“So much for learning the business,” I say to the muggy night air. I decide to head into the banquet hall.
I sit down at the placard that says Camille Sanders, immediately reaching for a glass of water. I check the two names on either side of me. Blake Merriman and Joshua Hunter. I recognize neither of them, though a ping of memory reminds me of Blake. Spring break Blake.
Hazel’s dad.
I thought immediately of his muscles. His tattoos. The way he’d said my name-
“Camille?”
I look up, jolted out of my reverie. There’s a man standing right behind me. I turn to look up at him and nearly fall out of my chair from shock.
It’s Blake.
Yeah.
That Blake.
“No, thank you,” I say quietly, totally out of my head.
He laughs and sits down. “I seem to remember your name is Camille, but you seem to insist on me calling you ‘no, thank you’.”
I nearly drop my water glass. I slosh a bit of it onto my dress as I set it back on the table. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, more forcefully than I intended to.
He tilts his head and gives me a sexy little smile. No. No. Not sexy.
I can’t be thinking of him as sexy. He’s a football player.
A football player?
A football player. Why else would he be here?
I hate football players.
“I could ask you the same thing.” His eyes dart to my name card and he drops his jaw. “The ‘S’ stands for Sanders? Is that Sanders as in Bill Sanders?”
I nod. “The one and only.”
“Holy shit,” he says, sitting down. “You’re the owner’s daughter.”
“The owner of the Warriors, yes,” I say. “You say that like you know you’re getting picked up by my father’s team.”
Blake frowns, his dimples disappearing. “But I am. I’m the new player.”
Our table is filling up with burly football players but I don’t acknowledge any one of them. All I see is Blake, even though I don’t want to.
“You’re the new player?”
A server stops at our table with a tray of champagne. “Don’t drink it,” I say to him quickly, remembering the motor oil from four years ago at a dinner similar to this. “It’s the cheap stuff. Dad never splurges on these things.”
Blake grins at me. There are those dimples again. I feel my stomach swoop and I’m suddenly feeling warm in particular places. “You probably grew up on Chandon, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t trust your palate.” He grabs a champagne glass and sips from it. “Tastes fine to me.”
Suddenly, I realize why the champagne had tasted like motor oil.
I was pregnant.
Of course.
“I can’t believe you’re sitting here with me right now,” I say, drumming my fingers on the tabletop.
“I can’t believe my manners,” Blake says, leaning closer to me. “I haven’t even told you how smoking hot you look tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “There you go again with the pickup lines.”
Blake reaches down with a napkin and blots at the water on my dress. “I like it. It’s like you’re this buttoned up debutante when I know that you’re a freak in the sheets.”
I blush so furiously I half expect my dress to catch on fire. “Don’t say that so loudly.”
He laughs. “By the way, why were you staying in some shithole hotel back in Miami when your dad could buy you an entire hotel seven times over?”
I adjust the hem of my dress. “I like to pay for my own things.”
Blake eyes me knowingly. The room around us buzzes with conversation, but my focus is entirely on Blake sitting in front of me.
I connect the dots back to that spring break long ago. “I’m guessing you paid for your hotel room with illegal money from scouts?”
Blake chuckles. “I might have told you the answer to that when you were just Camille S. But now that I know that you’re Camille Sanders, well…it wouldn’t be too wise. You seem like the type of girl to snitch on a guy.”
I cough, highly affronted. “I’m far from being in my father’s front pocket. I’m my own person. I don’t give two shits about football.”
Blake raises his eyebrows. “Cursing. I like that.”
A baby cries somewhere in this enormous room.
Blake shudders. “Fuck, I hate children.”
My stomach flips over. He hates children.
Of course. I stuff my secret down so far inside of me not a flicker of light gets to it.
I look around to see who was foolish enough to bring their kid to an event like this. I see a flustered woman standing in the corner trying to soothe her child. I stand up.
“Be right back,” I say to Blake.
I push through the people still standing and mingling and reach the woman in the corner. She looks close to tears herself.
She looks panicked as I approach her.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I didn’t have anyone to leave Jack with, and my husband is here tonight as a rookie.”
I look at her cheap dress and her messy hair. I can tell that she tried to dress up tonight. The baby in her arms is still fussing.
“Do you need some help?” I ask her.
She looks like I just offered her a winning lottery ticket.
“Are you serious?” she asks me, totally uncertain.
I nod. “I’d love nothing more than to get out of this dinner. I’ve got a baby myself. How about I sit right outside in the lounge and rock him to sleep?”
The woman nearly cries again. “Thank you so much.”
She hands me the baby.
“I’m Camille Sanders, by the way,” I say, taking the baby with one arm and reaching my hand out with the other. “I’m Bill-“
“Bill Sanders’ daughter,” she finishes. “I’m Monica Castillo. You’re the owner’s daughter.”
“I just wanted to tell you that so you know I’m not some random baby snatcher.”
The baby’s cries intensify and I feel more eyes staring at both of us.
“Go, go eat your dinner. Enjoy it. This is the best place in town.”
