Risky Game

by Tracy Solheim

  “Be right back,” he said to Tito as he rounded the corner of the endcap stacked with Goldfish crackers.

  “Aww, come on,” one of the frat boys was saying. “I know you were into us the other night at the bar. Why don’t you come by our place tonight and hang with us. We can do some shots and watch some football.”

  Brody could only imagine what the three idiots wanted to do to her once they’d gotten her drunk. Whiskey Eyes—he thought he remembered Nate calling her Shannon—was tougher than she looked, though; something he’d already figured out about her. Sporting a “Don’t Mess with Texas” T-shirt, she kept her stance casual even as the three boxed her in.

  “Sorry, fellas. I have class tomorrow. But thanks.” Her sexy drawl lulled two of the boys into dazed adoration.

  Frat boy number three wasn’t taking no for an answer, though. Belligerently shifting closer, he reached out and grabbed her elbow. Before she could yank her arm free, Brody was heading down the aisle. He grabbed a random box from the shelf and stepped around to her other side.

  “Babe,” he said as he slipped the box—a brownie mix—into the handbasket she was carrying. “Do we have any eggs? I thought we could make these tonight.” Placing his palm on her lower back, he pulled her closer toward him, the gesture a universal signal of possession among males.

  Brody wasn’t sure who was more startled, the bartender or the three guys hounding her. Her eyes dilated briefly before her long lashes blinked closed. When she opened them again, she seemed to recover a bit of her equilibrium.

  “Umm . . .” Her tongue darted over her lower lip, and Brody’s whole body went on alert. “No. No, we, um, we need eggs.”

  Giving her back a reassuring rub, he took her basket and guided her away from the three, treating them to the cat-ate-the-canary grin he gave defensive players when he’d beaten them to the football. Once they’d rounded the corner, she blew out a breath, stepping away from his hand at her back.

  “Whoa there, Texas.” Brody wrapped his arm across her shoulders. “Keep playing along until they leave,” he said quietly as they made their way toward the dairy section. She kept her eyes down, avoiding the rest of the shoppers who’d begun to take notice of him again.

  “That’s Brody Janik,” college boy number three yelled out to his friends. “No way he’s tapping someone like her! Not when he’s got hot models and porn stars to choose from.”

  He felt her cringe beneath his arm.

  “Ah, hell. Now I’m gonna have to hit that guy,” Brody muttered, his body teeming with anger.

  She turned on him, those whiskey eyes filled with alarm. “No! You’re not going to fight over me,” she cried as her hands clenched on to his shirt, the tips of her fingers brushing his chest. Heat surged through him.

  “Fine, we’ll do this the pacifist’s way,” he said, just before he dropped the basket and pulled her in for a kiss.

  His timing was impeccable, the pests rounded the corner just as Brody took a hold of her toned ass. Not that he was paying attention to the three stooges anymore. He was too busy enjoying the soft mouth of the pliant female in his arms. She was tall enough that he didn’t have to bend himself like a pretzel to kiss her, his body parts meeting up nicely with hers. Her lips parted easily and Brody took advantage, exploring her wide, sweet mouth. A soft moan escaped the back of her throat and her fingers gripped his shirt a little tighter, but she didn’t engage in the kiss. Too bad, because Brody could have kissed her all night. Her skin was warm beneath his touch and he realized she was flushed with embarrassment. Jesus, he was mauling a stranger in a grocery store. Reluctantly, he broke contact, resting his forehead against hers as he tried to get his breathing—and his body parts—under control.

  “That ought to do it,” he whispered.

  “If you say so.”

  Her eyes remained closed—probably from shame—and he was disappointed that the sexual attraction was so obviously one-sided.

  • • •

  Brody Janik was kissing her, exploring her mouth with a delicacy and tenderness that belied the power of his muscled body. Shay was so stunned by the events of the previous five minutes, that all she could do was stand there. Stand there and enjoy it. Truth be told, she was enjoying his kiss right down to the tips of her toes, not to mention everywhere else south of the border. Her fingers, furled in his shirt, itched to feel the sculpted chest she knew lay beneath the soft cotton, but she couldn’t summon the strength to move them. The masterful stroke of his tongue against hers held her entire body transfixed.

