by Karen Booth
“Hey. Are you really going to call me that? Because I kind of hate it.”
“Really? Because I kind of love it.” It wasn’t the nickname that he loved. It was her reaction, the way she got a little riled up but still seemed to enjoy some part of it.
“If you’re going to call me that, then at least turn on the TV so we can watch some basketball. My team is playing.” She smiled as if she couldn’t keep it inside any longer. “Actually, it’s our league championship. This is the first year in a really long time that we’ve been any good.”
“Yeah. Of course.” He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. “But wait. The NBA championship isn’t until June.”
“I’m talking college.” She shook her head and cast him a glance over her shoulder, a glance that stopped him dead in his tracks. Those blue eyes of hers were magic. Flat-out magic. “March Madness, baby.”
He couldn’t have fought a smile if he’d wanted to. He loved hearing her say “baby,” especially coupled with a sports reference. It was the sexiest damned thing ever. “Your wish is my command.” He scanned through the channels until he found her game. “I’m more of an NBA guy than college, but I’m up for anything.”
She scooted to the edge of her seat, watching the screen intently as a pair of announcers pontificated about the game, dozens of screaming fans camera-hogging behind them. “The college game is so much better than the pros.” She didn’t tear her eyes from the TV. “I can’t stand to watch a game with a bunch of millionaires standing around, not playing defense.”
“Sounds like most of the parties I go to.”
“I bet.”
He’d hoped he’d get a laugh out of that one, but this seemed to be serious business for Melanie.
“Do you have any beer?” She granted him another glance, smiling sheepishly. “Just seems like we should be drinking beer if we’re going to watch this. Plus, I need to take the edge off. If we lose, I might die.”
Adam hopped off the couch. “Beer coming up. Stat.” He strode into the kitchen, took two beers from the fridge, popped the tops off, grabbed a bag of potato chips from the pantry and returned to the living room.
“Thank you.” She gazed up at him, their fingers touching as she took the bottle. Her eyes were as wide as they were deep—he could spend a lifetime unraveling everything behind them. She waved him out of the way, craning her neck. “Can you move? I can’t see. It’s time for tip-off.”
He obliged her request and settled near her, leaving a polite distance, wishing they could sit hip to hip. If he didn’t think she’d slug him in the stomach, he would’ve leaned back with his arm across the back of the couch, hoping she’d settle in and rest her head against his shoulder. What would it be like to have a night with Melanie again? To have her curl into him, kiss him, trail her fingers along his jaw. It was painful to imagine, and yet he didn’t want to ignore the visions that ran through his head.
When Melanie had come through his door twenty-four hours ago, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected, although he knew what he’d hoped. He’d longed to hear her confess that leaving him in the middle of the night was the most stupid, rash decision she’d ever made, that she hoped he could forgive her, that she wanted a second chance.
She hadn’t come close to giving him that. If he were being impartial, he understood her reasons, however disappointing. So instead of another searing-hot liaison, he got to watch basketball and drink beer with her, a woman who was smart and determined and so effortlessly sexy. It could’ve been worse.
She might’ve expected that he’d watch the game, too, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to study her. It was much like the first time he’d seen her, at the party at The Park Hotel. He’d noticed her because she’d been talking to one of his biggest business rivals. Her musical laugh filtered through the crowded space, rose above the din of chatter, spiking his curiosity. As he trudged his way through dry conversations about investors and start-ups, he struggled to keep his eyes off her. Her entire being came alive when she spoke. She was a beacon in a sea of dullness. Every phony, contrived exchange he’d had that night had left him starved for something real. He hadn’t quite bargained on how real their night together would be, or how much it would disappoint him when she left.
He quickly learned that he could read everything happening in the game from her actions. If her team was shooting free throws, her hands flew to her temples, fingers crossed. If they made a fast break, she launched herself off the couch and yelled, “Go! Go!” If the other team had the ball, she groaned, “Guard him!” and “Get the rebound!” ESPN had nothing on Melanie Costello in terms of sports entertainment.
Ninety minutes later, after the roller coaster of Melanie’s jubilation and dismay, her team was down by one point, with twelve seconds left. Her resignation was plain during the commercial break. “I should’ve known it was too good to be true.” She turned to him, her long bangs falling across her forehead, making her look so sweet, so vulnerable. “We always find some way to choke.”
The disappointment in her voice was almost too much for him to take. If she were his, he wouldn’t have hesitated to pull her into a snug embrace. Hell, he would’ve paid off a referee or two if it meant her team could win and she’d be happy. “You never know. Plenty of time to get off a good shot.”
“Yeah, right. That’s never going to happen.”
The station cut away from commercial back to the game. The announcers speculated as a player for Melanie’s team waited to throw the ball inbounds.
Melanie again sprang up from the couch. “I can’t even look.” She bounced up and down on her toes, shook her hands at her side as if they’d gone numb. Adam had to admire the appealing shape of her rear view, especially as she nervously wiggled in place. He longed to have his hands on that part of her again, caressing her soft skin, pulling her closer.