Monica waves me goodbye and I reach down to pick up her diaper bag. The contents of it spill onto the floor as the baby shrieks even more loudly.
“Dammit,” I hiss, trying to crouch down. The baby spits up on my dress and I sigh.
Suddenly, a strong hand comes out of nowhere.
“Stealing babies?”
It’s Blake.
“No,” I reply. “Just helping out a fellow human being. I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand that.”
Blake reaches down and grabs the diaper bag, shoving the extra bottles, wipes, and diapers back into it.
A woman with hair sprayed to high heaven rushes over to us.
“Ma’am, sir, if you could just take your baby with you, dinner service is just starting.”
“That’s not my baby,” Blake says swiftly.
I ignore him and glare at her. “Can’t you see I’m trying to leave?”
She looks at me and realizes who I am. “Oh, Ms. Sanders, I’m so sorry.”
I push past her, ignoring her apology. I can’t stand people who only treat other human beings well when there’s something in it for them. It’s the height of fakery.
I push open the doors and Blake follows with the bag.
The baby’s shrieks are now ear-splitting.
“Can’t you shut that thing up?” Blake asks me as we walk through the empty ballroom and into the lounge next door. Taxidermy lines the walls and ceiling, a particularly large ten-point buck hanging over the stone fireplace.
I sink down into an artfully worn brown leather sofa and pat the baby’s back.
“Hand me a burp cloth, will you?” I ask Blake, who is standing there uselessly still holding the bag.
“What’s a burp-“
I reach out and grab the bag from him, still sitting down.
“You’re useless, you know that?”
Blake laughs. “Gee, thanks.”
I pull out a soft, woven, white burp cloth and toss it onto my shoulder. I hoist the baby up, its soft, downy hair tickling my cheek, and pat him firmly on the back. He barfs spectacularly onto it, just missing the back of the leather sofa by centimeters.
His cry stops instantly.
“How did you do that?” Blake asks, looking impressed.
“I’m a witch,” I say sarcastically.
He sits down on the sofa.
“You’ll miss dinner,” I say. “Grass fed something or other with some kind of locally grown tomatoes, I’m guessing.”
He leans back and smiles at me while I rock the baby back to sleep.
“You sure are a stuck-up woman. I wouldn’t know grass fed from the wrong end of a cow.”
It’s my turn to laugh. The warm weight of the baby is comforting in my arms. “I work for what I have, thanks.”
Blake scoffs. “You grew up with every privilege. You can’t reject that, even if you’ve chosen to never take a dime from your father. You’re a poor little rich girl. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Gee, you’re really buttering me up now, aren’t you?” I say drily.
Blake leans forward. “I could butter you up any time I wanted to.”
I blush again against my will.
A hotel employee walks by. “Sir, ma’am, would you like me to bring you food from the dining room?”
I glance at Blake who opens his mouth. “Absolutely. I hear your grass-fed whatsit is to die for.”
The employee looks confused but nods and walks away.
I burst into laughter again.
“Who’s the asshole now? Terrorizing that poor employee.”
The baby is asleep, its pink mouth breathing lightly against my chest.
“You want to hold him?” I ask Blake. I can’t help but notice how his tie brings out his green eyes. I know under that tight fabric are muscles that won’t quit, and snaking tattoos all the way down to…well.
Down there.
His well-endowed area down there.
“I told you, I hate kids,” he replies.
“Wrap it up, then, big boy,” I say to him jokingly. But inside I’m burning. Wrap it up. Exactly like we didn’t do over four years ago.
“Yeah, I’m used to doing that,” he says cockily, flashing his smile and his dimples.
I roll my eyes.
“You keep rolling your eyes and they’ll get stuck that way,” Blake intones.
The employee returns with two plates of food. She sets mine on the coffee table and hands Blake his.
“You want me to feed you, honey?” he asks loudly so the employee hears him.
“Would you stop it?” I say genially. “I’m not hungry.”
Blake shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He tucks into his food like he hasn’t eaten any in weeks. He polishes off his plate and takes mine to do the same.
“Do you always eat like that?”
He grins. “It’s one of the many upsides of being an athlete.”
“I can’t think of any other upsides,” I say.
He puts my plate down and wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin. “There are plenty more.”
“Like what?” The baby is now snoring in my arms.
He nods at me. “You.”
I blush again, entirely unsure how to respond to this compliment. “How am I an upside to being an athlete?”
“If I weren’t a football player, I wouldn’t have gotten to eat dinner with you tonight. Or, I guess, eaten dinner next to you tonight.”
I open my mouth to respond when the doors to the lounge open. Monica comes rushing over to me.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispers, reaching her arms out.
“He just needed to burp, then he was out like a light,” I confess, handing him back to her.
“I really can’t thank you enough,” she repeats.
“It was my pleasure,” I reply.
She shuffles away and I stand up. Part of me feels anchored to this couch. I don’t want to leave Blake all alone here. I want him to come with me. The thought scares me.
I’m actually having a good time with a man.
His very presence is compelling me to stay.
