The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2)

by Nancy Herkness

  Her expression softened, and she reached out to brush her fingers along his arm, her touch like a butterfly’s wings, draining away the tension in his muscles. “It’s not a reflection on you. It’s a reflection on them.”

  “And you say I have many talents.”

  “What talent do I have?”

  “You give people what they need.”

  “I’m a concierge. That’s my job.”

  “No, that’s just what they want. You go beyond that, to what will make them feel good about themselves.”

  She fluttered her hands in disagreement. “I’m not any better than any other concierge.”

  He gently lowered her foot and placed it on the rung of the stool. Going to the refrigerator, he pulled out the containers Carmen had left for him. He’d asked her to make everything fresh today. Three cheeses, freshly grated. Seasoned chicken, thinly sliced. Tender homemade tortillas. Tangy salsa. With the finishing touch of Carmen’s perfectly textured guacamole. He reached up to unhook a skillet from the overhead rack.

  “Let me help,” Miranda said, hopping off the stool to join him by the restaurant-size stove.

  “You can grab a couple of Dos Equis out of the drinks fridge, but I’m doing the cooking.”

  She walked to the undercounter fridge, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor, and bent to bring out two chilled bottles of beer. He took a moment to enjoy the view of his plaid shirt pulled tight over the perfect arc of her rear.

  “Opener?” she asked.

  He held up his hand, and she carried the bottles over for him to twist off the caps. She tapped the neck of her bottle to his and then tilted her head back to take a hefty swallow with her eyes closed. “That first taste is always the best,” she said, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth.

  “I like the way you drink beer.” He wanted to kiss her and find out how it tasted on her tongue.

  Her dark eyes lit with humor. “I guess I should have asked for a glass.”

  “Not in my house.” But she’d surprised him with her gusto. For a lot of things. “Sit yourself back down on that stool and let me get some dinner made.”

  She trailed a finger down his arm, making his cock twitch. “A quarterback who cooks. Half-naked. If you vacuum, too, my every fantasy has been fulfilled.”

  He poured oil in the skillet. “Not big on vacuuming, but I can muck out a stall.”

  “Half-naked?”

  “When it’s hot enough.”

  “I’d turn that into a sexual innuendo, but it’s too easy,” she said, perching on the stool. She tilted her head. “Do you have any idea how tempting it is to lay my ice-cold beer bottle against your gorgeously muscular back?”

  He laughed, a full-throated “I’m having a great time” laugh. Something he hadn’t done in a while. “Try it and see where I put my ice-cold beer bottle on your pretty little body.” He let his gaze rest on her and pictured his revenge, heat flashing through him. “I dare you.”

  “Maybe after dinner,” she said, giving him one of her half-laughing, half-provocative glances.

  She kept him smiling as he made the quesadillas with extra care. He wanted them to be perfect. The smell of warm, zesty Mexican spices soon saturated the kitchen air.

  “I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Miranda said as she inhaled. “At least let me set the table.”

  Luke flipped the last quesadilla on the platter. “Already taken care of. Grab that tray with the sour cream, salsa, and guac, and come with me.” He took out two more beers and gestured toward the door to the dining room, letting her go first.

  She stopped short as soon as she walked through the door. “Everywhere I go with you, there’s an incredible view.” She looked up at him, her eyes luminous. “And sunflowers.”

  Satisfaction warmed him. He’d set up a table for two right in front of the glass wall looking out across New York Harbor. Carmen had arranged colorful Mexican pottery on the table, and he’d ordered the flowers.

  “They remind me of our tour.” And of her. The warm, vibrant color with its dark, deep center captured her essence. He nudged her gently with his elbow. “Let’s eat.”

  They settled at the table, lighting the candles and dishing out the food. The candlelight shimmered along the waves of her dark hair and danced in the brown velvet of her eyes.

