Scoring the Player's Baby

by Naima Simone

  “Another thing I don’t do to women—lie. I was upfront with her about what I wanted, about what I could give her. And that didn’t include a relationship. Sex. Hot, good, harmless fucking—that’s what I promised. She turned the tables. She tried to make it into something I never wanted or agreed to. But that’s still no reason to be unkind, to treat her like shit.”

  Stunned, she stared at him, rocked by his quiet, dignified statement. In that instant, she became the bitter bitch she’d sworn she wouldn’t allow Matt’s betrayal to transform her into. It was one thing to believe football players were walking dicks just waiting for a willing pussy to stick themselves into. But now, she’d judged a man she didn’t know, a regular man who had been attempting to be chivalrous in his own ass-backward way. Or so it seemed.

  He very well could be as upfront with other women as he claimed. Yet, he was still here, at a wedding expo, with a woman hunting him down like he sported ivory tusks. Hell, she didn’t know. It would be refreshing if he was as honest as he claimed. Truth be told, she would’ve appreciated honesty from Matt. At least then she would’ve had the choice whether or not to continue in their sham of a marriage.

  She lowered her arms, cocking her head to the side. “A word of advice, though?” At his nod, she dipped her head in the direction of the wide doors that led back to the hall. “You might want to keep the kissing of strangers to a minimum if you’re at a wedding expo. I don’t know if you’re here with someone, but—”

  A look of absolute horror crossed his face. It would’ve been comical if not for the real terror in it. “Oh shit! Hana.”

  Between one moment and the next, he vanished, having disappeared through the doors in a speed that was surprising for such a big man. Bemused, she stared after him. Or rather the place he’d once stood. Shaking her head, she followed him several minutes later.

  God.

  Kissed by a complete stranger. Confronted by his pissed-off one-night stand. Chatted up about the aforementioned kiss, Pac-Man T-shirts, and booty-call protocol.

  This had to be the weirdest wedding expo ever.

  Chapter Two

  Gray.

  Her eyes were gray.

  Years ago, his mother had owned a Lincoln Continental that she babied like one of her kids. She washed, buffed, and waxed it every Saturday afternoon until it shined, appeared soft and slick to the touch.

  That’s what Kim’s eyes reminded him of. That molten silver shade with just a hint of lavender underneath to make it interesting. Beautiful. Even with cynicism coloring her gaze, it’d been so fucking beautiful. So striking in a face of elegant, interesting angles with skin that reminded him of the Cypress wood table in his mother’s kitchen. A butter-soft, golden-brown with reddish undertones.

  He skimmed the convention hall, locating her and her booth without any effort. Probably because he’d been seeking her out ever since he’d raced back into the expo to find his sister before she hunted him down. Thank God, she’d been so engrossed in the fashion, she’d hardly acknowledged him when he returned to his seat. That’d been the last sigh of relief he’d heaved in the last hour. His mind and ass were so numb from the seemingly endless parade of lace, tulle, and silk that he suspected he might be going into shock.

  “What are you looking at?” Hana elbowed him in the ribs, craning her neck and peering in the direction that he’d been staring.

  “Nothing.” He pressed a palm to her forehead and gently shoved her back. “Hey, you haven’t checked out any of the hotels. I mean, how can you have a wedding without a venue?”

  “True,” she agreed, her eyes narrowed and suspicion all up in her tone.

  She might be justified. After all, he’d been disinterested and grumbling all morning and afternoon. Suddenly, he was turning into the fucking wedding planner.

  “Good. I know just where we should start.” Grabbing her elbow, he steered her toward the other side of the hall. Toward Kim No-last-name-and-nut-busting-kisses.

  “Why are you so eager to offer an opinion all of a sudden?” Hana asked, the distrust still heavy in her voice.

  “Because I care,” he said, not slowing down his pace. “Now let’s go find you a place where you can shackle yourself to one man for the rest of your life. Or until you shoot him.”

  At that moment, Kim glanced up and met his gaze. Though he and Hana were still several feet away, he easily caught the surprise in her expression before she concealed it behind a gracious, though reserved, mask. Proper. Distant. Definitely not the expression of the woman who’d kissed him like she’d invented it. Who’d moaned like she’d tasted something decadent and delicious. And wanted more.

