Authors: Jami Davenport
At the small wet bar in a corner of the room, he poured drinks, crossed to the couch, and sat next to her. She stared at the mint green liquid in the glass he handed her.
"A grasshopper? I haven't had one of these since college."
He winked at her. “I hope it's still the way you like it."
He was still the way she liked him. Who gave a darn about the drink? She sipped from the martini glass. “Perfect."
"Good."
"I'm sorry about the game yesterday."
He raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “Not as sorry as I am. Zero and four isn't a great start."
"HughJack must be livid."
"That's an understatement."
"You had a good game."
"It was okay. I caught a few passes."
"You scored the team's only touchdown."
"I dropped a couple I should have caught.” He leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.
Her gaze dropped to his bare chest with that spattering of chest hair, flat washboard stomach, and muscular, well-defined pecs. He'd looked fine in college, but not this fine.
She wanted him. Oh Lord, how she wanted him. For the last few years, she'd tried to purge his memory, but it hadn't worked. Tonight she'd ventured up here, knowing she was asking for trouble. It wasn't just his body, gorgeous as it was, but his mind that attracted her, his quick wit, his humble attitude, his kindness to others. She loved his affinity for big band music and how he enjoyed karaoke, singing all those old classics with his clear, resonant voice. Did he still sing?
Yet the man
had
cheated. Even worse, he had let her dad pay the price for his dishonesty. Her image of Derek as a straight-up, decent guy conflicted with her suspicions and her father's unspoken implications. There had to be an explanation, a reason. Perhaps Derek was protecting Tyler. Perhaps nothing was as simple as it seemed. A grain of doubt nagged at her like a pebble in her shoe.
Realizing she was staring, she jerked her head up and met his dark, hooded eyes. She knew that look. The man was turned on, and she'd started it.
He licked his lips. “Rae, I—"
"Don't say it. I'm sorry. I was staring."
"I don't mind.” His gravelly voice rasped, almost like a physical caress.
She touched his cheek. He froze, held his breath. She traced his jawline with her finger. Stupid, stupid girl, but she couldn't stop. Just one night, that was all. She couldn't live the rest of her life without one more night with this man.
He leaned closer. Her lips parted of their own bidding, begging for his kiss.
His phone rang, disrupting the silence and saving her butt. She shook her head and pulled her hand back. For a second, he didn't make a move, just sat there.
"Damn. Fucking bad timing.” He hesitated as if contemplating whether or not to ignore the call. As he rose to answer it, she made a quick exit out the door.
HughJack rubbed his bleary eyes and yawned. He'd watched game films for so long, he saw double. Two of smart-ass Harris was more than any sane or insane man could handle.
Zero and four, record low attendance, multiple injuries in key positions—it didn't get any worse than this, at least not for him. He was supposed to be Seattle's savior in pro football, not their demise.
Somehow this ragtag group of misfits needed to gel as a team. His team
leader
, Harris, was an asshole to the nth degree. He'd strangle the kid with his bare hands, except the punk wasn't worth serving time in prison. His offensive line leaked like a dike in a hurricane. His wide receivers couldn't catch a bus. His defensive line spent their time knitting instead of knocking heads.
His head pounded at the futility of it all.
"Are you ready yet?” Cass called through the bathroom door.
"I'm not sure."
"Get out here. Let me see."
Rachel walked out, teetering on the impossibly high heels. Cass let out a long whistle. “You'll have your pick of the litter tonight."
"I don't want my pick of the litter. I can't believe I let you talk me into this.” Rachel stared in the hallway mirror. A stranger stared back.
"You look classy, gorgeous, and sexy. See, I told you."
Rachel shook her head, unable to believe the pouting red lips were hers, or the sleek pulled-back hair, or the big, beautiful sea green eyes. Not to mention her dress gave new meaning to
little
black dress.
"This is not a professional look.” She turned in a circle and concentrated on keeping her legs from tangling. “My butt is showing."
"Don't exaggerate. It's not that short. This dress screams business party chic."
