Heather Graham (15 page)

She must have slept, because she was startled when she heard him clearing his throat. Then he picked up her hand, and she realized it had been lying intimately on his inner thigh. Very intimately.

She started to rise in horror, a deep blush staining her cheeks.

Kent laughed and caught the nape of her neck, pressing her back against him. “Relax, Katie. You’re fine. I was just suffering a minor torture.”

Katie closed her eyes and kept her head against him; it was better than facing him.

She felt his lips gently nuzzling her hair and cheek. “Oh, I can’t wait to get you home.”

She let out a strangled gasp but felt the laughter in him again, mocking her swift, outraged reaction. She sat up and stared at him; he moved the divider between them and slipped an arm around her, pulling her down to rest more comfortably.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “My word of honor—I’ve no intention of attacking you. Tonight anyway. Go back to sleep.”

His hand was on her back, his fingers moving soothingly, seductively along the length of her spine. Nice, so nice. If she were a cat, she would be purring. And yet … it was exciting, too. She didn’t want to sleep; she wanted to luxuriate in that thrilling touch.

She closed her eyes and tried to fight the feeling. She was being such a fool. Katie started to move, wondering if he could sense her fear.

“Katie!” His exasperated murmur was soft, actually gentle. “Honey, I swear to you that I’m not going to attack.” He was silent for just a second, then his voice came to her again, even more softly, more huskily: “When I do attack, you’re going to be awake—and totally aware of every little move I make, reciprocating touch for touch.”

She opened her eyes, wanting to tell him he could whistle “Dixie” for a year and she wouldn’t reciprocate a thing.

But she didn’t. She just lay there in a bit of a haze and studied his features. His dark eyes were intent on hers, there was a slight curl to his mouth, and the character etched in fine lines about his ruggedly carved face was fascinating.

“What were you doing in Philadelphia?” she asked suddenly.

He smiled. His dark lashes fell over his eyes for a second, and when they opened again, it was only halfway. They carried a demonlike glow of fiery amusement. Sexy, Katie thought. And sensual …

“You really don’t know?”

“No.” Her eyes met his, sapphire radiance combined with an earth-green honesty. A slight shudder coursed through him. Dear Lord, he thought, Dante Hudson had created a beautiful child. A child who was a woman now. Dazzling, stunning … warm and alive against his body and soul.

He brushed a lock of her hair from her cheek, smoothing it over his leg. “I went to see my daughter.”

“Oh,” Katie said, and smiling very smugly, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

K
ATIE WOKE UP FEELING
lethargic. Beyond her spacious room she could hear the languorous roll and lash of gulf waves. She smiled. She was right on the beach. The hotel was an expensive one, but Kent, in bringing her here, had reminded her that since
World
was determined she get the story,
World
deserved to pick up the tab.

Katie carefully opened her eyes. The drapes kept the light muted in the room, but she assumed it was early morning. She closed her eyes again, wondering if the lethargy would recede. Well, if not, it was simply the price she had to pay—and well worth it because she hadn’t screamed out loud at any of the lightning.

And yet she knew that it had been more than four rum and Cokes that had kept her calm. It had been Kent.

“Katie, girl, you’ve lost your mind, your senses, your reason, and your logic!” she whispered aloud, but she was smiling indolently as she did so. Kent Hart, beloved of the multitudes, was being very decent toward her, and she, in return, had done an absolute somersault. She was in dangerous territory. God alone knew how many women he had touched, but he had touched her, too, and not even a hangover could keep her from feeling as if she were drifting in the clouds.

She shook her head slightly, trying to remember why she had hated him so much at the start. Because of her father. But her father, too, had loved Kent.

I do not love him, she told herself strenuously. I have just decided that I can find this assignment a lot more fun than simply bearable.

Katie forced herself to sit up, and as she did so she sobered suddenly. She had gotten to where she could think of nothing else but Kent Hart, and that wasn’t good. She wasn’t a fool; she knew there couldn’t be anything between them. If and when she fell in love, it was going to be with one of Julie’s stockbrokers—an armchair quarterback, the type of guy who had some friends over to the house for the big games, then turned in his sweatshirt for a three-piece suit on Monday morning. Someone stable, capable of loving only one woman—and all in one piece.

