by Desiree Holt
“Hey, Buttercup. You comin’ outta there tonight?” Dewey’s voice was edged with anger, an anger no doubt fueled by his consumption of alcohol.
Holy crap. No way was she opening the door. Still, she couldn’t spend the night in the ladies’ room.
“Miss?” A strange man’s voice. Oh, wait, it sounded like the bartender. “Miss, are you okay in there? You need to open the door.”
Not for any amount of money. But she had to get herself out of this mess and away from a drunken Dewey.
She had one more number she could call. She referred to it in her mind as her when-the-sky-is-falling-and-no-one-else-is-around number. The number for a man she’d been lusting after for a long time, who was unfailingly polite to her whenever their paths crossed yet as much as possible avoided her. She had hoped she’d never have to use it, for a number of reasons. A woman didn’t want to call the man she’d dreamed about for so very long to get her out of this kind of trouble, a mess of her own making. She didn’t want to see the disgust and censure in his eyes. But the sky was definitely falling tonight and this number would reach the one person she knew would get her out of it swiftly and cleanly.
She’d probably have to pay for it by listening to a good lecture and beg him not to tell her father.
Swallowing her misgivings, she dialed the number with hands that trembled. No one knew she had his number, that she’d programmed it in just in case. This was definitely a just in case. She prayed that he wouldn’t hang up on her. Surely he couldn’t refuse a plea for help, right? After all, he worked for her father, so how could he say no?
* * * *
“Okay, Ortiz, what do you think of the big name change for the Bisons?” Cal Hopewell looked at his poker hand, pulled out two cards, and threw them down on the table.
Rafe Ortiz studied his hand while he tried to form an appropriate answer. As the head of security for the San Antonio Hawks as well as Southern Bank Stadium, he had to be careful what he said, even in the company of his closest friends.
He slipped a single card free and tossed it down. “I’ll take one,” he told Andy Milliken, who was dealing, as he took his time putting his thoughts together. This wasn’t the first time he’d been asked this question.
“The name change,” Cal prompted.
“I think Kurt is a smart businessman who wants to inspire both his team and his fans. Whatever you might think of this, it’s working.”
“Yeah, but you played for the Bisons,” Andy reminded him. “Don’t you feel a disconnect to this new, so-called revitalized team?”
“Not at all. Some of the guys I played with are still on the active roster, and I want success for them. My relationship is to the team, whatever it’s called.”
“Well, whatever the circumstances,” Cal said, “we’re glad Gillette didn’t forget about you. He gave you a nice cushy job when you decided to retire.”
“Cushy?” Rafe laughed. “Did you say cushy? You come down to the stadium any Sunday and watch my staff wrestle drunks, sore losers, and bullies. Or corral some of the team members when they’re loose in a new city. Then tell me it’s cushy.”
Not that he was complaining. He loved his job, more money than he’d ever use and a circle of friends he was comfortable with. Friends who didn’t care about the celebrity status that still dogged him.
“Come on,” Andy teased. “How hard can it be to herd all those groupies?”
The ringing of Rafe’s cell phone broke into the conversation, saving him from having to answer. Because of his position with Lone Star Security, he kept the phone on twenty-four/seven. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the readout, expecting it to be one of the players or, worst case, Kurt, with a problem. When he saw who it was, he cursed silently.
Shit!
Kurt’s spoiled, pampered princess. The wild child of Texas.
And the woman he’d been secretly dreaming about for ten years.
Just what he needed.
He pressed the Talk button. “Ortiz.”
“Um, Rafe?” Her voice was soft and a little unsteady.
His stomach clutched, nervous apprehension dancing up and down his spine. What trouble had Tyler gotten herself into now? And why was she calling him, of all people? She never called the security team, never had anything to do with the Hawks unless she was forced to. And certainly never with him. Whenever he’d run into her, he was very careful not to show any interest that could be misconstrued. It hadn’t been just the reputation she seemed intent on building. No, it was actually the fact she was Kurt Gillette’s daughter with a big out-of-bounds sign on her. Getting involved with the boss’s daughter was a sure recipe for disaster.
