—his arms. Whirling, she escaped to the living room.

There she sat, ensconced in a cushioned corner of the sofa, legs curled up beneath her, thinking of Daniel Strahan. How could he excite her so? What was the nature of the power he wielded to render her so utterly malleable before him? Even now, in hindsight, the thought of that warm, naked skin gave her goose bumps, which in turn sent ripples of awareness through her whole body. He was handsome and appealing…and he excited her! It was pleasant and terrifying; how could she reconcile the two?

Head bowed in study of the ivory lengths of her fingers, she felt a warmth on her neck even before his hand curved gently at its nape.

“Are you all right, Nia?” he asked softly, propping his other hand on the sofa back and leaning in toward her. Had
he
scrubbed out the demons of desire on the charred grate of her broiler pan?

She nodded, silently praying that he would exercise good sense for them both and withdraw his hand. She simply couldn’t ask it. But his fingers began to move then, slowly massaging the tension from her neck in long, sensuous strokes, replacing it with a tingling that slithered through the curves of her body. Closing her eyes, she heard a soft cry, a vocal aching, and only realized she’d made it when Daniel leaned closer.

“Nia?”

She opened her eyes and stared at him, unable to mask the birth of desire sparked by his return. His forearms were still bare; she craved to touch them but didn’t quite dare. Daniel read her frustration and came slowly to sit beside her. His eyes were molten brown probes touching her cheek, her nose, her soft, moist lips. Nia sensed the hammering of her heart as his gaze dropped lower to the firm swell of her breasts. He could have stripped her naked; she felt the heat surging through her intensifying.