The Wedding Deal (Heart in the Game)

by Cindi Madsen

  He vaguely recalled a horse statue in the familiar Mustangs red and black colors but hadn’t ever paid much attention.

  “I’ll be fine once we’re in the air.” Her breaths came quicker and quicker, and she winced as the plane rolled into motion. “Just consider this my ten-minute break, okay?”

  “Okay, but I’m timing you,” he said, twisting his wrist like he was checking his watch. She didn’t laugh, though, and her skin paled.

  It was no fun to tease her if she crossed into freaked-out territory.

  The plane quickly gained speed as they accelerated down the runway, and her grimace grew. Unable to help himself, he gently placed his hand over hers, readying himself for a lecture on how it wasn’t professional, and then he’d get to discover which section of the handbook it violated.

  She lifted her hand and he thought, There’s the brush-off I expected. But she simply twisted her wrist so their palms met. Then she squeezed his hand so hard that if it were back in the day, taking a flight before a big game, he’d worry he wouldn’t be able to throw the football.

  Since those days were long behind him, and he found he liked being her lifeline, he squeezed back. He even decided to pretend not to hear the tiny squeal she made as they lifted into the air.

  Chapter Seven

  The giant window in the hotel room was a huge distraction, one Charlotte was having more and more trouble not focusing on. The blue sky went on forever, water lapped the sandy shore, and the sun shone on the people who occasionally wandered past, all of them looking happy and perfectly at peace with the world.

  She and Lance had worked through the flight and arrived at the opulent hotel about two hours ago, only to discover her room wasn’t quite ready yet. They’d ordered lunch and set up camp in his suite, which had a large front area and a door to the bedroom that made her feel much better about using the space as a temporary office.

  Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. “It’s my job to make sure you get the breaks required by labor laws.”

  Lance barely glanced up at her, his gaze immediately drifting back to the papers in his hands. For a second or two, she got caught up staring at the big hands and long fingers that’d wrapped around her palm as they’d been lifting off from San Antonio. She’d grabbed his hand right before landing, too. It was okay, she told herself, because she would’ve grabbed a stranger’s hand on the plane as well—had done that before.

  She supposed now that she’d experienced the brush of his skin, callused from years of holding and throwing a football, it didn’t matter how many times she touched it, as long as she didn’t linger. She ripped the papers from his grasp, gripped his hand, and tugged.

  He didn’t budge, the jerk.

  “Come…on.” The grunt that came out as she tugged again was extra attractive, so good thing she didn’t care about being attractive for her boss. “I demand a fifteen-minute break. I’ve never touched this side of the ocean.”

  “The ocean has sides?” Finally, he stopped fighting and let her pull him up.

  “Totally. Only pretentious people call them coasts.”

  He laughed, low and deep, and a swirl went through her gut. Since she’d noticed the accidental reaction, she forced herself to drop his hand. Mission achieved and all that, so any longer would’ve been lingering anyway, and she absolutely wasn’t going to let herself do that. To further keep herself on track, she rushed over to the patio door and slid it open. Ocean-scented air hit her, the breeze swirling her hair around her face. So much for the time she’d spent with her straightener this morning—the humidity was already bringing out the wave, and soon it’d be on the frizzy side.

  “You’re lucky you’re pretty, ocean,” she mumbled.

  “What?” Lance asked from right behind her, and she jumped. He’d moved faster than she realized, and apparently he didn’t make any noise when he walked. Good to know, although she wasn’t sure why, and her overactive thoughts only proved how much she needed a mini-break.

  “Nothing. Come on.”

  “Don’t you want to change first?”

  “I’m afraid my boss would subtract the minutes from my break.”

  He shook his head, but a smile spread across his face. “This from the woman who’s constantly spouting rules.”

  “Not for the next fifteen minutes,” she said, unbuckling her shoes and kicking them aside. Her skirt kept her from moving as fast as she would’ve liked, but she managed to take the steps down to the beach without tripping, and then her toes were digging into the warm sand.

  Stress melted off her as she inhaled the salty air, her cares and worries drifting somewhere far away, to be dealt with later. She closed her eyes and tipped her face to the sun.

