Theo trotted along behind them. “Is Aunt Miranda going to kiss Luke Archer?”
“I sure hope so,” Patty said.
“Ew! Football players shouldn’t kiss people.” Theo shrugged into the jacket his mother held out as they all trundled out the door.
Once in the Subaru, Dennis tuned the radio to the game. The Empire were winning seventeen to seven. Miranda sat in the back alongside Theo, feeling little sparkles of delight every time the announcer said Luke’s name.
“He’s relentless,” Dennis said as the Empire collected first down after first down in their drive toward the goal line.
“Touchdown, Empire!” the announcer shouted.
Patty turned to grin at Miranda. “He’s working off the pressure of waiting to find out what you’ll say. I predict the Empire win this game big.”
Her family took it up as a mantra. When Luke connected on a long pass, Dennis cheered, “He threw that one for Miranda.”
When he ran the ball, Patty gave her teasing look. “He was imagining it was you at the forty-yard line.”
Even Theo joined in. When the Empire scored again, her nephew shrugged his skinny shoulders. “I guess he scored that touchdown for Aunt Miranda.”
Laughter bubbled up in her throat and spilled out with each absurd claim. Beneath her happiness, she knew there were no guarantees that she and Luke could find a way to make things work between them. Despite sharing a building, there was a vast gulf between the world-class athlete and the assistant concierge.
She shoved those thoughts away, refusing to let anything cast a shadow on this moment of pure elation.
By some miracle they hit very little traffic, and soon Dennis was following the instructions Heather had given Miranda when she called. “I hoped you’d get in touch with me,” the young PR representative had said. “This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”
She’d done her job well, because all Miranda had to do was flash her driver’s license at the various security guards and they were directed into VIP parking, ushered through the players’ entrance, and escorted to a private lounge outfitted with a giant flat-screen television and big cushy chairs and sofas.
Heather joined them there, her face beaming with excitement. She threw her arms around Miranda. “The press has inundated our office with inquiries about you. Everyone wants to know about the mystery woman who got Luke Archer to apologize on national television.”
Nerves took Miranda by the throat. She’d been so focused on getting to Luke that she’d forgotten about the difficulties of dating a celebrity, especially one who claimed you in front of millions. “I—what did you tell them?”
“Nothing,” Heather said. “It’s not our policy to comment on our players’ personal lives. This time it was easy, since we didn’t know anything about you.”
“Touchdown!” Dennis leaped up from the sofa where he and Theo had settled. “That makes the score thirty-seven to thirteen. I call that a rout.”
Miranda and Heather turned toward the screen as the Empire kicked the extra point and the clock ran out. Luke headed off the field, unsnapping his helmet as he walked. A blonde reporter in high heels raced out to meet him, but he kept going, disappearing into the swirl of players congratulating one another on the win.
She ignored the chatter of the commentators dissecting the game until she heard her name. “So we have to wonder if Archer’s rejuvenated play is the result of a week’s rest, or the influence of the mystery woman, Miranda Tate. Or maybe both.”
Miranda buried her face in her hands with a groan.
“Don’t mind them,” Heather said. “They don’t really want to talk about anything but football, so they’ll get back to the game stats soon. It’s just a concession to the ratings, which went through the roof after Mr. Archer’s speech.” The young woman looked at Miranda. “I guess you know that he’s never talked to the press at halftime before.”
“Um, well, no.” Miranda smiled apologetically. “I wasn’t really a football fan. Until now.”
A clamor of approaching voices came from outside the door. It swung open and Luke walked in, his helmet dangling from his hand. He slammed the door closed on the crowd following him. Turning, he raked his fingers through his hair and scanned around the room, his gaze coming to rest on Miranda.
She opened her mouth and realized she had no idea what to say.
“I didn’t expect you to come here,” Luke said, shifting his helmet to the other hand.
“Dennis drove me,” Miranda said, gesturing to her brother and his family, who were standing beside the couch. She waved her other hand toward the PR rep. “And Heather got us in.” She couldn’t tell if he was glad she’d shown up at the stadium. “What you did was pretty dramatic . . . I mean, saying all of that on national TV. So we thought I should be here.”
“I wanted everyone to know you’re mine,” Luke said, still not moving toward her. “No more sneaking around.”
Miranda heard Patty let out a long sigh. “Let’s give them some privacy,” Heather said. Miranda threw her a look of gratitude as Heather shepherded Dennis, Patty, and Theo toward the door. Patty turned and gave Miranda a wink before she stepped out into the hall. The reporters shouted questions, but Miranda could hear Heather turning them aside before the closing door muted the noise.
She couldn’t stop staring at Luke as he stood there, his uniform smudged with dirt, his hair dark with sweat, his blue eyes striking above the black greasepaint smeared on his cheeks. He looked like a world-famous, larger-than-life quarterback, not like the Luke Archer who had milked her family’s cows. But he was both those people, and she needed to embrace one along with the other if she was going to love him.
She hurried into speech again. “I know it’s football season, so I promise not to get in the way of your practicing and watching film.”