  “Oh. Now it’s all becoming clear,” Hana drawled from beside him. She uttered a sound caught between disgust and amusement. “Really, Ronin?”

  “Shaddup and get over there,” he muttered.

  With a loud, put-out sigh, she allowed him to propel her forward until they stood in front of the booth advertising the Grand and Bishop Enterprises.

  “Can I help you?” Another woman approached them, wearing a beaming smile and stretching out a hand to greet them. “My name is Chelsea,” she said to Hana, glancing at him and lingering just a second too long to be polite before returning her attention to his sister. “Are you the bride-to-be?”

  “Yes.” Hana shook the woman’s hand then waved to him. “This is my—”

  “Brother,” he supplied in a loud voice, making sure it carried. Making sure everyone heard it.

  Hana grimaced, shooting him a glare that had daggers attached to it. Thankfully, as the only man in a household of women, he’d developed Teflon skin.

  “Yes, this is my loving, big, clumsy dunderhead of a brother,” she purred.

  He grinned, taking zero offense at her description. Meh. Nothing he hadn’t heard before or even the worst he’d been called. By his sisters. Extending his hand to Chelsea, he shook hers, ignoring the squeeze she gave his fingers.

  “Nice to meet you both.” Chelsea smiled, picking up a pamphlet and offering it to Hana. “When is your wedding date?”

  “Next March. St. Patrick’s Day…”

  Ronin remained beside his sister for several more moments, half listening as she and the other woman spoke about Hana’s wedding plans and what she was looking for in a possible venue. When Chelsea started going into ballrooms and caterers, he shifted over toward the edge of the booth where Kim stood, her scrutiny focused on her phone.

  Bullshit.

  He noted the slight stiffening of her shoulders as he approached. The minute tightening of her hold on her cell. Oh yeah. She noticed him just as he did her—if being unable to tear his gaze away from her could be called something so insipid as “noticed.”

  Since her head was bent over the device in her hand, he stole those moments to freely study her. That silken, thick fall of hair that he could still feel against his palm. The proud lines and edges of those cheekbones. The sinful, please-get-to-your-knees-and-let-me-in mouth, and the delicate, clenched line of her jaw. The elegant column of her neck. The mouth-watering swell of her breasts. The jut of her hip that screamed attitude. The endless length of legs. Damn, he wanted those dips and curves imprinted on him, preferably with both of them naked and sweaty.

  He didn’t get “taken” by women. Wanted them, yes. Even pursued a few? Yep. But this…captivation with Kim—this need to get close to her, be up in her space, have her look at him with those amazing eyes… Yeah, this was new. The closest thing he could compare it to was…

  No. The vehement objection bounced off the walls of his skull. This was lust, pure and simple. Nothing more.

  “Are you done?” she murmured, never lifting her regard from her phone.

  He took his time lifting his gaze from the feminine flare of her hips, up past the thrust of her breasts to the impact of her eyes.

  “Truthfully? Hell no,” he replied. “But I figure if I don’t want to get reamed for being a pig, it’s better to lie. So yes, all done.”
/>
  From a couple of feet away, a snort echoed. Ronin didn’t bother glancing over at his sister, just smiled. Kim, though, glanced in Hana’s direction but almost immediately returned her attention to Ronin. As if he were the most dangerous person in the convention center, and she couldn’t risk not keeping him in her sights.

  If by dangerous she meant ready to slip his hand under the hem of that sexy librarian skirt and discover if her worship-worthy ass really did fit into the palm of his hand as he’d been imagining, then yeah, she was smart to keep her eye on him.

  Clearing her throat, she finally lifted her gaze and settled it on him. The beauty and power of it shouldn’t have startled him, but it did. Fascinated, he watched her as she watched him. As a football player, he was used to beautiful women. Had met them, hung around them, fucked them. So she shouldn’t have this…impact on him. But damn if she didn’t. Damn if he couldn’t have spent the next few hours studying every angle, line, and expression of her face, trying to decipher why.

