Fast Courting

by Barbara Delinsky

  Nia nodded her understanding. “So where does the coach fit into these practices and meetings and showings?”

  “I run it all. I direct the practice, conduct the meetings, give a running commentary on the film as it rolls. For each time the team sees a film, I’ve seen it twice.”

  “Really? But why?”

  “In order for me to effectively coach, I need to know both the opposition and my own players like the back of my hand. I need to know how each one reacts in certain situations, against certain types of players.” His eyes glowed with inner satisfaction. “To my way of thinking, my greatest challenge as a coach is in the understanding, the behind-the-scenes study that results in the correct anticipation of a successful play.” Realizing that he’d divulged a little bit of himself, he hesitated, then grinned to lighten the air. “And besides, Harlan loves the movies. And he doesn’t like to watch alone. He prefers to have three or four of us in there with him.”

  She frowned, not immediately placing the name. “Harlan …?”

  “McKay. President and General Manager of the team.”

  “Harlan McKay…” she repeated the name softly. “Harlan McKay…of course.”

  “You knew him?”

  “David knew him. And well, I think. I’ve never met the man.”

  Having finished eating, Daniel sat back in his chair, leaving one long arm and its strong-fingered hand on the table. “Harlan is …an experience.” The twinkle in his eye spoke of a certain fondness. “He’s roughly sixty years of age, a widower who lives alone and has made the New England Breakers his family.”

  “Is he easy to work for?”

  “Easy?” He rolled the word around his tongue as though trying to taste its meaning. “Easy is a relative term. I find him easy to live with because I’m confident in what I do and therefore unthreatened by his peculiarities. I have, however, lost two assistant coaches because of him, and I’ve had to deal with the ruffled feathers of many of my players in the four years since I’ve been coach.” He smiled with an air of that very confidence of which he’d spoken instants before. “I think I’ve finally got Harlan under control, though.”

  Nia’s eyes widened. “What, exactly, does the man do that irritates everyone?”

  Daniel chuckled. “He lives the game twenty-four hours a day. I mean, when I tell you that he’s often called me at six in the morning to discuss a particular play he wants considered…”

  “Oh, no…”

  “Oh, yes! He broods constantly, analyzes every second of playing time, second-guesses everyone and everything. It can, on occasion, be troublesome.”

  “I can believe it! But, how do you deal with him?”

  “I anticipate his needs and try to satisfy them in a way that’s compatible with my life.”

  “By winning?” she asked.

  “By understanding Harlan. I think that he’s basically a very lonely gentleman who has no one to discuss his fears with. He desperately wants the franchise to be a successful one, and he worries constantly. Don’t get me wrong— he’s a genius at scouting out fresh talent and then securing it for us. He understands the business end of the sport; under his management, the Breakers have turned in record high profits. But he is …a pest. If I’m willing to hold his hand every so often, he’s content. So I simply pick my time and place for these booster sessions. By prearranging a meeting with him in his office this morning, for example, I tempered his impulse to call at dawn.” Pausing, he took a concluding breath. “Anyway, I think I’ve finally convinced him that I can do the job.”

  “My Lord, with the Breakers’ record, he should be convinced!”

  “Touché.” Daniel smiled with quiet modesty.

  “But tell me, Daniel, what is it that you like about your job?” she prodded softly. “You’ve mentioned lots of minus points. What are the plusses?”

  His response held no hesitancy. “The game,” he stated with a gently helpless smile. “I love the game. I always have. I always will. When I was a kid—” he began, then cut himself off just as Nia perked up. It would have been the first time he’d talked of his childhood. Her disappointment was eased, however, by the positively endearing look of excitement that brought his features alive.