“Do you want-“
I’m interrupted by my father’s stern voice.
“Camille, get in here,” he says from the doors.
Blake stands up like a snake just bit him on the ass. “Mr. Sanders,” he says sycophantically.
My dad ignores him. “People are wondering where you are, Camille.”
“I’m coming. Calm down,” I say. I leave the room, my dad holding open the door.
He grabs my elbow. “I just signed that guy.” He says it in a low voice. “I don’t like players hitting on my daughter.”
My stomach plummets. The fullness of the truth hits me. For whatever reason, I hadn’t made the connection. He’s not just a football player.
He’s my dad’s football player.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BLAKE
I wait in the lobby of the hotel for the rest of the evening, constantly scanning the crowd of people milling around.
I can’t find Camille anywhere.
Maybe her dragon of a father ate her.
That’s my only theory right now.
A few women keep eyeing me from across the room, and the look they’re giving me tells me that I’m guaranteed a foursome tonight if I want it. But I don’t want it.
I only want Camille.
The crowd dwindles down to a handful of people as everyone heads back to their homes or up to their rooms for tonight. My first practice with the team is early tomorrow morning and I know that I’ll need my rest.
I’m just about dozing off standing upright when a flash of a tight black dress catches my eye.
It’s Camille.
I double check to make sure she’s alone and I slip over to her as she digs around in her purse.
“Come up to my room,” I whisper in her ear.
She jumps about a foot and drops her bag. I catch it with ease like it’s a football pass.
“You scared the shit out of me!” Camille says. She looks around the lobby nervously and pulls me into the elevator lobby
“You afraid of your dad seeing us?” I tease her.
Her face is serious. “Yeah, actually, I am.”
“You sure are a dutiful little debutante. At least, I’m assuming you had a debutante ball. You’ve got that silky, shiny hair that white rich girls have.”
She scowls but there’s mirth in her eyes. “If you’re attempting to flirt with me, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.”
I grin at her. “I am trying to flirt with you. But I think I don’t need to.”
She grabs her purse back.
“And why is that?” she challenges me.
“Because I think you want to come upstairs to my room as badly as you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.”
She purses her lips. “How certain are you about that?”
I lean close to her ear. She stiffens, breathing heavily.
“Because all I have to do is look at you for your panties to be wet. Admit it. You’ve been craving me all night the same way I’ve craved you.”
She nearly drops her purse again. Even her ears are flaming red. She looks hastily out into the lobby.
“I’ve got about twenty minutes before my dad starts looking for me and we go home.”
I pull her into an elevator just as it dings open.
Perfect timing.
“That’s all I’ll need.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CAMILLE
I reach up to kiss Blake before the doors even close.
He pushes me against the wall and lifts me up by my ass. I wrap my legs around him, kissing him furiously.
He’s right.
I’ve been wet for him the entire night.
/> He massages my ass as I grind against him, the fabric of my dress lifting up so my mound is pressing into his suit. I feel my curls sweating out already.
“Make that fifteen minutes,” I gasp as he kisses my neck.
“Mm,” he replies.
“I’ll need five minutes to get rid of my sex hair otherwise we’ll be found out.”
“Secret fucking is the best kind of fucking,” Blake breathes, his face buried in my cleavage.
The door opens and we stumble into the hallway, finding new ways of touching each other as we fall together in perfect lockstep.
We trip into his hotel room, and he puts my back against the wall, lifting my dress up and moving my panties to the side. He gets down on his knees and takes that talented tongue of his right into my most sacred spaces.
I groan and pull on his hair as he works his magic.
I’ve been dreaming about this for four years.
Just as I’m about to come, he pulls away from me and unzips his pants. He springs out and I’m once again awed at what he has waiting for me. It’s enormous. It should have its own zip code.
It actually seems even bigger than I remember.
Maybe it’s true.
Everything is bigger in Texas.
He pulls a condom out of his suit pocket and slides it on. Then he lifts me back up by my ass and slides into me, my back hitting the wall as he thrusts in and out. My legs wrap around his ass and I drive him further and further inside of me.
I’m so filled up with pleasure I can’t contain my voice.
I scream out in pleasure and Blake quiets me by slipping his tongue back into my mouth.
“I’m going to come,” I whisper to him.
“Come for me, Camille,” he whispers back. “I want to feel you around my cock.”
The dirty talk sends me spinning, and I dig my nails into his suit-covered back. He shudders against me and I know he’s finished, too.
He sets me down. I’m sweating.
“Bathroom,” I say to him. He points the way and I look in the mirror.
My lipstick is smudged and my baby hairs are wet against my forehead. My curls have completely fallen out.
“Oh no, where’s my hair tie?” I gasp, digging through my clutch.
Blake pops his head into the bathroom. “Hair tie?”
“I always keep one in here but I must have forgotten it. And I still need to clean up. Shit shit shit,” I say, dabbing my face with a tissue. I reach into my purse and reapply my lipstick. I fumble through the messy contents of my bag once more. No luck.
DIRTY PLAYER: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 5