  “Chelsea, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, breaking their visual showdown to address her coworker. Then she switched her gaze back to him. “Can I speak to you privately for a moment, please?” The tone was pleasant enough, but it didn’t fool him in the least. It wasn’t a request. More of a, “Git your ass over here. Now.”

  Damn. He liked it.

  “Sure.” The other woman glanced between Kim and him, her curiosity evident.

  But Kim didn’t acknowledge it, instead heading toward the rear of the booth and disappearing behind a long, black curtain that comprised the back wall of the structure.

  Ronin strode around the side, thankful the hotel’s booth was the last vendor in the long row. In seconds, he spotted Kim, who headed toward a door along the wall. She pushed it open, letting it close behind her.

  Grasping the cool knob, he twisted and carefully edged the door open in case she stood near. He stepped into a long, empty hallway that seemed to lead to the bowels of the building. Well, empty except for Kim, who stood several feet away, arms crossed, silently taking stock of him.

  Her contemplation reminded him of a buyer sizing up a horse. Or maybe a psychologist considering a patient for signs of mental illness.

  Neither should’ve had him hard and damn near vibrating with the need to grab her. Neither should’ve had him so fucking hot he curled his fingers into his palms so he wouldn’t fist his throbbing cock through his jeans.

  If she studied him like an animal, maybe it was because, with one hooded, unflinching stare, she’d turned him into one.

  Damn. He wanted her. Yet, all the desire in the world couldn’t make him force his attention on a woman. He had sisters, was the son of a single mom. And if not for the flicker of attraction, of arousal in those molten eyes, he would back off her in a second. If not for her gaze lowering to his mouth, chest, and thighs, he would thank her for her help earlier and return to Hana. If not for the slight increase in her breathing, the elevated rise and fall of her chest as he walked through the door and let it close behind him, he would’ve turned right back around and left.

  But he caught the signals, recognized them. Needed to follow up on them to determine how far they could go. Even now, though, if she told him to leave her alone, he would.

  Please, God, don’t let her say no.

  “Though today is an outing for you, it’s a work day for me. And you just embarrassed me in front of my employee,” she said, the admonition tight with irritation.

  Employee. Huh. He wasn’t surprised. Not really. Authority and confidence fit her as snugly as her obviously tailored and expensive jacket.

  “You mean Chelsea?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think you missed it, but I’m pretty sure she gave you a thumbs-up behind your back.”

  Kim inhaled a deep breath, held it—probably counting to ten—and slowly released it. He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting back a grin he doubted she’d appreciate. His mother would’ve accused him of behaving like a twelve-year-old at the moment, and yeah, she’d probably have a point. But damn, poking at Kim was so much…fun. He had the totally unfounded sense that not many people teased her, that she took life too seriously. That she didn’t laugh enough.

  And not glimpsing those lovely lips curled in a true smile that was reflected in her lovelier eyes was a crime against nature.

  Those eyes narrowed at him, her fingers beginning a quiet drum on her arm. “How would you like it if I turned up on your job uninvited and disrupted your work?”

  That question further solidified his suspicion that she didn’t recognize him—Ronin Palamo, wide receiver for the Washington Warriors, him. He didn’t have to analyze the pulse of satisfaction reverberating inside his chest. He’d had women pretend not to be impressed by him, had them play hard to get. In other words, play games. Outside in the lobby, he hadn’t received that vibe from her. Another woman might’ve used that kiss to finagle something out of him—dinner, sex, gifts, money, fifteen minutes of fame. Yeah, it happened. Hell, there was even a YouTube video to prove it.

  But, Kim was different.

  Reserved. Snarky. Funny.

  Lickable.

  Yeah, she was lickable. Like ice cream. Cool and delicious, sure to melt the longer he licked and tasted.

  To see that reserve dissolve her refined, finely sculpted features into a raw, wild mask of lust was the number one reason his feet remained planted in this hallway.

  “Like it?” he mimicked, replying to her question, spreading his arms wide. “Hell, I’d love it. Just for clarification… Are you going to be disrupting me in those heels?”