  “Ach, it’s still the same! There’s that very special feeling when the rhythm is right, just right.” His hand made a flowing motion, simulating a gently undulating wave. “You know it’s there. Everything comes together.” He spoke more softly, with the drama of reenactment. “You take the ball on the rebound and make a fast break, hurl an outlet pass downcourt, then follow while your teammates pass it on the outside. You slice in through the center, outstretch your opponent’s attempted block to snatch the ball from high in the air…then you hook it through the hoop in one continuous motion.” Nia listened to every word, entranced by the boyish enthusiasm and very evident devotion that emerged. “Whew!” He shook his head in amazement, as though he had just physically executed the play and couldn’t quite believe it. “It’s great!”

  In the wake of his impassioned replay Nia could only smile and accept the fact that Daniel Strahan did, indeed, love his game. He had spent far less actual time on this brief discourse than he had spent on the negative aspects of his work, yet his enthrallment with it was indisputable.

  “Sorry.” He grimaced in belated embarrassment. “I get carried away every once in a while. I didn’t mean to bore you.”

  “Bore me? That was great!” It had been impossible not to catch his excitement.

  His gaze sharpened. “It didn’t upset you?”

  “You mean…because of David?” At Daniel’s nod she tried to explain, to herself as well as to him. “It’s somehow different…when you speak of it. I can see now why you put up with the strange hotel rooms and the phone calls at six, not to mention your goons yelling ‘Heeey, Professor’…” She caught her breath. “Why did he call you that?”

  He shrugged off the significance of the nickname. “I got tagged that way when I was a player. You know these media people.” He lowered his voice pointedly. “They love tossing around nicknames. Makes them feel knowledgeable. The joke in the league is that a rookie knows he’s made it when a nickname sticks. Our rookie made it this year.”

  “Oh?” She met his expectant grin with one of her own. “Do tell.”

  Eagerly, he launched into an explanation. “Luke Walker. From Indiana State. His specialty is the sky hook. They call him …‘Skyman.’ ”

  Resting her elbow on the table, Nia propped a hand beneath her chin. “Luke ‘Skyman’ Walker? You can’t be serious…” His nod refuted her claim. “That’s too much. But…what about ‘Professor’? How did you come by that particular tag?”

  Daniel’s gaze beamed straight into her. If she thought to trick him into divulging personal information under the umbrella of basketball, she was mistaken. Having decided on his own that the time was right, he spoke carefully, quite conscious of each word.

  “I’ve always been a reader—on the plane, waiting for buses, whiling away the idle hours. On the road I often escape to a local library. It’s one way of being with old friends.”

  She could understand exactly; she viewed bookstores in much the same light. “I know the feeling. But…there has to be more behind the moniker….”

  He hesitated before continuing. “There is. I take courses at Harvard whenever I can fit them into my schedule. I’m often caught studying for exams.”

  Nia’s face brightened at the image he’d created. “You are? That’s great! What do you study?” She was fascinated. It was certainly a new twist to the stereotypical career athlete.

  Having come this far, Daniel took a breath. Slowly, he let it out. “Psychology. Human behavior.” He watched her reaction closely. “I’m interested in what makes people do what they do.”

  Nia couldn’t suppress the grin that slid to her warm lips. “So that’s why you’ve asked me so many questions about my background…and about my relationship with David. You’re analyzing me
!” There was a note of accusation in her voice, but it was mild and without real condemnation.

  “No, Antonia.” He softly caressed her name as his eyes echoed the action. “I’m only trying to understand you.”

  She heard his words, yet it was what he hadn’t said that troubled her. Why did he wish to understand her? What was it he wanted? Did he see her as friend or foe, woman or writer? Was he struggling with the distinction just as she was?

  As confusion clouded her gaze his grew more taut as well, as though to confirm her final thought. Despite the ease that had characterized the conversation during dinner, neither could come to broach this particularly personal vein. For Nia’s part, she wasn’t sure what to say. For Dan’s, he was still wary of saying it.

  The awkward silence was broken when he cleared his throat. “Here. Let me give you a hand with these dishes,” he offered, pushing back his chair and standing to tower above the table.

