by Joanne Rock
She’d taken the gamble, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for the payout he had in mind.
“Will you promise me something?” His eyes searched hers, as if he could see straight through to her heart. “Will you think about how rewarding it could be to get caught up in another moment? Not tonight, maybe. But we’ve got a lot of days to spend together and I think there’s something worth exploring in that kiss.”
Her heart did a little flip that made her feel woozy and breathless at the same time. She settled for a nod, unable to articulate an answer just now.
He pressed a button for the elevator and stepped into the cabin behind her when it arrived. His grandfather, family patriarch Leon Reynaud, stood against one wall inside the elevator. Adelaide didn’t know him well, but he attended all of the Hurricanes home games and she’d seen him in the owner’s suite on the fifty-yard line a few times.
He’d been a big man in another era, playing football and becoming a successful team owner of a Texas franchise until he’d sold it to be closer to his grandsons in Louisiana. But the years had bowed his back and he’d grown much thinner. Dempsey had told her once that Leon had never considered himself a good parent to his own sons and because of that, he tried harder to be a presence for his grandsons. Adelaide knew for a fact the older man held far more of Dempsey’s respect than his philandering father, Theo.
“Hello, Mr. Reynaud,” she greeted him while Dempsey clapped him on the shoulder.
“We’re heading home, Grand-père. Do you need a ride?” Dempsey asked.
“No need. I want to try my hand at blackjack and see if the Reynaud luck holds.” He gave Adelaide a rakish grin and straightened his already perfect tie. “My dear, did you know my own grandfather won his first boat in a game of cards? From there, he grew the Zephyr Shipping empire.”
It was a much-loved bit of Reynaud lore.
“Adelaide probably knows the family history as well as I do.” Dempsey met her gaze for a moment and she drank in the compliment.
He rarely handed out praise, especially publicly. The elevator bell chimed, and the door opened to the first floor. She stepped out into the crowd while Dempsey held the door for his grandfather.
“Adelaide, you say?” Leon frowned as he moved slowly toward the bar, his expression blank for a moment before his gray brows furrowed. “Be careful with the ladies, son. You wouldn’t want your wife to find out.”
“But, Grand-père—” Dempsey called after him as the older man disappeared into the crowd. Turning toward her, Dempsey pulled out his phone. “He’s been getting more confused lately.”
“Should we stay with him?” Adelaide hadn’t heard about Leon having any moments of confusion, but then, Dempsey didn’t share much about his family outside of business concerns.
Some of the magic of their kiss evaporated with the reminder of how removed she was from his private life. Even as his so-called fiancée.
“I’m texting Evan. He has a friend here tonight providing extra security. I’ll have him keep an eye on Leon and make sure he gets home safely.”
“One of your brothers might still be here.” She peered back into the party. “I saw Henri with some of the other players—”
“It’s handled.” He tucked his phone in his pocket and pressed a hand to her lower back.
A perfunctory touch. A social nicety. She could feel that his attention had drifted from her. From them.
Ha. Who was she kidding? There was no them. Dempsey maneuvered her now the same way he orchestrated the rest of his world. He wasn’t the kind of man to be carried away by a kiss, and right now he clearly had other things on his mind.
Forcing her thoughts from the chemistry that had simmered between them, Adelaide promised herself not to act on any more impulsive longings. She’d wanted to shake things up a bit between them and she had. But his silence on the ride home told her all she needed to know about the gamble she’d taken with the kiss.
It hadn’t paid off.
From now on, she would take her cues from Dempsey. If he wanted their relationship to be focused on business, she only had three and a half more weeks to pretend that old crush of hers hadn’t fired to life all over again.
* * *
The next day, she balanced two coffees in a tray and a box of pastries from Dempsey’s favorite bakery as she strode through the training facility toward his office. She reminded herself she’d done the same thing for him plenty of other times in her years as his assistant. When they’d been in Atlanta together and Dempsey had still been an assistant coach, they’d shared a secret addiction to apple fritters and she’d grown skilled at sneaking them into the training complex so the health-minded nutritionists wouldn’t discover them.
Now that they were back in New Orleans, Adelaide knew to pick up beignets on game days when they were downtown. But in Metairie, for an occasional treat, she bought raspberry scones. Technically, procuring pastries wasn’t on her formal list of duties. And maybe it was her sweet tooth that had driven this one shared pleasure. But after last night’s awkward end to the evening, she found herself wanting to put their relationship back on familiar ground.
It wasn’t as if she was offended that her kiss hadn’t made him realize he’d always loved her from afar or had some other fairy-tale outcome. But maybe she’d dreamed once or twice that such a thing could really happen if they ever kissed. That Dempsey would see her with new eyes and forget about the Valentinas of the world.
Right. He’d made it clear she would be welcome in his bed, but he hadn’t seemed inclined to consider what that would mean for them—their friendship, their work together or even this farce of an engagement. How could she knowingly walk into an intimate relationship with him when she’d seen the devastation he left in his wake?
