by Pamela Yaye
Intrigued, she stood and tiptoed across the living-room floor. Holding her breath, she pushed open the kitchen door and peeked inside. Marshall stood beside the stove, his teeth clenched and his fists tight.
“I don’t care what agency you’re from. My son’s future is not for sale. And if you call here again, I’ll have you charged with harassment.”
Sage gulped. Sweat dripped down her back and the knot in her stomach tightened. Those weren’t empty threats. Marshall meant business.
“No, I don’t want you to call me back next week. My answer isn’t going to change. Khari’s going to study medicine and that’s all there is to it. The NBA will not take care of my son in the way he needs. He needs an education first, not groupies and more money than he knows what to do with.”
Filing that piece of information away, she pushed open the door farther.
“I’d prefer if you left us the hell alone.”
Her shoulders sank. So much for a lead! News of Khari’s remarkable basketball skills had gotten out and now offers were rolling in. It was just a matter of time before sports agents from In the Know Management and Legends of Tomorrow and a host of other agencies descended on the city.
“Who are you spying on?”
Sage whipped around so fast, the door whacked her on the butt like a wooden paddle. Khari Grant dropped his backpack at his feet and sidled up beside her. Like most basketball players, he was lean, trim and over six feet tall. Imitating her posture, he bent down and pushed open the kitchen door. He listened for a few minutes before turning back to her. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “That’s just Dad being Dad. He gets like that sometimes.” His lips expanded into a boyish smile. “What’s up? I’m Khari.”
“Hi, Khari,” she greeted, liking the teenager instantly. “I’m Sage.”
“Cool name.”
“Thanks. I like it.”
Khari chuckled. “So you work for World Mission, huh?”
“No, I’m a—” Sage caught herself before she unwittingly blew her cover. “Yes, I volunteer a few days a month. But I have a regular job there too.”
Bending down, he retrieved his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “I gotta hit the books. Got a paper to write about Hamlet and his boy Horatio. Check you later.”
“About what you saw when you walked in,” she began, feeling the need to explain. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. Your dad sounded upset…I was going to go in the kitchen to see what was wrong, but I…I got scared,” she lied, praying he believed her.
His smirk told her he didn’t. “It’s all good, Sage.” He winked. “I do it too sometimes.”
The kitchen door swung open. When Marshall spotted Khari, his entire face came alive. “Khari, you’re home. How was study group?”
“All right, I guess. I’m starting to get the hang of this Shakespeare stuff.”
“Did you get back your physics test?”
Wearing a sheepish expression, he scratched the side of his neck. “I got a B minus, but it wasn’t my fault. Mr. Diefendorf wouldn’t give me extra time.”
“Khari, if you’re going to get into Harvard, you have to bring your grades way up.”
“I don’t want to go to Harvard, Dad. I’m going to play in the NBA. Coach says I’ve got what it takes to make it all the way.”
“No, you’re going to med school.” His voice was firm. “If you get your degree and decide you still want to play professional basketball, that’s fine, but at least you will have something to fall back on if things don’t work out.”
“I don’t know about all that. I ain’t—”
“Pardon me?” Marshall’s words came out in a stern rebuke, not a question.
Khari stared down at his sneakers. “I’m not thinking about medical school right now, Dad. I just want to pass English Lit and graduate with my friends.”
Marshall opened his mouth, but when he spotted the woman from World Mission standing by the fireplace, watching them intently, he swallowed his words. “We’ll talk about this later. I’ll be up in a few minutes to help you with your homework.”
Khari continued upstairs.
“I’m sorry about that. I almost forgot you were here,” he confessed, handing her a glass of water. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Sage took the drink from his outstretched hand and inadvertently grazed his fingers. Her heart pulsed with desire. Their connection was intense, and when he smiled at her, she knew he had felt it too. Underestimating the power of his touch, she stepped back to create more breathing room. “He seems like a good kid. And tall too!”
