Homecourt Advantage
Page 1
HOMECOURT
ADVANTAGE
CRYSTAL McCRARY ANTHONY
AND
RITA EWING
In memory of my dear sister, Karin. I will love you
forever, Special K! Here’s to all the love and laughter,
even now, as you watch over us all.
Always,
Rita
For my husband, Greg, who helped me find strength;
my parents, Thelma and Magellan, who gave me
unwavering support; and my sister, Ruthie, who gave
me infinite inspiration in Self.
Crystal
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
Casey Rogers squinted her eyes against the white glare as the sun’s rays reflected off the still waters. Spectacular was the only way to describe it. The ocean surrounding the small French Polynesian islands of Bora Bora created a magnificent tranquil lagoon ranging in depth from two to thirty feet of crystal clear aquiline water.
Casey felt the strong brown arm around her squeeze even tighter. Peeking up at her husband, she smiled as he placed one hand across her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun.
Just like my mother used to do when I was a little girl, Casey remembered.
“How’s my gorgeous wife doing?” Brent asked her as he bent over and kissed his bride.
Casey could not get enough of him. And now they were on their honeymoon. Her long awaited dream of marrying Brent had finally come true. She opened her mouth and greedily accepted her husband’s probing tongue as he sucked her full soft lips and explored her mouth with a burning intensity matched by her own mounting passion. Pulling Brent down beside her, she still could not believe they were actually married.
The newlyweds were lying side by side on the Indigo Warrior, a large private white catamaran provided by the Hotel Sofitel, the exclusive, private resort they had chosen for their honeymoon. The captain of the vessel, a short, sundrenched Frenchman named Dominique, had taken Casey and Brent on a shark feeding excursion, stopping at a small remote island to serve them a freshly prepared lunch of quiche, salad, baguettes and chilled chardonnay.
Casey leaned in even closer to Brent and had to restrain herself from climbing on top of him. She pulled back from her handsome husband and breathed deeply.
“I better stop before we give Dominique a real show,” Casey murmured as she twisted around to see where their guide was standing.
“You better not stop woman. I don’t ever want you to quit,” Brent began as he grazed Casey’s neck with his full lips. “You’re Mrs. Rogers now. Nothing is off limits for you. The world is yours if I have anything to say about it.”
“Sure, I bet you say that to all the girls. I’ve seen your teammates in action, even the married ones,” Casey teased as she ran her hands over her husband’s smooth head. “You better put some more sun block on, you’re about to …”
“Casey,” Brent said as he raised up from her neck and stared directly in her eyes. “Casey, I wouldn’t say that to anyone but you. As far as other women are concerned, that’s all behind me. I’m serious. That’s not what I want for us, baby. I want you by my side forever, just you and me. When I took my vows, I dedicated my life to making you happy.”
Tears of joy welled up inside of her.
“And what about you Brent,” Casey replied softly. “What is it that you need?”
“Just you Casey. You and your love.” Brent cupped her face in his hand and lightly stroked her cheek with his fingers.
Brent’s words tugged gently at Casey’s heart. One of the qualities that initially attracted Casey to Brent was his honesty. He had a way of expressing himself to her with a naive sincerity that made Casey fiercely protective.
“Do you hear me, Mrs. Rogers?” Brent asked as he lifted Casey’s face so that they were eye to eye.
She felt butterflies in her stomach and a love so intense that she actually ached. A memory flashed through her mind and Casey wondered what she would have said if someone had told her just three years ago when she first met Brent in an upper west side antique shop that she would end up loving this man more than life itself.
“I hear you and you know something?” Casey asked her husband.
“What?”
“I love you,” Casey stated, kissing her husband’s fingers as he continued tracing her tanned face with his protective hands.
“I love you, too,” Brent said returning her kisses.
Noticing the Frenchman’s stare, Casey lightly pushed him away. Brent followed Casey’s gaze as she averted her eyes.
“Relax, baby, don’t worry about ol’ Dominique seeing us,” Brent said.
They both turned to each other and tried to hide their laughter as they noticed the captain dangling awkwardly from one of the masts as he tried to get a better view of the couple.
“Maybe we better wait until we get back to the hotel,” Brent said keeping one arm wrapped around his wife’s slim, toasted-brown waist.
Casey snuggled down against her husband once again and sighed. She had never before in any of her twenty-four years fathomed that being with any one man could make her feel so happy and complete. It scared her to imagine a life without Brent. She was at home and as far as Casey was concerned, he was the perfect fit to her being.
Chapter 1
Greenwich, Connecticut, in mid-April was quite a sight, thought Casey Rogers as she climbed the winding driveway to Alexis and Mike Mitchell’s estate. This morning Alexis, the coach’s wife, was hosting a play-off celebration breakfast for the wives of the New York Flyers basketball team. And as wife of Brent Rogers, the team’s star forward, Casey had been summoned not just for the breakfast but also for a pre breakfast chat with Alexis.