So often he’d been struck with the feeling that her entire lifestyle was just one big masquerade. That beneath her outrageous exterior was a woman in a lot of pain, determined to tell the world to go to hell. But he wasn’t about to get in the middle of whatever complicated relationship she and her father had. Nope, not at all.
So he’d kept his distance, despite feelings that he ruthlessly suppressed. Now here she was calling him in the middle of the night.
How in the fucking hell had she gotten this number, anyway?
“Yeah, it’s me.” He tried not to let his irritation show.
“This is Tyler. Tyler Gillette.” Didn’t she know her ID showed up on his screen?
“How did you get this number?” he demanded. Rude much, Ortiz?
“Can we please, please talk about that later? Right now I really need your help.”
He could hear loud conversation and music in the background. Obviously she was at one of her usual dive bars. Her activities were legend. Rafe gritted his teeth. If she’d called him it must really be bad.
“What’s up?”
There was a long pause and he wondered if he’d lost her. If she’d hung up. Then her voice came back, a little lower as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear her. Although with all that noise, he wondered how she could hear herself.
“I—uh—I hate to bother you, but can you come and pick me up? Please?”
Pick her up? He held the phone out and stared at it for a moment.
“Where’s your car?” he asked.
“I took a cab.” She was practically whispering now. “I am so sorry to bother you, but I-I have a bit of a problem and I seem to be having trouble reaching people. I would really appreciate it if you could see your way clear to coming to get me.” Slight pause. “Please. I’m in, uh, kind of a bind.”
He just bet she was. Probably the reason she was being excessively polite. His gut told him there was real trouble, and she had focused on him as the solution. He heard a sudden Bam! Bam! Bam! Wherever she was, it sounded as if someone was banging on a door near her.
“What’s going on, Tyler? Where are you? What’s that noise?”
“I—I’m in the ladies’ room at a bar. Uh, Rafe? Please?”
Rafe frowned. Come and get her? Swooping up Tyler Gillette wasn’t on his roster of responsibilities and he’d made damn sure to keep it that way. He had the feeling that no matter what he did he’d end up in trouble.
“Why can’t you take a cab home?” he asked, hating himself even as he heard the callous tone in his voice. Nice, Rafe. “If you’re too blitzed, have the bartender call one for you.”
“I can’t. I—You don’t understand.”
Bam! Bam! Bam!
“You in there, bitch?”
Okay, that really did not sound good. What the hell was going on?
“Fine.” He let out a heavy sigh. If something really did happen to her, he’d never forgive himself. “Give me the name of the bar and lock yourself in the ladies’ until I get there. If the guy busts in just scream, and the bartender will come running. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
He disconnected the call and tossed his cards on the table. “Wouldn’t you know it. Two queens with an ace back.” He shook his head in disgust. “You
guys can divvy up my money; I gotta dash.”
“Man.” Cal shook his head. “You don’t get too many late night calls like this. It must be pretty damn important for you to break out of the game. Or something.”
“Or something,” he repeated and headed for the door of Cal’s town house. “Just deal me out. I think I’m in for a long night.”
God, he really did not want to be doing this. He’d spent a lot of years keeping as much distance between himself and Tyler Gillette as possible. Long years of sticking his hormones in deep-freeze where she was concerned. From the first moment he saw her he’d wanted her, with the passion that only a twenty-two-year-old could have. His need had been hot, strong, and gripping. And for one fleeting moment when they’d been introduced, he saw an answering spark in her eyes.
“Stay away from that one,” Moe Dempster, a linebacker, had warned him the first day. “She’s poison.”
