The Real Deal

by Debbi Rawlins

  She walked back to the bedroom and surveyed her purchases. Clothes had never been high on her list of priorities, but admittedly, staring at the three sets of matching bras and panties laying on the bed had her feeling a bit giddy. Usually she bought functional white cotton, or whatever else was on sale.

  And fancy sweaters? Almost never. Until today. She picked up the red off-the-shoulder number that had been an impulse buy, and rubbed the soft cashmere against her cheek. Damn, it felt good. Better than her best sweatshirt that had taken a year and twenty washings to soften.

  She couldn’t stand it another second. She unbuttoned and unzipped, and then pushed the jeans down to the floor. While she stepped out of them, she pulled off her top and unhooked her bra. Should she go with red panties and bra with the sweater, or try the black set? Nah, she’d go all red. What the heck.

  Her sudden excitement confused her. She was acting like her airhead sister. Not that Emily would be giving up her jeans or sweatshirts, but hey, she was in New York. She was supposed to have fun and throw caution to the wind, right? That’s what this trip was all about.

  She pulled on the silk panties, quite certain she’d never worn anything this skimpy. It felt kind of weird, barely covering anything, and she hoped she didn’t have to keep picking the fabric out of her butt. Good thing she was giving it a trial run before wearing it in public.

  The bra was absolutely dreamy, with satiny cups and a beautiful lace edging. With a simple adjustment, she actually produced some cleavage. She turned to look at herself in the mirror and grinned. Striking a sexy pose, she leaned forward and pursed her mouth. Without some color on her lips, she looked like an anemic fish, and she burst out laughing.

  Straightening, she reached for the sweater and was startled by a knock at the door. But then she remembered she’d called housekeeping for more towels in anticipation of another sumptuous bath. She found the white fluffy courtesy robe hanging in the bathroom, slipped it on and opened the door.

  It wasn’t housekeeping.

  She swallowed and automatically stepped back. “Nick?”

  “Hi.” He gave her a slow lazy smile that sent the blood roaring to her ears, her heart thudding to her stomach, her knees instantly weakening.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice remarkably calm. In the dim light of the cab he’d been good-looking. Up close and in full view, he was drop-dead gorgeous.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “How did you know my room number?”

  “The front desk.”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to give out that kind of information.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Probably not.” His smile broadened, and she knew that there was no way the two young women manning the desk would’ve denied him anything. His gaze flicked to the front of her robe. “Sorry. I guess you were expecting company.”

  “Only housekeeping.” Dumb admission, she realized too late. She tried to cinch the robe tighter, but couldn’t find the sash. Glancing down, she saw that she hadn’t secured the belt and the robe gaped a couple of inches. Not much, but enough to give him a peek of red silk and lace. She swallowed a gasp and quickly gathered the front of the terry lapels.

  He looked away and said, “You should’ve checked the peephole before opening the door. It’s a nice hotel but this is still New York.”

  “Good advice. I’ll be sure to remember.” Heat smoldered in her cheeks. She knew her face was as pink as a summer rose. Not much she could do about it. Except act nonchalant. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Sure.”

  Holy crap. She stepped aside, opened the door wider and held on to the doorknob for support. Somehow she hadn’t expected him to come in. More like state his business and be on his way. Although what he could possibly want from her she couldn’t fathom.

  “I’ve never been here before,” he said, glancing around at the sleek modern black-and-white furniture and colorful abstract art on the walls.

  She slowly followed, fists clenched around the belt of her robe, her gaze glued to his broad back, absolutely certain she’d gone out of her mind. Had she really just let a strange man into her room? Albeit a stunning, well-dressed one, but come on. This was so not her.

  But wasn’t this the point of this vacation? If she wanted to get laid, she’d eventually end up with a man she barely knew in a room somewhere. After all, she’d gone through the trouble of splurging on new lingerie and even bought condoms.

  She stopped dead in her tracks.

  The condoms. Sitting in full view on the nightstand. Sexy lingerie spread across the bed. Oh, crap.

  4

  EMILY RUSHED AROUND to face him, placing herself between him and the bed. Not only could she not have been more obvious in her attempt to block his view, but her effort had also been in vain. He was well over six feet, and could see right over her head. Which was exactly what he did, his hazel gaze flickering over the lingerie buffet and then landing in the vicinity of the nightstand.

  “Um, I didn’t catch why you’re here,” she said, ordering herself to stay calm and cool. He’d already seen everything. Nothing left for her to do but gather her dignity.

  He met her eyes, his lit with brief amusement before he schooled them blank. “I think you might have left something in the cab.”

  “I don’t think so.” She thought for a moment. Everything she’d bought was accounted for, and she had her purse. The bag with her books she’d left in the bathroom for her bath later. She stared at his empty hands. What was this guy’s angle? She stepped back, wishing she hadn’t let him in.

  He promptly reached into his jacket’s inside pocket and produced the distinctive hot-pink book. “I found this on the floor where you were sitting.”

  She stared incredulously at Erotic New York in bold black letters, and her first instinct was to deny the book was hers. Lifting her chin a notch, she accepted the book, nearly jumping when her fingers brushed his palm. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “You really shouldn’t have gone through the trouble.”