Marshall chuckled. “I hear that at least fifty times a day.”
“I bet. He must take after you.”
Sensing she had ventured into troubled waters, Sage adjusted her cardigan and slipped back into character. Returning to the couch, she picked up her clipboard and retrieved a World Mission brochure. “Now, if you’ll just fill out your personal information on this sponsorship form, I can be on my way.”
“There’s no rush,” he told her, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Can I interest you in something to eat? A muffin, some chocolate chip cookies, maybe? They’re homemade.”
His endearing half smile and the soft hue of his voice warmed every square inch of her body. I wonder what it would feel like to have those big, strong hands on my—Sage shook the thought from her mind. She tried to focus on something—anything but his toned arms and that broad chest—but her internal wiring was on the blink. Sage inhaled. There was something in the air. It was profound, crippling, more devastating than a tropical storm, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d blow her assignment on the first day. “That’s very kind of you, but no thanks.”
“It’s going to take me a few minutes to fill this out.” He uncapped the pen, but she remained the focus of his gaze. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”
“Not at all.” Pleased that she’d regained control, she stood patiently, determined not to be affected by his scent, his dimples or his calming vibe. For some reason, his buttoned-up persona and commanding presence was a serious turn-on. One she hadn’t expected. Overwhelmed by the silence, and wanting to keep the mood light, she said, “It’s been a busy day, but as long as I get home in time for 24, I’m good!”
“That show’s amazing. It’s in its seventh season, but I’ve never missed an episode.”
“Me too!” she gushed. “The writing is great, the plot is tight and the characters are hot, especially Jack Bauer. Ummm…”
Marshall chuckled. “You’re too cute to be with such a rebellious hothead. Not to mention he’s almost twice your age.”
Sage sequestered a smile. So he thinks I’m cute. No doubt, the clean face, casual clothes and curly hair gave her a more youthful look; but just how young did he think she was? His genial, if-only-you-were-older expression told Sage everything she needed to know. Marshall Grant thought she was jailbait.
“All my guy friends go gaga over Elisa Cuthbert, and I bet you do too.”
“She’s not my type. I prefer a more sophisticated woman.”
Their eyes held for a beat too long. Standing there, looking large and in-charge in his black-on-black ensemble, Sage wondered what it would be like to kiss the attractive single father. Her breathing sped up as her body slowly became infected with lust. I must be really desperate to be fantasizing about kissing this small-town guy. Unable to reel in her emotions, she stared into his soft, luminous eyes. The last time she’d had sex, platform shoes were still in style, so being in close quarters with a dark, chocolate hunk was more than Sage could stand. Basking in the light of his smile, Sage licked her lips, and settled her nerves with a deep breath.
They studied each other for a long, quiet moment. Marshall had a presence about him, something fierce and compelling that she wouldn’t be able to withstand much longer. The man was Denzel Washington in Training Day—cool and deliciously sexy. Her mission was in trouble and it was only the day one. Damn!
&nb
sp; “Stay awhile. At least long enough for me to pick your brain about the season premiere.” He hadn’t lowered his voice, but she inched closer. “Were you as shocked as I was when Schector was killed?”
Sage had known Marshall all of five minutes, but when he gestured for her to take a seat, she did, and then chatted animatedly about her favorite TV show. Marshall was a deep thinker, who appealed to her on strictly an intellectual level. Or at least, that’s what she told herself every time her gaze strayed from his face to his chest.
“Looks like you’re almost done,” she said, watching him scrawl his signature at the bottom of the form. “World Mission appreciates your generosity, Mr. Grant. You’re going to help so many needy children.”
“I told you, none of that ‘Mr. Grant’ stuff. Call me Marshall.”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Had he just given her the look, or was it just a figment of her imagination? With her goal front and center in her mind, she stuffed the sponsorship form in her purse and thanked Marshall for his time. “I should get going.”
