by G. K. Brady
By the time they’d indulged in dessert and Michaela had paid the bill, she had thought about it. As she hugged Paige good-bye, she said, “I’d love to teach the class. You get the people, and I’m in.”
Ten days later, Michaela sat on the edge of her rumpled bed and slid on her heels, her eyes glued to the tall, sexy man with his back to her as he buttoned his black shirt in front of the bathroom mirror. Wow, he fills out that shirt nicely. The pants too.
“Need help?” she called out.
“Not to get dressed.” He caught her reflection in the mirror and waggled his eyebrows. “But later, when it’s time to get undressed, absolutely.”
She gave him a prim look. “And what makes you think I’ll be around when it’s time to get undressed?”
“Hope eternal? Unrelenting optimism that you’ll want me to help mess up your bed again?”
Leaning back on one hand, she pulled in the scent of his cologne mixed with sex emanating from the sheets and switched from prim to seductive. They hadn’t seen much of each other lately, so it was an easy transition. She was so not done with him today. “I have a feeling you’ll get your wish.”
He shot her a cocky grin. “I have a feeling I will too.”
She gave him the requisite eye-roll.
He turned his attention back to his buttons. “Tell me about the class you taught. How did it go?”
The cloud of giddiness she’d been riding for the last few days slipped beneath her like Aladdin’s magic carpet. “It was so much fun! They were a great audience, and we had a terrific discussion. I realized I enjoy passing on what I know.”
“Sounds like you enjoy teaching.”
“Yeah, I guess I do. And bonus, I’ve gotten calls from six of the agents wanting me to check into their clients’ mineral rights and possibly represent them.” He smiled at her in the mirror, and she drew in a breath and ran on. “And I had two other people call me wanting to know if I could help them with real estate issues separate from mineral rights. That’s eight new people wanting to hire me in some capacity!”
“Wow! That’s fantastic. Knew you could do it.”
“Well, I don’t have the clients yet, but...”
“I have no doubt you’ll close the deals. Then you can tell Steadman to shove it and open your own practice.”
Her mouth gaped. No way was she ready to go out on her own. “I was thinking more along the lines of bringing the clients to the firm and proving I’m a good asset.”
He turned to face her fully. “M, you’re such a good asset that you should work for yourself and yourself only.”
“I’m a long way from that, Blake. I may never get there. I don’t have the kind of resources—or the reputation—I need to open an office right now.” Or the confidence.
“So don’t open an office. Work from home. Meet them at their places or somewhere else, like how you met Paige over lunch. You don’t need a lot of overhead to get a start. And I’ll help.”
She frowned. “I already told you, I don’t want that kind of help.”
He chewed up the space between them in two long strides, grasped her upper arms, and pulled her up from where she sat. “At least think about it, okay?” He laid a kiss on her that left her breathless and dazed. “I want to help.”
“Why?”
Still gripping her arms, he let his eyes drift from her eyes to her mouth and back up again. Involuntarily, she licked her lips. “Because I …” He swallowed hard, as if something was stuck in his throat. “I want the best for you, M, and I don’t think it’s Steadman’s school of sharks.” His eyes drilled into hers, as if he was trying to tell her something.
“What exactly does ‘help’ look like?”
“Like I said before, I help with your expenses. Hell, just move over to my place to make it easier.”
“Easier for whom?”
“For the stubborn attorney who doesn’t want to be a kept woman. If you’re already living with me, you won’t be kept. And full disclosure, it’d be easier for me too—I won’t worry about you as much when I’m away.” He grinned. “Seriously, my place is big enough for you, me, and your office.”
“You worry about me when you’re away?” she replied dumbly while she struggled to process what he’d just said.
He laid a soft kiss on her lips. “Always.” He drew back, his green eyes piercing hers. “The way you’re wrinkling your nose tells me you’re not wild about the idea.”
“It’s just … this is a big step. We’ve only known each other a short time.”
“You keep saying you don’t know what to get me for my birthday. I can’t think of a better gift than you moving in.” He winked.
