Scoring the Player's Baby

by Naima Simone

  A little taken aback by the random topic, she shook her head. “No, she didn’t.”

  “Well, get this. Zeph had a photo shoot for a sports magazine, right? He was supposed to be posing with model Giovanna Cruz, but instead, Sophia showed up, pretending to be her sister because Giovanna’s assistant had double-booked her, and she didn’t want to let either opportunity pass.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Kim gasped. Yep, she actually gasped. “I thought Sophia looked familiar. And no one guessed?”

  “Did I forget to mention they’re identical twins?” His ebony eyes gleamed with laughter. “Not even the photographers could tell the difference. And Zeph had no idea, even though he’d met and worked with Giovanna before. So there he was, getting all up close and personal with Giovanna Cruz…who was actually Sophia. It’s like that weird Ghost shit, yeah?”

  Still shocked by the first bit of news he’d dropped, she frowned, confused. “What?”

  “Ghost. Remember the movie with Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore, and Whoopi Goldberg? That scene where Demi is supposed to be kissing Patrick because he took over Whoopi’s body? I know that’s what they wanted us to see, but I never could. I always envisioned Demi and Whoopi making out. Look, Whoopi’s a boss an’ shit, but she looks like my Aunt Ele. And nobody wants to think about their aunt getting busy with anyone. I haven’t been able to unsee that since.” He shuddered. “Ruined girl-on-girl action for me forever.”

  Kim blinked. Then snickered. She thought she’d been the only person to not be able to replace Patrick with Whoopi. She wholeheartedly agreed. Weird shit.

  “Speaking of sisters and sex…”

  “Were we?” She arched an eyebrow.

  He nodded. “Absolutely. Keep up.” He tapped her temple. “A cornerback on our team, who shall remain nameless, is married to sisters. Literally. Well, technically, he’s only married to one, because both would be bigamy. But they have one of those sister wives situations going on. The only reason no one has caught on is because they’re identical. He switches up like a pair of shoes when they go out in public.”

  Kim gaped at him. “You’re making that up,” she whispered, deliciously scandalized. Daaaamn. That was some Old Testament stuff right there.

  “True story. Hand to the man. Speaking of hand and man.” He leaned forward, his hair brushing the backs of her fingers. “Our offensive coordinator caught his twenty-year-old daughter giving one of our defensive linemen a hand.” He held up both of his, palms out. “Now I’m not saying there was a shotgun wedding, but the offense coordinator in question does own a shotgun…and there was a wedding two weeks later. So I’m just sayin’…”

  She couldn’t help it; she laughed so hard, tears pricked her eyes.

  “I’m afraid of heights,” he announced. It almost seemed as if he’d blurted it out. Like he hadn’t planned on sharing this information about himself. “It’s true. On a visit to my mother’s side of the family in Hawaii when I was seven, my father—who was drunk at the time—thought it’d make a man out of me if I jumped from a cliff into the water below. When he saw I wasn’t going to do it, he pushed me. Thanks to an uncle, I didn’t drown. But it left me with a fear of heights. It’s eased up some in the years since, but the Space Needle? Nope. I’ve never been to the observation deck. And I absolutely never claim a window seat on the flights to away games. Headphones and more than the prescribed amount of Benadryl take care of the rest.”

  Kim stared at him, speechless. At once, she longed to pull him into her arms for the fear that seven-year-old faced and how it still plagued the adult man. She also wanted to junk-punch his asshole of a father. Who did that to a child, much less their child? Sounded like he and Malcolm should get together for drinks.

  “Ronin,” she murmured, but Dr. Pruitt reentered the exam room pushing a portable ultrasound machine, interrupting her.

  But she couldn’t let the moment pass without acknowledging what he’d done. He’d told her those outrageous stories because he’d somehow picked up on her unease. Maybe her pain. Could she read his mind? No. But it didn’t matter. She knew that had been his motivation.

  For the second time that day, she whispered, “Thank you.”

  He replied with a squeeze to her fingers.

