by Cindi Madsen
They said beautiful things about each other and to each other, and promised a lifetime of love and laughter, and Charlotte let the romance of it all sweep her away.
As soon as the groom kissed the bride, Charlotte again sought out Lance.
Their gazes locked, and desire and affection melded together and streaked through her body. Right then and there, she decided she was going to stop holding back and second-guessing everything and just let herself enjoy being a girl who was dangerously close to being in love.
She filed out along with her row, showing great restraint by not pushing through the crowd like a running back determined to reach the goal line.
Finally, a hole opened up. She quickened her pace and dodged and weaved. The crowd parted, and she searched for that dark head of hair and the blue eyes.
There.
Since there were still too many people between them, Charlotte pointed at her phone and then surreptitiously held up her thumb, keeping it against her sternum.
It took him a second, and then his eyes flew wide, his smile widening to dazzling range.
He understood. The Mustangs had just acquired their quarterback.
A woman tried to catch his attention, her intent to flirt clear, but he politely brushed her off, his eyes still on Charlotte. He started her way, the crowd parting more easily for him than they had for her.
As fast as her heels would take her, Charlotte strode toward him, her pulse steadily increasing as his long, muscular legs ate up the distance.
Then he was pulling her into his arms, her feet no longer touching the ground. “The Pythons didn’t match? I need to hear you say it before I get too carried away.”
“Nope. They want the draft pick and even agreed to keep it under wraps until you can make an official announcement— Gavin and his agent are on board as well.” A squeal slipped out. “We have our quarterback. Gavin Frost is going to be a Mustang.”
“Part of me didn’t think we’d really get him,” he whispered into her ear with a laugh.
“You did, though. You did it.”
“It’s a good start, one that takes off at least an ounce or two of pressure as we’re racing toward Draft Day.” He pulled back and met her gaze. “And we did it— I couldn’t have done it without you and your crazy wall and amazing brain and gut instincts. Or without you pushing me to rehire John. Or without you here. You really are my Sam. But a much, much hotter Sam.” His lips crashed down over hers as his fingers fitted into her rib cage and held her tightly against him. “Have I mentioned I’m crazy about you?”
Crazy was an accurate word for how she felt whenever she thought about him, and it went double when she was in his arms. “Right back at you. I’d call you Frodo, but I’m not sure—”
“As long as you’re mine, I don’t really care what you call me.”
“I’m yours,” she whispered, and then she placed her hand on the side of his face and added, “Lance Quaid.”
He kissed her again, not seeming to care about their audience as he delved his tongue inside her mouth and branded himself upon her very soul.
Okay, so that part about being dangerously close to falling in love?
Yeah, that ship had sailed.
She was already there.
…
In theory, taking the groomsman and bridesmaid pictures days before the wedding was supposed to make it so there’d be fewer pictures today.
In reality, if he was posed or told to smile one more time, Lance might flip off the camera.
As soon as he was released—“for now”—he circled the reception area, his eyes peeled for a beautiful brunette in a pale pink dress.
Everything inside him froze when he spotted her. She was talking to Martin Simms, one of the most annoying sports reporters in the biz. Not the one he’d gotten in trouble for verbally threatening, but Simms had poked him about the story plenty back when it was just a rumor. One Lance had denied because he’d been a blind idiot.
The media had been carefully controlled for the wedding, so he’d probably been invited to the reception. Mitch was nicer than he was, not to mention better at walking the line and schmoozing the right people.
The sight of Simms so close to Charlotte rubbed a raw nerve, and when she laughed at something he said, irritation ate away the lining of Lance’s gut.
They’re just talking, he tried to tell himself, but he couldn’t help thinking of another woman who’d “just talked” to reporters, time after time. Now he was wondering if his instincts were wrong again.
After all, he’d only known Charlotte for a couple of weeks.
He strode over, jaw clenched, and placed his hand on Charlotte’s back. “Hey,” he said, and he knew it’d come out too sharp. The way her eyebrows ticked up in the middle confirmed it. He still aimed his next comment toward Simms. “I didn’t know my brother had invited bottom-feeders to the wedding.”
Charlotte elbowed him in the gut. “Excuse him. He gets grumpy when he hasn’t eaten in a while. Do I need to find you a Snickers to shove into your mouth?” She lowered her voice even more. “Think you can be nice for the rest of the night then, huh?”
“I think you’re confusing me with a different quarterback.”
Simms backed up a couple of paces. “I’ll leave you to feed the beast. I remember how cranky he can get, and this mug is too pretty to be rearranged.”
Lance growled—he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t even realized he’d taken a step toward Simms until Charlotte’s hand came up on his chest.
Simms gave an obnoxious chuckle before shooting Charlotte a smile. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Looking forward to it.” Charlotte kept the smile plastered on her face until she turned to him, and then she gave him a scowl he hadn’t seen since early this week, before he’d thought everything had changed between them.
“What were you two talking about?” he demanded.
“The happy couple, the lovely weather, the upcoming season.”
“Me?”