  She felt Lance step up next to her, and having her eyes closed made other things about him stand out. That hint of rich cedar cologne mixing in with the breeze, the way his hulking presence thinned the oxygen surrounding her—or maybe that was because she was at sea level.

  Wait. Air got thinner the higher the elevation. And it wasn’t exactly a huge change from Texas. Whatever. She was sure there was some type of science to explain it.

  “You can go ahead and say it,” she said, cracking open her eyes. “This was a good idea.” She craned her neck to peer up at his face. Without her shoes, he was that much taller now, practically dwarfing her like the chairs in his office. His dark hair was too short to be affected by the wind, but the sun played on the planes of his face, highlighting the slope of his nose and the way his scruff accentuated his lips.

  The trick on this trip wouldn’t be ignoring the way he looked—she’d already discovered that was impossible. But more accepting he was beautiful in a rugged, devastating sort of way that made her ovaries react. The important thing was overruling them with her brain. To help with that, she put extra space between them, moving toward the frothy waves that were calling her name.

  “Eep, it’s a bit cooler than I expected. Refreshing, but I have goose bumps now.” Usually she didn’t go down to the Gulf of Mexico to play in the water until the summer. “Guess I’m going to have to wiggle around to keep myself warm.” She hiked up her skirt a few inches and spun, and Lance moved closer, the hint of a smile on his lips.

  The smile didn’t fully catch, though, which meant he still wasn’t letting go of his work thoughts—not getting the break they both needed. So she did what any logical person would do and kicked a stream of water at him.

  He dodged out of the way, dang it, and flashed her a reprimanding look.

  She kicked harder, the water hitting his legs this time. A laugh spilled out of her, so loud she nearly startled herself. It’d been a long time since she’d laughed that loud.

  He stepped into the oncoming tide, the water drifting up to mid-calf range and lapping at his rolled-up pants—they were both going to be wet by the end of this, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Why travel all the way to the beach if they weren’t going to get a few minutes of ocean and sun?

  The bikini she’d thrown in her suitcase on a whim needed to be broken out and worn, in theory. Wearing it was another story, especially if she thought about wearing it in front of her boss. Maybe I should’ve bought a one-piece.

  Too late now.

  Lance pushed up his sleeves a few more inches, exposing more of his forearms to the sun and her disobedient eyes. “It seems you’re assuming that as a former quarterback, I don’t know how to tackle. If you want to find out how good I am at it, go ahead and kick more water at me.”

  “Tackling definitely breaches section two of the handbook,” she said with a grin, and then she swung her foot through the water, sending another stream at him.

  He lunged for her, and she squealed, the same way she’d accidentally done as they’d taken off in the plane. Her dang skirt kept her legs bound together, and she wobbled. Her stomach dropped as she flung out her arms, her hands searching for purchase.

  Lance snagged her wrist and steadied her.

  Water
seeped into her skirt, the wave soaking the fabric before the tide took the swell away.

  “Don’t tackle me, okay?” she said, her eyes imploring his.

  “Like you stopped splashing me?”

  “You can splash me.”

  He leaned down like he was going to cup the water, and she threw up her hands. “No, wait!”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  She laughed again, happiness floating through her as she stared at him. Regardless of whether or not he would admit it, she could see his shoulders were looser, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. Another, stronger wave crashed into them, and she gripped his biceps to keep her legs from getting swept out from under her, gasping as the water hit high on her thighs. “I got a little wetter than I meant to.”

  “I’m sure there’s a section of the handbook that would advise me against turning that into an innuendo and delivering a line about how that happens a lot when women are around me.”

  A combination of embarrassment and surprise twisted through her, but she covered it the best she could and rolled her eyes. She carefully removed her hands from the biceps she couldn’t help noticing were quite firm. “Thank you for not tackling me or letting me fall. This outfit isn’t really meant for swimming.”

  “Hey, I suggested we change.”

  “I was trying to save time.” A piece of hair stuck to her lip gloss, and she swiped at it—or what she thought was it. “And patience isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

  “No,” he said, putting way too much fake shock into it.

