Padding across the Oriental rug in a parlor he never used, Boon was grateful for all he’d learned from those neighbors when he’d first bought the place. He was a good money manager, so he’d never had a problem being rich. His mother had taught him the value of a dollar, after all, and he didn’t squander his even when he had a whole lot of dollars. But Boone had struggled with being famous. And to this day, he credited his Buckhead buddies for putting him in touch with discreet local property management services including a company that protected his Wi-Fi.
Here, he was as private as he could be without ticking off fans. Massive gates and tree cover allowed him to mow his own lawn and take putting practice in the backyard without having photos document his every move online.
His phone chimed with a message from the front gate and he checked the camera feed to see Jumbo Reese sitting out front. Boone hit the button to admit them, anxious to see Valerie.
Way too anxious. He had to stay focused. To remember that her advice as Serena had affected the career he’d been building for years.
He’d had his housekeeper set up rooms for both Valerie and whatever bodyguard was assigned to her on any given night. He’d debated putting them both in the pool house, a building that was set up well for two families with a shared kitchen. But he’d told himself Valerie would be safest under his roof.
And this morning, as he watched Jumbo’s Suburban roll to a stop on the cobblestone driveway, Boone had to admit that what he really wanted was to have Valerie close. Period.
He was attracted to the woman he’d wanted to publicly embarrass. The attraction wasn’t wise for a lot of reasons. But he wasn’t going to kid himself about it any longer.
Striding out front to greet his guests, Boone watched Valerie slide out of the passenger side, her long, gray paisley maxi skirt covering most of her except for an enticing slit up one leg. She wore a flowy, white tank top and a few silver chains, her hair caught in a high ponytail and wrapped with a metallic silver colored fabric scrunchy.
Not that he was detailing every inch of her slim form or anything.
Giving himself a mental kick, he started forward just as she let out a low whistle and propped a pair of sunglasses on her head.
“Nice place you have here.” Her gaze went up the roofline where multiple gables capped off the tan stucco home.
“My real estate agent called it French Provincial. I don’t have a clue if she was right, but I liked the way it’s laid out and the big yard is a plus.” He turned to greet Jumbo as the guy pulled bags out of the vehicle. “One of your guys was here yesterday afternoon to look over the layout of the house.”
The security agent held up his phone. “I have his notes already. If you don’t mind, I’ll park the vehicle and walk the property. I’d like to see a few things first hand before I settle in.”
“Of course.” Boone handed him a remote for one of the garages. “You can put the Suburban in the third bay.”
They shook hands and Jumbo wasted no time getting on his headset and talking through some details with his team. At least here, behind the secure gates of Boone’s home, they could all be a little less vigilant. His gaze moved to Valerie where she admired a garden in front of house.
“This is really beautiful.” She pointed to a purple butterfly. “Look at that!”
“It’s a butterfly garden, I think. Or else the one in back is.” He frowned, not remembering much about the landscaping he’d paid someone to install.
“I like it. It suits you.” She smiled up at him.
“I seem like a butterfly kind of guy?” He shot her a warning glare.
“No.” She laughed. “I just meant it’s kind of natural looking and not too fussy. My grandfather’s estate in Miami had more statues than a Roman church, the gardens all laid out with Neoclassical precision. I picked a flower once and I thought the gardener would have a stroke when he saw some kind of heirloom bloom tucked into my overall buttonhole.” She rolled her eyes.
“Well here.” He bent to pick a yellow rose, checking to be sure he’d avoided any thorns, then passed it to her. “I’d be honored to have you wear all my flowers. Although I’m going to admit I’m glad you graduated from overalls. You look very nice, by the way.”
He really liked the long slit up one leg on her skirt, but he kept that thought in lock down.
“Oh.” She slid the rose into the tiny buttonhole of her white cotton tank, the heavy flower tipping forward but staying put. “Thank you. I hope you think so tonight. I didn’t have many options for a dress, so I brought the only two that might—.”
“The ladies from If Wishes Were Dresses sent some recommendations for you since you refused to shop on my account the day you went to the boutique. The boxes came yesterday and I had the housekeeper put them in the closet of the room where you’re staying. She’s around today if you need help with – I don’t know. Anything.”
“You had dresses sent. For me?” Surprise made her eyes go round until the purple butterfly landed on her shoulder for a few moments, distracting her.
A soft hum of pleasure escaped her as she stared down at it.
“Of course. You’re attending the event as a favor to me. I certainly don’t expect you to foot the bills that come with it.”
Her eyes followed the butterfly as it flew off again, her expression oddly charmed.
It was going to be tough keeping things platonic between them now that they were going to be spending more time together. Now that he’d admitted he was very attracted. Now that she would be under his roof or travelling at his side every night until the threats against her could be traced and neutralized.
But for the sake of his career and clearing up the public misconceptions about his failed engagement, Boone would do his damnedest to show some restraint.
*
Valerie had read enough feminist revisions of classic fairy tales to know that the Cinderella fantasy had a girlish wish fulfillment attached to it. It was a drama full of gender stereotyping, and instead of working hard to get ahead, Cinderella opted for the fast track to fame and fortune – on the arm of a prince.
