by Julia Harlow
One of the painters barked out a laugh that echoed around the empty rooms, breaking his reverie. The smell of fresh paint filled his nostrils and was yet another signal he could soon get on with the process of making this house his home. Finally, he’d have a permanent home for him to settle in and surround himself with comfortable furnishings. He gazed down the hallway at the latte-colored paint a big-bellied painter fluidly rolled on his office walls. The roller squeaked in a rhythmic samba.
Carly was supposed to come to London with him next week to help with decorating his new house. He’d been so excited at the prospect of choosing the furnishings after the drawn-out renovating process, but the thought of Carly helping him left him feeling less than enthusiastic, like a balloon that had been pricked by a pin. It had begun to dawn on him recently that she didn’t really enjoy shopping for antiques, art, home furnishings, and the like. Maybe it was because he’d caught her yawning and checking her phone now every time they went to antique shops and art galleries.
He wasn’t sure how much she really knew about antiques and art after several slip ups she’d made. She certainly didn’t know the difference between the Georgian and Victorian periods, and he wasn’t sure she was even familiar with the prominent Renaissance artists. Nothing wrong with that, per se. What bothered him was that she pretended she knew. Why not just admit she didn’t know?
Dorrie would just say she didn’t know. But the fact was she did know. She was attuned to almost everything that was important to him. She was the person he most wanted to have in London with him, choosing sofas and chairs and trunks and art. Lamps and chandeliers and tables and throw pillows. And beds. One bed in particular. The master bedroom bed. It would need to be a really big bed with lots of moving around room.
Taking a sip of hot coffee, he wondered why, every time he thought about Carly, his thoughts were hijacked into thinking about Dorrie. More than once when he was having sex with Carly, he’d closed his eyes and had seen Dorrie. Each time that happened, his cock immediately got harder, thicker, and hotter, and he climaxed almost immediately. He couldn’t figure out why.
On paper, Carly seemed the ideal match for him. She was a perfect little package. Pert tits and ass, beautiful face and body, stylish, assured. But when they fucked, she was so intent on doing everything to please him he wasn’t certain she got any pleasure out of it. Not that there was anything wrong with wanting to please him. But she never let herself go. Sex with Carly was almost clinical. Maybe she just needed more time to be comfortable with him.
By contrast, Dorrie was all softness and lushness. With her, he didn’t need to look to see which body part he was touching. No question she enjoyed sex every bit as much as he did, letting herself go with carnal abandon. She didn’t worry about how she looked or how she moved or if she was pleasing him, because it was so obvious she was. All of a sudden he realized he was hard, as if she were sitting in his lap pressing her ample breasts against his chest. Fuck! So much for thinking of Dorrie as just a friend.
But he’d made a commitment to Carly, and he couldn’t just turn his back on that. Even if he hadn’t actually proposed, they’d talked about marriage. No, as he stood up and gathered his keys and BlackBerry, he decided he would teach Carly about art and antiques. Maybe she’d never had a chance to learn about these things. And he’d be patient while she learned to relax with him.
But even after settling on this decision, it was Dorrie’s face he saw sitting across the table drinking coffee and smiling at him.
~*~
Dorrie stood outside the headquarters of the Dallas Stallions, a sprawling complex not far from Dallas. In the past two weeks, she’d immersed herself in all things professional football, even going so far as subscribing to the NFL Network. She’d soaked up every fact and statistic she could in that short time and was already on the cusp of becoming a diehard football fan.
It was off-season, so no games, practices, team meetings, or workouts were scheduled. But the parking lot was full of late model SUVs and pricey sports cars. Glancing down, she checked to make sure she had her notes and recorder for this initial interview. The early May morning breeze was mild and flipped up the edge of her black skirt. She wore it with a buttery yellow, cropped jacket and black heels. Her hair was caught up in a loose chignon.
Her heels clicked on the pavement as she made her way to the Stallions entrance. She was anxious to meet Cody Carlton, Jr. and set the parameters for the project and interview. This was the part of the project that was the most nerve-wracking, and her heart picked up its thump-thumping as she headed toward the horseshoe-shaped reception desk.