  And then, just as suddenly as the kiss began, it ended. Shay kept her eyes closed in an effort to retrieve her scattered wits. The murmur of the shoppers surrounding them began to penetrate her senses, but it was Brody’s words that brought her crashing back to reality.

  That ought to do it, he’d murmured.

  Shay’s eyelids snapped open to see Brody’s trademark baby blues inches from her own face, his forehead resting against hers. His pupils were bright with mischief and that’s when it hit her: Brody Janik wasn’t kissing her to kiss her. He’d kissed her as part of some sort of male-posturing ego trip; the big steer in the herd asserting his dominance. The flush stinging her cheeks, originally brought on by potent desire, was now fueled by embarrassment. And anger.

  Closing her eyes again in order to calm the bitter sting of reality, she uttered something. What words she spoke, she wasn’t sure, but her tone was enough for Brody to break the contact between their foreheads. When she pried her eyelids open once again, his own eyes had dimmed and his body was rigid. Shay forced her fingers to release their death grip on his shirt.

  “Don’t blow it with a knee to my groin, Texas,” he murmured. “I think they’ve bought it and they’ll leave without any more nonsense.”

  Her gaze locked with his. “Does that mean your hand can leave my person now?”

  The warm caress of his palm on her left butt cheek relaxed and Shay felt a little bereft as he slowly lifted it away. Her glute muscle twinged in protest.

  “Sorry.” His apology stung further, but she still couldn’t seem to walk away, to put some distance between their two bodies. They stood in the crowded market, inches apart. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the sweet scent of freshly showered skin, and taste the mint left from his tongue. Which meant he could probably smell and taste the chlorine on her. Argh! Shay took a giant step back, just then noticing the eyes of the shoppers who didn’t bother hiding their interest in Brody’s activities. Her face felt like it was on fire now.

  One of the deli workers slipped a sandwich wrapped in white butcher paper into the handbasket Brody had retrieved from the floor. Her handbasket!

  “Enjoy your dinner, Brody.” The man grinned, wagging a bushy eyebrow at her before he slipped back behind the counter.

  The three men who’d tried to pick her up were no longer within sight. Shay reached over to take her handbasket back, but Brody tightened his grip; his other hand taking a firm hold of her elbow.

  “We need eggs, remember,” he said as he steered her toward the dairy section.

  Shay tried to pull out of his grip, but it was no use. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because someone needed to help you back there.”

  Planting her feet firmly, she watched Brody’s face war with whether to make a scene by pulling her along or to stop and answer her.

  “I could have handled them.” She jerked her chin up in victory when he finally ceased pulling.

  A lazy smile spread across Brody’s face, igniting a firestorm in Shay’s belly.

  “Yeah, Texas, you could have,” he admitted after a speculative pause. “One of them. Maybe even two. But not all three. That third guy was after a lot more than just a few beers and an episode of The Hills on MTV. He was all set to take advantage of you.”

  “Recognize something of yoursel
f in him?”

  Brody pulled back as if she’d slapped him, his grip tightening on her elbow.

  It was a cruel thing to say and he didn’t deserve it. Shay wasn’t sure why she’d even said it, except that she’d enjoyed his kiss and the knowledge that he’d only done it as a lark hurt.

  She opened her mouth to apologize, but she was interrupted by one of the seniors from the water aerobics classes she taught.

  “Oh my, Shay,” Mrs. Goldberg was saying, her silver curls bobbing with excitement as she stepped in their path. “No wonder you left the pool in such a hurry today. What a nice hunk of beefcake you have for yourself.”

  “Stella!” Mrs. Benvenuto, a retired school teacher who was forever trying to keep her outspoken friend in line, parked her shopping cart next to Shay. “You’re embarrassing the poor girl. Look how red she is.” Still, the woman managed to smile coyly at Brody.