But as Valerie stared at herself in front of the floor length mirror in one of the women’s lounges at the Atlanta Biltmore ballroom, she wondered if maybe Cinderella simply wanted a few hours to wear something beautiful instead of old rags. Then again, maybe Valerie was simply justifying the overwhelming pleasure she felt in wearing an ice blue Marchesa gown with an overlay of black tulle wrapped and tied around the floor length skirt, and black tulle floral details on the bodice. A sapphire necklace – available on loan from an Atlanta jeweler – glittered around her throat.
No one woman in her right mind would blame Cinderella for trading the broom for a night like this. Valerie just hoped she hadn’t sold her soul for the gown since Boone fully expected her to issue a statement about her “mistake” in counseling Annamae Jessup two months ago. And Valerie hadn’t quite decided how to pull that off since she still believed it had been the right advice. Even Boone had conceded he’d been looking for a partner more than a love match.
Luckily, she still had another hour to enjoy her Cinderella time before the stroke of midnight came with Boone’s appointment with the press. Each of the ball players in attendance took turns in the Biltmore lobby speaking with camera crews and he was scheduled for eleven p.m. Valerie would live in the moment and take in every bit of fun she could before then. Starting with another prosciutto and strawberry canapé.
Shoving open the door of the lounge, she reentered the Georgian Ballroom inside the old Biltmore hotel. Completely restored, the old columns glittered with gold leaf where they lined both sides of the room. A huge chandelier sent light sparkling in magical ways overhead, the elegant fixture drawing the eye up to the elaborately molded ceiling. Everything about the night had been beautiful. Except for the occasional whispers about her and her family.
“I love your dress,” a passing woman confided, clutching Valerie’s forearm. “I
didn’t expect a mob princess to be so elegant, but you are just lovely.”
While Valerie tried to think how to respond to that, the woman moved on, oblivious.
“There you are.” Boone arrived at her side, a glass in hand. The man did sinful things for a tuxedo and she couldn’t take her eyes off him when he was around. “I found ice water if you still want some.” He passed her the glass.
Gratefully she took it. The alcohol had been easy to find, but she’d been craving straight up H2O for the last half hour.
“Thank you.” She drained the glass quickly and set it on a busboy’s cart, hoping the cold drink would settle some of the hot thoughts she’d been having about her date.
He’d been a perfect gentleman, leaving her to her own devices to settle into her suite in his home. He’d given her rooms far from his but close to the bodyguard. Because Boone wasn’t interested in her? Or because he was pragmatic and thoughtful? She had no idea. And she shouldn’t care.
But since she couldn’t take her eyes off him in his tuxedo, she found herself thinking all kinds of romantic thoughts. Maybe she’d fallen into that Cinderella mode a little too easily.
“Should we go over what you’d like me to say at the media booth?” She wrenched her gaze off his broad shoulders and focused on his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten why I’m really here.”
She could see something shift in his expression, perhaps caught off guard by her sudden directness. But before he could speak, two women appeared on either side of him and each clutched one of his arms.
“Oh my God, it’s Boone Sullivan,” one of them cooed.
“Please take our photo with him,” the other asked, passing a phone in Valerie’s direction without ever looking at her.
“And one on mine, too,” the other one insisted, a second phone now in Valerie’s face.
Dressed to the nines, both women were obviously invited guests at the function and not party-crashers, but it struck Valerie as a bit rude to grope a man who was with another woman. Still, she looked to Boone and he shrugged back at her. Giving tacit permission for the photos?
“I don’t think the photography with the players is allowed outside the donation booth,” she reminded them politely, not taking their phones. “Boone already took a turn to raise money for—.”
The women ignored her.
“Feel his biceps,” exclaimed one, squeezing his upper arm.
“Oh my God,” murmured the other, her face so rapt she looked like she might fly into an orgasm just from feeling up her idol.
Boone’s jaw turned to steel. His eyes narrowed. And Valerie quickly recalled the other reason she’d been invited tonight.
“Okay, that’s enough.” She set aside both phones on a nearby table and took one feminine wrist in each of her hands, plucking both of them off him. “Play time is over and Mr. Sullivan is not your personal pleasure aid.” Her British accent slipped into her speech without her permission. But then, Serena excelled at giving straight forward, practical advice. “Have a good evening, and thank you for helping us to raise money for Stars’ charities.”
Taking Boone’s hand, she tried to lead him away now that she’d freed him, but he didn’t move.
“Um. Boone?” She stopped tugging. Stared back at him while he gazed at her with an unreadable expression. Clearing her throat, she said, “This is our big exit.”
Something flickered in his gaze. Something hot that made her want to lick her lips.
“It’s not us who needs to leave,” he reminded her. And, stepping forward, he wrapped both arms around her waist.
Her heartbeat suspended. Her breath vanished. So when she asked “What are you doing?” it was the barest squeak.
Maybe he’d read her lips though. Because his mouth breathed an answer over hers.
“I’m thanking you.”
