by Nicola Marsh
“Just one? I’m impressed.”
“You will be when you meet her. She’s a knockout,” Zane said, strangely shy discussing Chantal with Steele, especially as they weren’t technically together.
“Let me guess. Blonde. Stacked. Curves. Legs up to her armpits.”
Zane glared at Steele, who laughed. “Hey, you’re nothing if not predictable.”
“Chantal’s different,” Zane said through gritted teeth, rattled by how much he wanted to find her right now and tell her his plans.
Steele whistled low. “Never seen you like this. You in love or something?”
The L word terrified Zane. He couldn’t love Chantal. It was too soon. They hadn’t known each other long. They couldn’t be together long term. They had different goals.
But for a fleeting moment, Zane wondered if that warm, secure feeling that seeped through him whenever he thought of Chantal was something resembling love.
“She’s special.” Zane made a grand show of looking at his watch. “And I need to see her first thing in the morning so why don’t you head off to your top suite and get some shut-eye.”
With a brief nod, Steele stood. “Okay, but I want to meet Miss Special.”
Zane had no intention of letting Steele anywhere near Chantal, not until he’d sorted out their differences.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Zane gave Steele a gentle shove in the direction of the door.
“Zane?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad I came.” Steele balked, spun on his heel and had Zane in a bear hug before he knew what was happening.
They rarely embraced—in fact, the last time was after their mum’s funeral three years ago—so to have Steele initiate the physical contact meant his brother was letting down his guard in a big way.
“I’m glad you did too,” Zane said, hugging him back before they quickly disengaged in that awkward, embarrassed way guys did after a hug.
“See you tomorrow.” Steele opened the door and paused. “If you’ve got a serious thing for this girl, you should go for it.”
Zane bit back a grin. What was it with his brothers and their agony aunt advice today?
“Go.” He shooed Steele away and shut the door, leaning against it while he pondered the wisdom of waiting until tomorrow to confront Chantal, or lobbing on her doorstep tonight.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next morning, Zane had barely opened his eyes when the phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he sat up and hit the answer button, curious despite his resentment toward Christopher and his blasé attitude.
“Hope I didn’t wake you, Son.”
“No. What can I do for you?”
His father didn’t register his formal greeting and curt response, continuing as if he hadn’t spoken.
“It’s what I can do for you.” Christopher paused, as if about to divulge some big, bad secret. “The scouts and coaches were mighty impressed with you in LA. They’d like to give you a chance on the team. So how about you work for me while you’re the back-up kicker for the Owls?”
Zane hated how his pathetically needy side, desperate for his dad’s attention, made him want to thank Christopher profusely despite his shoddy treatment. “You’re offering me a job in your sporting goods company?”
“That’s the one,” Christopher said. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll create a position. PR. Sales. You name it, it’s yours.”
Bemused by Christopher’s offer, considering he’d blown him off at their last meeting by not turning up, Zane rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Yeah, like that would help clarify.
“Thanks, but I’m not staying in the States long term.”
Silence greeted his declaration and he felt compelled to fill it.
“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you setting up the tryout, but the NFL isn’t for me. I’m planning on staying for another month or so, spending some time with Chantal, then heading home.”
“You still with that tramp?” Christopher’s bark of laughter froze his blood. “She’ll drag you down, Son. Better to keep your distance, like I am with this sponsorship deal.”
Zane clutched the phone so tight he thought it’d snap, waves of anger washing over him, leaving him alternately cold and hot. “What do you mean?”
Christopher snorted. “She must’ve told you. As long as her strip joint is sponsoring the Nevada football league, I’m pulling out. No jerseys, no equipment, nada.”
Chantal had told him but he hadn’t thought it would go this far. From what he’d learned during his research of his father, Christopher was an astute businessman. To pass on a deal like this? He must really dislike Chantal. What he wanted to know was why.
“It’s not a strip club and she’s not a tramp,” Zane said, keeping a tight leash on his fury, his clipped tones conveying enough of his anger.
“Don’t defend her, not to me.” Christopher’s voice held an equal chill. “I don’t have the right to tell you what to do, kid, not after the way I’ve stuffed up over the years, but take it from me. Her kind is nothing but trouble.”
Zane didn’t want to listen to another second of his father’s prejudiced drivel. But he wanted to rattle him before he hung up.
“Steele’s in town. Came to meet Wyatt and Kurt.”
This time, Zane felt no compulsion to fill the silence. He wanted Christopher to absorb the implication behind what he’d said: or what he hadn’t said, more to the point.
Steele didn’t want to have anything to do with his own father.
Christopher cleared his throat. “I can be in Vegas next week if you boys want to get together—”
“Have to go. Bye.”
Zane’s satisfaction at hanging up so abruptly on his father faded fast. Last night, he’d told Steele he wanted to make a go of this, of trying to bond with his dad. Rejecting his tentative overtures wasn’t the way to go about it.