  Her fingers started drumming faster.

  Oh yeah. So much fun to tease.

  “Do you want me to go?” he asked, humor shelved for the moment, needing to hear her say go or stay. Halt this right now, or follow it to its conclusion.

  She frowned, glanced to the side, then back at him.

  “I’m really beginning to think you don’t find this in the least bit inappropriate,” she drawled, unlocking her arms and dropping them to her sides. And answering his question with her non-answer.

  “Well, that would depend on your definition of inappropriate.” He scratched his beard, playing up the “clueless giant” act as satisfaction winged through him. “Flirting with you? Ill-timed, maybe, but not inappropriate. Now, if I’d leaned over that table, fisted all that gorgeous hair—which by the way, I have no problem at all imagining sliding over my chest—dragged you close, and took your mouth in a repeat of what some idiot might call a kiss, but I call foreplay? That would be inappropriate.” He shifted closer. Close enough that he caught the tell-tale catch of her breath. Noted the parting of her pretty lips. Detected the slightly faster rise and fall of her chest.

  “Yes, that would be,” she said, a rasp roughening her voice and igniting a twisting, searing heat inside him.

  “And yet, I can’t help but seem to notice that you’re still standing here,” he murmured. Taking a chance, he moved even nearer, until he could inhale the sweet scent of whatever shampoo or lotion she used on her hair or skin. Coconut, maybe. And something lighter, fresh, and delicious.

  He waited. Dragged another lungful of her heady fragrance into him. And waited some more. For another admonition about respecting personal space. For a speech on proper etiquette.

  But she didn’t utter a word. Didn’t move either. And that, more than anything, clued him in on one clear truth. She might not admit she wanted him, but she did. And she hadn’t told him to leave.

  Yet, it wasn’t enough. He still needed to hear her say it. He craved the words.

  “Have dinner with me.” It came out a statement, rather than a question, but he didn’t try to fix it up. The desire to peel away her clothes and her reserve layer by layer rode him hard now, neck-and-neck with the need to see her smile.

  “Dinner,” she repeated, tilting her head to the side. “Is that a euphemism for sex?”

  “Yes.”

  S
he stared at him. Blinked. “Did you just…I can’t believe you just…” she stammered.

  Picking up a lock of her sleek, straight hair, he rubbed the thick strands between his thumb and forefinger, tugged on it while closely watching her face. He didn’t miss the small flutter of her lashes or the flash of emotion—something a little dark and a lot greedy—in her eyes.

  He slowly nodded, brushing the ends of the hair he still held over his bottom lip. “I did.”

  Her sharp inhalation echoed in the air between them. He’d shocked her with his blunt honesty. That couldn’t be helped. He’d been raised to always make it plain. Less chance of misunderstandings and hurt feelings when you said what you meant and meant what you said. Either one of two things could happen right now. She could slap his hands away and storm out the door. Or she could stay, continue to study him with that mixture of confusion and need shadowing her molten silver gaze, allowing him the opportunity to convince her to give them what they both wanted.

  “I just helped you run off a one-night stand, and now you’re propositioning me for another one? Because the last one went so well?” she demanded, her obvious incredulity causing his mouth to quirk at the corner.

  “Oh, Kim.” He shook his head, pouring a wealth of disappointment into his accompanying tsk. “Are you always so glass-half-empty? A glass-half-full kind of person would check out that silver lining and see a woman so well-satisfied that she couldn’t help herself from coming back for more.”

  “I swear to God you have no filter between your brain and mouth.” She huffed out what could’ve been a chuckle or a dismayed groan. Most likely somewhere in between. He tended to have that effect on people. “You do hear how arrogant and assholish that sounds now that you’ve said it out loud, right?”

  “Absolutely.” He nodded, grinned. “But I decided to just go with it. Now, my turn for a question.” He shifted forward even more, until a breath of space separated them, not touching her, because she hadn’t given him permission. And given how hard he was for her, if he did put his hands on her, someone walking through that door might get a serious eyeful. And yeah, he liked to get dirty in the bedroom, but exhibitionism had never been his thing.