But he hadn’t needed to be told. He’d been a rookie who needed to prove himself to his new owner, and she was that owner’s daughter. And young, besides. He’d known from the get go she was off-limits. She was brash, brassy, over the top, the continuing star of tabloids. She might as well have had trouble tattooed on her forehead. Anyway, her lifestyle was so foreign to the way he lived. He could never be with a woman who defied every rule of good behavior the way she did, even if he did have a sneaking suspicion it was all an act. It wasn’t the way he was raised, and it wasn’t the way he lived.
In the intervening years, each time they’d run into each other, the air fairly shimmered around them with sexual electricity. He knew she’d be willing. The signals were very easy to read, but there was too much holding him back, such as his career and her reputation. She was such a contradiction, that girl. Woman. Not girl. Defensive, go to hell, fuck the world, yet whenever he was with her, he saw the vulnerability beneath the facade.
If there was one woman he didn’t need to hook up with, she was that person. Yet here he was, on his way to clean up whatever her latest mess was. And then what?
Yeah, then what, idiot?
Thankfully, there wasn’t all that much traffic on the streets at this time of night. Still it took some time to get from the north end of San Antonio to a bar on the south side. Miraculously, he found a space across the street and jogged over to the Tequila Sunrise. The moment he opened the door, he knew there was trouble. Almost everyone in the place was crowded toward the little back hallway, and he heard men shouting at each other.
“Damn it, Dewey.” A man with a nasal voice was speaking. “I said get the fuck away from there.”
“Not until I get that bitch out of there.” And that, no doubt, was the cause of the trouble Tyler was in.
“Excuse me.”
Swallowing a sigh, Rafe pushed his way through the crowd. No one wanted to give up their spot watching the action, so it took a few elbow digs and a look that said, “Get the fuck out of my way.” But then he was in the short hallway. Two men filled up the space between the door to the ladies’ room and the wall, both of them large and beefy. One of them was still banging on the door, even as the other tried to pull him away.
“Come on, Dewey. Don’t make me get my baseball bat out.”
Rafe guessed it was the bartender speaking.
“I’m not leaving till I get my hands on this bitch,” the other man shouted in a nasty, drunken voice.
“Did you call the cops?” Rafe asked the bartender.
The man’s face reddened. “I try to keep the cops out of things whenever possible.”
“Even if someone is in danger?”
“Aw.” The man scratched his head. “She wasn’t in any real danger. I could conk Dewey over the head and put us all out of our misery.”
“Next time remember that,” Rafe warned. He turned to the man still banging on the door and shouting. “My turn now.”
The bartender looked at the former defensive lineman for San Antonio, saw the expression on Rafe’s face, and backed away. Dewey wasn’t quite that smart. He ignored the fact that while he and Rafe were about the same size, Dewey’s flab would be no match for Rafe’s still-solid muscle. He took a step backward and put up his fists.
Rafe sighed again. He really didn’t want to have to do this, but the asshole wasn’t leaving him any choice. He reached out and grabbed the man by the throat with his powerful fingers, pressing his thumb into the hollow and pushing him away from the door. When Dewey still tried to fight back, Rafe just coldcocked him, and the guy dropped to the floor in a big messy heap.
“Thank you,” the bartender said. “Dewey just gets a little feisty sometimes when he’s had a drop too much to drink.”
“Seems like you should have cut him off before he got too—what did you say?—feisty.” He knocked softly on the restroom door. “Tyler? It’s me.”
“Rafe?”
“Yeah. In the flesh.”
There was a long moment of silence and then the door eased open a crack. Tyler peered out, fear in her eyes before relief washed over her face when she saw it really was him.
“You can come out now.”
Tyler opened the door wider. When he got a good look at her, he swallowed back a bitter taste. Everything was a mess—hair, makeup, dress. How in hell did she do this to herself? And why?
He reached for her hand and tugged her out into the hallway. Despite the fact she had a rep for being a gigantic pain in the ass, despite the present circumstances, the moment their hands connected electricity arced between them. There it was, that invisible crackle that had never waned and still sizzled his nerve endings. More like his brain.