The announcer spoke. Miller inbounds the ball, full-court pass to Williams down in the key. He’s double-teamed. Nowhere to go.
“Oh, no,” Melanie blurted.
He kicks it back out to Miller. He hasn’t hit a shot all night.
“Just shoot it!” Melanie screamed.
He steps back behind the three-point line. The shot is off. We have the buzzer...and it’s good!
Melanie whipped around, her eyes like saucers. “It’s good!” She charged at him with open arms, flattening him against the back of the couch. “Oh my God, Adam. We won,” she said breathlessly. “You were right.” She trembled with excitement.
He reflexively wrapped his arms around her, breathed in the sweet smell of her hair. “So I heard. It’s wonderful.” But not as wonderful as this.
“I’m sorry.” She distanced herself a few inches, shaking her head. Now that she was there, he wasn’t about to let her go without at least a moment of discussion. “We haven’t won the championship since I was a kid.”
“Don’t be sorry. This is the highlight of my entire weekend.” He traced his fingers up and down her spine as she leaned into him, both of them still sitting, but definitely leaning. He was drawn back into the memory of having her in his apartment, the way she felt in his arms, as if these limbs of his were made for nothing other than keeping her close. Her words from that night came rushing back. You feel like a dream.
“I shouldn’t have hugged you. It was unprofessional.”
“I thought we were taking a break from professional.”
She reared her shoulders back and looked him in the eye. “Are you going to let me go?”
“As near as I can tell, you’re holding on to me just as tight.”
She rolled her eyes—childish from most women, adorable from Melanie. “I’m trying to keep myself upright.”
He was certain he’d heard every word she’d said, but her lips were so tempting and pouty that it was hard to grasp details. Mostly he want
ed this to keep going. “Then stop being upright.”
* * *
Before Melanie knew what was happening, Adam was kissing her. And like a fool, she kissed him right back.
Melanie had all kinds of resolve until the kiss. Good God... His mouth and hands and his broad, taut frame. He was temptation, served up on a silver platter. He was the fuel to her fire—bodies pressed together, her body weight against his, her lips absolutely starved for more. The fire inside her finally had what it had waited to feed on.
His lips were impossibly gentle, even when there was no mistaking his powerfully male intentions. He wanted her. He was in charge. She felt it in every grasp as his hands slipped under her sweater, cradling her waist, his strong arms effortlessly rolling her to her back. He kissed her cheek, trailing to her jaw and the delicate spot beneath her ear—the spot that made electricity zip along her spine. She arched into him, eyes closed, mind floating in the nether, between the present and her past.
The night she shared with Adam hadn’t been a dream. She hadn’t built it up in her head—kissing him really was unlike kissing any other man. Sublime, a never-ending moment of pleasure to sink into. He was real. This kiss was real. Perfect. She hadn’t spent the past year aimless. She’d spent the past year missing this kiss.
His leg pressed between hers, white-hot friction in just the right place. Adam was the last man to touch her there, to fill her every need. He was the last man she’d wanted like this. It was almost too perfect. Could they start where they left off? Forget the past year? Erase it?
“I’ve wanted to do this since you walked in the door last night,” he mumbled, unbuttoning her blouse. “The minute I saw you again, I had to have you.”
She drank in his wonderfully possessive words, his strong hand gliding across her stomach. She had to have him, too. They were on the same page, except he seemed to be reading ahead—everything he did was exactly what she was hoping for. He trailed his finger along the lacy edge of her bra, ever so slightly dipping it beneath the fabric, bringing her skin to life.
But her brain barged into the conversation. What in the hell are you doing? You can’t do this. You need this job. Didn’t you spend the past year vowing to never allow a man the chance to destroy your heart and your career in one fell swoop?
Her body warred with the logic. But I want him. I’ve waited a year for him. Nobody would ever have to know.
But you would know.
Adam’s hand was on her back, at her bra strap. Pop.
Oh, no. “Adam. Stop. We can’t.” She expected him to groan in frustration, possibly even push her back in disgust, but he didn’t.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He cupped the side of her face, washing his thumb over the swell of her cheek.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but we can’t. We can’t do this.” She shut her eyes, needing a break from the allure of his mouth, especially when his breath was brushing her lips. She had to collect her thoughts. “I never should’ve let it go this far. It’s just that...” She stopped herself. The more she explained, the stupider she would sound. And eventually she would have to admit that if she had her way, if her job didn’t mean everything and if she could suspend belief and think for a second that Adam would want her for more than a fling, they’d be upstairs in his bed right now. They would be making memories that put the first night they shared to shame.
“It’s just what?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
How could he still be so calm? She was about to frustrate the hell out of him. Surely he had to realize what was happening. She felt him against her leg, hard and ready, and yet he was worried that he’d done something wrong. “I’m sorry. It’s just not right.”
“I don’t understand. Do you have a boyfriend? Because I never would’ve made a move if I’d known that.”