“Dorrie Applegate to see Cody Carlton, Jr.” she announced to the bouffant redhead at the desk who was devoting some serious effort to chewing a wad of gum.
“Sure, honey. Just step over to the guard and someone will escort you up.”
As Dorrie approached the guard, she realized she had to go through a security check. She handed her bag to a guard and walked through an arch similar to those at the airport. Afterward, one uniformed guard searched her bag while another passed a wand down both sides of her body. When she’d been cleared, a guard handed her a security badge dangling from a lanyard, a big bronze stallion rearing up on hind legs in the center.
“Miss Applegate?” A deep voice boomed coming from the direction of the elevators.
Dorrie turned to see a huge hulk of a man heading right toward her and extending his beringed hand. As she took it, her hand disappeared in his enormous mitt.
“I’m Rusty Black from the Stallions PR team. Let me take you up. Cody’s already here.” He waited for her to enter the elevator before following her in and pressing the button for the fourth floor. “Where’re you from, sweetheart?”
His Texas drawl was endearing, but his endearment wasn’t. Sweetheart? Really? But he was eyeing her, waiting for an answer.
“Originally from Kentucky, but I live in New York City now.”
He chuckled and shook his head, mumbling “You poor girl” just as the doors opened. He waited while she exited then followed her out. “This way, honey.”
Her heels sunk silently into the designer carpet as they headed to a conference room. The door was open, and she could see a young man sprawled in a chair, cowboy-booted feet propped up on the table, his eyes trained on a huge wall-hung screen. She immediately recognized what he was watching: game film.
“Hey, there, Cody. Miss Applegate’s here to see you.” Rusty grinned as Cody slowly lowered his feet from the table and turned toward them. His hazel eyes flecked with gold meandered down Dorrie’s body and back up to her mouth where his gaze held a beat too long. Languidly pushing himself up from the chair, he sauntered over, finally meeting her eyes.
“Mornin’, ma’am.” He tipped the bill of his Stallions ball cap.
Ma’am? Dorrie knew for a fact that Cody was only three years older than she was, so why was he referring to her as ma’am? Was it a Texas thing? She already knew she was going to have her hands full with him after his unabashed perusal of her body. And mouth. The recollection of wondering if he had an ego the size of a football field came back to her.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carlton, sir.” She held her hand out and noticed his eyebrows shoot up and his jaw tense. Maybe the “sir” was a bit too much.
When he took her hand, his grasp was firm but gentle. “Pleasure’s all mine.”
Rusty Black turned to go. “I’ll leave you two to it.” And then he mumbled something under his breath that sounded to Dorrie like “You lucky dog.”
The grin that spread over Cody’s face momentarily stunned her. It was the kind of grin that signified he knew darn well he was a lucky dog. Clearly, he was a man used to getting any woman he wanted. No doubt he figured Dorrie would be an easy notch on his bedpost: an average-looking, far-from-svelte journalist ready to worship at his feet, not a supermodel, not an NFL cheerleader, not even a celebrity.
She couldn’t deny that he was exceedingly ha
ndsome. His thick, dark-blond hair looked as if a woman’s fingers had just ruffled through it. Those dancing black-lashed hazel eyes alone were certifiably panty-dropping, not to mention his tall, lanky, muscular body clad in tight jeans and an even tighter charcoal T-shirt. Light stubble spread across a strong, defined jaw, adding just the right amount of sexy scruff to his youthful, sculpted-cheek-boned face.
“Well, shall we get started?” Dorrie squared her shoulders. After all, this wasn’t the first insanely gorgeous man she’d interviewed. Placing her laptop, folder, and phone on the table, she took the chair next to his and watched while he grabbed the remote and flicked off the game film.
Cody leaned back in the chair facing her. He crossed an ankle over his knee and regarded her with hooded eyes. At least Grant hadn’t made her feel like an easy conquest for the taking. Dealing with Cody Carlton, Jr. was going to be a challenge, to put it mildly.