  “Okay, if you’ll lie back and lift your shirt,” Dr. Pruitt directed. Kim complied, tugging her blouse from the band of her pants and tucking it under her breasts. “Don’t worry, this is warm.” She smiled and smeared gel onto her lower belly as well as the end of the fetal Doppler then rolled the round head over Kim’s skin.

  Kim held her breath.

  Silence hung in the room, heavy, weighty.

  Then the staticky, rapid bass of her baby’s heartbeat drummed in the air.

  Air burst from her lungs on the tail end of a sob. She tried to swallow it down but didn’t quite manage it.

  Ronin’s fingers tightened around hers, and she held on just as hard to him.

  Awe and cautious joy filled her chest, threatening to burst through. Glancing down at Ronin, she saw the same wonder suffuse his features. His ebony eyes were fixed on her belly, but not in lust. Something almost like…reverence glimmered there. But then, his ridiculously long and thick lashes lowered, and a faint whisper of a smile tilted his lips as he listened to the heartbeat as if it were the most beautiful symphony he’d ever had the privilege to hear.

  Or maybe that was her impressing her feelings on him.

  But studying the hint of a smile and the flush over his sculpted cheekbones, she didn’t think so.

  A fist roughly the size of Ronin’s squeezed her heart. His lashes lifted, and she stared into eyes so dark, so full of the same emotion that flowed inside her, that her breath caught.

  A connection snapped and crackled between them. One that vibrated and hummed deep inside her.

  It scared her.

  “Now there’s a strong heartbeat,” Dr. Pruitt announced, removing the Doppler and wiping it dry before cleaning the gel from Kim.

  Grateful for the interruption, she tucked her shirt back into the waistband of her pants. Before the obstetrician could help Kim sit up, Ronin stood, placing one hand under her shoulder and gently drawing her up with the other.

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  Suddenly, she wanted out of this exam room, out of this office. No, that wasn’t exactly true. She just wanted to get as far away from Ronin as possible. Before she let a special moment convince her she could rely on him, trust him. Need him.

  And she, more than anyone else, knew how well she could lie to her own self.

  “Now, I’ll see you back here in two weeks for your next sonogram,” Dr. Pruitt said.

  Kim nodded. She’d confided in the doctor about her previous miscarriage and her worries as she’d lost the baby at sixteen weeks. Though she’d assured Kim the pregnancy appeared healthy, Dr. Pruitt had been more than understanding.

  “Another sonogram?” Ronin glanced from the doctor to Kim. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not at all,” Dr. Pruitt replied smoothly. “Just routine.”

  She went through instructions for Kim to follow, wrote a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and set up her next appointment. After agreeing to follower her directions to a tee, Kim left the office, Ronin beside her.

  “Ronin?” She stopped just inside the sliding-glass-door entrance, turning to him.

  “Yeah?” He paused as well, his wide shoulders and big frame nearly blocking out everything behind him.

  “I know I asked you not to tell anyone about the pregnancy until the first trimester was over. But would you mind keeping this between us for another three weeks?”

  He frowned, his eyes narrowing on her face, searching. “Why, Kim? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said. Nothing except her own irrational but completely real fears. “I’d just like to wait. Is that okay?”

  Several beats of silence passed while he continued to study her with an intensity that had her fighting not to duck
her head to dodge it. “All right,” he finally said.

  And she released a quiet sigh of relief. She didn’t believe in superstitions or jinxes. But when it came to this baby that she desperately wanted more and more with each passing day, it seemed all that went out the window.

  “You headed to work now?” Ronin asked as they exited the medical building. He wore his hat again, the collar of his coat up and grazing his beard-covered jaw.

  “Yes.” She glanced down at her watch. “Eight forty. I remember Matt’s day usually starting about nine. Is that the same for you?”

  He nodded. “My first team meeting is then.”

  She frowned as they stopped next to her car. “Are you going to be able to make it on time?”

