by Vonnie Davis
What the hell?
Gracie extended her hand. “Skip Townsend, my favorite sports correspondent. I wasn’t expecting to see royalty on my short visit to the Big Apple. You’re certainly looking well.”
The barrel-chested man with a graying fringe of hair preened for Gracie. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re here for the romance writers’ gig.” He made a face like he’d just kissed a chicken’s ass. He nodded at Webb. “How’s it going, Webb?” Skip’s attention was back on Gracie before Webb had a chance to reply to his greeting.
“I’m here to do some recruiting, Skip.”
Webb’s head swiveled in her direction. Recruiting? For what? Just who had he rescued? Skip had called her a coach, but of what sport?
If Webb didn’t know better, radar antennae rose from the man’s balding head, causing the fringe of hair to undulate a little. “Oh? And who is the talented female coach of a men’s collegiate team sniffing after?” Skip sniggered. “Everyone’s watching you, Gracie, and how you handle your players.
“Experts say a woman coach can’t mold college-aged men into the players and adults they need to be to succeed in life. There’ve been less than four women who’ve taken the challenge. In my opinion, you’ve been the most successful. You’ve taken a nothing basketball team and made them an up and coming force.”
She coaches men’s basketball? What the fuck?
“Better than Teresa Phillips at Tennessee State University? No way. She broke that glass ceiling for us and did an awesome job. Still, thanks for the huge compliment, Skip. You’re totally epic in my book. I’ve got two players here in the city, who have my attention, and one in Baltimore. I plan on talking to all three of them while I’m on the east coast.”
Skip leaned toward her. “Can you give me any names?”
“Not yet, but if you’ll give me your email, I’ll shoot you some information once I get back to Mount Vista and make some decisions. You’ll be the only person I’ll inform. After all, you took up for me when fault finders said I couldn’t do the job. I’m a loyal person. I don’t forget a kindness.”
He handed her a business card. “Lady Coach, you’ve got a deal. Let me get a picture of you before you go.” He adjusted the lens on his camera while Webb wrapped his arm around Gracie’s waist. Skip glanced at him and jerked his head sideways. “Excuse me, Webb, but this one was an All American in college and part of the Olympic team. Plus, she’s on her way to being a world-class coach.”
Webb edged away from Gracie to step out of the frame. Yeah, sure. I’m just the pile of dog shit who rushed twenty-two-hundred yards last year.
Gracie set her briefcase on the floor and handed Webb her purse to hold, which didn’t help his wounded ego any. She struck a pose with her arms folded and a “don’t mess with me expression” embedded in her facial features.
“How did you get that bruise on your face?” Skip scowled at Webb, the words woman beater no doubt going through his mind. “Webb Mohanty, Miami Thunder’s bad boy, right?”
“Call him ‘hero.’ He saved me from a mugger.” Gracie jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Right out front. Can you believe it? That’s how I got this mark on my cheek. The purse snatcher smacked me. Webb chased him down and retrieved my bag. Listen, why don’t you two talk while I go up to my room and put some ice on this.” She waved a hand in the direction of the knot on her cheekbone.
She kissed Webb’s cheek as she took back her purse. “Thanks, hero.” She turned to the sports reporter and leaned down to kiss his cheek, too. “Take care, Skip. Keep an eye out for my email.” With her luggage in hand, she strode for the wall of elevators.
Skip spun to watch her. “That woman’s a class act. You ever watch her coach a game?”
“No. I just met her today.”
“The guys on her team all but bow at her feet. Pundits claimed she couldn’t keep them under control. But let me tell ya, it would break those players’ hearts if they ever let her down.” Skip shook his head. “It’s the damndest thing I ever saw. Well, I’ve got to go. Good seeing you.”
Webb was almost to the elevators a tad pissed because Skip didn’t want him included in the picture. Suddenly an arm snaked out and pulled him behind a large marble pillar. “Is he gone?” Gracie whispered as she peered around the column.
“Yeah. Why?” Webb leaned his body against hers. God, she smelled so good.
“I need to pick up my packet for RWA.” She turned to go.