  He shrugged, and she caught a brief whiff of his musky scent, rugged and masculine and far too intoxicating. “I was only a few blocks away.”

  “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “This is awkward.”

  He smiled. “I thought about leaving it at the desk, but I figured you might prefer a personal delivery.”

  “Yes, I think so.” She slipped the book into her pocket. “You see, I’m a copy editor and I keep an assortment of research material and—”

  “Hey.” He threw up his hands. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  “No, of course not. Look, I’d offer you a drink but I don’t have anything up here—” The words were no sooner out of her mouth when her restless gaze fell on the minibar. “Except what’s in there,” she added lamely.

  “I wouldn’t mind a beer.”

  “Really?”

  He seemed taken aback, and then gave a small self-derisive shake of his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No, I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” She touched her hair, instantly remembering what a fright it was. “How about you wait for me in the bar while I get dressed?”

  His disenchanted expression said he wasn’t fond of the idea, which he confirmed with a step toward the door. “Nah, I’ll just be shoving off.”

  “I really would like to buy you a drink,” she said quickly. “It’s the least I could do, and frankly, I’d like the company.”

  He still seemed hesitant, as he checked his watch and pressed his lips together.

  “Oh, I get it now.” How stupid of her. “You thought you’d get lucky. Just a quickie, but now it’s getting too complicated.”

  His eyebrows rose in disbelief, and he gave a short bark of laughter. “Not true. I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down if you’re offering.” He paused, and when she said nothing, only pulled her belt tighter,
he smiled and added, “I’ll be in the bar.”

  Damn, but he had gorgeous eyes. And great full lips. Hot body. Maybe she was being an idiot. Skipping the bar and getting down to business wasn’t such a bad idea. “I’ll be down in twenty minutes.”

  “I thought you were just gonna change.”

  “Sort of, yeah.”

  “That’s all you need to do,” he said, his gaze roaming her face. “You look great the way you are.”

  Emily sighed as she shooed him toward the door. Gorgeous, confident and charming. And he wanted to sleep with her? If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought Marnie or her sisters had staged their meeting. The troubling thought momentarily stopped her. No, impossible. More likely he was a slick Casanova who figured that her staying here at the Thornton meant she had a few bucks. Boy, would he end up disappointed. So would she if that turned out to be true.

  At the open door, his hand on the knob, he looked over his shoulder and winked. “Twenty minutes then.”

  Obviously he still thought he was getting lucky. She closed the door behind him, and smiled broadly. Maybe he would.

  THE THORNTON BAR WAS a typical upper-middle-class yuppy hangout. Lots of black lacquer, polished brass and premium bottles lining the back of the U-shaped bar. Nick slipped into the crowded room, pleased to spot a dimly lit, empty table in the corner. Man, he hoped no one recognized him. But that was like going to bat with a broken arm and expecting to hit a home run. So far Emily didn’t know who he was, but that was probably because she wasn’t from New York and apparently wasn’t a baseball fan.

  Was that her appeal? Sure, she was cute and had the kind of woman’s body he preferred; breasts on the small side, tiny waist, generous bottom. He also liked that she said what she thought. No hedging or playing coy. He even liked that she blushed when she saw that he’d had the book. She probably hadn’t lied. The book could very well have been intended for research. The box of condoms had thrown him, though. That had been totally unexpected.

  He sat at the small table for two, facing the entrance to the bar, and checked his watch. He had fifteen minutes before she was supposed to show up, although he wouldn’t be surprised if she took longer. Nick hadn’t met a woman yet who didn’t take forever to get ready. But at least tonight it would give him time to get rid of any fans who might notice him and want an autograph. That’s why he would’ve preferred staying in her room. Yet good for her for being cautious and insisting on the bar. Still, she’d bought condoms. She had to be looking for some action.

  The waitress approached, a practiced smile on her heavily made-up face, wearing a tasteful yet subtly revealing uniform in black and gold. She gave her long blond hair a brief toss before stationing herself in front of him. “I’m Sabrina. I’ll be your server this evening. What can I get you?”

  “What kind of beer do you have on tap?”

  Her gaze narrowed, and then she blinked. “You’re Nicky Corrigan.”

  “There’s a hundred-dollar tip in it for you if you keep that between us.”

  Her glossy pink lips parted slightly and then formed a pout. “Really? Can I just tell the other girls?”

  “Sabrina?” He motioned for her with a crooked finger, while digging in his pocket.

  “Yes.” She moved closer and leaned expectantly toward him.

  “No one.” He took her hand and pressed a hundred against her palm. “I’d also consider your silence a personal favor.”

  “Why, sure, Nicky,” she said huskily. “Not a word.” Sabrina glanced over her shoulder toward the bar and then the entrance. “You’re here alone?”

  “Someone will be joining me in a few minutes.” He briefly debated warning her to include Emily in her discretion, but decided that might be inviting trouble. The next thing he knew he’d be reading tabloid headlines about the mystery woman in his life.

  Not bothering to hide her disappointment, Sabrina sighed as she straightened. “I guess you’ll be wanting a Gold lite since you are their spokesman.”