  Shay didn’t need her geriatric clients to tell her that her skin was flaming, her entire body felt like she was about to self-combust. The firm grip Brody had on her arm wasn’t helping matters.

  Mrs. Benvenuto tapped Shay’s free arm. “You’ve been holding out on us, honey.” Her gravely pack-a-day voice was laced with awe before she fixed her attention on Brody. “You may be some hotshot football player, but if you break our girl’s heart, you’ll have to answer to us and the rest of her aqua clients. We may look frail, but thanks to our Shay, we’re tough.”

  Shay didn’t know whether to laugh out loud at Mrs. Benvenuto’s misperception—did anyone really think Brody Janik would look twice at her—or to shed a few tears at the loyalty of a group of arthritic angels she worked out in the pool three times a week. She wasn’t given the chance to do either, though, as Brody wasted no time unleashing another one of his devastating smiles, its impact nearly vaporizing both grandmothers into puffs of the Shalimar perfume they wore.

  “Have no fear, ladies,” he said, the effortless laid-back charm oozing out of his pores practically steaming up Mrs. Goldberg’s glasses. “I have no intention of breaking any hearts tonight. Just cracking some eggs. We’re making brownies.” He lifted up the handbasket for their inspection. “If you’ll excuse us, we need to grab a dozen so we can get these in the oven. It was a pleasure seeing you both.”

  Mrs. Goldberg sighed lustfully as Brody tugged Shay around the two ladies.

  “Brownies from a box? Doesn’t he know the woman is practically a gourmet cook,” Mrs. Benvenuto said to Mrs. Goldberg. But Brody wasn’t paying attention and, judging from the tense grip he still had on her elbow, he was apparently as eager to get out of the store as Shay was.

  “Bye-bye, Shay!” Mrs. Goldberg called. “We want to hear all about those brownies in class tomorrow!”

  Laughter from the two ladies echoed through the small store as Brody and Shay finally reached the dairy aisle. Releasing her elbow, he grabbed a dozen eggs and gingerly tossed the carton into the basket. Shay rolled her eyes.

  “You need to make sure none of them are cracked.” She opened the carton and inspected the eggs, gently fingering each one.

  Brody stared as she carefully closed the carton.

  “Is there anything you don’t do?” he asked. His voice held a bit of reverence, the tone making Shay’s knees a little wobbly.

  She held his gaze, letting the moment stretch. There were quite a few things she didn’t do, but she didn’t think he needed to know about them.

  Mistaking her silence for misunderstanding, Brody continued. “If I’m to believe everything everyone says about you, you’re a grad student, a food worker for the team, a bartender”—he gestured toward Mrs. Goldberg and Mrs. Benvenuto— “and a water aerobics instructor. Where do you find the time for all of that?”

  Lack of time wasn’t her problem, lack of money was, but Shay doubted Brody would ever be able to relate to that. He was financially independent, his future secure while Shay was still trying to claw out from under her family’s fiscal crisis. Not that Brody needed to know her life’s history.

  “Some of us are just more industrious than others, I guess.” It was the second time she’d hit him with a stinger and Shay felt a little guilty, but she needed to maintain some distance, some sense of control here because if Brody turned his magic on and kissed her again, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep from throwing herself at him.

  He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I’m not even sure I know your name.” His soft voice sounded as perplexed as Shay felt.

  The words left her body on a breath, almost as if he were pulling them out of her. “Shannon. Shannon Everett. But my friends call me Shay.”

  And then he smiled; that slow easy grin she’d been dreaming he’d direct her way. And suddenly Shay couldn’t recollect why she needed to maintain a safe distance at all.

  Five

  Man, she was a prickly one. Most women liked when a guy paid for everything, but Shannon—Brody wasn’t sure he was elevated to friend status and could call her Shay—wouldn’t have anything to do with him buying her groceries. Instead, she insisted on tallying up the cost of the items in the basket that were hers—two bananas, three containers of yogurt, and a carton of soy milk—and digging deep into her purse to count out the exact change. The eggs and the brownie mix were apparently on his dime.