  Motivated by nervous energy, Nia wasn’t far behind. “No, no. That’s all right. I’ll take care of them later.” Intuitively, she knew she’d need that scrubbing time to work Daniel out of her system once he’d left. But he ignored her and proceeded to carefully stack the plates, then headed for the kitchen. “Daniel…please!” she protested. “There’s really no need.”

  Putting the flatwear on the counter, he determinedly shoved up the sleeves of his sweater and rolled his shirt cuffs back. “I’ll just do the broiler pan,” he growled. “You can take care of the rest later.”

  Had her voice been working properly, Nia would have verbally acquiesced. But something in her throat discouraged sound, a something relating to the sight of two forearms, sinewed and straight, brushed with a most masculine helping of dark brown hair. Daniel reached to turn on the water. Her eyes followed his hand, then worked back over his wrist to the strength she so admired. What woman in her right mind would not want that hand stroking her or that arm crushing her against the granite wall of an equally well-muscled chest?

  Those arms—warm, manly, strong. She drew in a swift breath at the reckless rush of sensation brought by the sight of those arms—his arms. Whirling, she escaped to the living room.

  There she sat, ensconced in a cushioned corner of the sofa, legs curled up beneath her, thinking of Daniel Strahan. How could he excite her so? What was the nature of the power he wielded to render her so utterly malleable before him? Even now, in hindsight, the thought of that warm, naked skin gave her goose bumps, which in turn sent ripples of awareness through her whole body. He was handsome and appealing…and he excited her! It was pleasant and terrifying; how could she reconcile the two?

  Head bowed in study of the ivory lengths of her fingers, she felt a warmth on her neck even before his hand curved gently at its nape.

  “Are you all right, Nia?” he asked softly, propping his other hand on the sofa back and leaning in toward her. Had he scrubbed out the demons of desire on the charred grate of her broiler pan?

  She nodded, silently praying that he would exercise good sense for them both and withdraw his hand. She simply couldn’t ask it. But his fingers began to move then, slowly massaging the tension from her neck in long, sensuous strokes, replacing it with a tingling that slithered through the curves of her body. Closing her eyes, she heard a soft cry, a vocal aching, and only realized she’d made it when Daniel leaned closer.

  “Nia?”

  She opened her eyes and stared at him, unable to mask the birth of desire sparked by his return. His forearms were still bare; she craved to touch them but didn’t quite dare. Daniel read her frustration and came slowly to sit beside her. His eyes were molten brown probes touching her cheek, her nose, her soft, moist lips. Nia sensed the hammering of her heart as his gaze dropped lower to the firm swell of her breasts. He could have stripped her naked; she felt the heat surging through her intensifying.

  Her name this time was almost a moan on his lips as he accepted her silent invitation and kissed her, lacing the long fingers of one hand through her hair, wrapping the other arm behind her. And Nia went to him willingly, for protest at this stage was impossible. The surface innocence of the evening’s conversation had held a subtle intimacy, one that had combined with chemical attraction to inspire precisely this.

  Daniel worshipped her lips, then her eyes, cheeks and neck in turn. At each stop he brewed up delicious feelings that she relished to the deepest core of her womanhood. She gave him blind access to whatever he wished, craving only the continuation of this raw delight. It was a fitting dessert to the spontaneous dinner they’d shared. She’d take his embrace over a hot fudge sundae anytime!

  If his own crescendoing ardor lent an edge of fierceness to his kiss, Nia was unaware of the change, for it paralleled her own state of heightened desire. Returning everything he gave, she abandoned herself to the joy of a physical intimacy that threatened to wipe all other thoughts from her mind.

  But Daniel’s sudden shudder prevented that. Tearing his lips away, moving them to her ear, then up to her rich mahogany crown, he rasped hoarsely, “God, Nia! This is wrong! I know it is. You deserve something steady— something I can’t give you.” He looked down into her eyes, shocking her with the dark intensity of his expression. “But I can’t stay away. I can’t just…let it go. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  Nia was held spellbound by his fervent gaze, just as she was held firmly within the reassuring band of his arms. She had seen such earnestness in him only once—earlier, when he had spoken of his love for basketball. Was she forever to compete with that game for the attentions of a man?

