by Desiree Holt
Jake widened his eyes in shock. “She’s not coming here at all? To talk to us? To me? What the hell?”
Erin shrugged. “She’s your sister. You know her better than I do. I think she’s throwing both of us to the wolves.”
“And you’re offering me juice and coffee. Does that mean you’re staying?”
She shrugged. “So it appears. No one’s looking for a replacement, and even I’m not rotten enough to walk out and leave you like this.”
Well, well, well. This could get interesting. Even with the pain crawling up his body, the possibilities of the situation sent a surge of pleasure through him. He’d have plenty of time to plead his case and see if he could erase this hard-on she had for him and apparently all football players.
Be nice. Play nice.
He wet his lips. “Thank you for that. I really do appreciate it. And coffee and juice would be nice.”
“I thought I’d wait to fix a meal until after your shower and everything. Unless you want something now with the coffee.”
“No. I’m not much of a breakfast eater, anyway.”
“Fine.” She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “It would probably be good if we sat down together after that and went over things I should know. Any activities of yours you’ll be missing, people you need to contact. People you don’t want coming to the house.”
“You’re going to be my bodyguard, too?” He couldn’t resist the tease.
She gave him the tiniest grin. “Like you said, I’ll just think of it as another guest relations job. I’ll be back in a minute with your stuff.”
He held in his smile until she was gone from the room. Then, when there was no chance she’d turn around and see him anymore, he pumped his fist in the air.
Yes!
Maybe this broken leg would be good for something after all.
Chapter 7
Erin reread the e-mail Ivy had just sent, with key telephone numbers she might need and more instructions regarding Jake’s personal activities. This person can visit him, keep these people away, don’t let just anyone speak to him without asking him, etc. etc. etc. She was going to kill her friend. Or maybe just torture her until she begged to be killed. How was she supposed to deal with it, when Jake pushed every one of her sexual buttons, and it seemed he was having the same trouble?
She’d finally accepted she wasn’t going to be able to leave. Jake wouldn’t even discuss the possibility of the team hiring someone—his damn ego again, as if he had something to be ashamed of—and her conscience wouldn’t permit her to just up and walk out, telling Ivy to get her ass over to Jake’s and fix things. So here she was, determined now to use all her skills to excel at this job she was stuck with so when she walked away she didn’t have any regrets.
Regrets? Does that apply to the sex also, missy?
Deliberately putting anything related to s-e-x out of her mind, she finished separating the big stack of mail she’d placed on the kitchen table. She’d found it on the counter just dumped into a big carton, probably by Ivy the night she’d stayed here. It was obvious no effort had been made to sort through it. She took the liberty of ditching all the unsolicited advertising and solicitation letters in a big trash bag. She discovered people with any kind of notoriety got mail from everywhere and everyone. The rest of it she tried to sort alphabetically, by sender’s name. After lunch she’d bring them into the bedroom and go through them with Jake, see if there were any she needed to handle for him.
Handle for him? Okay, so Ivy had told her she’d be kind of an executive assistant. Ha! Talk about putting lipstick on a pig. But she was here, she was doing it, and she’d accepted the fact that wasn’t about to change. She needed to pull up her big girl socks and get on with it. The money was good and much appreciated in her situation.
At least they’d gotten past the embarrassing episode where she’d had to clean him up. The rest of the day hadn’t been nearly as uncomfortable as she’d expected it to be. Still, although they hadn’t mentioned it again, every time she was in his room she saw him watching her through half-closed eyes. Sexual tension hummed in the air. Jake hadn’t helped things by lying there all day with his covers thrown back, his swollen cock obvious beneath his flimsy shorts.
“I’m hot,” he’d told her every time she suggested he cover up. “It’s fucking hot lying in this bed.”
She’d offered to turn up the air conditioning, but he told her with blatant hunger in his eyes that air conditioning wouldn’t fix his problem. She certainly didn’t intend to ask him what would.
Had he really been dreaming about her? What would he think if he knew she’d had an erotic dream about him? When she’d thought about it last night, after she finally got into bed, she’d been hot and cold by turns, her breasts aching and the walls of her sex thrumming. She could not give in to whatever attraction she felt for him. For one thing, in his condition, not much would be possible. For another, and most importantly, she knew she’d be just another notch on his bedpost and she was tired of men like that.
The trouble was, even in the short time she’d been here, she was beginning to have conflicted feelings about Jake Russell. Okay, sure, he was injured and in pain and reluctantly dependent on her for everything. But as bad as he was being, it wasn’t nearly as obnoxious as she’d expected.
Wait. No. She wouldn’t go there. If she allowed herself to feel sorry for him or make excuses, she’d be—
She’d be nothing. Because she was going to put up an invisible wall between them and keep it there.
She was just putting the rest of the envelopes in a neat stack when the phone rang. It startled her, mostly because there had been so few phone calls since she’d arrived. Coach Raymond, Jim DiMarco, Scott, the doctor’s office, innocuous calls like that. Apparently, Ivy had passed the word about her because no one seemed startled that she was answering the phone. But those were the only calls that had come in since she’d arrived a little more than forty-eight hours earlier. No personal calls. She thought that very strange for a man in Jake’s position.