The sun hadn’t even risen that morning when she’d awoken to an empty house, and she’d known that Dempsey had left for work. He’d been restless when they’d arrived home after the charity fund-raiser, excusing himself to call his brother Jean-Pierre in New York. She’d thought then that maybe he was more upset about his grandfather’s mistake than he’d let on. Why else would he call Jean-Pierre when it would have been after midnight in Manhattan?
Unless he’d been fighting the riot of yearning that had plagued her.
She backed into the double doors leading to the front offices and nearly ran into Pat Tyrell, the Hurricanes’ defensive coordinator.
“Well, good morning, Miss Adelaide.” He tipped his team hat to her since, even at seventy years old, the grizzled old coach was still a flirt. “Those wouldn’t happen to be illicit treats in that white pastry box of yours?”
The older man knew her well. He held the door open for her.
“I figured I didn’t have to hide them at this hour since the trainers won’t be in until at least nine o’clock.” She lifted the box toward him. “Want a raspberry scone?”
“You speak an old man’s language.” His black-and-gold windbreaker crinkled as he reached into the box to help himself. “Dempsey ought to be ready for breakfast soon. I came in this morning to find him running up and down the bleachers like a kid in training camp.”
Her mouth went dry as she envisioned Dempsey in his workout routine. He was as fit as any of his players, even if she did manage to tempt him into an occasional scone.
“Maybe he’s getting ready to run a few plays himself on Sunday.” She sidestepped Pat to head into her office. “He’s always saying we need more discipline on the field.”
“Damn shame that boy didn’t have a shot to play in the NFL. When you get that kind of football mind combined with talent, it’s a beautiful thing to watch.” He raised his pastry in salute. “Thanks for the sweets, Addy.”
Settling into her small office next door to Dempsey’s massive suite, Adelaide set down the coffees and dropped her purse on the floor be
side the desk. She’d only been joking about Dempsey getting ready to run plays. Maybe because she wasn’t a football player she hadn’t given much thought to the fact that Dempsey’s decorated college career as a tight end had never gone to the next level. He’d told her once that he’d chosen to coach because he could bring more to the game that way, and she believed him.
But she also knew from articles in the media that an injury in his youth had never mended properly and that another hit to his spine could paralyze him—something that his college coaches hadn’t known about, but had been quickly discovered in a physical by the team that had drafted him. Dempsey had been on a plane back to Louisiana the next day and, Adelaide recalled, Leon Reynaud had threatened to sue the college where he’d played.
At the time, she’d been busy finishing up her fine arts degree and debating whether to apply to a master’s program. She’d also been in recovery mode from her crush on Dempsey and had been trying to ignore the stories about him.
The knock on her office door startled her from her thoughts. Dempsey appeared in the doorway in cargo shorts and a black team polo shirt that fit him to perfection. His hair, still wet from the shower, was even darker than usual. He hadn’t shaved either. The jaw that had been well groomed just twelve hours ago for the charity ball was already heavily shadowed.
“Morning.” He strode past her desk to stand by the window overlooking the training field, where a few players were loosening up even though official warm-ups wouldn’t start for another hour or more. “I didn’t expect you today.”
She’d worked overtime this week, as she did most weeks. But he seemed to understand her desire to devote some hours to her own business because he’d told her last night that she should take the day off.
She watched him now, struck anew by his masculine appeal. After all the years she’d known him, she would have hoped to have been used to him. Some days, when they were embroiled in work, she managed to forget that he was an incredibly magnetic male. Other times, the raw virility of him made her a little light-headed, like now.
“You seemed so distracted last night, I wasn’t even sure you would remember saying that.” She handed him his coffee and joined him at the window. She tracked the movements of two new receivers racing each other down the field.
Every day she encountered virile, handsome men. Men that other women swooned over on game days. What was it about Dempsey alone that drew her eye?
“I meant it.” He sipped his coffee and stared at her until her skin grew warm with awareness. “I’m worried about Leon.”
That shifted her focus in a hurry. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a personal concern with her.
“He thought he was speaking to Theo last night when he told you to be careful your wife didn’t find out about me.” She knew that Theo Reynaud had a notorious reputation, dating back to his years as a college athlete and straight through his time as a pro.
His wife had left him shortly after Dempsey—the son of an extramarital affair—arrived in her household. She’d told Dempsey that he was her “last straw.”
“Right.” He shook his head. “We’ve known that he has episodes of confusion, but he claimed he saw a doctor who diagnosed it as a thyroid problem. I looked it up, because I wasn’t sure if we could believe him, but that is a possibility.”
“So either he’s not taking the right medicines for it—”
“Or he’s been BSing us the whole time and he’s never seen a doctor. He’s as hardheaded as they come and he doesn’t put much faith in the health-care system.”
“He is always telling the trainers not to coddle the players.” She’d heard him bark at the medical staff often enough, imparting a “tough it out” mentality.
“Exactly.” Dempsey frowned. “I asked Jean-Pierre to try to spend some time down here this season so we can present a united front to get Leon evaluated and, if necessary, into more aggressive medical treatment.”