"How do you wear this thing? It's really uncomfortable.” Rachel hated the G-string. It sucked.
"It's sexy, and it eliminates panty lines."
"It doesn't feel sexy. It's like having dental floss up your crotch."
Cass walked around and observed her handiwork. “Damn, I do good work."
Rachel squinted at the stranger in the mirror. “I don't like it."
"Honey, you'll have every man there drooling over you."
"I don't want to be drooled over. I want to be respected."
"They'll respect you—once they yank their tongues back in their mouths. This dress screams look but don't touch."
She sure hoped so. She didn't want tongue-hanging, horny football players hitting on her. She wanted them to see her as a competent equal, or at least close to one. She opened the screen door for Charlie. He paused on the front porch long enough to hiss at Simon and strutted into the room. Simon whined and scratched at the screen door.
"Doesn't that dog have a home?"
"He seems to have adopted me because Derek is never home."
Charlie paused and stared at Rachel as if he'd never seen her before. He sniffed the air. Satisfied she wasn't a stranger, he hopped into a chair, curled up, and went to sleep.
Rachel gazed longingly at him. “I want to be a cat. Life would be so much simpler."
"Honey, who needs simple when a girl can have hot animal sex with the hunk of her choice?"
"I'm not looking for animal sex or even boring sex. I'm looking for a job in football. This is not the way to get it."
"First they have to notice you. Once you have their attention, dazzle them with your football knowledge. The more guys on your side, the better. It's all about networking."
Rachel shook her head. The stuff she did for a career in a man's world.
Who the fuck was calling at ten thirty at night? Derek picked up his cell phone and checked caller ID.
Tyler.
"Hey, man, where the hell are you? We have a game tomorrow.” Leave it to Tyler to be partying all night before a game.
"I'm at the Touchdown Club. You gotta get your butt down here.” Tyler yelled to be heard over the din. The Touchdown Club was a popular sports bar near the Jacks headquarters.
"If I do, I'm dragging your ass home with me."
"Most of the team is here. We took over the place."
"I'm tired."
"You won't be when I tell you this."
"What?"
"Rachel's here."
"Yeah, so?” Derek feigned indifference he didn't feel. He went cold inside.
"No, I mean, Rachel is
here
, and you should see her. Holy shit! If Cass wasn't here, I'd be all over her myself."
"What are you talking about?"
"I mean, she's hot. Every guy here is having wet daydreams over her."
"Rachel?” Derek sat up straight in bed and swung his feet to the floor.
"Yeah. She's wearing this little dress, and let me tell you, buddy, she's got one fine ass and great tits. I never noticed it before with all those business suits she always wears. But then you've seen her naked, and I haven't. Shit, I'm imagining it now, just like every other guy in this place. The rookies are all over her like flies on shit."
"I'm on my way.” Derek yanked on clean underwear, jeans, and threw on a T-shirt. He pocketed his cell, grabbed his keys, and ran out the door.
Derek stood in the doorway and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He heard Tyler before he saw him. The guy's infectious laughter and loud voice vibrated off the walls of the bar. Leaving the doorway, he headed for the boisterous group sitting in the far corner of the bar. Tyler held court and recounted the stories of last week's plays, good and bad, giving his own comical assessment of everyone's performance to the hoots and cheers of his rapt audience.
Derek started to pull out an empty chair when his eyes zeroed in on Rachel, sitting toward the end of the table next to Cass and Tyler. She looked damn hot as she fended off the advances of a rookie lineman whose uniform number outranked his IQ. Hoss's big fat hand rested a little too high on her bare thigh. She pushed it down, and he moved it back up.
Derek's blood boiled, and he clenched his hands into fists. His stomach tied in knots. Seeing Rachel dressed in that little dress really pissed him off
and
turned him on. He didn't stop to analyze why, nor did he give a shit. It just did.
He stalked toward her, grabbed a chair from the table behind hers, and jammed it between her and Hoss. “Take your big fucking paws off her."