Both of his forearms bracketed her against the large column. “You teach accounting at this college?”
“No!” She slapped his chest. “RWA stands for Romance Writers of America. Once basketball season is over, I fill my free time writing books. It keeps my evenings from getting lonely.” Her dark brown eyes with golden striations bore into his and he nearly fell into their depths.
“To protect my coaching job, I write under a pen name. Believe me, Mount Vista College wouldn’t approve. I mean, think about it. The female coach of the men’s basketball team writing romance? Administration would have a collective heart attack.” She glanced away for a few beats.
“Whether you like hearing this, it’s the truth. Most female collegiate coaches don’t get paid on the same scale as male coaches. We often have to take on additional jobs to make ends meet. That’s why I also teach two online creative writing courses for them. And I write books.”
He tapped his fingertip against her plump bottom lip. “Hell, what kind of books do you write, sweetheart?”
One of her finely plucked eyebrow rose as her hand wrapped around his wrist, drawing it away from her mouth. “Spicy. Erotic.” Her voice was husky when she spoke.
“Online teaching, coaching and writing sex. You sure know how to multi-task.”Just what kind of sex did she write about that she wanted to keep hidden from the college? It was almost ironic. His employer didn’t want him to have any and hers didn’t want her to write about it. Who had put the moratorium on sex anyhow?
CHAPTER FIVE
At seven sharp, someone knocked on Gracie’s hotel door. She peeked through the peephole. A red rose blocked her view of Webb’s face. He had this sweeping a girl off her feet process down to a fine art. How many single red roses had be bought for just this reason?
Did it matter? Really? This rose was for her. She’d take it and enjoy the token. After what she’d paid for her new dress and heels, she planned on getting the most bang for her buck. She winced at the old expression. Maybe bang wasn’t the best term to use.
She glanced at her low-cut ruby dress with rhinestone spaghetti straps. The cut and fit of the bodice showed plenty of cleavage. When she’d packed for the trip, she filled her suitcase with tailored, professional clothes. Her aim had been to make the right impression on agents and editors, as well as parents and players when she visited their homes to talk about their basketball stars playing for the Cougars at Mount Vista. She hadn’t planned on an evening out with a moody football player, who was full of himself and his awesome stats.
She’d googled him after she’d picked up her conference credentials, pulled her luggage into her room, and unpacked. Webb seemed to have quite the record on and off the field—Former SEAL Hero morphed into Miami Thunder’s Bad Boy. Yeah, she could see how he’d earned the name. He had the attitude that could so easily turn the ladies on.
After a cab ride to some boutiques in search of the right dress to dazzle her new acquaintance—and wasn’t that pitiful?—she smoked her credit card. Even so, she’d kept the receipts to use as business costs. She’d file this experience under research, eventually putting this evening into a book. She rolled her eyes and snorted. If she could make it believable, that is.
She undid the security bar and opened the door. Dark blue eyes surveyed her appearance and she resisted the urge to tug on the hem of the too short skirt. He handed her the rose in silence when he stepped into her room. A shiver of dread skittered over her. What mood was he in now?
He spun her against th
e door she’d just closed, his hands at her waist. That powerful combination of woods and lime assailed her nose and she inhaled again just for the enjoyment of a second whiff.
“You look fabulous in this dress. Sexy as fuck. Damn your legs must go all the way up to your waist.” His glance slid from her face to her rhinestone stilettos with gold straps that crisscrossed to her calves. “Damn, woman.”
Webb’s deep voice set her insides on low vibration. His hair was still damp from his shower and brushed straight back. No man bun tonight. The black suit and crisp white shirt set off his dark features. Dark blues in his tie brought out his eyes.
“Too bad you forgot this meeting is with my management team. They’re very conservative.”
Oh? And what was she? The whore of Times Square? “Didn’t you tell me to find something sexy to wear?”
“There’s a difference between classy sexy and fuck-me sexy.” Sarcasm dripped from his remark and she resented the hell out of it. He barely gave her time to reply before glancing at his watch. “We better head down to the bar. I like to be early to these things.”