There was a knock on her door. Katie frowned, aware that a curious thrill danced like quicksilver into her system. Was it Kent? No, it couldn’t be. Kent Hart was probably at his house, sipping coffee, eating a nutritious breakfast, and dressing for practice.

The knock sounded again. “Room service!”

Katie crawled out of bed, rummaged at the foot of it for her robe, and moved to the door. Her head took only one dangerous lurch, but her frown embedded itself more deeply into her forehead. She hadn’t ordered room service.

She opened the top latch, and the thrill left her system. The young man standing outside her doorway was dressed in the hotel’s neat red and blue uniform.

“Good morning,” the young man greeted cheerfully.

“Good morning,” Katie responded, “but I didn’t call for room service.”

The young man laughed. “It was called in last night, compliments of Kent Hart.”

“Oh,” Katie murmured.

“May I bring the cart in?”

“Oh, of course.”

Katie opened the door and moved into the room. The man pushed in the cart and dexterously pulled the vanity chair before it. He lifted a silver cover.

“Bacon, eggs, potatoes, muffins, orange juice—and lots and lots of coffee. That was the order.” He touched the chair again, pulling it so that Katie might take a seat. “Miss Hudson?”

Katie gazed at him as she took the chair. He was young—no more than nineteen, she guessed—and he was watching her with a speculative fascination. She realized that he was making the same assumption the giggling girls on the plane last night had—that she was either Kent’s mistress or a “fly by night” affair. And looking at her now, Katie thought dryly, the young man was trying to divine just what Kent Hart saw in her; she was surely showing the effects of constant travel and a bit too much to drink the night before.

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the chair.

“My name is Mike,” he told her.

“Thank you, Mike.” Katie reached for the coffeepot, but Mike was quick to serve her. She thought then that he was waiting for a tip.

“Let me find my purse—” she began, but Mike cut her off.

“Oh, no, Miss Hudson. Everything is taken care of.”

She gazed at him curiously, but not so curiously that she wasn’t reaching for the coffee. The languor she felt was becoming annoying.

And apparently her direct gaze was a little disconcerting, because Mike suddenly flushed.

“I’m sorry. I just assume that you know him rather well, and I was hoping—I know this is really presumptuous and awful, but could you get his signature for me on a jersey?”

Katie laughed. “Sure.” She realized then that her easy comment had probably just branded her as something that she wasn’t. She quickly added, “I really don’t know Kent that well. I’m a reporter doing an article on him. But I don’t think he’d mind signing a jersey for you.”

“Thanks!” Mike said eagerly. Katie saw that he didn’t believe a word about her not knowing Kent well. She shrugged, knowing she would only get herself in deeper by protesting more.

“Oh,” Mike added, pausing as he opened her door to let himself out, “there’s a note on the tray.”

Katie nodded and looked down to see the envelope with her name written in large but surprisingly legible cursive letters. She ignored it, sipping her coffee until Mike was out of the room.

The liquid shivers had begun in her heart again. When the door closed, she picked up the note.

It was brief, but it held a hint of … something. Something she just wanted to accept and not question. She read the few sentences over twice:

Katie,

Thought you could use the coffee. Team meeting in the morning—why not head for the beach? Practice in the afternoon at the stadium if you want to be there. We’re on curfew, but early dinner if you’d like.

Kent

Katie refolded the note and smiled, then became annoyed with herself for smiling. I’m falling for this man, she thought, and that is a stupid, stupid thing to do. He’s a charmer—but he’s also a dangerous man. The Cougar, sleek and beautiful, but always watchful, shrewd, and alert. He was toying with her. Like a cat with a mouse. When he was ready, he would leave her, clawed and bleeding …

No! she protested in silence. She was Dante’s daughter, and she couldn’t believe that he hadn’t cared for her father.

But, she reminded herself soberly, he had also told her that he believed she was willing to do anything for her story. She had to prove him wrong—and keep her head ruling her actions as she did so.

Katie drank two cups of coffee before starting on her food, then decided that she was ravenous.

