“How could you do that?” There was a gratifying note of longing in her voice.
“I already have a room reserved at the Ritz-Carlton at Battery Park.” He needed to explain that. “Because of Trevor. There’s a private entrance we can use.” He wasn’t going to mention that he’d used it before for similar reasons. “We’ll get room service. No photos.”
“That’s a lot of trouble to go to.”
He could hear no in her voice, so he laid on the drawl. “You’re worth it, sugar. Let me send a car to pick you up at seven. Just an anonymous black sedan. No one will be the wiser.”
“I . . . well . . . thank you,” she finally said after a pause so long he thought he’d lost her. “That would be nice.”
He pumped his fist. “The car will bring you right to the entrance, and my driver will escort you from there. That eliminates the chance of anyone seeing us together.”
“I appreciate how careful you’re being,” she said. “And I feel ridiculous about it.”
“It’s not your problem, it’s mine. Being in the spotlight is not always comfortable for the people around me, so I’ve found ways to dodge it.” He’d also learned to avoid the people who basked in the light reflected from him. Miranda wasn’t one of them. He let anticipation vibrate in his voice. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Luke disconnected and glanced at his watch. He was going to be late for his session with his trainer. Stan would give him an earful, but Luke didn’t care. He could block out the abuse as long as he had Miranda to focus on.
A few hours later, Luke changed positions on the seat of the limousine for the third time, trying to ease the soreness his session with Stan had induced. His trainer assured Luke he would feel fine in the morning if he got a good night’s rest. But rest wasn’t on Luke’s agenda, so he had a couple of ice packs strapped to his ribs, and he had swallowed a few Aleve capsules before he left the Empire Center. That would do for now. Once Miranda arrived, he’d forget all about his pain.
An alert pinged on his phone. That was his assistant’s reminder that Luke needed to call Nathan Trainor about the gala.
He dialed the CEO’s cell number. This time Trainor answered.
“Trainor, I need a favor,” Luke said. “I got talked into buying a table at a charity dinner tomorrow night, and I need to fill it up. Miller’s coming, so I’m asking you to come, too. And bring a date.” He smiled.
“Miller put you up to this.” The CEO hadn’t gotten where he was by being stupid.
But Luke hadn’t, either. “Miller? No, he’s just willing to go along with it for a good cause. We’re raising money for foster kids in the New York metro area.”
“That’s not what I meant. He wants to meet my date.”
“Hell, based on what Miller says, I want to meet her,” Luke said. “You work fast, man.”
“As I told him yesterday, the meeting is premature.” Trainor’s voice was tight. “And I have no intention of exposing her to Miller’s curiosity.”
Definitely not stupid, but protective. “Too bad,” Luke said. “The silent auction has some damn nice jewelry, and all the proceeds go to the kids.”
Silence instead of refusal. That was a good sign, so Luke sank the hook in further. “There’s a listing of the items online. I’ll text you the link.”
“Did you donate a signed football?” the CEO asked.
Luke could tell Trainor was still on the fence, so he injected an element of competition. “With four tickets on the fifty-yard line. Miller kicked in an entire set of autographed Julian Best books, along with a prop from the last movie.”
Trainor laughed at that. “Put me down for a TE-Gen10 3-D printer.”
Luke had him now. “Sounds high-tech. So you’ll come.”
“I’m sure I’ll regret it, but I’ll ask Chloe if she’d like to attend.”
“Chloe. Nice name. I’ll text you all the information.”
Luke hung up and forwarded the details Doug had sent him about the gala to Trainor’s phone. He envied the CEO’s ability to bring the woman he wanted with him to the event. He found himself resenting any free time not spent with Miranda.
Because the clock on their time together was running out.
Chapter 15
Miranda walked out the front door of the Pinnacle and spotted the black sedan pulled up at the curb. Refusing to look around furtively, as though she were doing something wrong, she strode across the sidewalk and opened the car’s back door to let herself in. When the driver had texted her that he was there, she’d told him not to get out. She’d even worn a long belted raincoat to cover the dress she’d changed into in her office.
She slid into the backseat, breathing a sigh of relief that she appeared to have escaped unnoticed. However absurd, her precautions seemed necessary. Two more colleagues had called to mention the rumors Orin was spreading about her. Miranda slumped back into the leather seat and unbuttoned her raincoat. She’d been foolhardy to take this risk, but when Luke promised her complete privacy, temptation had overwhelmed her good sense.
“Is the heat on too high?” the driver asked.
“No, it’s fine.” She almost laughed. It wasn’t the car’s heater that was sending flares of warmth licking through her body.
She smoothed her palms over the skirt of her rose-colored dress. It fit her like a glove without being overtly sexy. She’d fastened a statement necklace of chunky quartz and gold around her neck to add interest to the plunging V of the neckline. The high-heeled gladiator sandals in faux snakeskin gave her outfit some edge. She’d taken care with her outfit because she was meeting a man who was accustomed to women wearing high-end designer clothes. In the growing darkness, she wondered if it had been a fluke of time and place that she and the celebrity quarterback had felt such a connection yesterday.