Gracie whizzed past him into the hallway. Livid didn’t begin to describe her mood.
He wrapped a large hand around the doorknob. “Have your key?” One of Webb’s dark eyebrows arched.
She nodded, irritation simmering. Did he think her too stupid to remember her room key? Or too dazzled by his handsome appearance? Obviously he wasn’t impressed by hers.
He pressed his hand to the small of her back to escort her to the elevator. “I’m glad to see this afternoon’s mugging didn’t leave any bruises.”
“A bag of ice and a ton of makeup hide a lot. Again, thanks for chasing him down. I’d have been in big trouble without my purse.”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “It’s what a man does.”
Oh puh-lease.
“Didn’t you have anything more conservative to wear? We could be a few minutes late if you want to change into one of your business suits.”
Her steps faltered, temper nearing its flashpoint. His overbearing attitude was wearing thin. She’d spent a lot of money on this outfit, plus sacrificed time at the writers’ welcome reception. Yes, she owed him for rescuing her stolen purse, but that didn’t give him the right to dictate her appearance.
“What’s wrong with what I have on? I don’t dress for a man. I wear what I like.”
“For tonight, with my bosses, you could be less showy.” Mr. Perfect adjusted his cobalt and pale blue swirl tie. “Is it necessary to flaunt all your assets? Didn’t I mention the press would be there?”
Two women waiting at the elevator turned, their eyes widened in surprise over his remarks. Oh, sweet Lord, one of them was best-selling author Sylvanna Tweed. It was an easy guess as to the other woman’s identity. She was Sylvanna’s powerhouse agent, Dondi Gable, wearing one of those wild hats she was known for. This one was ivory felt, banded with fake dollar bills tucked in its upturned brim.
Just let me die right now. I have a time slot scheduled to pitch a story to Ms. Gable tomorrow. Hell and double hell.
“The least you can do is yank up on that top to cover more of yourself.”
Two pairs of narrowed eyes glared at Webb before shifting to her as if to assess how she was going to handle his insensitive remark.
“Look, Mr. Neanderthal, I’m the one doing you a favor by being your date.”
The elevator dinged and the doors whispered open. All four of them stepped on and Sylvanna pressed the button for the lobby.
Gracie aimed a sidelong glance at Webb. “I don’t want to hear another word about my outfit.” Her index finger pointed to his footwear. “And how many cows had to die to make those pointy-toed boots for your big feet?”
His eyes changed from deep blue to stormy bluster and he leaned toward her. “At least I’m not prancing around in a pair of gold fuck-me stilettoes.”
The famous Sylvanna Tweed and Dondi Gable gasped.
“Seriously? That’s it. I am so done.” Gracie reached to press the button for her floor.
His hand snaked out to coil around hers.
“Look, I appreciate you chasing down the guy who stole my purse, but I’m not putting up with your sour disposition and insults. Find another woman to make an impression on your conservative bosses, because I think you’re a total ass.”
His grip on her wrist tightened. “We have an agreement. Besides, they’re alligator.”
“What?” God, the man was annoying.
He tipped his head toward his boots. “They’re made out of alligator, not cowhide.”
“Oh, well then, the entire population of Florida ought to feel safe.”
The agent snickered and the best-selling author rolled her eyes. The elevator stopped and an older couple got on.
Webb backed Gracie against the wall. “Would you just calm down and pretend you like me?”
“Look, I’m a writer, not an award-winning actress. I understand I don’t do it for you, but you don’t exactly turn me on either, you overgrown football runner. You’ve got the demeanor of a jackass and no doubt the pecker of a possum.”
Four pairs of eyes stared.
Four jaws gaped.
Her arrogant date laughed, hands on his narrow hips. “Possum pecker?” He snorted. “Woman, you haven’t got a clue.” His finger tapped between her rounded breasts exposed by her dress. “And, sweetheart, if I wanted to turn you on, it wouldn’t be hard to do.” Challenge sparked in his narrowed blue eyes.
The elderly woman elbowed her husband. “Pay attention, Harold.”
God, I hate this running back’s gigantic ego.