All the calls she’d been expecting today had already come in this morning. Should she answer this? She hadn’t seen a landline phone in Jake’s bedroom, making it obvious he was not taking any calls. Ivy had said this would be part of the job, so when the phone rang twice more she figured she’d better pick up. She just hoped it wasn’t some airhead groupie or a glamour girl looking to give Jake her own special brand of healing medicine.
Oh, wait. Ivy had been specific about telling her the number was unlisted. Still, Jake could have given it out and—
Oh, answer the damn phone, idiot.
Lifting the receiver, she cleared her throat. “Jake Russell’s residence.”
God, didn’t she just sound like a prissy housekeeper. What was next? A uniform and starched apron?
“Who the hell is this?” a gravelly sounding man demanded.
“This is his—” His what? “His personal assistant.”
The man on the other end of the call laughed so hard she could hear him wheeze. “His what? Are you shitting me?”
“I am his personal assistant,” she repeated, digging her nails into her palm. “May I ask who this is?”
“It’s—” Wheeze, wheeze. “I’m—” Wheeze, wheeze. “Tell him Santos is on the line.”
“Santos,” she repeated, and all her hotel training kicked in. “May I ask if that’s a first name or a last?”
“You mean you don’t know Golden Legs Santos, the Mustangs’ hot wide receiver? Who are you, anyway? Do you live under a rock?”
Erin silently counted to ten. “Not all of us are addicted to football, Mr. Santos.”
“Oooooh.” He made a teasing sound. “Putting me in my place, right? So, honey, if you don’t like football, what are you doing with Big Jake? And why the hell isn’t he answering his own phone?”
“Mr. Russell is recovering from a serious injury and complicated surgery.”
She put as much authority into her voice as she could muster. “He doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Oh, honey, you sound like you could be disturbing him a lot. Wanna disturb me for a change?”
Erin reached for her self-control. This was exactly why she hated all jocks and wished them sailing off on a garbage scow. “I’ll tell Mr. Russell you called.”
“How about telling him I want to speak to him?” Now the man was getting belligerent. “What’s the matter? Doesn’t he want to talk to his friends?”
“If you’re such a good friend, why didn’t you call his cell? Don’t you have the number?”
“I, uh…” A pause. “I lost it. But it’s all good. He’ll take my call. Just tell him it’s me.”
Erin had an idiotic desire to reach through the connection and smack this guy. She wondered if both he and his ego fit in the same room together.
“Fine. Hold, please.”
She tromped off down the hall to Jake’s bedroom. He was lying there with the television on but muted, his eyes closed. She waited a moment, then started to turn away.
“I’m awake,” he told her. “Who’s on the phone?”
“Someone named Santos. When I asked for his full name he wanted to know why hadn’t I heard of Golden Legs Santos. He says he wants to talk to you.”
Jake’s eyes flew open and anger flashed across his face. “That asshole. Absolutely not. Not even if he was the last person on earth.”
“Wow! What did he do to you?”
“Not to me specifically but to everyone in general. He’s an immature jerkhead who things he’s God’s gift to the world. Tell him I’m asleep.”
“Okay. If that’s what you want.” She trudged back to the kitchen. “Sorry, but Mr. Russell is asleep.”
“But—”
“I’ll tell him you called.” She barely restrained herself from slamming the receiver back in the cradle. What an ass.
She looked at the clock. It was almost lunchtime. Jake always slept after his shower and shave and whatever else the guy did for him. She was sure with his inability to handle himself physically he was exhausted by everything. But he’d said earlier he wanted lunch so she walked back to the master suite.
“Did you get rid of the jackass?” Jake wanted to know.
“I did, but I don’t think he was happy.”
“Tough shit.” Jake made a rude sound. “He thinks he’s a one-name celebrity, like that singer, Prince.”
“So what is his name?”
“Gary Santos, but he thinks that sounds too ordinary.” Jake grunted. “He doesn’t even qualify for ordinary, if you ask me.”
She bit her lip. “I hate to say this, but I think he needs some etiquette lessons.”
Jake laughed, a rusty sound as if he hadn’t done it for a while. She was sure he hadn’t had much to laugh about lately.
“That asshole. I hope you put him in his place.”
Oh, yes, she certainly had. “I told him you weren’t taking calls. I also suggested that if he was really a friend, he’d have your cell phone number.”
Jake grinned at her, a panty-melting smile that had her biting her lip.
No, no, no.
“You are so damn right. I don’t want to talk to him or see his ugly face.”
“I take it you don’t like him?”
“No shit.” He shifted his position slightly, hitching himself up a little higher against the pillows. “He’s another wide receiver on the team with an ego bigger than the whole city of Austin. He thinks my injury is his ticket to stardom.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “How so?”
“He’s not a regular starter, so he figures he’ll get more playing time now that I’m out of commission. He wants to come here and stick it in my face.”
“Nice guy.” She studied him. “By the way, he’s the first personal call you’ve had. Mostly it’s just been your agent and people from the team office. How come your phone isn’t ringing off the hook?”