“Someone’s a little self-centered,” Charlotte said, reaching for one of the mixed entrée plates and shoving it toward him. “There aren’t any candy bars, so this’ll have to do.”
“I notice you didn’t answer.”
She gave a long-suffering sigh. “If you’re wondering if he asked about the Mustangs and what our plans are and what I think about you as an owner, of course he did.”
Lance’s hand clenched into a fist, and she covered it with her hand.
“Do you honestly think I don’t know how to handle that? I’ve had reporters approach me in the grocery store to ask about the team, thinking I won’t recognize who they are. I’ve had men corner me after work.”
His temper flared for a different reason, but it all went to the same place in his brain, his rage ebbing and flowing along with his doubts.
“I kept my answers super vague and said ‘you’ll just have to see’ a lot, including when the topics of our coaching staff and the draft came up. But if we’re lucky, he’ll write something that’ll stir up curiosity and give us some free PR.”
“Oh, and you’re trained in PR now?”
Her hand slipped off his, and he hated the absence of it—his pride restrained him from doing anything about it, though. “I could recite a whole section from the handbook about it, so I know as much as I need to for my job.” She slammed the plate back down on the table. “Eat or don’t. I’m not going to force-feed you, even if you’re acting like a toddler.”
She took a step away, and he caught her elbow. He didn’t want her to leave. Didn’t want to be in a fight. “I’m sorry.” The words scraped on the way out of his mouth, but at least he’d managed to spit them out. “I…overreacted.”
“Yeah, you did,” she said, never one to let him off easy.
He gave a gentle tug, slowly spinning her to face him again. “Trust…doesn’t come easily for me. You yourself mentioned that I’m not great with reporters.”
“It’s one thing
to not be great with reporters or to lose your cool when they corner you after your personal life’s blown up. It’s another to take your issues out on me when I was only trying to help.” Her lip quivered, her strong facade crumbling, and he felt like shit.
He cupped her cheek. “You’re right. Can we go back to before I screwed up? When we were hugging and celebrating and it was you and me against the world?”
She pressed her lips together, considering, and then slowly moved closer. “I realize you’re stressed, but all you’ve got to do is talk to me.” Another step, the toes of her heels bumping into his shiny black shoes. “I do like the idea of us against the world.”
Relief washed through him, and he tugged her closer. “Me, too. I’m going to need you on my team more than ever over the next few weeks.”
“Then maybe try harder not to piss me off.”
He dipped his head and dragged his lips across hers. “Will do. Now, ready to go sit through dinner with my family? And all the toasts?”
“Yes. But can I ask you a favor?”
“Anything,” he said, back to being completely under her spell.
“Well, I was going to ask if you’d hold on to my phone, but now that you’ve gone and said anything, I’m thinking I should ask for something bigger. Maybe a yacht? A raise—wait, that’d be against the contract. How about a desert island to escape to with you?”
“Final answer?”
She handed over her cell, and he slipped it inside his interior suit coat pocket. She smoothed her hand down the lapel on his jacket. “Just tell me if the desert island thing is possible.”
“Too late. You already gave me your phone to hold.”
“Damn it,” she said, snapping her fingers. Her giggle filled the air, chasing away the last of the remaining tension.
He put his hand on her back and guided her over to the table where the rest of his family was already seated. As he pulled out her chair, he moved his lips next to her ear. “I’ll look into that desert island thing. Maybe once we win a Super Bowl, I can make it happen.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
…
The waiters cleared away their dinner plates, and Charlotte relaxed farther into her seat and observed the Quaids as they continued their lighthearted laughing and talking. As she soaked in the happy buzz of it, she reached over and rubbed Lance’s back. He had a toast to give in a few minutes, and she’d seen him glancing through note cards under the table.
“You’ll do great,” she whispered, and he curled his hand around her knee.
When he’d first confronted her about the reporter, she’d wanted to slam that plate of food over his head. But then he’d apologized and told her he needed her, and while she knew he’d been joking about the desert island, he’d said maybe once we win a Super Bowl. He’d included her in that long-term goal, which made her think they were on the same page—that he was falling for her, too, even if it wasn’t quite as fast.
As long as he’s working and trying, it’s okay if it takes him a while to love me.
This trip had gone so differently than she’d imagined.
For one, she never would’ve dared to imagine a guy like Lance could ever fall for a girl like her. Maybe she should pinch herself to make sure it was real, but if it was a dream, it was one she never wanted to wake up from.
“Here goes nothing,” Lance said, and before he stood, he dropped a quick kiss on her lips.
Then he stepped up to the microphone stand that’d been set up to the right of Mitch and Stacy’s table.
Charlotte held her breath while trying not to let show she was nervous for him.
His speech started with memories of playing football with his brother and how Mitch had always been the best at knowing which plays to make. Which risks were worth it.
“Some people might say marriage is the biggest risk of all,” Lance said into the microphone, his words echoing across the space.
Careful. No one wants a best man toast that’s anti-marriage. Especially the woman dating the best man.
“But Mitch has never been scared of taking a risk. And while asking out Stacy might’ve been a risk—because look at her, she’s clearly out of his league…”
Sniggers went around the room.