  “I’ll probably just make it. Except with my coach, five minutes early is on time.” Shaking his head with a smile, he lifted his hand but, at the last second, dropped it by his side. Instead, he stroked a hand down his beard. Had he intended to touch her hair again like he had earlier? If so, part of her was relieved that he’d restrained himself. And the other half… Well, that pang inside her probably had more to do with the breakfast she’d sacrificed to the porcelain gods than regret. “I have to go, but remember what the doctor said, yeah? Take it easy. Get more rest. Preferably not in your office.”

  An irrational spark of anger and hurt fired within her.

  Matt had never directly blamed her, but little comments he’d made about her job had let her know he’d believed it’d contributed to the miscarriage. He’d never been able to understand why she’d insisted on working, on having an income—an identity—independent of him. He hadn’t tried, just hated it.

  Even realizing she was hypersensitive to just the mention of her job in connection with the pregnancy, she still snapped, “You don’t need to worry. I can take care of myself.”

  She turned, angrily hitting the open button on her key fob and irritated that she allowed her past with Matt to continue to affect her. Damn it. When would she be free of—

  A pair of strong, long arms caged her in, his big palms planted on her car roof. Dark hair fell over her shoulder and tickled the side of her face. The wild scent of rain-whipped wind and fresh earth enveloped her. A wide, hard chest pressed into her back, and thank God for it. Otherwise, she would’ve been really embarrassed when her buckling knees refused to hold her weight.

  “Tell me something, Kim,” Ronin murmured in her ear, his lips grazing the rim. “Do you ever get tired of being so damn strong? Of constantly being on the defensive? Sometimes, don’t you want to just let go and let someone else do the heavy lifting? To give yourself a break, and trust them to hold the roof and not allow it to fall down around you?”

  “No,” she whispered. Liar. The soft, cackling voice inside her head taunted her. But she shook her head as if to dislodge it. The last time she’d trusted someone like that, not just the roof had caved in, but the whole goddamn house. Maybe at one time, she’d longed for what Alex and Morgan had now. Had believed she’d achieved it with Matt. But that was no longer true. And she could no longer afford to be weak. To let go.

  “Liar,” he growled, mimicking that know-it-all inner voice. His long, heavy fingers slid through her hair, blunt nails lightly scraping her scalp. With a strength that Sampson would’ve envied, she didn’t lean back into the caress. Didn’t release the whimper shoving at the back of her throat, demanding to be released. “Have dinner with me.”

  She shook her head.

  Stranger danger, her internal warning system blared. And she was the stranger. Every time he touched her, she lit up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree. Throw in the connection of a child, and her being near him made up a volatile mix. Like, Molotov cocktail mix.

  That moment in the doctor’s office when their eyes had met while their baby’s heartbeat pulsed strong in the room, she’d felt a deep, jarring bond to him. More than she’d ever experienced with anyone. And it’d terrified the hell out of her. Still did.

  No. Again, she shook her head, as if pounding the point home to herself. Dinner was a monumentally bad idea.

  Keep it platonic.

  His hand slid over her hip, under the flap of her coat, and settled over her stomach.

  “Please,” he said, a hoarse rasp roughening the request. All traces of humor and teasing had evacuated his voice. “I want to celebrate what I heard back there in that office, and I can only do it with you.”

  Oh damn. She bowed her head, nearly groaning.

  He could’ve given her any other reason, and she would’ve been able to stand firm against it. But not that one. Because she, too, wanted to call up her family and share her news. Wanted to include them in the joy of hearing the strong beat of her baby’s life for the first time. But fear and worry shackled her tongue, and his as well. He couldn’t tell anyone because of her request.

  But she did want to celebrate it. With him.

  Or maybe she just wanted to stare at him, torturing herself with the knowledge that she couldn’t permit herself to have him again.

  Nowhere on the pregnancy sites and books did they mention masochism along with swollen, tender breasts, fatigue, morning sickness, and heartburn.

  Sometimes, don’t you want to just let go…

  The last time she’d let go, she’d ended up pregnant by a football player she’d discovered she barely knew.