No. She was off-limits and a disaster to boot. He had to keep telling himself that. Keep dragging his eyes away from the swell of her breasts visible over the cut of her dress, away from the sweet curve of her ass so lovingly outlined by the fabric. Even with her tawny hair mussed and tumbled around her face and her makeup streaked, there was something so—
So what, asshole? She asked you here to get her out of trouble, not to act out your fantasies.
He could do this. He was famous for his incredible control in all situations. He just needed to keep it in place for this one. Holding tightly to her hand, he towed her through the crowd of onlookers, concentrating on getting out of danger rather than getting into her pants.
“Come on. We’re getting the hell out of here.”
Rafe was tense, alert, prepared for anything as they headed toward the exit. Situations like this could go sideways in a minute. However, apparently not looking for the same treatment he’d given Dewey, people moved out of their way to let them go. Still, he held his breath as he guided Tyler through the tiny side parking lot and across the street to his car. He made sure she was belted in before he cranked the engine and pulled out into the street.
They drove in silence for a long time, tension humming in the car like low-level electricity. Not touching her would be a real test of his self-discipline. He wanted to ask her what the hell she’d been doing in a place like Tequila Sunrise, but he really didn’t have to. He’d heard all the rumors, read all the stories. He knew this was one of many dives where she hung out. It puzzled him why a woman who had absolutely everything she could ask for lowered herself like this, but it was none of his business and he didn’t want it to be. He didn’t want to know anything, just to deliver her to her doorstep and get the hell away from her.
He shot a quick glance at her huddled in the seat. At last she spoke up, in a very small, tired voice, a trace of fear still clinging to it. “Thank you. I’m sorry I had to bother you.”
“I’m sorry you did, too. You should know better than to put yourself in that kind of situation. What the hell were you thinking, anyway?”
“Nothing,” she snapped, obviously irritated by his response. “Thinking can get you into trouble.”
“And exactly what do you suppose tonight was?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her glance o
ver at him. “So I guess the price of my rescue is a lecture?”
“No lecture. Just a word of warning.” He glanced over at her to see if she was paying attention. Only the tightly curled hands fisted in her lap gave her away. “You live a very destructive lifestyle, Tyler. One of these days you’ll get yourself in a situation that no one will be able to get you out of.”
“Then everyone’s problems will be over, right?” she snapped. “Yours, mine, and especially the holy king Kurt Gillette.”
He had no idea what was going on between Tyler and her father nor did he want to find out. Everyone on the team speculated, but if anyone had any answers, they were keeping quiet about them. It was none of his business, and he intended to keep it that way, for his own sanity.
As they rode through the silent streets he noticed that she kept tugging on the hem of her dress, seemingly uncomfortable in her outfit. If she was so uncomfortable in it why did she wear it? Why dress like that? Did she really want to attract men like Dewey? What was really going on with her, beneath the image she showed the world?
Silence descended and filled the car until at last he pulled into the driveway of her town house. Before she could move, he was out of the car, around the other side and had her door open. He extended a hand to help her out and guided her to the front door with a hand at the small of her back.
On the little porch, she turned to him. “Thank you again for answering my call and coming to pick me up, Rafe. I know I had no right to ask you, but you can’t imagine how much I appreciate it.”
“Next time pick your entertainment in a safer place,” he cautioned. He studied her face. “Just out of curiosity, why did you call me, of all people? We can barely stand each other.”
Hurt flashed so quickly in her eyes he wasn’t even sure he had seen it.
“Maybe you’re the only one I know who could have gotten me out of there.” She flicked her fingers against his chest. “Don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Fine. Good night, Tyler. Stay out of trouble if you can.”
Before he could turn away, she launched herself at him, reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck as she plastered her body to his. He reacted automatically, holding her against him, inhaling the tantalizing scent of her perfume. She was warm and pliant and his body reacted before his mind caught up. Before he realized it she had him in a lip-lock, her tongue halfway down his throat. It took him a moment to recover himself, but when he did, when he realized what he was doing, he lifted her gently but forcefully away from him.