“There’s no way in hell you could turn me on, you arrogant asshat in alligator boots.”
“You’ve got a mouth as big as those boobs you’re showing off. What happened to the malleable woman I helped save this afternoon?”
Her eyes widened. “Ma-malleable? As in easily persuaded?” A sequined spaghetti strap of her dress slipped off her shoulder and she jerked it back in place. “Look, freakzoid, you couldn’t persuade me to pour a bucket of water over your head if your crooked nose was on fire. Someone, please press the button for the twenty-second floor. I’m getting off.”
She jabbed a finger into his solid chest. “You, Mr.-Florida-Possum-Pecker can kiss my lily-white Idaho ass.” Her eyes narrowed. “I just dare you!”
He laughed. “A dare? Oh, the last thing you want to do is dare me, Coach Lady.” His hand fisted in her hair. He pushed her against the side of the elevator, his eyes locked on hers and his other hand clamped at her waist. “We have a deal. You’ll be my date tonight and you’ll damn well act like a demure woman. For all your bluster, you remind me of Scarlett O’Hara. You need kissing and kissing well.”
“Are you getting this, Harold?”
“I’d sooner kiss that scummy mugger.” Gracie was so damn mad, she trembled.
“I figure one kiss, two tops, and you’ll be quivering for my touch.”
“Bite me.”
“Oh, I intend to.” His head dipped and her stomach did a double gainer before diving to her golden painted toenails. He really wouldn’t kiss her, would he?
The elevator dinged its arrival at the lobby. The steel doors slid back. No one got off. Dondi quickly pressed the button for the top floor.
As the elevator began its assent, Webb’s gaze pierced Gracie’s as he slid his hand from her waist, up her side. His thumb caressed the underside of her breast and her nipples—damn traitors that they were—puckered in welcome. Minty breath tiptoed across her face as his lips slowly lowered to hers. With feather light contact, he kissed the right corner of her mouth before paying homage to the other.
A pathetic, needy moan filled the elevator. Gracie feared it came from her. Dammit.
There was surprise in his tenderness and its potent, sensual aftermath, no doubt calculated to prove his point. If I can ignore the testosterone seeping out of him maybe I can ignore the moisture seeping from my
body, dampening my barely there thong. Maybe.
“Open for me, sweetheart,” he whispered. His tongue lightly flickered across her lips before he laid claim, the unanticipated sizzle of his lips deleting all coherent thought.
Oh.
My.
God.
Someone had a finger on the spin button of the elevator for it revolved in a vortex so rapid, she had to grasp Webb’s hard biceps to keep from sliding down to his alligator boots. He groaned, his tongue swooping into her mouth to assert ownership. Her tongue swept over his in welcome. The kiss tasted of mint and male dominance.
When he angled his head to take the kiss deeper, she forked her fingers into his hair.
“Oh, kiss me like that, Harold. Just once.” Soft laughter filled the elevator.
So did Gracie’s moan when Webb bit her lower lip before sucking on it.
He tugged on her hair, yanked her head back and broke the kiss long enough to stare into her eyes. “Fucking hell,” toppled from his lips in a shocked voice. He captured her lips again.
She’d barely had time to inhale, or brace herself for the battle she’d have to wage not to succumb to his potency. Damn, the man could kiss. She inhaled woods blended with lime and swore she’d remember that smell until the day she died.
His teeth scraped along her jawline before taking a detour down her neck. She shuddered on a gasp when he bit her at the juncture of her neck and shoulder and wetness pooled at her sex. She tightened her thighs, hoping to deaden the pulsing in her core. He soothed the abraded area of her shoulder with his tongue. This was all happening too fast—and was way, way too powerful.
No man had ever elicited tremors, dampness, and erotic desires like this man with lips more potent than she’d ever experienced. Even the bad boys she’d once favored, all paled in comparison.
A large hand cupped her ass, pulling her against his erection. She ground into him once and silver stars exploded behind her closed eyelids. Sweet Lord, I don’t want this to end. On a deep masculine groan of desire, he palmed her ass to lift her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His mouth returned to her lips, brutal, hard, and commanding.