As she ate she decided to follow Kent’s suggestion. It might be winter in the rest of the world, but the day was a balmy seventy-five, and she was going to acquire a bit of a tan. Then she could go to the stadium and quiz his teammates about him.

It was about three o’clock when Kent saw her, and she looked like a spring breeze. Her dress was a white shirtwaist, belted in bold red. She had acquired a rosy glow from a morning in the sun, and the white against her flesh was stunning. Her sandals were red, as were her striking earrings, her bag, and the ribbon that held her hair back in a gold cascade.

He almost missed the pass that was being thrown to him. The ball was thrown straight into his chest by Timmons, the second-string quarterback. All Kent had to do was gasp and clutch to receive it. It did, however, take him a second too long to start running, so he really had to double up his effort to avoid his own defense.

Someone—Coach Griffith, he thought—called out that they could take a break. Panting, Kent buckled down to rest on the balls of his feet. Timmons said something to him; he smiled in return. A second later he saw that Sam was headed his way.

Sam was a mess. The coaches would cool down so as not to injure their own players once they reached Denver, but today they were trying to prove how hard the game of football could be. Sam had been up and down like a yo-yo; his jersey and pants were stained in a hundred places, and his features were slick with sweat and grime.

“You look like hell,” Kent told him.

“Yeah, but I look like younger hell than you,” Sam retorted. He started to hunch down like Kent, lost his balance, and landed hard on his rear with a shrug that clearly stated that as exhausted as he was, it didn’t matter.

Sam wiped a hand across his eyes and looked at Kent. “She’s here, you know. Hudson’s daughter.”

Kent grinned. “Yeah, I know. I invited her.”

“You did? Well, good for you.” He paused a minute. “You know, you’re really testing friendship, Kent. I exercised self-control to the limit the other night—after you kidnapped
my
date from the party.”

Kent laughed. “You know damned well why I rushed her out of that party.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, I do, and that’s why I wasn’t mad. So what’s the story with you two?”

Kent grinned. “I don’t know.” He paused a minute, then said, “Want to come to dinner tonight?”

Sam laughed. “I’m not allowed to come to the Rockies, but I’m being invited to come to dinner? I don’t get it.”

“I don’t either,” Kent muttered. But he did. Every time he saw Katie he was more tempted to … something. Having Sam around would keep him in check—and keep them both from falling into another argument. He was playing for time.

“Yeah, I’d like to come,” Sam said. He glanced shrewdly at Kent. “But what are you up to? You’re dragging me along for good measure now, but you want to be alone with her at the cabin. I’m supposed to remember she’s off limits, but you’re out to seduce her.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Bull!”

“I’m not,” Kent protested calmly. “I’m out to see if she’s determined to seduce me.”

“Same difference, isn’t it?” Sam asked dryly.

“No,” Kent told him quietly, “not in this case.”

One of the coaches called them. Groaning a little, they rose and went back to work.

Later, Kent saw Katie briefly before he headed into the showers. She flashed him a smile that made every one of his muscles shudder and grow taut.

“Working hard?” she teased.

He grimaced. She might look and smell like spring, but he was about as fresh as week-old bread.

“Yeah, we’ve been working hard. Are you hungry?”

“Hmm, I could be.”

“Sam’s coming to dinner with us.”

“How nice.” She said the words with enthusiasm, but she looked a little perplexed.

He smiled. “Have you been working hard?”

“Very. I talked to your owner, your manager, two of the coaches, two front ends, a tackle, and a right guard. So far I haven’t gotten one of them to say anything nasty about you.”

Kent laughed. “Team loyalty. What do you want? Besides, you’re a reporter—you’ll figure out something nasty to say all by yourself.”

Her smile seemed to freeze, but Kent felt no regret for his words. He’d been the route before and was convinced that his words were true. But he was peculiarly annoyed, and he wasn’t sure if it was with her or with himself. “See you soon,” he told her briefly, and he left her in the bleachers and headed for the showers.

The showers were almost empty. Well, Kent thought with a shrug, it made sense. Husbands were anxious to get home to their families; the single guys were in a hurry to either relax or make a little time on their last night home. By tomorrow night they’d all be in Denver.