“Wow. Pressure and guilt all rolled into one,” she chuffed.
He grew serious again. “Look, M, this is new for me too. Maybe we take it for a test run for the next month. If it doesn’t work, you still have this place.” His hands fell from her arms.
“What about Owen?”
“Owen’s a nonfactor. He’s got his own place.” His voice was completely flat, which only reflected the depth of his pain over whatever had happened between the two of them. Maybe she knew Blake better than she had realized.
“Are you two still friends?” she ventured. Blake hadn’t mentioned Owen in so long Michaela had nearly forgotten about Flexing Ferguson.
“He’s in Greeley and I’m here, so...”
Not really an answer. But something in Blake’s expression told her to let it go.
He released a long exhale. “Let’s just go to this thing and have some fun, okay? The discussion about you moving in will keep—if we even want to go there.”
A stab of regret lanced her. She hadn’t meant to shut him down; she’d simply been too startled to sort everything in her head before responding. Too late, he’d seen her raw reaction and had taken it for out-and-out rejection.
Her eyes followed him as he headed back into the bathroom to finish dressing. Did she want to move in with him? The idea had a certain appeal, but it also carried a heavy helping of uncertainty and fear, and she was already pretty dosed up with both. Making a monumental decision about her personal life right now—while the future of her career was damn sketchy—might not be the wisest choice.
Later, she told herself, when they’d finished making love and were snuggled in bed together, she’d let him know the subject wasn’t closed. The brunch would last until late afternoon, giving them the whole evening alone together. Plenty of time for the kind of intimacy that would smooth his ruffled feathers, if any remained ruffled by then.
In the car a short while later, he picked up her hand and dropped it on his thigh, shooting her a quick grin when he turned his head her way for a beat. Had he already put the incident behind him? He was a flare-up, quick-to-cool kind of guy, she was learning, and it was one of the things she loved about him.
They pulled up to a valet at the arena, and Blake made quips about the guy’s age. “He looks like the average thirty-nine-year-old. Think he’s got a driver’s license?”
She laughed—a little louder than necessary—relieved for a change of scene and a shift away from her rioting emotions.
When they walked into the staging area inside the venue—a sort of ballroom where other players and their significant others milled about—a blur of shapely redhead beelined for them from seemingly out of nowhere. She threw her arms around Blake’s neck and dragged him in for a full kiss on the mouth. “You’re finally here! I’ve been looking for you ever since I got here! God, I’ve missed you!” she breathed and ducked in for another kiss, which he barely avoided by pulling her arms off of him.
Slack-jawed, her stomach down around her knees, Michaela looked from Blake’s flustered face to the redhead—Sherry—and back again. His angular cheekbones blazed crimson, the only bright spot in a scene that had Michaela’s emotions twisting and tangling in a heap at her feet.
Chapter 30
Raising Funds and Frowns
How had Blake
been transported into the fucking twilight zone? Sherry’s perfume filled up his nostrils as he wrestled her octopus arms off him. Every time he pulled them away, she wrapped them back around his neck, her puckered lips coming in for another attack. Beside him, M looked as though someone had slapped her … probably because someone had, figuratively speaking.
The tickle of Sherry’s overpowering fragrance made him sneeze in her face. Finally, she pulled away. Astonishment flickered in her features. “I’ll, um, catch up with you later.” Without waiting for a response, she wheeled and headed toward an exit.
He exhaled in relief, only to look into fiery silver eyes beneath arched eyebrows. “M, I—”
“What was that?” The look of shock on her face mirrored the shock rippling through him.
He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers in a solid grip. “I have no idea. I don’t even know how she got—oh shit.”
M’s gaze followed his, landing on a grinning Ferguson heading toward them, his hand out for a shake, which Blake ignored. Sickly yellow-green stains still lingered along one side of his jaw. “Hey, ex-roomie. I see you already said hello to my date.” Ferguson turned his attention to M, his eyes making a lusty sweep of her body that set Blake’s blood ablaze. “Well, well, and if it isn’t my beautiful neighbor.” He leaned in for a kiss—the bastard!—and M turned her face in time, forcing his lips to meet her cheek.