  But this was dinner. And except for that night with him, the last few months had been about work, work, work. She hadn’t just…relaxed.

  And hell, she was hungry.

  “Okay,” she breathed.

  Even as the words left her lips, the weightiness and guilt of the decision lifted from her shoulders. But that insidious voice inside her head started cackling.

  Because it knew what she did.

  As sure as she would have an inbox full of emails when she arrived at the office, she was fooling herself if she thought this was platonic.

  Chapter Eight

  Ronin rode the elevator to the twentieth floor, keeping his attention carefully focused on the steel doors in front of him…and not the street far, far below him.

  Damn, Kim would work in one of those office buildings that had the glass elevators. For a lot of people, the view over downtown Seattle might be a beautiful sight while they rode in the glass and steel box to whatever floor was their destination. He wasn’t one of those people.

  Heights. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Kim he hated them.

  Inhaling, he lifted his gaze to the numbered lights and started counting as each floor passed, his fingers tightening around the handle of the brown paper bag he carried. By the time the twenty lit up, a bead of sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades. He damn near bolted from the death trap as soon as the doors parted enough for him to fit through. Once his feet hit the thickly carpeted executive floor of Bishop Enterprises, he breathed a helluva lot easier.

  Thank fuck the offices were silent and empty at six-thirty. He’d hate for anyone to report that Ronin Palamo, star wide receiver for the Washington Warriors, had exited the elevator looking like he’d just encountered that freaky-ass Pennywise clown from It.

  He strode up the hall, scanning the names on the closed doors and desks. The space practically smelled of wealth and success. No three-walled cubicles on this floor. Just wide receptionist desks and cherry wood, double doors with gold name plates that gleamed even in the dim light.

  If he’d had doubts about Kim’s position and authority in the company she worked for, this would’ve officially dismantled them. Only the powers that be would have any real estate up here.

  Finally, he located the doors that led to Kim’s professional sanctuary. He knocked, and moments later, one of the panels opened.

  “Hey, Chelsea, did you forget some—” Kim stared at him, then frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  He held up the paper bag, grinning. “Dinner. Did you forget already?”

  She glanced to the bag then back to him, frowning. “
No, I didn’t forget. But dinner usually involves, I don’t know, a restaurant.”

  “I never specified a place,” he said, sliding past her into the office.

  “Only because you wouldn’t respond to my text when I asked you for one,” she grumbled behind him.

  The door clicked shut as he turned around to face her. And he paused, once more drinking her in, as he did every time he saw her. She still wore the same pantsuit she had earlier. But the jacket was missing, and the sleeveless blouse with the ruffled front showcased her toned, slender arms. The pants skimmed her hips and brushed over the tops of her bare feet. The sight of those naked feet with their bright-pink–painted toes had him tightening his grip on the bag’s handle. The last time he’d glimpsed this vulnerable part of her, they’d been in a hotel room about to have the hottest sex of his life.

  A bitter, oily trail of guilt slicked across his chest. It seemed a betrayal of what he’d had with Grace to think that. She’d been his first, and they’d made love, not fucked. Maybe the heat between him and Grace hadn’t contained the combustible, animal attraction that seemed to explode every time he came within two feet of Kim, but there’d been affection, history…love. He’d never have with another woman what he had with Grace.

  Because he wasn’t going there again.

  Clenching his jaw against his turn of thoughts, he scanned the office, taking a few precious moments to close his eyes, inhale, and shove the memories and guilt deep.

  Still…

  He couldn’t look at Kim and not think of that morning. Of the special moment they’d shared.

  A wonder he couldn’t describe had filled him when he’d heard his baby’s heartbeat. Yeah, he’d accompanied his sister to her doctor’s appointments several times with both pregnancies, so today hadn’t been the first time he’d experienced that miracle. But as much as he adored his nieces, they weren’t his. This morning, he’d heard his baby’s heart. He hadn’t been expecting to feel so humbled, so floored, so…full. And damn if his own heart hadn’t started pounding in pace with that rapid pulse.