“I know this is going to sound strange, but I just have to ask. Have we met before?” The words shot out of his mouth, pinning her to the couch. “I never forget a face, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to place you. Maybe it’s the glasses. Do you wear contacts, as well?”
“Um, no, I…” Her voice stalled. Nothing came out but a pathetic squeak. Lowering her eyes, she tugged at her black thermal cap. She’d overstayed her welcome and now Marshall was hot on her trail. “I really have to run.” Scrambling to her feet, she snatched up her purse and made a break for it. But Marshall met her in the middle of the living room, looking amused and becoming more handsome by the second.
“I’ll show you out.” Laying a hand on her back, he gestured toward the short, narrow hallway that led to the foyer. Sage felt like she was walking on a trampoline. Her legs were quivering and she worried she might trip over her feet. It was hard staying calm with Marshall at her side, watching her every move.
“Be safe,” he cautioned, unlocking the door. “And next time you’re in the neighborhood, be sure to stop by for a drink. We can talk more about trying to save the world.”
Frowning, she stopped and glanced up at him. That’s it? No, “I’d love to take you out sometime,” or “How about you give me your number?” Going out with Marshall was risky, but Sage felt oddly disappointed by his lack of interest.
“Again, thank you so much for supporting World Mission.” Playing her part to the hilt, she handed him a fridge magnet, and hurried down the steps. When Sage turned and saw Marshall watching, she added more bounce to her walk. A toothy smile on her lips, she waved and hopped into her trusty rental. I shouldn’t have run off, she thought, throwing the car into drive, but now I have that fine, ex-military man right where I want him!
Chapter 3
“He’s late,” Sage announced, her eyes fixed on the front door of Champions Sports Bar. Aside from the couples playing pool and the heavily pierced server shuffling back and forth between the kitchen and the dining area, the place was empty. “Are you sure he’ll be here? It’s almost nine. You said he’d be here at eight.”
The bartender nodded. “I’m positive. Every Saturday night Marshall and his army buddies swap war stories until closing.”
“Where do they sit?”
He motioned with his head. “Corner booth, next to the washrooms.”
“How many guys?”
“Usually five, sometimes as many as eight.” He added a splash of vodka and a pinch of Cointreau triple sec liquer to the metal shaker, then shook it vigorously. “They crack jokes, play pool and hit on the ladies.”
Convinced it would be the same game once he got a look at her sexy outfit, she smoothed her hands down the length of her miniskirt. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
He furrowed his scruffy eyebrows. “Hell if I know. I just fix the guys drinks. Never seen a woman with him though.”
“This is for your trouble.” Sage slid a twenty-dollar bill toward him.
“Hey, if you need anything else, just ask!” he yelled, his voice suddenly infused with enthusiasm.
“Thanks, kid,” she said, though he could only be a few years younger than she.
“The name’s Gamble and I’m here ’til closing!”
Feeling restless, and anxious to see Marshall, Sage headed for the row of pool tables. She’d visited the Grant home yesterday, and for the last twenty-four hours she had thought of nothing but Khari and Marshall. Well, mostly Marshall. And the more she thought about him, the more persistent her doubts. He was sharp, clever, discerning. Hell, he’d been a sharpshooter! There was no fooling him. If she wanted to taste the sweet juice of success, she’d have to modify her plan. There was too much at stake for her to mess up.
Taking a sip of her cocktail, she rested the glass on one of the raised wooden tables. Life-size photographs of sports icons covered the walls, flat-screen TV’s were mounted in corners, stadium chairs sat on polished floors and fan memorabilia was splashed across the room. Champions Sports Bar had a high-energy atmosphere and Sage knew it was just a matter of time before every seat in the place was filled.
Spotting the dartboard, she went over and retrieved the five missile-shape darts. Playing a round of darts would kill some time and provide the perfect distraction until Marshall showed up. She leaned forward, arching her back and lifting her shoulders, Sage released the first dart. It struck the wall. Shaking her head at the error, she tried again. Same results. The third dart hit the bottom of the target.