Reaching toward her desk, she pulled the box of scones closer.
“Jean-Pierre will have to come home for Gervais’s wedding.” She’d tracked the wedding talk on social media as part of her duties managing Dempsey’s profile pages online. With the Hurricanes’ owner marrying a foreign princess, the topic had more traction than any other team news.
The fact that there’d been no official announcement only fueled the rumor mill until speculating on the whens and hows of the nuptials filled page after page of gossip blogs.
“That’s still six weeks away.” He relinquished his coffee to grab a couple of paper plates from her stash near the minifridge. “I think we need to act soon. I don’t want something to happen to Leon because we’re all too damn busy to pay attention to the warning signs. We owe him better, even though he’s not going to be happy about us strong-arming him.”
“Will you invite your dad to be there?” She took a plate and a scone and passed him the box. “Or any of the rest of the family?”
Leon had another son who lived in Texas, and one out on the West Coast, and there were cousins as well, but the relationships had been strained for a long time.
“No. If Theo happens to be in town, fine.” His jaw flexed at the mention of his father, a tic shared by all of Theo’s sons. “But I’m not going to seek him out for a family event that will be stressful enough as it is.” He set aside his breakfast.
Then slipped hers from her hands and set it on the desk.
“Is that a hint?” she asked, her gaze following the bit of raspberry heaven now out of reach. “Am I indulging my sweet tooth too often?”
“Of course not. I wanted to apologize for last night.” He took her hand between his and gave her his undivided attention.
Making her whole body go on full alert.
“You don’t owe me any apologies.” She hadn’t expected a discussion about what happened and, consequently, was completely unprepared.
“I do. I didn’t pick you up last night to bring you to the event. I didn’t deliver your engagement ring personally. And then the episode with my grandfather distracted me from one of the most shockingly provocative kisses of my life.”
“Oh.” Completely. Unprepared. “I—”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Her heart hammered so loudly in her ears she wasn’t entirely sure she’d hear it, but she nodded. The warmth of his palm on the back of her hand sent sparks of pleasure pinging around her insides.
“Have you thought about us that way before? Or is this a whole new experience, feeling all that chemistry?” His golden-brown gaze captured hers.
Her cheeks heated and she cursed the reaction bitterly even as she shrugged like an inarticulate teenager. But answering the question felt like a “damned if she did, damned if she didn’t” proposition.
“Right.” He let go of her hand. “Maybe I have no business asking you that. But I’ll admit I’m having a tough time concentrating today. I came in early just to hit the gym and try to work off some steam because I damn well couldn’t sleep.”
That got her attention.
“Because of me?” Her voice sounded as though she’d been sucking down helium. She grabbed her coffee and took a healthy swig.
“Things got heated last night, wouldn’t you agree?” His voice lowered. Deepened.
The words felt like a stroke along her skin, they were so damn seductive. But she needed to proceed with extreme caution. She’d heard Valentina’s accusation the night before. Dempsey had left her bed before the sheets cooled, according to her.
“That’s what happens when you play games and pretend things you don’t feel.” She kept her cool, needing to make herself heard before she did something foolish, like respond to all that simmering heat she felt when he touched her. “You can’t tell where the game ends and reality begins.”
For one hear
t-stopping moment, she imagined what would happen if he kissed her this time. If he laid her on her desk and told her the games ended here and now. She could almost taste the moment, it felt so real.
“Why does it have to be a game?” He edged back from her, his gaze level. “We’ve always been good together. We respect each other. Why not enjoy the benefits of this attraction now that it’s becoming a distraction?”
She could hear the influence of his Reynaud roots in his word choices. It took a superhuman effort not to roll her eyes.
“Maybe because I don’t think of relationships in terms of benefits. We’re talking about intimacy, not some contractual arrangement. And I definitely don’t want to be pursued for the sake of a distraction.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to write off the advantages.” He took a step closer. Crowding her. “Perhaps we should make a list of all the ways you would directly benefit.”
Her heart galloped. Her skin seemed to shrink, creating the sensation of being too tight to fit. She didn’t think she’d make it through a discussion of the ways having Dempsey in her bed would reward her.
“Maybe some other time.” She tossed her empty coffee cup in the trash and stood. “Now that I know you were serious about that day off, maybe I’ll just head back to the house and do some work on my designs.” She would preserve some dignity, damn it.
Although she did take the box of scones.
The light in his eyes told her that he was on to her. That he understood why she needed to beat a hasty retreat.
“Good. I’m coming home early tonight. I’ll take you out for dinner.”
Alone?
Her mouth went dry.
“Maybe,” she hedged, backing toward the door. “I’ve got a meeting with a fabric company downtown later. But I’ll text you afterward.”
She didn’t wait for his response as she walked out into the corridor. Her skin hummed with awareness from being around him and from the knowledge that he wanted her. Her kiss—practically a chaste brush of lips—had shifted the dynamic between them more than she’d imagined possible.