  She heaped guacamole on a slice of quesadilla and took her first bite, groaning in appreciation. “Okay, you don’t have to vacuum. The quesadillas are enough.” She ate another mouthful, then stopped. “Your stomach started this. Why aren’t you eating?”

  Because he wanted to concentrate on her every movement, to soak up her presence. He decided on the truth. “It’s like the strawberries at the ballet. I want to watch your reaction.”

  A strange, unsettling expression crossed her face. It reminded him of the way DaShawn had looked around the football stadium after the last game he played. Except Miranda was looking at him across the table.

  He felt an urgent need to know everything about her. Picking up a slice of quesadilla, he asked in a casual tone, “So, why did you want to be a concierge?”

  Miranda stopped chewing. They’d been flirting, bantering, keeping things light. Except for the sex, which was intense. And now he’d asked her a real question. She didn’t want that kind of emotional connection with him. It would just make tomorrow more dismal.

  But he was impossible to resist.

  She swallowed her food and took a sip of beer. “I didn’t want to be a concierge. I didn’t even know they existed until I came to the city.”

  That intense gaze of his was locked on her, and his silence told her to go on.

  “I studied bookkeeping at a community college, so I got a job in the accounting office of a midtier hotel. One day the hotel manager walked into the middle of our warren of cubicles and yelled, ‘Does anyone here know anything about Broadway plays?’” Miranda still read all the theater listings and reviews, even though she could only afford off-off-off-Broadway tickets. “I thought he wanted a suggestion for his family, so I popped up from my chair and said, ‘Do you want a musical, a drama, or a comedy?’”

  “I can picture that,” Luke said, his dimple showing. “You couldn’t help being helpful.”

  “It’s a real character flaw.” Miranda took another swallow of beer. “He looked me up and down and said, ‘Come with me.’ Turns out the regular second-shift concierge had shown up for work drunk for the third time, so the manager had fired him on the spot. It was Friday afternoon and he needed a replacement instantly. He handed me phone numbers for three ticket brokers and a list of maître d’s at restaurants near the hotel and left me at the concierge desk. Alone.”

  “Baptism by fire,” Luke said.

  She’d stayed until midnight and gone home on a high of adrenaline and exhilaration. “I knew I’d found my dream career. The next morning I called the manager and asked for the job.”

  “And the rest is history.”

  “Not quite.” She’d nearly cried when the manager had told her she didn’t have the necessary connections to be the hotel’s concierge. “He wouldn’t take me on until I offered to work the night shift for free on weekends to get experience and build my contact list.”

  He sat back, his beer dangling from one hand. The candle flames danced in a waft of air, casting moving shadows over the sculpted contours of his bare torso. “We’re a lot alike,” he said.

  “You and me? How?” She couldn’t imagine any parallel between her insignificant career and his fame.

  “We go after what we want.” He grinned. “You’re just more subtle about it.”

  “Well, I didn’t actually tackle the hotel manager, but I begged blatantly.” She returned his smile for a moment before getting serious. “Your turn. Why did you decide to be a quarterback?”

  “Huh.” She’d gotten to enjoy that huff of a response Luke gave when he was thinking about something. “I played a lot of sports as a kid. Ma said I used practices as an excuse to
avoid homework.” His face softened at the memory. “Truth is, I was good at all of them. But football is the state religion of Texas, so I signed up for youth football as soon as Ma would let me. I was nine.”

  “And the rest truly is history.”

  His grin turned cocky. “Well, yeah. I had a great arm even then.” He shook his head. “But I knew football was my game for a different reason.”

  His eyes lost their focus as he thought back to his past, to the decisions he had made then.

  “In the first official game I ever played, the other kids just followed the ball like lemmings, no matter how much the coach yelled at them to remember their positions. I didn’t understand that, because I could see the whole field, see the play unfolding, figure out where the holes would be, who could get open. Coaches call it field vision. For me, it was like being able to slow down time. I got drunk on that power. Craved it.” He snapped back to the present. “It’s not a talent that has a lot of uses, so I decided to be a quarterback.”