But Christopher had made him so fucking mad, trashing Chantal for no reason other than the business she ran. He may have slept around a lot the last few years but he’d hated when his teammates had done the same thing, tarnishing women with the hooker or slut tag, just because of where they worked or what they wore.
His mum had raised him to respect women and the fact Christopher didn’t extend that courtesy to Chantal, a woman he barely knew, really pissed him off.
As for Christopher’s job offer, the little boy deep inside who yearned for his father’s approval after all these years had been pleased. Christopher had wanted him to stick around enough to offer him a permanent job in his company, to keep him close.
But the realist in him knew that if Christopher’s flaky behavior over the last few weeks were any indication, he could never depend on his father for anything.
He wasn’t some idealistic kid who believed in myths and legends. He’d take Christopher on face value, get to know him better but that’s where it ended.
They’d never be close, not in the way Zane had craved, but when he headed back to Australia, he’d do it with a clear conscience that he’d given it his best shot.
For now, he had to see Chantal and tell her the news he was sticking around for a while. And hope to God she wanted to continue what they’d started.
Chantal heard the news the moment she sat at her desk.
Burlesque Bombshells was the number one sponsor of the new Australian football competition in Nevada.
Her marketing would be everywhere. Visible at the grounds, in the teams’ rooms, in the advertising. Massive promo for her club and a way for her to give something back, helping a fledgling business get off the ground. If anyone knew what that was like, she did.
As she scanned the email, listing other sponsors, detailing the money involved and a mega ad campaign, she searched for another name.
Harrison Sporting Goods was conspicuously absent.
“Fuck him,” she muttered, annoyed that she felt rejected all over again, and that she let the bigoted old fool get to her this much.
&nbs
p; A knock sounded at her door and she flicked from her inbox to the home screen. Wyatt wasn’t due in today and she’d told her PA she didn’t want to be disturbed. In the mood she was in, whoever dared enter this office would be leaving pronto.
“Come in.” She stood and stepped around the desk, ready to give whoever it was their marching orders.
But as Zane stepped into her office and closed the door, looking incredibly delectable in faded denim that hugged all the right places and a green polo that matched the flecks in his hazel eyes, all the fight drained out of her.
They couldn’t be together but God, she’d missed him.
“What are you doing here?” She propped against her desk, willing him to leave, wishing he wouldn’t.
“We need to talk.”
“Thought we already did.”
“I didn’t like what you had to say.” He stalked toward her and she realized her mistake too late. If she’d stayed behind her desk, she would’ve had something solid between them, a tangible barrier. Now, she was exposed, vulnerable. Within touching distance.
“As I recall, you did all the talking last time.” He stopped two feet away. So close. Not close enough. “Now it’s time you heard me out.”
“There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”
Her body quivered in remembrance of how good it had been with him and having him this close she could smell him, that uniquely powerful combination of pheromones, crisp citrus and pure Zane. She gripped the edge of the desk to support her suddenly weak legs.
“I think there is.” He reached out to touch her cheek and she jerked back. Her stupid resistance was wavering and if he got any closer she’d be in serious danger of falling at his feet.
Shaking his head, he lowered his hand. “We both knew going into this it would have an end date. And for some reason, after that sensational night together, you were in a funk. But I’ve decided to stay longer, give us some time together.”
Chantal hated how her traitorous heart leapt. But this didn’t change a thing. It couldn’t.
“Don’t you mean you’re staying around for your dad? Your brothers?”
“No. This time I’m staying around for you.” He didn’t break eye contact as he took a step closer. “Going out on a limb here, but I’ve never felt like this about any woman and I want to explore it further. See how far we can go.”
Damn him. Chantal swallowed, trying to ease the sudden tightness in her throat. “For a week? A month?”
“How about you forget the timeline and concentrate on us?”
Us.
Conjured up instant images of the two of them together, images she’d daydreamed about. Cozy evenings in her apartment. Weekends spent in bed. Day trips to the Grand Canyon and Hoover Dam. Dinner dates. Long lunches. Hurried breakfasts because they’d devoured each other at dawn. Chantal could see it so clearly. She could have it all.
But at what cost?
She’d end up with a broken heart when Zane left—as he eventually would—and she’d damage his burgeoning relationship with his father in the process. She couldn’t be that selfish, no matter how much she wanted Zane, for however long.
Hating that she’d have to push him away again, Chantal gnawed on her bottom lip, mentally searching for the right words and coming up with nothing but ‘I want you too’.
“Do you have any idea how crazy I am for you?” Before she could react, he had his arms around her, pinned against the desk, his lips on hers. Demanding. Commanding. Persuasive beyond belief.
She resisted for all of a second before she surged against him, craving full body contact, her nerve-endings zinging.
There was no finesse in their kiss. No seduction. It was pure, mindless desperation. She barely registered the sound of him unzipping, the tearing of a foil packet, before he had her skirt up and her thong down.