  “Yeah. Right.” He snorted. How could he have forgotten about his latest endorsement? His agent would ream him out if he caught him drinking anything else in public. Rightfully so. That kind of endorsement meant a lot of money for a lot of people, not the least being Nick himself. He’d be a fool not to cash in and toe the line while he was still a hot ticket.

  Not like poor Billy.

  Shit. He had to stop the negative thoughts. It wasn’t over for Billy. The doctors said that if he applied himself to rehab, he had a chance. A slim chance, but it was there.

  Nick noticed that Sabrina was staring at him with a puzzled frown. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  “Did you want to order for your friend?”

  He shook his head, having no idea what Emily drank. “I’ll let her order for herself.”

  “I’ll be right back with your beer.” She gave him a seductive smile and a calculated head-toss, then sashayed toward the bar.

  She was a beauty all right. Probably a wanna-be model or actress, hoping for a stint on Broadway or to be discovered by a top designer while waiting tables to pay the bills. He’d dated a couple of those types when he was new to the majors. But it had been a while since he’d gone out with any woman who wasn’t an actress, a socialite or at the top of her modeling career.

  He slumped back in his chair, keeping his face in shadow, glad to see that there were mostly couples in the room who seemed lost in conversation. Three guys sat at the bar but they were busy chatting up the waitresses and female bartender.

  When his cell phone rang, he withdrew it from his pocket and checked the caller ID. It was Billy. A wave of pain that was becoming too familiar swept over Nick.

  “Hey.”

  “Hello, Nick. It’s Liz.”

  At the sound of Billy’s wife’s voice, Nick’s gut clenched. She never called. “Everything okay?”

  “Oh, yes, sorry.” She laughed softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Everything is fine, but I don’t want Billy to know I’ve called.”

  “All right,” Nick said slowly, suspecting he wasn’t going to like having this conversation. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about coming for Thanksgiving.”

  Nick scrubbed at his jaw, not sure what to say. He didn’t want to outright lie to her, but he knew staying away from Billy for now was the right thing to do. “I’m hoping to see my folks,” he said finally. “I thought your family was going to be spending the week with you.”

  “They are. Billy’s mom and brother, too.” She sighed. “But they don’t understand.”

  Neither did she, Nick thought. Only another player could identify with the pain and fear Billy was going through right now, suffering the uncertainty of his career, his future.

  “He’s depressed,” Liz whispered, “and I don’t know what to do for him.”

  “I don’t think my showing up will change that.”

  “It might,” she said eagerly.

  Guilt cut deep. Was he wrong in staying away? If it were him lying in that bed, he wouldn’t want the constant reminder that there would be no spring training for him in a few months. “He’ll be kept busy once your company starts arriving. They’ll take his mind off things. Later next month, when it gets quiet, I’ll fly down for a visit.”

  “Promise?”

  He briefly closed his eyes. He knew Liz thought she was doing the right thing, but she wasn’t. When Billy was ready to talk, he’d be the one to call Nick. “As soon as Billy wants me there, I’ll be there.”

  “Come on, Nick. You know he won’t ask.”

  “He won’t have to. I’ll know, okay?”

  “Have you talked to him lately?”

  “I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  Her resentful silence was as thick as country gravy.

  He saw the waitress approaching with his beer. “Billy is my best friend. I know what I’m doing, Liz. Trust me.”

  “Sure,” she said,
a trace of bitterness in her voice.

  “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  She disconnected the call before he could say another word, offer any comfort. Not that he knew what to say, but he knew she was suffering, too. It sucked feeling helpless.

  “Here you go.” Sabrina set down the beer, along with a small bowl of mixed nuts. “I’ll be on the lookout for your friend. A woman, I assume?”

  “It’s okay. There she is.” Nick glanced at his watch and smiled to himself. Two minutes early. He lifted a hand to get her attention.

  Emily nodded acknowledgment, touched her hair and briefly tugged at the hem of her red sweater. Was she still wearing the red lingerie underneath? he wondered.

  “Guess I’ll just wait then,” Sabrina said, balancing the tray against her hip and curiously eyeing Emily.

  “Come back in a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

  “All right.”

  To his annoyance, the waitress lingered long enough that she had to directly pass Emily. After so many years in the limelight, he ought to be used to people’s nosiness by now, but he wasn’t.

  Just as she got to the table, he stood and pulled out the other chair.

  Emily grinned. “Why, thank you.”

  He waited until she was settled, and then reclaimed his seat across from her. “Well worth the wait. You look lovely,” he said, liking the way the sweater clung to her subtle curves. Her hair was different, but he couldn’t pinpoint how. “Although you looked mighty good twenty minutes ago, too.”

  She chuckled. “Boy, are you smooth.”

  “What?” He gave a startled laugh. “I meant it.”

  Her smile broadened, and then her gaze fell to his untouched beer. “Funny, I didn’t peg you for the beer type.”

  “No? What then?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged, and the sweater, which was already off her shoulder, slipped an inch. No way she was wearing that red bra he’d glimpsed earlier. No bra, period, he guessed, and tried to stay focused on her face. “One of those new fancy martinis maybe.”