He seemed to think it was more than that, arranging for all this secrecy. Of course, he wasn’t used to hearing no from a woman or anyone else, so it probably brought out the competitor in him.
The town car wove through the narrow downtown streets and crept into a back alley before coming to a stop. This time the driver jumped out and jogged around to hold the door Miranda had already opened.
She swung her legs out and stood in the pool of light thrown by an ornate bronze fixture over an unmarked door. It reminded her of the back entrance to Cleats, and she had a sudden understanding of the downside of fame—always sneaking into places from dark alleys, through utilitarian doors, dressed in a raincoat or a baseball cap and sunglasses. Ironic that she often arranged such access for her clients.
“I’ll take you to Mr. Archer,” the driver said, gesturing toward the door.
Miranda waited while the driver knocked. The door swung open, and then she was ushered through a series of hallways, the decor going from white paint and linoleum to wood paneling and ultrathick carpeting. The driver tapped a distinctive rhythm on a double door before turning to walk away down the corridor. Miranda didn’t have time to say thank you before one of the doors swung inward.
No one greeted her, so she stepped through into a sitting room decorated in richly textured modern fabrics and paneled in dark wood. Huge windows framed spectacular views of New York Harbor, with the Statue of Liberty raising her glowing lamp above the waves. A mouthwatering aroma of gourmet food floated past her nostrils.
The door closed behind her, and she pivoted to find Luke turning the privacy lock. He gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about the cloak-and-dagger routine. I didn’t want anyone to see or hear me from the hallway. For your protection.”
“It was a little spooky,” Miranda said, a slight quaver in her voice.
Luke was dressed in charcoal gray trousers that made his legs look even longer than usual, and a dark blue shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, which gave a surprising elegance to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The dark colors of his clothing made his gilded hair and pale eyes practically glow in contrast. She drew in a deep breath to dampen the flutters in h
er chest.
“Let me take your coat.” He stepped behind her and slipped the raincoat off her shoulders. His breath stirred a strand of hair against her temple, sending a shiver of sensation skittering down her neck. He laid the coat across a chair set by the door and turned, this time with heat warming his blue eyes.
“Now for a real hello,” he said, bringing one hand up to splay along her jaw as he angled his head downward to brush her lips with his.
The feel of his strong fingers against her skin, the touch of his mouth on hers, the sense of his body only inches away, lit a subtle flame that licked along Miranda’s veins. She stepped into him. As she ran her palms up his chest, he circled her waist with one powerful arm to bring her even closer.
She expected him to intensify the kiss, so she let her lips part, but he lifted his head. “Dinner first. Because once we get started, the food will end up cold.”
A wave of apprehension swept through her, dousing the sensual glow he’d just kindled. He was looking at her with intense anticipation, as though he’d been making plans all day.
She didn’t know if she could live up to them.
“It smells wonderful,” she said, starting to move away from him. His encircling arm stopped her.
He was staring down at her with a frown. “You don’t need to worry about Spindle. No one knows you’re here except my driver, and he’s been keeping my secrets for years.”
That drove home how foolish she had been to come. She was jeopardizing her career—and her brother’s farm—to see a man whose interest she probably wouldn’t hold even through this one evening.
She scanned his face with the distinctive eyes, the sculpted jawline, the thick golden hair—all both famous and familiar from a multitude of photos, advertisements, and television interviews. His head was framed by a window with the kind of view that meant this suite bore a price tag that was stratospheric.
She didn’t belong here with this man. She could only disappoint him. “I’m sure your driver is completely trustworthy, but I probably shouldn’t have come.”
He let his arm drop. “At least have dinner,” he said. “I was going to take you to Bouley, so that’s what we’ve got here.”
He gestured toward a round table set in front of one of the windows, the reflection of candles and yellow roses glowing against the dark blue of the night beyond the glass. A metal warming hutch stood beside it, along with a silver ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne.
He—or his assistant—had gone to some trouble for this dinner. She was flattered and oddly touched. If this was about sex, at least he was romancing her first.
“I just got nervous.” She gave him a genuine smile. “It’s hard to get used to the reality of a date with you.”
All emotion disappeared from his face. “I thought we’d gotten past that.”
“Yesterday we had. Today the shock hit me all over again.” She brushed her fingers lightly against the back of his hand. “Oh, my God, I’m touching Luke Archer.”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Maybe you should keep doing it until the novelty wears off.”
She reached up to comb her fingers through his gleaming hair because he’d given her permission. “So many textures to explore.”
He turned his head to kiss her hand. “I’m starting to think you don’t want dinner.”
She caught her breath as his eyes went hot. “I’m starting to think you’re hungry.”
He gave her a slow smile, his dimple emerging gradually. “There are all different kinds of hunger.”
The dimple and the velvet of his drawl sent desire curling through her. Before she could reply, he walked to the table and pulled out a brocade-covered chair. “Let’s satisfy one at a time.”
She walked toward him, feeling his appreciative gaze as a physical touch, skimming down her legs to her ankles, then back up over the swell of her hips to her achingly taut breasts and finally her lips. “How do you do that?” she asked as she stepped between the chair and the table to sit.