She groaned into his mouth when he plunged into her, so deep her toes lifted off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him as he ravaged her mouth and drove her to the brink so fast she was dizzy.
God, she loved having him inside her, loved going at it hard and fast. Without thought of consequences. Without thought of the future.
She came in a burst of light behind her eyes that made her squeeze them shut, her body ablaze as he followed her over the brink with a long, low groan that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
They weren’t just good together. They were phenomenal. Best sex of her life. With a guy she craved beyond the physical.
How the hell could she walk away from this?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Thirty minutes later, Zane paced Chantal’s conference room, wishing he hadn’t agreed to this.
She’d made him promise to stay put while she took care of a few things but with every passing moment, he wondered if she was coming back.
He’d wanted to take her back to his hotel but considering what had happened in her office, he thought they had less chance of having a proper conversation in his suite than here.
Damn, he’d blown it. He’d had it all planned out: lay out his hopes for them, hear her out, try to convince her of why they should be together for however long he was in town.
Fast and furious sex on her desk hadn’t been on the agenda.
Not that it hadn’t been good. Fuck, it had been stupendous. They connected in a way that defied belief and he got hard just thinking about it.
But he was through letting his dick do the thinking for him. It was what had gotten him into trouble the last three years, when he’d deliberately shut off his brain and focused on obliterating the empty feeling that discovering Christopher had abandoned him elicited.
Time to man up. And that meant doing what he should’ve done this morning. Tell Christopher he and Chantal were dating and that if he didn’t accept her, they didn’t have a chance in hell of developing a father-son relationship.
He hadn’t wanted it to come to this. But walking into Chantal’s office, seeing her so defiant yet so vulnerable, had rammed home how much she meant to him.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d bet he was in love for the first time. The kicker? He wasn’t so terrified anymore.
He’d make this work. Consider rearranging his future to fit in with her. Hell, he might even move to Vegas if that’s what she wanted.
Because right now, he couldn’t envisage a life without Chantal in it.
The door opened and she strode in, her confident steps at odds with her appearance. She’d showered and changed. Gone were the pink power suit, up-do and make-up. Instead, she’d scrubbed her face clean, had her hair pulled back in a damp ponytail and wore black yoga pants and a grey T-shirt.
She looked younger, sweeter, innocent, and his heart contracted when she locked eyes on him. In that moment, he saw every conflicted feeling: yearning, hope, regret, sorrow. She wanted a relationship but for some reason she didn’t think she deserved it.
He held up a hand. “Before you say a word, I need you to listen.” Taking the biggest gamble of his life, he blurted, “I love you. I don’t want to lose you. So whatever it takes for you to understand that, I’ll do it.”
She came to a dead halt, her eyes widening as her lower lip wobbled.
Damn, she was going to cry.
“Don’t,” he said, crossing the room quickly to bundle her into his arms. Squeezing his eyes shut to stop the dampness that listening to her sobs brought on.
Helpless, he smoothed her hair, stroked her back, held her tight. Waited until she relaxed in his arms, finally quiet.
Only then did he loosen his hold and when she raised her tear-stained face to stare at him, her expression a heartrending mix of solemn and wonder, he almost lost it.
“You can’t love me,” she said, and damned if her lower lip didn’t wobble again.
“Too bad, because I do,” he said, clearing his throat to ease the gruffness. “So let’s figure out what we’re doing before you have me blubbering like a baby.”
>
Her lips twitched into a glimmer of smile. “Big, tough footballers don’t cry.”
“Oh yeah? Try me.” He tweaked her nose, pleased to see her smile widen.
“We’re really having this conversation?”
“Damn straight.” He guided her into the nearest chair and sat next to her, holding onto her hands for dear life. “At the risk of sounding like an egotistical prick, I think you’re crazy about me too, so why won’t you give us a go?”
Her smile faded as she stared at some point over his right shoulder. “Because relationships are hard and I don’t want to start something we can’t finish.”
There was more. She still couldn’t meet his eyes.
So he pushed harder. “You’re one of the most confident women I’ve ever met. So I don’t buy the chicken-shit act. Something else is going on and I want to know what it is.”
That got her attention as her wary gaze flew to his. “I don’t want to put you in a difficult position.” She shook her head, her ponytail whipping side to side. “Your priority right now should be your family…” She trailed off, as if reluctant to say more, and she resumed staring at something over his shoulder.
“This is about my father, isn’t it?”
Her lips compressed but he saw the flare of awareness in her eyes.
“He rang me this morning. Offered me a job in his company.”
The tension around her mouth eased as she eyeballed him again. “That’s great. I’m really happy for you.”
“Then he said a whole lot of judgmental crap about you and I basically hung up on him.”
She frowned. “You shouldn’t do that. He’s your dad and—”
“And he’s a bigoted old fool.” He squeezed her hands. “Don’t you get it? I may have come to the States to meet my family but that’s not why I’m staying.” He scooted closer, securing her knees between his. “You are. I choose you. And nothing he says or does will change my mind.”