“So, let’s go over the timeline first and then the particulars of the project.” She glanced at her watch. Right on schedule. If they breezed through this, she might be able to wrap the interview up sooner than she’d hoped. An escaped curl tickled her cheek, and she tucked it back in place.
“The thing is, Miss Applegate, it’s a little earlier than I’m used to gettin’ up during the off-season. I haven’t even had breakfast yet. What do ya say we grab a bite to eat first?”
Dorrie stared at the folders and notes she’d just arranged on the table and sighed. Well, that’s just great. So much for being ahead of schedule. Definitely a prima donna.
“If you’d like. I wouldn’t want you to starve during our interview.” She sounded snarly even to herself. But he just smiled and shook his head.
“I know the perfect spot.”
Dorrie gathered her laptop, phone, and notebook, loading them in her leather bag. One step forward, two steps back. Her phone vibrated, and she glanced at the screen. A text from Grant:
I’m in NYC. Want to catch up. Dinner? Where are you?
She couldn’t answer him now. It would have to wait until she had a moment alone.
Cody loped along beside her as they approached the elevator. She tucked the phone in her bag as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.
He called out “Hey” to several people who spoke to him as they exited Stallions headquarters. Any illusions she had that they’d be riding in a fancy sports car were dashed as he led her to a dusty black pickup truck. Cody held the passenger door open and offered his hand to help her up, but Dorrie shook him off, determined to climb up by herself and avoid the contact. Unfortunately, her legs didn’t quite span the distance from the floorboard to the seat, and her skirt rode up revealing the top of her nylons clipped to a lacy garter belt. Cody sucked in his breath, staring at her thighs. She scooted up as quickly as she could and smoothed her skirt down. When he closed the door, she heard him whistle.
Cody climbed in the driver’s seat and pulled out of the Stallions complex, gravel spitting from under the wheels. He drove with one elbow out the window and one hand on the steering wheel. When he pulled out on to the highway, Dorrie decided to answer Grant. As she pulled out her phone and began texting, Cody faced her. “Am I keeping you from something important, Miss Applegate?”
WTF? They weren’t talking or anything. Maybe prima donna was an understatement. “No. Not at all. And please, call me Dorrie.” She stuffed her phone back in her bag and stared at the dried brush along the roadside. Her phone vibrated with another incoming text.
Cody pulled into the parking lot of a run-down dive and eased the truck into a spot near the door. A cracked and faded sign over the entrance read “The Wagon Wheel.”
“Great food here.” He grinned as he opened the passenger door, this time not waiting but taking her arm and helping her down.
Once inside, he tipped his ball cap and addressed the hostess. “Hey hon. Table for two, please.” At the sight of him, the blond hostess lit up like fireworks. “Sure, Cody. Right this way.” Her hips swayed so far with every step that Dorrie was afraid she’d topple over. Cody didn’t seem to notice.
After they were seated, a waitress with a pencil stuck in her frosted up-do brought them waters and asked if they were ready to order.
“Just coffee for me, please.” Dorrie looked up and smiled.
“Oh, you’re missing out big time. They have the most awesome pecan pancakes. Lemme order you some.”
“No, thanks.” Dorrie smiled as sweetly as she could manage.
“I’ll have the steak and eggs, steak medium, eggs over easy, with hash browns and biscuits. Oh, and bring me some orange juice, would you, sweetheart?” Cody handed the waitress their menus and turned to Dorrie.
“It’s like this. I can tell you’re just dyin’ to get started on this interview and everything, but I’m not comfortable sharin’ all my personal details with someone I don’t even know. So I thought we’d get acquainted a little first.”
After the waitress brought the coffee and orange juice, Dorrie slipped off her jacket. The restaurant was warm and she was fighting a creeping aggravation at what he’d just said. An NFL quarterback was a public personality and the subject of more interviews than she could imagine. This was some sort of power play or head game. Turning to drape her jacket over the back of the bentwood, she couldn’t help but notice Cody staring at her. And not at her face. Enough was enough.