“Do what?”
“Make me feel like you’re touching me just by looking.”
“Focus of desire.” He pushed in the chair with a smooth motion that made her conscious of his strength. His fingers brushed against her skin as he moved her hair aside with one hand before he bent to press a kiss on the side of her neck. His lips were firm and warm, and she shivered at the contact.
“Focus of desire,” she repeated, trying to shake off the haze of arousal he was creating. “It sounds like one of those slogans athletes use to psych themselves up.”
He gathered the hair away from the other side of her neck, and she tilted her head in anticipation of his next touch. This time the kiss was lingering. She heard him inhale as though he wanted to enjoy her scent as well as her taste. She felt a slight rough flick of his tongue and shuddered at the streak of sensation flashing down to liquefy low inside her.
He moved his head far enough away to say, “It’s just how I do things.” His breath tickled her ear.
“It’s effective.”
She could tell he had straightened and stepped away because the air around her lost its charge. She swiveled to see him pick up the champagne and twist the metal basket off the cork before easing it out of the bottle. He leaned over to fill her flute. “Some people can’t handle it.”
Miranda wondered if she was one of them.
He seemed to read her thoughts. “You can.”
As he sat down, she thought she caught a wince of pain. “Is the bruising still bad?”
An odd expression of relief crossed his face. “Right. You know about it. My trainer Stan says the workout we did today should help, but I’m not feeling an improvement yet.”
Miranda thought about their activities the night before and wondered if they had contributed to his discomfort. “Maybe tonight”—she made a vague gesture with her hand—“is not such a good idea for you.”
“Sugar, last night practically cured me.” He picked up his champagne and raised it to her in a toast. “To us.”
“To us.” She touched her glass to his with a melodic ding. His toast described exactly what was going on here. The two of them together for one night. Nothing more.
His eyes never left hers as he took a drink of the fizzing liquid. Caught in the laser beam of that gaze, she barely tasted her own first sip.
He took another swallow, and she found her eyes drawn to the strong muscles moving in his throat. Every part of his body exuded power and control.
He reached over to lift the silver cover off the plate in front of her. “Organic Connecticut farm egg. Or you can have chilled Wellfleet oysters.” He waved to the oysters on his plate. “There’s also sea urchin-and-rabbit salad.” He uncovered two more dishes resting on the side of the table.
The delectable aromas wafted past her nostrils as each cover was removed. She closed her eyes to inhale. “I could dine on the scents alone.” When she opened them, his gaze was resting on her mouth.
He took an oyster and put it on his plate with a clink of shell on china before passing the rest to her. “We’ll eat family style and share everything.”
“I’ve always wanted to do that at Bouley,” she admitted.
“Do you have a connection at every high-end restaurant in the city?” Luke took a dollop of sea urchin and caviar before passing the spiny shell to her.
“If I don’t, one of my colleagues does. But frankly, your name would get me anything I wanted anywhere in New York City and possibly the whole United States.”
He shook his head. “They don’t like me much in Boston.”
“You ruined their perfect season last year, but they’d still want you at their restaurant, trust me.”
“Maybe to poison me.” He accepted the other half of the Connecticut farm egg.
“Has anyone ever tried to do that?” She dipped into the sea urchin, nearly swooning at the burst of flavors. “Not poison you, but sabotage your food or something before a
big game?”
“Not since college.” A look of distaste flitted across his face. “And that wasn’t food. Nowadays the team goes into lockdown at a hotel before big games, partly to prevent anything like that.”
“The sea urchin is fantastic.” She took another bite of the extraordinary dish. “What happened in college?”
He looked away. “They sent a hooker to my room. I still don’t know how she got in when the door was locked.”
She hadn’t meant to bring up dark memories. “You don’t have to tell me any more.”
His gaze returned to her face. “I told her to leave, and the scene got ugly. She’d been paid a lot to keep me awake all night, and she wanted to do her job. It was my first bad experience with the press.”
She imagined him as a young golden boy, still with a glow of innocence even though he was rapidly becoming a star. There was an innate uprightness about him as a man that made her think he would have been shocked by the sordidness of that incident in his youth. “You had to grow up fast.”
“No faster than my teammates.” The planes of his face angled sharply, all the innocence honed away.
“The spotlight was on you, the quarterback, the glory position. That’s more pressure than the others had to deal with.”
“It was my choice.”
“Do we really understand the choices we make at that age?” she asked.
“What choice did you make that has you looking so unhappy?” He put down his fork to give her his full attention, the intensity of his gaze making her feel as though he could see into her mind.
“Not unhappy. I’ve never regretted my decision to leave the farm and move here. But every choice seems to bring along its own burden. My parents were baffled by my ambition to leave the country behind and move to a city they find dirty, ugly, and rude.” She gestured toward the spectacular view with her fork. “They don’t see the magnificence of the architecture, the museums, and the culture. They think what I do, catering to the whims of the very wealthy, is frivolous and unproductive.” Her parents’ dismissive attitude toward her chosen profession, no matter how successful she was, still hurt way down inside.
The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) Page 17