“What the hell are you doing here, Ferguson?” Blake’s jaw was ready to pop from clenching it so hard.
Ferguson’s smirk widened. “Didn’t you hear? I just got called back up for tomorrow night’s game. Coach told me my presence was needed here.” He looked around the room and shrugged. “Like old times.”
“And what the hell is Sherry doing here?”
Ferguson gave M a fake look of apology before turning his dark gaze back on Blake. “Well, I didn’t want to come alone, and she was available. Not all of us are lucky enough to score someone like M hanging on our arm.” His gaze softened and swung back to her. “Very nice picture, by the way. Love the tat.”
Blake flinched inside, all too aware of M’s questioning eyes on him.
Ironically, Ferguson saved him by resuming his yammer, his gaze hardening once more as he leveled it on Blake. “Sherry’s not a bad substitute … which you already know intimately, bro.” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, and he made to tap Blake’s bicep, but Blake blocked him. Ferguson held up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoops. That sort of slipped out. Yeah, guess I’d be a little touchy about my past hookups meeting my current, uh—”
A big hand clapped Blake’s shoulder from behind at the same time a brunette wrapped her arm around M’s shoulders. “Thought that was you.” Mac laughed when Blake jumped. “Ready to serve up some chow for our guests?”
“Uh, yeah.” Blake turned toward Ferguson, but he was gone.
Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Mia smiling beside M. “Hi, Blake.” The four of them traded niceties Blake couldn’t recall until Mia took M’s arm in hers. “Why don’t you boys go on ahead? We ladies will sit back and make sure the guests don’t get too fresh.” She winked at Mac.
Mac rotated his fist in a fake threat. “They better not get fresh with my girl, or—”
Mia scoffed. “I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about the women who are going to try grabbing your asses, especially when they see you strut your stuff down the runway for the fashion show.”
“Yeah, guess we’ll go,” Mac sighed. “Ready, Bear?”
Blake leaned in and stole a kiss from M, whispering, “Are you okay?”
She gave him a brittle smile, noticeably struggling to get her imp on. “I’m fine. This’ll be fun. Go knock ’em dead, Blakey.”
He cringed at the nickname. The three little words he’d swallowed earlier at her place two-stepped on the tip of his tongue, but now was definitely not the time or the place to say them aloud—especially not for the first time. “I’ll see you soon,” he said instead.
“Yep.”
As he turned, Mia’s happy chatter sounded behind him, and he blew out a relieved breath. She’d take good care of M, not that M couldn’t take care of herself, but this had to be all kinds of upsetting—not to mention downright awkward—for her. It sure as hell was for him. Now all he had to do was convince a very angry M he had nothing to do with Sherry being there—while dodging the redhead for the rest of the afternoon. Yeah, piece of cake. Kill me now.
Decked out in red aprons and chef’s hats, Blake and his teammates served up the breakfast buffet and chatted with the long line of people who’d paid big bucks to attend today’s event. His eyes continually prowled for M. She seemed at ease among the other SOs, spending most of her time with Mia, Sarah, and T.J. Shanstrom’s wife, Natalie. The best-looking brunettes in the whole damn place. The whole damn city. He nearly laughed aloud when he realized one of those sassy brunettes belonged to him. Lucky me. Wait. Did she belong to him? She sure as hell did, and he wanted the whole goddamn world to know it.
As much as his gaze sought M, Sherry’s gaze continually tried to catch his. Ferguson, who stood about five guys away, seemed to hold little of her interest and vice versa. Had the two of them struck some sort of devil’s bargain? Had Fergs brought her solely to make Blake squirm? To make M uncomfortable? Asshole. Blake planned to have a conversation with him about it later. Shit needed to be settled.