Rachel's head snapped around, her expression startled, relieved, and angry all at once. Hoss opened his mouth to say something, then shut it at the murderous look on his teammate's face. He might outweigh Derek two to one, but he was a nice guy who kept his hits on the football field. The rookie snatched his hand away.
"She's with me.” Derek dared him to dispute the fact.
"Okay, man, fine. I don't want any problems. Sorry.” Hoss held up his hands in surrender. “She didn't say anything. I thought she was on the market."
"That's because we aren't together.” Rachel shot him an annoyed glance.
"We are now.” Derek plopped his ass in the chair and cast another threatening glare at the rookie. Hoss scooted away and turned his back on them to concentrate on safer prey—the brunette across the table.
"I don't need you protecting me any more than I do my brothers.” Rachel crossed her legs, and his mouth dried up. He caught a flash of hot pink from the crotch of her panties.
Holy shit.
Helping himself to an empty glass, Derek poured from one of the pitchers of beer littering the table. “You're drunk."
"I am not.” She sloshed wine around in the glass and spilled some on his bare arm.
He raised one eyebrow.
"I do that sober."
He couldn't argue that point. “You're still drunk."
"Maybe a little tipsy. I had two glasses of wine on an empty stomach. Who wants to dance?” She looked around the table. Not willing to cross Derek with that homicidal expression on his face, every man averted his gaze.
Undeterred, Rachel grabbed Derek's arm and leaned into him. “Fine then. You staked a claim, so let's dance."
He started to argue. He hadn't staked a claim. He'd merely done it to protect her. Derek searched her eyes. This wasn't like her. “What are you doing here?"
"I'm networking."
"Networking? With these guys?"
"Do you want to dance or not?” She rose to her feet, wobbling on her stiletto heels. He didn't know if it was alcohol or her innate clumsiness making her so unsteady. Probably both. She tugged on her skirt and pulled it down, still modest Rachel no matter how she dressed.
Derek stared at the black dress.
Damn
. Cass must have loaned it to her. Tyler hadn't been exaggerating. It clung to every curve. The tantalizing bits of skin it did reveal left a lot to his imagination, somehow making it even sexier. The skirt hit her above midthigh, revealing enough of her long, long legs to torture him with countless visions of those legs wrapped around his body.
He considered throwing a blanket around her and escorting her away from the eyes that were undressing her. He'd never been one to share, even visually. He shot one more threatening look around the table, causing his teammates to look away. The only man she really had to fear was him.
He wasn't a saint. He was just a man, and a flawed one at that. His mind slipped down into the gutter with his body. Temptation lapped at his soul. His attempt to do the right thing warred with his male inclination to take whatever might be offered. She appeared to be offering a lot.
The little vixen broke free and danced away from him. He hurried after her, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Tyler, who was throwing back whiskey shots.
Damn.
He caught up with her on the dance floor.
Oh crap. A slow dance
. Derek gathered her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, allowing him to hold her up as they shuffled around the crowded dance floor. He cock grew harder than a goalpost. To make matters worse, Rachel knew it. She rubbed against him and pressed her crotch into his. Their bodies fused together. She looked up at him, and he stared down at her. Their gazes locked. Derek's heart rolled over and lay at her feet.
In that exact moment, everything changed. Life took a side road he'd never planned to travel again. Once he'd made the decision, he wasn't going back.
He knew where this was going, if not tonight, soon. They'd been heading there from the moment she'd stumbled back into his life. Before long he'd be trying out Razor's suggestion on how to relax before a game.
And she might not be inclined to stop him.
Rachel might be a little buzzed, but she knew exactly what she was doing.
Sorta
. The two glasses of wine provided a little liquid courage and silenced all the reasons why this wasn't a good idea.
She hadn't come out tonight with the intention of snagging Derek to share her bed, though it might have been in the back of her mind. She'd been disappointed to find he wasn't among the team members at the table earlier that evening.
She could do this. Rachel, the cool, calm businesswoman, could have recreational sex without emotional strings. Besides, she'd take one for the team, just as Razor suggested. At zero and four, desperate times called for desperate measures.