  Dusk was falling as they left the store. An engine revved in the parking lot and Brody caught sight of the three guys who’d been pestering Shannon earlier. They were sitting in a souped-up Camry two rows away from the entrance, Eminem blaring from the stereo.

  “Where’s your car?” Brody asked.

  Shannon hesitated at the curb, her eyes drifting to a dilapidated bicycle chained to a pole. Despite the fact he already knew what was coming, Brody swore under his breath in annoyance. If there was one thing he should have learned from all those dopey Disney princess movies his sisters made him watch when he was a kid, rescuing the damsel in distress usually took longer than a five-minute commitment.

  “I rode my bike.”

  She bent over to unchain the bike, giving him a perfect view of what his hands had been fondling ten minutes ago. Brody stifled a groan. He wouldn’t mind the disruption of his evening if she was as into him as he was to her. But she wasn’t. She’d made that abundantly clear.

  “You’re not riding a bike in the dark.” Brody wasn’t sure why he cared anymore, but he did. Somehow she’d become his responsibility and he wasn’t driving away until she was home safely. Even if he did sound like his father right now.

  Pulling out a reflective vest from her purse, she turned toward Brody, her eyes and her stance mulish. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  In his entire life, Brody had never met a woman who wasn’t susceptible to his charm; one who wouldn’t immediately acquiesce to his wishes. Over the years, he’d watched, amused, as his friends and teammates went “caveman” with their girlfriends and wives in order to get their way, never imagining he’d need to do the same to get a woman to do his bidding. Until right now.

  Grabbing the plastic bag containing their groceries in one hand, he stalked over to where Shannon held her bike, scooped it up by the crossbar, and carried it over to his Range Rover. With a push of a button on his key fob, the liftgate opened. Brody tossed the bike and the groceries into the back. If the eggs ended up cracked, tough. He was done being nice to this woman.

  Apparently, Little Miss Texas wasn’t used to being told what to do, because she was protesting loudly, her once-sexy drawl now an annoying twang.

  “How dare you! I’m perfectly capable of getting home without being run over. It’s only a five-minute ride.”

  “Good,” he said closing the liftgate. “Then it’ll only be two minutes by car.”

  Brody turned to find her standing inches from him, those whiskey eyes still mulish. Damn. He needed to leave her here. To go home, change clothes, and hit some bar where the w
omen would be a lot more accommodating.

  “Give me my bike back.”

  He actually considered it. It would be so easy. This whole rescuing thing was starting to feel too much like work. But the Camry’s engine revved a second time and those caveman instincts he never knew he had took over once again.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He stepped closer, bringing them nearly nose-to-nose. “Easy way, you get in the car and we’re home in two minutes. Hard way, we have a little instant replay from inside so those three jerks get the hell out of here. What’s it gonna be?”

  Surprisingly, he found himself pulling for her to choose the hard way. Despite her lack of response to their earlier kiss, he’d enjoyed it, and he wouldn’t mind a second attempt at coaxing a reaction out of her. Her eyes darted over her shoulder at the frat boys in the Camry. He watched her slowly swallow as she seemed to consider her options. The moment stretched on and Brody’s body began to tense up as the muscles in her graceful neck worked. Just when he thought he’d kiss her anyway, she shook her head and headed toward the passenger side of the Range Rover. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she’d mumbled something sounding like “Hell’s bells” as she slid into the front seat. The Camry squealed out of the parking lot just as Brody climbed in on his side.

  As he predicted, the apartment complex she directed him to was barely three minutes’ drive from Santoni’s. Shannon didn’t want him to see where she lived, that much was obvious by the terse directions she gave and the rigid way she held her body. Brody thought her reaction had to do with her desire to get some distance from him, but when he caught a glimpse of the former motel that was supposed to pass for an apartment complex, he realized the stiffness in her chin might be brought on by something more: shame, most likely. He was a little ashamed himself for letting things get this far, but he couldn’t have left her alone in the parking lot. He’d been raised better than that.