The serving of the meal over, he and the boys filed behind a stage and put on suits and ties to escort the real stars of the show, kids with varying disabilities for whom the fundraiser had been organized. Blake was assigned a shy little black-eyed cutie. To put her at ease, he went down on one knee and told her he was nervous and hoped she would escort him down the runway. She warmed to him, giggling and wiggling, charming the hell out of him. As he told her how pretty her dress was, his mind messed with him, imagining this was his little girl he spoke to. Something shifted deep inside him. Though she looked nothing like M, he imagined a miniature version with soft gray eyes throwing her skinny little arms around his neck and calling him Daddy.
Whoa!
Heart and hands trembling, he helped the little girl up on stage. She shed her shyness and strutted her stuff while he danced alongside her, and he was damn proud of her. Catcalls in the audience proved to be the sassy brunettes, Natalie’s piercing wolf whistle the loudest of them all. He caught M clapping and beamed her a hopeful smile.
When they were backstage once more, he was back on one knee, thanking the black-eyed beauty for helping him out. Without warning, she threw herself into his arms, and he squeezed her back. “Something Just Like This” looped through his head. In that moment, he could admit he wanted this for himself.
Back in his black pants and black shirt, he was riding an emotional high on his way to M, a quick pit stop along the way. As he stepped out of the bathroom and into the dark hallway, perfume smacked him, and a pair of womanly arms snaked around him. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone all day.” Sherry pulled his head down and locked her lips on his. She smelled of sour beer—lots of it.
With a gasp, he pulled away. “What the hell?”
Bewilderment and hurt flitted across her face, but she kept one hand on his chest. The other hand held a pint glass mostly full of beer. That explains the smell.
She thrust her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “You said you’d call me. What’s with playing hard to get?”
“What?” He shook his head as if it would shake out the confusing bits bombarding his brain. “I never said I’d call you,” he blurted.
She tossed her red hair back, and his mind darted to the extensions fiasco. “No, because you didn’t think I wanted to see you. But I do want to see you.”
“Sherry, I’m here with someone else.” He held his hands up so they couldn’t accidentally come into contact with her—which unfortunately left him wide open, his back against a wall. Literally.
Her lips curved in a knowing smirk. “Owen said y
ou’d say that.” She stepped into him and took his bottom lip between her teeth. When he put his hands on her arms to pull her away, she bit down, and he let go reflexively. Fuck! She licked his lip and crowded him a little more, his shoulder blades in contact with the wall. “He also said you only brought your date to make him jealous,” she whispered against his mouth, “and that you haven’t stopped talking about me. I know what you want, Blakey. Now play nice.”
Before he could protest, her hand cupped the back of his head in a viselike grip and her mouth was back on his, her big tongue probing, trying to work its way between his lips. He tried to turn his head from her grip, but she was fastened to him like a lifting suction cup. In a déjà-vu moment that might have been ironically funny if it weren’t so damn disturbing, a throat cleared from several feet away. Sherry let up for an instant, and he tore his mouth from hers, wiping it with the back of his hand as he turned toward M.
“Practicing what you learned from your lessons?” M’s voice was as glacial as her eyes, and his heart plummeted to his knees.
Would saying “It’s not what it looks like” be just too fucking cliché? No doubt. Instead, he turned a glare on Sherry. “I don’t know what bullshit Owen fed you, but what I’m telling you is the truth. I brought Michaela because I wanted to, not to make anyone jealous. I brought her because I’m with her.” I hope. He was winding up, ready to launch another explanation or five, but before he could utter another word, cold liquid hit him in the face and ran in rivulets down his front.
“Damn it!” He shook his hands, flinging beer off of them.
Sherry stepped back, her narrowed eyes drilling holes into him. “Thanks for leading me on, asshole. If you want me, you need to apologize.” She crossed her arms over her chest with a huff.
I don’t want you, he wanted to yell. Right now, he was caught in a trap, and he didn’t know what to do. Two impossible choices faced him: be a total douche to a woman he had no feeling for and have the woman he loved witness that douche-y behavior, or cave to the gentleman ingrained in him and risk having M believe he had some feeling for Sherry.