“You okay there, Cody?”
He just chuckled. “Yeah, I’m great. Nice top.”
Dorrie had worn a sleeveless silk shell the same butter yellow as her jacket. It wasn’t tight or low-cut, so she’d thought it was perfectly professional.
“Thank you. Your shirt is nice, too.” Taking a sip of coffee, she leveled her gaze at him. Whatever he was up to, he wasn’t getting away with it. Why hadn’t she picked one of the other nine prospects?
“So, tell me about yourself, Dorrie?”
“What would you like to know?”
Resting his elbows on the table, Cody leaned toward her. “Well, how did you get into journalism?”
His breakfast was served, and Dorrie watched while he peppered his eggs and cut into the steak. He took a smaller bite than she expected, chewed with his mouth closed, and wiped his mouth with a napkin before honing his gaze on her again.
“That was my major in college. Fortunately, Omni Publishing hired me when their top biographer defected to another agency.”
Drizzling honey on a biscuit, Cody nodded and asked, “So you’re interested in people?”
She watched while he took a bite. The biscuit looked tasty, and another one sat on the plate, looking plump with a golden-brown crust on top. The delicious “biscuity” aroma made her mouth water.
“Here. They’re really good.” Cody plunked it on the plate in front of her. “There’s jam or honey.” He nodded toward a small ramekin of strawberry jam.
Lifting a knife from the table, Dorrie cut the biscuit in half and buttered it. “Thank you. They smell delicious.” She slathered some strawberry jam on half, took a bite, and moaned.
“See. This is nice. Now I know you appreciate good food.” He winked at her and took a bite of steak. After chewing thoughtfully and swallowing, he tried again. “You like writing about people?”
“I’m interested in what makes people tick, especially those successful in their fields. But what I really enjoy is writing.”
“Writing, huh. Why do you like writing?”
“Are you sure this isn’t boring you?”
The forkful of egg stopped halfway to his mouth. “What would make you think it’s boring to me? I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.” He set the fork down without taking a bite and frowned.
“Point taken. Writing is an elusive craft. You never seem to achieve what you’re trying for. But it makes you want to try all the more.”
“Are you talking about nonfiction or fiction, too?
Oh, so the good ol’ boy posturing is just that, posturing. He’s smarter than he let
s on. “Both.” She finished the last morsel of biscuit and took a drink of coffee.
“How about another one?” His eyes were on her mouth.
Just then the waitress came over to refill her coffee cup.
“No, thanks. Where’s the restroom?”
Cody told her where it was while she gathered her bag. She could feel his gaze on her as she headed to the restroom. Once inside, she fished her phone out and keyed in Grant’s number. When he answered, the sound of his rich voice had her heart racing.
“Dorrie. Finally. Where are you?”
“Dallas.”
“Dallas? What’s in Dallas?” His voice took a downturn, sounding deflated.
“My next Celebrities Today subject.” Dorrie waited, but Grant didn’t say anything. “Are you still there?”
After an exaggerated sigh, he finally answered, “Yes, I’m here. Who’s the subject?” Dorrie knew his voice well enough to know he was sulking.
“Sorry I’m not in New York. I’d love to catch up with you.”
“Who is it?” Now he sounded edgy. What?
“The quarterback of the Dallas Stallions.”
“Cody Carlton, Jr.? Are you fucking shitting me?”
Dorrie wasn’t sure why he was yelling. He never yelled. “Calm down, Grant. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” he bit out.
“Well, something sure is. You’re yelling at me.”
“Wasn’t there any other bloody person you could have chosen instead of that womanizing full-of-himself prick?”
She’d thought the same thing half a dozen times by now. Right then a waitress came in to use the restroom and said hello to her.
“Who’s that? Aren’t you alone?”
“No, I’m at a diner, having breakfast with, um, Cody Carlton.”
“Well, fuck that!”