  She could hear an edge in his voice as he spoke the last sentence, reminding her of his struggle to find a new purpose after football. “I think it will come in handy when you’re a financial adviser and the markets go crazy.”

  “Maybe.” He shifted in his chair. “What does that look mean? It’s the second time I’ve seen it tonight.”

  She’d been thinking about how much she would miss talking to him so honestly, seeing the vulnerability behind the tough, golden image. She didn’t hide hers, either. “Just saving up memories.”

  He went still, and his lips thinned with some inner tension. She might have revealed too much.

  “We’ve got plenty more time,” he said. “Tonight. Tomorrow night. Remember, I can make time slow down.” His promise vibrated low within her.

  She needed to tell him before he short-circuited her brain. “Not tomorrow night. I can’t.”

  He straightened abruptly, banging his beer bottle against the chair arm. “What the hell!”

  “Theo’s got the flu, and so does the hired man at the farm. I have to go up there to help Patty and Dennis.” Her mouth twisted into an unhappy frown.

  A raging boil of emotions seared through him. Hollow disappointment, seething frustration, scorching anger. He didn’t stop to analyze what underlaid them. “When did you find out?”

  “Earlier today.” Her gaze met his before she looked down at her plate.

  “Would have been nice to know that before I promised my firstborn to get a private room at the Aerie.” He set his beer down on the table with great care. Now how the hell was he supposed to impress her so much she wouldn’t even look at another man for months? A couple of quesadillas wouldn’t cut it.

  “You got a reservation at the Aerie?” He could hear wonder and guilt in her voice, which mollified him slightly.

  “And had my jet gassed up to take you there.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice was low. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to put a damper on this evening. I should go.” She stood up.

  He pushed out of his chair, his fists clenched as he worked to control his anger. “Stay. Please.”

  She padded over to him on her bare feet and laid her hand on his arm. The sweetness of her touch made him want to groan out loud. “We both knew this was going to end. It’s just ending one day sooner than we expected.”

  Temptation clawed at him. He didn’t want to say good-bye. He wanted to have that rich-as-cream voice surprise him with her different perspective on the world. To tangle his hands in the dark waves of her hair. To make her come in every way he could think of. To curl around her soft, warm presence in his bed. His chest ached with yearning, and he actually lifted a hand to rub at it.

  But you’re not getting any younger. Junius’s words steamrolled through his brain.

  “You’re right. I’m being unrealistic.” He saw a flash of hurt in her brown eyes and knew he sounded like a jerk.

  “I thought . . . hoped we could say good-bye on a positive note,” she said.

  “Yeah, me, too.” He grimaced. “It’s harder than I expected.”

  She looked stricken, and he realized she’d misunderstood him.

  “Saying good-bye is harder than I expected.”

  “Oh, good.” She shook her head, making her breasts move under his flannel shirt. He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “I don’t mean good . . . never mind. I’m not doing this well.” She looked him straight in the eye. “These last few days with you have been an experience I’ll never forget. I expected a celebrity, but I got to know an incredible human being.” Her voice quavered. “I hope I’ll see you at the Pinnacle every now and then.”

  She put one palm against his bare chest, sending a rope of arousal straight to his cock. Raising herself onto her tiptoes, she wrapped her other hand behind his head and pulled his mouth to hers for a soft, sad farewell kiss.

  Before he could respond, she broke contact and bolted for the kitchen door.

  “Miranda.” He followed her.

  “Please don’t come in here.” He could hear tears in her voice from the living room. “This is hard enough as it is.”

  He stopped in the doorway, his heart contorting in his chest, while she walked swiftly through the room where they’d just had mind-blowing sex.

  She gazed around, looking confused. “Where are the rest of my clothes? Just tell me. I’ll get them.”

  That galvanized him into action. “I’ll bring them to you. And I’ll call my driver.”