One hand skimmed up her spine and cupped the nape of her neck. His other hand pulled her closer with a slight pressure applied to the small of her back. When his lips brushed hers, she gave up making sense of whatever was happening because all her nerve endings were singing. And straining toward Boone.
She kissed him in return. Oh, did she kiss him. One moment she was frozen with confusion and the next, she was sliding a tongue between his teeth and pressing her body to his with greedy fervor. But his mouth touched off a spark that set her on fire and the blaze torched everything she thought she’d ever known about passion. Any advice she’d given on her show felt like idle talk compared to the blast of carnal heat. To hell with sensual technique or sex toys. All she had to do was kiss Boone Sullivan and her body wound into high gear…
Until he stopped kissing her.
Dazed and in the grip of a passionate fog, she very nearly grabbed him again to pull him back where she wanted him. But a cleared throat and a wolf whistle reminded her they were not alone. She’d just discovered her first taste of genuine sexual chemistry with a man in front of five hundred of Atlanta’s elite.
“I would sign over my life savings to Stars’ charities for a kiss like that,” muttered one of the women Valerie had chased away from him.
“Damn,” one Boone’s teammates chimed in the small silence that seemed to linger around them. “Dude, you’re making the rest of us look bad.”
Before anyone else could comment, Boone tucked her under his arm and drew her out to the lobby where there were fewer people.
“I’m going to do my interview early and we’re getting out of here,” he announced.
Valerie nearly tripped over her feet. But then, she felt high on pheromones. She realized they held hands and she wondered idly if he could feel the wicked beating of her heart in the wake of that kiss.
“Wh-What?” She tried to clear her head. “I’m not ready. That is, I don’t know quite what to say.”
His media interview meant her media interview. Or at least, her brief explanation to the Atlanta viewing public that she hadn’t known what she was doing when she broke up Boone and Annamae.
“Doesn’t matter. I want out of here.” His words were terse.
Was he angry? Frustrated? She tensed, telling herself to pull it together.
“Did I embarrass you back there? Because I didn’t mean for things to—”
He quit his hell-bent for leather stride toward the media booth and tugged her over toward a grand piano in a quiet corner.
“My God, no. If anything, I hope I didn’t embarrass you.” He scraped a hand through his hair. Loosened his bow tie by a fraction. “I was just so damn impressed. I mean, it was great how you sent those women on their way.”
“Oh.” She relaxed a bit. “It was no trouble. I was actually stunned by their boldness, and it made me understand why you need a chaperone at these things.” She winked at him in an effort to lighten the mood.
The kiss had just been a moment of gratitude. It didn’t move the heavens and earth for him the way it had for her, so she needed to stop seeing stars and focus on this damn interview. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Boone’s teammate, Grady Hollis, finishing up his talk with the on camera anchor.
“Chaperone. Right.” He nodded, smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt. “You ready for your close up, or do you want to do your part another time?”
A little part of her had hoped he might be so grateful to her that he’d let her off the hook, but no such luck.
“I’d rather get it over with.” She had an idea what to say after all.
Because no matter that he kissed like a fantasy and financed the most gorgeous gown she’d ever worn, she wasn’t so far gone into Cinderella land that she’d let him turn her into a pumpkin at midnight. She had her pride after all.
And she wasn’t about to indict Sex Talk with Serena to save her fickle prince’s pride.
Chapter Six
‡
“That wasn’t quite the retraction I had in mind.” Boone had avoided the topic of Valerie’s interview with the media on the ride home, but now that they were back in the p
rivacy of his house – with Valerie’s bodyguard in his room for the night – he had to bring it up.
The evening had brought him face to face with an intense attraction to this woman, and he hadn’t worked out how he felt about that yet. On paper, Annamae had seemed like a perfect match for him whereas Valerie seemed all wrong for him. But his metric for figuring out who he belonged with had proven piss-poor, so he wasn’t sure what that meant for the chemistry between him and Valerie.
He did know her public retraction had been sorely lacking.
“Why? Because I didn’t go on television and say I never should have encouraged a woman to follow her heart?” She swept up the stairs in her elegant blue gown, carefully holding up the hem so she didn’t catch it on her dyed to match strappy heels.
He followed her up the steps, his gaze snagging on a pink heart tattoo on the back of her leg, close to her heel.
“No. Because you didn’t take any blame for chasing off my fiancée.” He caught a hint of her floral fragrance as she reached the top stop and dropped her hem.
“I admitted that in the future, when an engaged couple is involved, I should ask to speak to both parties so that no one is blindsided the way you felt.” She turned to face him just outside of the en suite bedroom where he’d had the housekeeper put Valerie’s things.
“And all that accomplished was for listeners to feel sorry for me, which you can imagine is the last thing I wanted on anyone’s mind tonight.” He came to a stop directly in front of her, needing to make his point.
“No one feels sorry for you.” Her eyes narrowed. “You must realize that professional athletes run the risk of appearing entitled when the whole world bends to their will. Do you really want to be perceived that way? Just because you can pay someone enough to say the sun sets in the east doesn’t make it so.”
“A bold comparison. In other words, your advice is as reliable as the sunrise?” He taunted her. And that was so unlike him he had to wonder what he was doing.
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