That seemed to unfreeze him. He tossed the helmet onto a chair and crossed the room in three strides to wrap his arms around her. “Damn all these pads,” he said, easing his grip so she wasn’t mashed against the hard edges. He smelled of exertion and energy, a potent combination. “I want you in the way. All the time. To keep me balanced. To believe that I can be more. To open up my world.”
Miranda cradled his face between her hands, falling into the depths of his eyes. He laid a finger over her lips.
“Don’t say anything yet,” Luke said. “I want to fall asleep with you in my arms and wake up with you in my arms. I want to find out what makes you laugh and hope I can keep you from crying. But if you do, I want your tears to be on my shoulder.”
“You’re about to make me cry right now,” Miranda said in a husky voice.
His eyebrows drew downward in a frown. “I made you cry on Tuesday, didn’t I? You had the courage to tell me how you felt, and I lied because I was afraid.”
She was stunned. “Of what?”
“I thought my feelings for you were distracting me. I didn’t understand that it was my denial that was destroying my focus. When I finally had the guts to admit that I loved you, everything turned clear again.” He dropped his arms and stepped away from her. “I know what you give me, but all I can offer you is this.” He swept his hand downward in front of his body. “Myself. Not a very good trade.”
Miranda closed the distance between them, resting her hands on his chest pads as she looked up at him, smiling. “What else can we ever give the person we love?” She crumpled fistfuls of his football jersey in her hands and tried to give him a shake. Of course, she couldn’t budge him. “You’re everything I want.”
He searched her face for a long moment, his eyes opaque and unreadable. Whatever he saw there made him crush her against him so hard she could barely breathe. Then he stole what was left of her breath with a searing kiss. When her legs threatened to collapse under her, he raised his head. “You know all those things I said you should do with another man? I realized I’d kill him if I caught you two doing any of them together.”
“You mean
like talking art and ballet at a restaurant without reporters?” It was hard to remember his words when he turned her veins into rivers of fire.
He ran his mouth along her jawline, sending shivers of desire down her neck. “I’ll rent out the entire restaurant so we can talk without being bothered.”
“I’d rather stay home and eat quesadillas,” she said, yanking the hem of his jersey and his undershirt up to get her hands under them. “In your gym.” She had to shove her fingers up under the chest plate of his shoulder pads to feel the sweat-slicked heat of his skin.
He thrust his hands inside the back of her jeans and under her panties to knead her bottom in his powerful grip. “We can’t do this now,” he growled, his hands contradicting his words as he slid one finger forward to press into the wet heat between her legs.
“I know,” she said, her head falling back as he worked his finger in and out of her, sending spirals of arousal into her belly. She scrabbled at his pads, but the straps and buckles were too intricate to succumb to her divided concentration.
“Come for me, sugar, so I know you forgive me,” he murmured in her ear, as he slipped another finger inside her.
She ran her hand down the center of his tight pants, only to find a hard plastic shell where his erection should be. He groaned as she tried to shift it. “Sweetheart, that protector is built to withstand being sacked by a three-hundred-pound lineman. You’re not going to be able to move it.” He increased the rhythm of his strokes inside her. “This is all about you, as part of my apology.”
She wedged her hands back up under his pads to hold herself steady. He pushed his thigh between hers so that the movements of his hand had her riding the combination of muscle and pad. Tension wound tighter and tighter within her as the friction fanned her arousal to a blistering heat. When he took her earlobe in his mouth and sucked gently at the small gold hoop she wore in it, the pull of his mouth echoed the pressure of his fingers, shooting exquisitely intense pleasure into her center from above and below. Her muscles clenched explosively around his fingers, and she arched into his body, feeling the bite of the pads and reveling in the edge of discomfort that contrasted with the release of her orgasm. Some fragment of sanity made her swallow the cry of satisfaction she nearly let loose.
“That’s it, darlin’, let it take you,” Luke said beside her ear. He twisted his fingers and sent another wave of hot, melting sensation ripping through her. She nearly choked on the shriek that tried to escape her throat.
“No more,” she panted as her muscles clenched and eased again . . . and again, wringing every ounce of pleasure from her highly sensitized nerve endings.
“Until tonight,” Luke said, easing his fingers out of her and gently extracting his hand from her jeans. He brought his fingers to his nostrils and inhaled before he sucked the taste of her off them. “God, that makes me want you even more.”
She sagged against him as the glow of satiation leached the ability to stand out of every muscle in her body. His arms went around her, and she felt the weight of his chin on top of her head. “Sweetheart, I came so close to letting you go. Miller was right. I’m an idiot.”
The writer’s name penetrated the fog of postorgasm relaxation she was drifting in. “He told me to exploit your vulnerability.”
Luke’s laughter rumbled against her cheek. “I’ll be damned. The cynical writer played matchmaker.”
“He kept mentioning some bet. What was he talking about?”
She felt a tiny shock of tension stiffen his body. “Three drunk guys made a wager on something that should never be gambled on.”
“What?”
He hesitated. “Love.”
That made her angle her head back so she could see his face. “Are you serious? You don’t date during the football season.”