  “I can get home on my own.” Her back was still turned, as though she couldn’t bear the sight of him.

  His anger kicked up again. “What the hell kind of man do you think I am? You’re taking my car home.”

  Without waiting for her agreement, he strode toward his bedroom, where he’d stashed her clothing. It would give him time to think of the right thing to say.

  He scooped the little heap of lace and satin off the chair where he’d dropped it, bringing it to his face so he could imprint her scent on his brain. But he could think of no words that would bind her to him.

  He strode down the hall to find her standing in front of the elevator, already wearing her jeans and boots under his shirt. Her handbag sat on the floor beside her feet. The thought of her going out into the night without panties made him crazy with both arousal and the desire not to let her out of his sight. But he had no right to feel possessive. It was his decision to let her go.

  He held out her clothes, the garments so small he grasped them easily in one hand. She accepted them with a contained dignity. “Would you mind if I take the elevator alone?”

  He minded a lot. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and take her back to his bedroom and make her scream his name as she came underneath him.

  “Miranda—”

  She held up her hand and swallowed hard. “Nothing more.”

  “I have to say this.” He rolled his shoulders. “A lot of people count on me to be at the top of my game. It takes everything I’ve got to stay there. I wish it were different.”

  He saw understanding mix with sorrow in her brown eyes. She nodded as she hugged the clothes to her chest. When she spoke, her voice was shaky. “Would you mind if I wore your shirt home? I’ll return it tomorrow.”

  “Keep it. I like knowing you have it.” Stupid but true.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, picking up her bag.

  He reached past her and pressed the button. The elevator door glided silently open, and she stepped into the car, keeping her back to him. She reached out blindly and fumbled at the control panel for a second before finding the right button. The door began to slide closed.

  He’d never been at such a loss. His brain seemed frozen—his tongue felt thick and inert. All the clichés he used in interviews skittered through his brain, blocking him from finding anything real to say.

  At the last minute, she turned to face him, and he saw the glisten of tears on her cheeks.

  “Miranda!�
�

  The door sealed her away from him, and the well-oiled whir of the car’s descent filled his ears.

  He smacked the wooden panel so hard the impact vibrated into his shoulder. Pivoting on his bare heel, he walked out onto the frigid tiles of the terrace and braced his hands on the railing, staring at the lights of the boats chugging across the harbor. It was too damn cold to be outside bare chested, but he welcomed the punishing slap of the frigid sea wind.

  When had he become such an asshole?

  Chapter 23

  On Sunday morning, the sky outside the kitchen window still showed the glitter of stars as Miranda dropped into a painted wooden chair. She gulped down half a mug of coffee and groaned. Every muscle in her body ached with exhaustion after spending the evening tending to the cows, and last night tossing and turning.

  She crossed her arms on the scarred tabletop and pillowed her head on them. Sleep had eluded her because she couldn’t stop thinking about her final evening with Luke. Tears welled against her closed eyelids. She’d known the man for less than two weeks. She shouldn’t be this upset about their parting.

  It was the sex. It created a false sense of intimacy. She felt as though the relationship was much closer than it was. What did she really know about him, anyway?

  She choked on a sob.

  “I told Dennis to take it easy on you.” Patty’s voice pulled her out of her self-pity party.

  Surreptitiously wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Miranda lifted her head and forced a smile. “He worked twice as hard as I did. I’ve just gotten soft from all that city living. How’s Theo this morning?”

  Worry tightened her sister-in-law’s jaw. “His temp’s 102, but the doc says that’s typical of this flu. And kids can handle high fevers better than adults can. I’m putting him in a tepid bath if it doesn’t come down when he wakes up again.”

  “Theo will love that.”

  Patty snorted at Miranda’s sarcasm. “Yeah, baths are not a hit even when he’s feeling fine.” She grabbed a mug and poured herself some coffee. “Would you like pancakes or eggs?”

  “Whatever Dennis wants is fine.”