Should be a great time, Casey thought glumly.
Both Alexis and her husband were used to living more than extravagantly; that much was clear. But Casey also knew that Alexis had not a drop of her own style or creativity: Every inch of the estate was purposefully decorated to allude to some sophisticated place she and her husband had traveled to during the off-season—usually some exotic enclave in Europe. For example, the cedar trees imported from Allegheny, Pennsylvania, lining the driveway created a tableau reminiscent of T
uscany, a favorite off-season vacation spot for the Mitchell family. Casey shook her head. Despite the grandeur of the Mitchell estate and grounds, it lacked warmth. As did Alexis. The sight of this place made Casey yearn for her childhood neighborhood with its green hills and unplanned trees. She could remember playing among the rose garden and cherry trees in her backyard.
But New York was where she lived now, and surprisingly, she liked it. She and her husband lived in a penthouse apartment on Central Park South, and from her city window Casey had a view of the park’s trees, lakes, and ponds. She had become used to the noisy city sounds below.
Everything Casey had accomplished in her youth—from being a musical virtuoso, to studying prelaw at the University of Virginia, earning her law degree at Columbia, and achieving partnership at one of New York’s most prestigious law firms—had been in order to arrive at a place like New York City so that she could compete with the best in her field. And she’d been a great success professionally.
Then she’d met and married Brent Rogers. The Brent Rogers who was quoted in every morning’s sports section. The Brent Rogers who scored an average of 28 points a game. Over the last eight years, her own career had been swept aside in the wake of the life of a superstar athlete’s wife. This was not exactly part of her plan. Sometimes she wanted to laugh at the word plan. Certainly the coach’s wife wanted to believe everything could be planned and controlled. Casey knew differently. The basketball schedule fastened by a magnet to her refrigerator both at home and on her desk at work determined not only each day of Brent’s life, but also hers. Her husband’s ever-growing celebrity had only increased Casey’s lack of control over her own life. They’d become prisoners in their home, hiding from fans, reporters, the ubiquitous paparazzi, venturing out at night only if there was a game or for the occasional outing in the country.
And soon it would get worse.
The one thing Casey hadn’t banked on when marrying Brent was that she would be forced to make the sacrifices, she would be the one to leave her job at the firm and the fancy partnership. Brent needed for her to be available to him and Brent Jr., his son from his college girlfriend who visited them on occasion. Finally she’d cut back hours and offered her expertise privately to clients, many of whom couldn’t afford to pay three hundred dollars an hour for a few phone calls. She began working part-time at Volunteer Lawyers for the Arts where she could come and go as suited her husband’s schedule. Lately, though, in the last month, she seemed to be back to her seventy-hour work week with two new demanding clients whose cases left her up to her ears in paperwork. What was going on with her? She had a stack of case law to read through and numerous phone calls to return. Why had she consented to meet with Alexis of all people, and at a hectic time like this?
As coach and queen of the New York Flyers for going on nine years, Alexis and Mike were touted not only by the sports media but also by the society papers as New York’s Golden Couple. They were both beautiful blondes, and many believed that he was even prettier than she. In his early fifties, he was a more attractive version of Robert Redford, if that was possible. Mike stood a full six feet six inches and had the lean, muscular build of an athlete in his early twenties. Alexis was slender and striking, with wide-set, almond-shaped blue eyes. What really struck Casey was Alexis’s unnatural interest in her husband’s endeavors. She was obsessed with the Flyers’ records and her motto (which, of course, was an echo of her husband), was “Win at all costs.” Neither Mike nor Alexis seemed genuinely interested in any aspect of their players’ lives; rather, the games took precedence over all else. The Mitchells had made the team a true partnership: Coach handled the players and Alexis handled the wives.
Two days before, the Flyers had ended the regular season with the best record in the Eastern Conference for the second year running. Now with the play-offs about to start, the real test for the team would begin. Would they finally win it all? But though the Flyers had advanced to the finals for the last three seasons, easily beating all of the other teams along the way, they had never won the championship. Bringing home the NBA championship trophy was the one goal that continued to evade the Flyers.
This would be the subject on Alexis’s mind.
“What do you have up your sleeve this time, Ice Queen?” Casey asked aloud in her cobalt blue Jaguar convertible as she finally madeher way up the endless driveway and arrived in front of the French Normandy Tudor estate.
Alexis came out the glass doors. “Casey! You look gorgeous, as usual. How are you? It seems like forever since I’ve seen you. Take your coat off!” Alexis spoke in a rush as she embraced Casey, withdrew even more quickly, and turned with her coat to an older black servant who had appeared out of nowhere.