  Yet she could muster no anger as she admired his features, for they were strong and welcoming, bidding her to fight for what she wanted. Touching each of those features, one by one, with her own violet gaze, she finally forced a whisper. “I wish I could understand all of this—any of this. But I don’t. I only know what I feel at one given moment…” At this given moment, she wanted to touch him.

  Slowly lifting her hand to his face, she traced each commanding feature in turn, then dared to let her fingers trail down the broad column of his neck to the place where his shirt collar lay open. That place, that vee, had tantalized her all evening. Now she yielded to temptation and, at last, knew the feel of his manly skin beneath her fingertips. It was hot and textured, throbbing as she slid her fingers beneath shirt and sweater to rest more closely against his collarbone.

  This was a new and heady landscape to be explored, and she had only just begun. On impulse, she stretched to put her lips where her fingers had been, kissing his skin gently.

  “You smell so good,” she murmured, breathing in his musk-scented masculinity.

  As he took her chin, Daniel’s hand shook slightly. But he, too, knew what he wanted at that instant. Turning her face up, he renewed his kiss, coaxing her tongue to join his in play. This time it was his hand that traced her neck to her throat, but it didn’t stop at the fabric of her top. Rather, it moved more tentatively to her chest, slowly, gently circling one breast, then the other. He sensed her reflexive arching and cupped her fullness with more confidence as she cried her pleasure aloud.

  “Oh, Daniel. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

  “Tell me, Nia,” he commanded raggedly, as deeply affected by his giving as she was by the receiving of it.

  “You’ve set me afire,” she whispered. “It keeps spreading and spreading, deep inside where I can’t quench the flame.”

  “That’s good, babe,” he crooned as he passed his palms across her breasts, feeling their pebbled reflex even through her clothing. With a small cry, Nia opened her lips to his descent, needing more, always more.

  Daniel Strahan had ceased to be simply a bug in her ear. With the awesome scope of this physicality that drew her inexorably closer to him, he was no less than a source of sustenance, suddenly crucial to her survival.

  Her hands were restless in their exploration of the solidity of his shoulders as she arched at his touch, wanting to know everythi
ng about this man, every intimate thing. The fact that he had once been a basketball star seemed relevant only in his skillful handling of her body. In this he was as masterful as any man she’d ever known; he was truly outstanding. He knew when to tease or rub, when to skim or press, when to knead or circle. His lovemaking had a rhythm to it that was just right, that simply flowed.

  Nia flowed with it, threading her fingers through the vibrancy of his hair to hold him close as his tongue swept into her mouth. In a deft shift, he drew her around and put her gently down on her back on the sofa.

  Then his hands and lips caressed her with even greater freedom, sending her on vibrant bursting waves of rapture. She sighed her pleasure when his hands found the ribbed band of her sweater and pushed it up, past her midriff and then further, over the enticing, tautly crested peaks of her breasts.

  For a minute he looked down at her, adoring her flesh with eyes that smoldered. The sight of her cream-skinned breasts clothed only in the delicate lace of her bra sent a visible tremor through his limbs.

  “How lovely you are,” he whispered as he lifted a finger to touch one nipple. The contact was a searing one; Nia sharply bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “Daniel…” She reached for him, drawing him down to kiss her again. But his lips were impatient, leaving hers after a short, bold kiss, lowering to taste the compelling warmth of her breast. “Mmmmm …Daniel…” she cried, writhing beneath him, straining upward as he drew back her bra’s lacy cup and took the fullness of her nipple and its surrounding rosy skirt into his mouth. His leisurely sucking nearly drove her to distraction, as it fanned her fire into a white-hot flame of desire. When his hand fell to her knee and moved upward, over her denim-sheathed thigh, then dangerously inland, conflagration seemed imminent.