“—Marrying her, though, was a sure bet. These two scored big when they fell in love, and I’m so happy for my brother, and happy to have Stacy joining our family. We’re loud and opinionated and get all worked up over football, even if it’s a friendly game on the beach, but she fits right in. More than that, you two have shown me the beauty of having someone who balances and calms you and makes your life better.” Lance lifted his champagne flute. “To your life together.”
Everyone raised their glass and drank.
Good job, babe.
Maribelle clasped her hands over her heart. “I’ve never seen him so happy.”
“He does look really happy,” Charlotte said. “Stacy, too. They’re a lovely couple.”
“They are, but I wasn’t talking about Mitch.” Maribelle leaned closer. “I was talking about Lance. That speech wasn’t just fancy words. He meant it, and the reason he meant it is because of you. Trust me”—she reached out and took Charlotte’s hand—“a mother can see it.”
Everyone at the table was beaming at her, from Maribelle to Chuck to Taylor to… Well, Aaron and Austin had saved their table knives and were sword fighting. The Quaids had accepted her so easily, and a deeper yearning went through her as Maribelle squeezed her hand.
“Uh-oh,” Lance said, surveying them as he returned to the table. “This looks like trouble.”
“Don’t worry,” Maribelle said, giving him a big grin. “We were only talking about you.”
Lance settled back into the open chair on Charlotte’s right. “I repeat my ‘uh-oh.’”
“I’ve decided Charlotte is a good luck charm,” Chuck said, busting into the conversation because he clearly didn’t realize there’d been a different one sorta going on. “Now that you two are dating, it’s changed up the bad juju to good juju, and the Mustangs are going to start winning games. Mark my words.”
“Do we need to seal that prediction with a secret handshake or something?” Charlotte asked. “Because I’ll do just about anything.” She leaned over Maribelle to address Chuck. “We should gather up all the candles after the reception and do some kind of cleansing ritual just to be safe.”
“You two.” Maribelle tsked. “Charlotte, really, you’re supposed to be on my side. I’ve told him that superstitious stuff is nothing more than mumbo jumbo for years.”
“Now she’s said that, we’re gonna have to do a cleansing,” Lance added, and the three of them laughed while Maribelle shook her head and gave them exasperated yet affectionate looks.
“I’m not sure who taught you manners. Lord knows I tried, but clearly they didn’t take very well.”
“Not true,” Charlotte said. “When Lance kept opening my doors for me, even though I insisted he didn’t need to because we were colleagues and he wouldn’t do the same if I was a man, he informed me his Southern mother would skin him alive if he didn’t.”
Pride radiated from Maribelle. “Good to hear that some of what I taught him stuck. If he ever acts like a knucklehead, you just call me, and I’ll set him straight.”
“Oh, I’m afraid if I did that, I’d never stop calling you,” Charlotte joked, bumping her shoulder into Lance’s.
Lance took a sip of champagne, frowned at the bubbly drink as if it’d personally offended him, and passed it to her. “I should’ve known that if I left you alone with my family for even five minutes, they’d fall for your charms and choose your side over mine.”
She tipped back the last of the champagne, happy to help him finish it off so he could do what he wanted to and go order a real drink. “Yeah, big mistake on your part. I’m ridiculously charming.”
He moved his mouth next to her ear and whispered, “Just wait till I get you back to the hotel room. I’ll s
how you exactly how charming I can be.”
She turned her face so their lips were a mere breath apart. “Can’t wait,” she said aloud as she silently challenged him to bring it on. Bring it all.
He kissed her and curled her to him as they listened to the rest of the toasts. Maribelle kept smiling at her, and she was laughing and talking with the family, and all the while she gripped on to the moment, on to Lance.
As the clock ticked down on the evening, their time in North Carolina moving to the only-hours-left range, worries rose up one by one. About how it’d be when they got back to Texas, and how they were going to balance their relationship at the office, and all of the things she’d forgotten to worry about during the past few days.
Lance had said he wanted to make them work, and they’d even signed a quarterback today, leaving the team well on its way to becoming something bigger and better.
So why did she feel like she needed to hold tighter to the moment? As if it might slip right through her fingers if she dared to loosen her grip.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The party was winding down, and Lance was counting the minutes until the reception would come to a close.
He’d walked up to the bar to grab another round of drinks for Charlotte and himself when he felt the prickling presence of someone approaching.
After the bartender handed him his order, Lance slowly turned.
Simms stood behind him, too close, his gaze too sharp.
“I’m not giving a statement of any kind right now— It’s my brother’s wedding, and he was kind enough to invite you for some strange reason. Tomorrow you can go back to being a pain in my ass.”
The guy simply cocked his head, and something about the gesture sent foreboding across Lance’s skin.
It’s just because of my past with reporters and everything that happened with Sage. Because I have a beef with him for the story he ran afterward, about how I was as blind in love as I’d been on the field.
As if that weren’t enough, Simms had added, I called this one from the beginning. His temper got the best of him again and again, and his stats were never going to be strong enough to keep him from a future as a washed-up has-been, injury or not.