“No, I don’t have a boyfriend. This is just wrong. I signed a contract. It would be a mistake.”
“A mistake.” Adam sat up, distancing himself from her, creating a cold and uncrossable divide. Maybe that was for the best, although it didn’t feel like the best. It felt awful. “You really have a way with words when you aren’t concerned with the public relations spin, don’t you?”
His question left her thinking that he had a way with words as well—his cut her to the core, not so much with what he said, but with the way he said it. With little effort, he left her feeling hollowed out. And that put her on the defensive. “I thought you deserved the truth.”
“I’m not really sure what I deserve, but right now it feels like I’m being punished for something I can’t help.”
She got up from the couch, buttoning her blouse. She couldn’t believe he was going to use that as his excuse. “I’m very sorry about that.” She pointed in the general direction of his crotch. “A cold shower might help.”
“Cute. Real cute. That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Wave after wave of embarrassment battered her. Could she possibly make this any worse? She didn’t dare try to make it better. “Look, I’m sorry. I think we should just say good-night and forget this ever happened.”
He shook his head, not looking at her. “Whatever you say.”
She thought she’d felt hollowed out before, but now it was as if she didn’t exist. Wanting to do nothing but hide, she rushed upstairs and closed the guest room door behind her, ducking under the comforter and curling into a ball. Tears came, and she hated that more than anything.
How was she going to do this job? How would this ever work? She couldn’t spend day after day coaching Adam through interviews and running interference at photo shoots. She’d never make it, knowing how badly she wanted him, knowing what a horrible idea it was to give in to feelings like that.
She wiped her cheeks, willing the tears to stop. She had to get through this or else she’d fail, and that couldn’t happen. She just had to get her act together and find a way to get Adam off her mind. She needed a plan.
Six
Before last night, when was the last time Adam had been turned down? He didn’t care to remember, but it sure stung. The fact that it came from Melanie and that he’d waited an entire year for a chance only made it worse. Was he really that far off base about their chemistry? Because she certainly seemed to care a hell of a lot more about her job than about him.
When she pressed against him on the couch, he’d had only one thought—the electricity was back. It jolted every atom of his body. How could that be one-sided? How could two people create that much heat if only one person felt it? How else could she so easily put on the brakes? Something didn’t add up, that was for sure.
Melanie clopped down the stairs with her overnight bag in tow. He wished he hadn’t noticed how pretty she was in the morning, fresh-faced and lovely, even when wearing a distinct frown.
“I would’ve gotten that for you if you’d asked,” he said, pulling his jacket out of the closet.
“I’m okay to do it myself.”
“I’m sure you are.” He folded his arms across his chest. Creating a physical barrier made it easier to ignore his deep desire to invite her back upstairs and kiss her as he had last night, only this time with an entirely different, naked, ending.
She drew a deep breath in through her nose, avoiding anything beyond a blip of eye contact. “I need to ask a favor. I just got a notification from the airline that my flight is overbooked. They bumped me.”
“And?” He had a strong suspicion about the question that was coming. He just wanted to hear her ask for it.
“I was wondering if there’s room on your corporate jet for me to ride along.”
“I don’t know. Jack really prefers having two seats. He’s a big boy.”
Melanie dropped her chin, delivering that hot look of admonishment. “Really? Are you really that mad about last night? Becau
se you know as well as I do that it’s not a good idea for anything to happen between us. It would be reckless and stupid. It would be a huge mistake.”
Adam hadn’t planned on prompting that little rant. And would she stop using that damn word—mistake? Well, then. “Yes, you may join me on the plane back to New York. Of course.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Buttermilk.”
“Did you really just call me that again?”
“It seemed to fit today. Not sure why.”
An hour and a half later, they were on board the plane, just the two of them, the pilot and, of course, Jack. Normally, Jack would curl up on the floor at Adam’s feet. Sometimes, he’d attempt to climb into his own seat, although that always ended disastrously as he was far too big. Today, he’d parked himself next to Melanie, his head on her lap. Traitor.
“Adam, I need to talk to you about something.”
Stinging words lingered on Adam’s lips. Oh, really? Something about how you’re glad things didn’t go any further last night? How we need to remain professional? “I’m listening.” He thumbed through an email on his phone.
“I was thinking that women seem to be your problem, but they could also be your salvation.”
“In light of what happened last night, I’d love to know where this is going.”
“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to talk about last night.”
“I didn’t agree to anything.”
Melanie shook her head as if she couldn’t possibly be more frustrated. “One thing I’ve learned in public relations is that if people have been inundated with a bad image, you can replace it with a more positive image, until eventually they forget the bad.”
He looked up from his phone and narrowed his focus. “Like what? Pictures of me volunteering in a soup kitchen? Loading sandbags in a hurricane?”
“No. I was thinking something extremely believable. You. With a woman. Right now, the world thinks you’re only capable of meaningless flings, which is the image your parents and the board of directors have such a hard time with.”