“That rule has changed,” he reminded her. He led her over to the sofa, dropping onto it and pulling her down beside him. “It was a bad night. My best friend had just retired from football. I knew my time was coming, and I wasn’t feeling good about that. Miller got us drunk and we started in on the problem of finding a woman who loves you for yourself and not because you’re famous or rich.”
“Who’s the third?”
“Nathan Trainor of Trainor Electronics.” Luke looked away for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “We all bet that we would be engaged by the end of a year. I figured I would wait until after the end of the season and then get to work on the project. Because I’m an arrogant jerk.”
She thought about how dark his mood must have been to agree to such a wager, and her heart pinched.
“I want you to know that the bet had nothing to do with today.” His voice carried an undercurrent of concern. “Well, maybe it did. It made me think about how limited my life was, so I decided to go on that tour with you. But I’m not here to win the bet.”
“Considering how hard you tried to get rid of me, I’m not all that worried. Although you are pretty competitive.” She smiled up at him to show she wasn’t serious.
He didn’t return her smile. “I almost asked you to wait for me until the end of the season, but it didn’t seem fair to you. I couldn’t guarantee that things would work out between us. I told myself if you found someone else, then we weren’t meant to be.” His eyes went dark. “But I’ve never been good at sitting back and letting someone else decide my fate.”
She touched his cheek. “I would have waited. Gladly.”
“That still wouldn’t have made it right to ask you.” His grip tightened. “You had the courage to tell me how you felt. I needed to make the same commitment.”
“I guess we owe Gavin a thank-you,” she said. “Although I wanted to strangle him after you walked away.”
“He gets that reaction from a lot of people.” Luke’s tone was wry.
“So, how do you prove you’ve won the wager?”
He hesitated a moment before shaking his head. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Can you tell me what the stakes are?”
“When my win is official, I’ll let you in on all the details. Before that would be cheating.” He looked down at her with a smile as tender as it was hot. “If you really want something, you have to earn it fair and square.”
She wanted to melt into him. “You athletes just love your clichés, don’t you?”
“They’re clichés because they’re true.” His dimple faded. “When you think about it, I love you is probably the world’s most overused phrase. But when your heart is in it, those words take on whole shades of meaning you never imagined before.” He leaned in to touch her lips with his. “I love you, Miranda.”
She smiled against his mouth. “That’s one cliché I’ll never get tired of hearing.”
The kiss went long and intense before he pulled away. “Now you’ll get your first taste of what a pain it is to be my girlfriend.”
She thought of Orin. “I already have.” She looked him right in the eyes. “I need an honest answer from you about something. Do you know the Anglethorpes at the Pinnacle?”
“Never met them,” he said, his expression unchanged. “Why?”
“They got me my job back. And I think they got Orin fired.”
“Then I like them.” He kissed her again. “Okay, sugar, it’s time to meet the press. Just to prepare you, there are probably at least a dozen reporters camped outside that door.”
“You mean, while we . . . while I . . .” She dropped her head into her hands as heat flared up her cheeks. “They’re going to know. I mean, I must look like I’ve just, er—” She glanced back up at him pleadingly.
“Found out that I love you?” His dimple deepened. “Only I know exactly how I convinced you it was true.”
Little imps of light were dancing in his eyes, and Miranda choked on a half laugh, half groan.
He tugged her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist like a protective barrier. “Just stare up at me adoringly and they’ll leave you alone.”
“I kno
w you’re joking, but I can do that without even trying,” she said, her throat suddenly tight.
As their eyes met, his grew hot. “Don’t look like that now or you’ll end up naked on the sofa.”
“That’s not the best way to stop me.”
A strangled sound came from his throat before he tucked her against him and marched her to the door. Wrapping his hand around the knob, he looked down at her, his face serious. “You don’t have to do this. I can deal with them alone.”
“No way, cowboy. I’m never leaving your side again.”
As the unlatched door swung open, the explosion of camera flashes barely registered with Miranda because she was locked in a soul-deep kiss with a living legend.
Epilogue
Miranda was still shivering slightly from the frigid air of the February night as she and Luke walked, fingers intertwined, into Frankie Hogan’s office at the Bellwether Club. Although she’d been to the club before and met Frankie, Miranda had never been in this room. She was startled by the bright, sleek, glass-and-chrome modernity of the room when the rest of the club was all dark paneling, leather upholstery, and Oriental carpets.
The club’s founder rose from behind her desk, her smooth silver hair contrasting with her dark red pantsuit. “Welcome to my lair,” she said in her raspy voice with its undertone of Irish. “Congratulations to both of you on winning your part of the wager.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Luke said, his drawl pronounced.
Miranda had learned that his accent deepened when he was either trying to disarm someone or when he was more emotional than he wanted to let on. She slanted a glance up at his sculpted face, trying to gauge which it was. He caught her looking and gave her a wink. It still amazed her that this extraordinary man had chosen her. Now she could touch those beautiful cheekbones and that golden hair and all those gorgeous muscles anytime she wanted to. She winked back and squeezed his hand, just to feel the strength of his fingers.
The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) Page 32