Jake rubbed the thigh of his injured leg above the cast. Erin was sure it ached a lot.
“Coach Raymond put out the word to the team members to lay off for a few days. I asked Ivy to tell the same thing to our friends.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I really don’t feel like talking to anyone.”
“I can understand that. So what did you do with the phone from this room? You do have one in here, don’t you? Although I’m sure you don’t get many calls on it.”
He pointed to the drawer. “Stuck it in there. I told you I’m in no mood to answer phone calls.” He lifted a shoulder. “I believe that’s your job, right?”
“Sure. Whatever.” She frowned. “And your cell? Did you decide to hide that away, too?”
“Same place. As a matter of fact, why don’t you just take it and keep it with you. That way if it rings you can answer it and tell whoever it is to go to hell.”
“Jake!” She was appalled. “Why would I want to do that?”
“I told you. I’m not in the mood to see anyone. They’ve all been asked to give me some space.” He grimaced. “But I guess we’re out of space.”
“I’m sure people are concerned about you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Right. I don’t want anyone to tell me everything’s going to be okay when I know there’s a chance it won’t. I don’t want anyone fussing over me or telling me how much they miss me on the field. And I don’t want any of the guys showing up with big-breasted, little-brained females thinking they’ll cheer me up. I’m in no mood for bullshit. Period.”
“But they’re your friends,” she protested.
“Ha!” Anger cut lines in his face and flashed in his eyes. “I’m really not that close to any of the guys. And the others? Only when I’m a big star on the field. Otherwise they’re just going to come pay their obligatory visit, then go out and tell everyone what a mess I am right now.”
She wanted to tell him that he was all wrong, that his friends would not do that. But she’d seen enough of these guys in action to know the only thing important to them was their ego. A major reason why they—and Jake—were on her No-No list.
She didn’t know if she wanted to smack him for his pity party or feel sorry for the mess he was in through no fault of his own. More than that, she’d noticed that as they talked, his cock, which had been blissfully at rest, was again swollen and pushing against the flimsy fabric of his shorts.
Deliberately averting her eyes, she opened the nightstand drawer, making sure to stand as far away from the bed as she could. Sure enough, next to his cell was the landline phone, just tossed in. She lifted out the cell and stared at it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to keep this in here? I feel funny with your phone.”
“There’s no one I want to talk to,” he said.
“What about all your little cuddle bunnies? I expected them to be swarming all over you.”
“I have a fucking broken leg,” he snapped. “And I haven’t had any so-called cuddle bunnies. They bore me.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say.” Like Trace McKay. She bit her lower lip. “Okay, we have some other things to go over. I thought I’d order some lunch. Maybe we could eat together and talk.”
“And where would we do that?” He waved at his leg. “I have trouble enough just getting to the bathroom and back.”
She glanced at the sliding doors that led out to a patio. “I thought it might be pleasant to eat out there. I can help you.”
Frustration flashed in his eyes again. “And if I fall? Are you going to pick me up?”
“Jake, you could fall when I’m helping you to the bathroom. Quit being such an ass.”
“I’m not an ass, I’m a cripple.”
“Oooh! Time for a pity party?”
“I deserve one.” He pounded his hand on the nightstand, then winced.
“Go ahead,” she told him. “Break your other hand.”
He glared at her. �
�Could I have a little sympathy and understanding here? This isn’t exactly a picnic.”
Erin shook her head. One minute she felt sorry for him, the next she wanted to kill him. She knew his emotions were all over the place as he tried to deal with what was happening to him. Despite her lingering resentment at being here, she could empathize with him and his predicament. But enough was enough.
“I don’t think sympathy is what you need right now. Are you in a shitty situation? Yes. No question about it. Could it be worse? Yes. Could you deal with it better? I happen to think so.”
“You’re all heart,” he snapped. “Thanks for being so understanding.”
Erin had to stifle the urge to smack him. Okay, he was in a bad situation, but he didn’t have to act like a little kid whose party had been spoiled. “I do understand. I even understand why you might not want to see people, although I think your closest friends might cheer you up. But…” She held up a hand. “You have two choices. You can sulk and rage and feel sorry for yourself. Or you can be pissed off but make the best of it. If I’m going to do this job properly we have things to discuss.”
“Yeah?” He scowled at her. “Like what?”
“Stuff. I thought it might change your adorable attitude if I got you outside for a little while. It’s a nice day and fresh air does wonders for the disposition.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my damn fucking disposition.” Irritation laced his voice.
Erin burst out laughing. “I rest my case.” She managed to swallow her smile. “Ivy said in her notes that you like Mexican food. I found a menu from a Mexican restaurant near here, so I thought I’d place an order. They menu says they deliver. That work for you?”
“Yeah. Fine, whatever.”
“When the food gets here,” she told him, “we’re eating on the patio. No more bed trays for you. End of discussion.”
She turned to leave the room, but Jake reached out and grabbed her wrist. His fingers seared her skin like individual brands. Once again, when she tried to tug her hand free, he tightened his grip.
“Why do you always want to run away from me? Why are you afraid to let me touch you?”