“At least it hit the board this time.”
Sage cast a sideways glance at the man beside her. He was of average height, had rippling forearms confined to a rock-hard chest and a black muscle shirt.
“Do we know each other?” she asked, wishing he’d disappear.
“We met a few weeks back at Studio 29.”
His voice was coarse, but Sage didn’t know if that was his natural tone or if he had a case of bronchitis. Either way, he was giving her a headache. Resisting the urge to cover her ears with her hands, she said, “No we didn’t. I’ve only been in Indianapolis for three days, so there’s no way we could’ve met last month.”
“Don’t try to play me. You were smiling in my face, ordering the priciest drinks on the menu, then slipped me some bogus number at the end of the night.”
“We’ve never met,” she repeated, imaging herself shooting him with a dart. Picturing a dart pricking his butt cheek brought a smirk to her lips.
“What’s so funny? You laughin’ at me?”
“Like I said, I’m not from around here. I’m in town on business.”
“For real?” His scowl fell away and was replaced with a hearty grin. “My bad. Sorry ’bout that. I’m Denzel.”
Oh, no, you’re not, she thought, facing the dartboard.
“What’s your name?”
To signal the end of the conversation, Sage narrowed her eyes in precision and shot the dart. It landed on the outer wire.
“Looks like you could use some pointers.”
“Bye. Enjoy the rest of your night. Have a nice life.”
“Don’t be like that, girl. You know you want my help.”
“No, I don’t,” she argued. “I know how to play. I’m just rusty.”
“It’s no fun playing alone.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Come on, girl.” Denzel took giant steps toward her, his hot vodka breath preceding him. “I promise to take it easy on you.”
Sage faced her tormenter. “I don’t need your help. Now, if you want to play a game, that’s another story. How about a friendly round to start? Is twenty bucks low enough for you? Or should we do ten?”
“Naw—twenty bucks a round is cool.”
“No, I meant per dart.”
“That’s a hundred bucks a game!”
“That’s not going to be a problem for you is it, Denzel?” she asked, forcing herself not to laugh in his face. “It�
�s up to you. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
He gulped. “That’s chump change. I can handle it.”
“Good. We’ll take turns shooting the darts. The first one to zero wins!”
“Sounds fair to me,” he agreed, his eyes flicking anxiously around the bar. The place was starting to fill up. Massaging the back of his neck, he fed her a shaky smile. “Ten minutes ago this place was empty. Now, it’s, uh, full.”
She retrieved the darts from the board, then offered them to him.
“I can’t.” He held up his hands and stepped aside. “What kind of guy would I be if I didn’t let you go first? I’m a gentleman, girl. Go on and do your thing.”
Sage leaned forward, poised to shoot. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“She’s kicking his ass!”
The men sitting in the corner booth howled with laughter.
“Damn! She got another bull’s eye!” Roderick Baxter thumped his fist against the table. “And she’s making it look easy too.”
Marshall tasted his Hennessey cognac. Swallowing proved difficult. His jaw ached from laughing. If Roderick wasn’t poking fun at the player-wannabe strutting around the room like a seventies pimp, he was taking cheap shots at Denzel Patterson, the missing member of their three-man group.
“I feel for Patterson, though. There’s a crowd around them and everything.” Emilio Sanchez shook his head. “He’ll never be able to live this one down. Getting spanked by a woman at darts? Twice? Shoot. We might as well look for a new hangout spot, because after tonight, he’ll never be able to show his face in here again.”
“Serves him right for going over there in the first place.” Roderick draped an arm around the booth. “We told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Marshall defended his friend. “Can you blame him? We’ve all been there. How many times have you approached a beautiful woman only to have her shoot you down so bad you’re heart plunged to your knees?”
“You’re right, Grant,” Emilio agreed, his dark brown eyes full of lust. “And that sister over there is hot to death. That chest, those hips, and check out her legs.”