As usual, Alexis looked stunning in her ice blue silk Escada blouse and matching slacks. A gold Chanel belt rested against her flat stomach. Her sparkling stone-encrusted Cartier watch and the ten-carat emerald-cut diamond on her finger kept flashing in Casey’s eyes as Alexis gesticulated with her hands. Casey still marveled at the sheer extravagance of Alexis’s trinkets. It was difficult to discern the woman Alexis really was beneath all of her adornments.
Alexis didn’t look a day over thirty-five, though she was actually in her early fifties by Casey’s reckoning. Though she was not overdressed, there was something too perfect about the way Alexis was put together; she looked like she was prepared for a tea at the White House. Not a hair moved from her French twist—even the honey color looked natural. Casey was certain that Alexis was not a natural-born blonde: her two brunette daughters gave her away. And Casey suspected that Alexis must have had a hairdresser on call twenty-four/seven.
Once Alexis ceased her flurry with the servant, she turned her blue gaze on Casey, who could feel Alexis’s eyes all over her. In true Alexis form, she began at the feet, gazing at the shoes, then made her way slowly up to the clothing, with a slight hesitation at the midsection to determine whether a gut was developing, then to the face to check out the makeup application, and finally to the hair. For those who did not know Alexis’s modus operandi, they would think she was either rude or trying to pick them up.
“Lovely. Casey, you just look lovely … without ever really trying. How do you manage to constantly pull it off?” Alexis asked, completing her once-over. Casey simply smiled in response. She hadn’t yet summoned the energy to deal with Alexis or her verbal barrage.
“Thanks, but I’m actually exhausted. I’m sure I look a mess. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”
Casey had always been uncomfortable receiving compliments, even as a child, especially since she was often referred to as the beauty of the family. The praise somehow made her feel guilty. Now, being married to Brent, she was constantly scrutinized by everyone from his employees to his fans, and she hated being sized up.
“Casey, I know how you feel. The games are so stressful for all of us, but you must get your rest. Brent depends on you to be strong.”
“It’s not the games, Alexis,” Casey said, marveling at Alexis’s total fixation on basketball. “It’s my job. I’ve been working long hours lately dealing with my clients and some pretty complicated legal issues.”
“Casey,” Alexis said, shaking her head. “I don’t know why you even bother to work outside of your home. It’s obvious that you don’t have the time, and I’m sure Brent could use your one hundred percent undivided attention. It’s such a crucial time.”
Casey’s voice didn’t change. “Brent will have to settle for what I have to offer. I like what I do, Alexis. I didn’t go to college and law school so I could sit home and be Brent Rogers’s personal cheerleader. Besides, Brent likes that I have a career of my own.”
“Well, I suppose as long as it’s acceptable to Brent, it shouldn’t pose any problems for the two of you.”
Casey shook her head, realizing that it would be futile trying to get Alexis to understand her point of view. Plus, she was far too tired to even try and convince her of anything.
Casey stifled a yawn. Between the work that she brought home and the nights waiting up for Brent to get home, she was beat. She still had a difficult time sleeping if Brent was not home. She hated to admit—even to herself—that part of her sleeplessness was due to herworries of where Brent was spending his time. His affair a few years ago was still a sore spot, and though Casey told Brent that she’d forgiven, she hadn’t forgotten.
As Casey tried to suppress another yawn, she promised herself to make more of an effort to trust Brent. She had to, not only in fairness to their marriage but to herself. If she didn’t stop obsessing, she was going to run herself ragged.
“Why don’t we go into the morning room where it’s more comfortable,” Alexis suggested as she led Casey through several lavish yet tastefully decorated period rooms.
Casey felt a bit dizzy as she was led through the maze, each connecting room lovelier than the last. Although she had been to the Mitchells’ home before on several occasions, Casey was still astonished at the elegance and aura of her surroundings. When they finally reached the morning room, Casey almost gasped. There were four enormous new eighteenth-century oil paintings on each of the four walls. The ambience made her feel like she was in a museum even if the paintings weren’t bona fide treasures. Even the frames were gilded.
The sun highlighted the deep tones of the paintings, as well as the warm yellows and creams of the other furnishings in the room. The cumulative effect of the decor was masterful—both soft and gentle. The brown velvet sofas seemed to be overflowing with down fill, and the window treatments were canary-and-cream-striped works of art made of Scalamandre silk. There was a white marble mantelpiece, adorned with Limoges cherubs which housed roaring fires during the cold winters. Resting also on the fireplace was an exquisite floral arrangement consisting of fresh wild orchids, lilies, and baby’s breath. Casey felt intoxicated, despite the cold, harsh presence of Alexis.