  “I’m going to splash you again.” She took another swipe at the stubborn strand of hair stuck to her lip, but she couldn’t find where it was coming from and—

  Lance reached out and swept it off her face. His fingers brushed the shell of her ear as he tucked the hair behind it, and in a low, challenging voice, he said, “Bring it.”

  A shock of awareness traveled down her spine, and she was caught in his gaze, unable to look away.

  “Lance? Is that you?”

  His spine straightened, and he dropped his hand like she was a hot coal that’d burned him. A group of people was coming toward them, a lean dark-haired woman at the front of the crowd.

  Lance made his way toward the shore, and she followed. As they neared the group, the woman’s sharp eyes moved from him to Charlotte. Instinctually, she wanted to wrap herself around his arm and use him as a shield, but she knew that’d give everyone the wrong idea.

  The woman threw her arms around Lance and squeezed him tight. “How long have you been here? And why didn’t you text to say you’d arrived already?” Her features softened as she peered over Lance’s shoulder at Charlotte. “And who is this beautiful woman by your side?”

  “We haven’t been here long,” Lance said, giving his mom a tight squeeze before breaking the hug and angling his head in Charlotte’s direction. “Charlotte and I have been working since we checked in, but we decided to take a quick break and get some air.”

  “I’ll bet,” the guy in the group said. If she was the betting type—which she wasn’t, for the record—she’d put her money on the dark-haired guy being Lance’s brother and the groom-to-be. He stepped forward, and they exchanged a bro-hug. Then he gave the woman holding his brother’s hand a quick hug before turning to the couple with two young boys and embracing the female in their group, who also had dark hair and matching blue eyes.

  He squatted to talk to the boys, and Charlotte couldn’t help grinning as they called him Uncle Lance and immediately began regaling him with stories of seagulls and sand castles.

  Lance straightened and made introductions, confirming the group was comprised of his mom, Maribelle; his brother, Mitch, and fiancée, Stacy; as well as his sister, Taylor, her husband, and his two nephews, Aaron and Austin. “…and this is Charlotte James, my business associate. Charlotte is the Mustangs’ human resources director. I tripled her workload by shaking everything up, so I figured the least I could do was bring her along to the beach where she could get in some sunshine and catch a few waves while we worked.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” Maribelle said. Charlotte extended a hand, but the woman made a pshaw noise and pulled her into a hug. “We’re a family of huggers.”

  Charlotte gave Lance a teasing glance. “I never would’ve guessed.”

  “That’s because you have rules against everything,” he muttered so just she could hear, and she barely resisted sticking her tongue out at him.

  “You both are joining us for dinner, right?” Maribelle asked, her expression all expectant.

  “Oh,” Charlotte said, panic surging forward and abrading her senses. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, and I don’t want to interrupt your family plans.”

  “Nonsense. Tell your boss to give you the night off.” Maribelle patted Lance’s chest. “Dinner’s at Basnight’s at six o’clock. It wasn’t easy to get reservations for such a large group, so don’t be late.”

  Well that was that. Apparently Charlotte would be having dinner with Lance’s entire family.

  Chapter Eight

  At the soft knock, Lance crossed the living room area of his suite and swung open the door.

  His breath caught as he took in Charlotte, her hair pinned up in one of those twisty things women did. Her dress was black and came all the way up to the neck, but her sleeves were sheer, and there was something really hot about that. He still couldn’t believe what she’d said about the guys she’d met at the speed dating event, and how they weren’t interested in her. Did she not realize she was beautiful? Not that she’d allow him to tell her, because it’d break the rules.

  To keep himself from blurting out something he shouldn’t, he focused on finishing up the knot in his tie. “You could’ve just used the key I gave you instead of having to knock. This is our office for the time being.”

  “Yeah, but it’s different since our actual office doesn’t usually have a bedroom on one side, and there’s not a possibility of me walking in on you changing.”

  “I could change in my office in the city.”

  “Which is why I’ll knock on both your office doors before entering,” she said, a self-satisfied smirk to her lips, as if she’d proven her point.

  He strode over to the table to grab his wallet. “How’s your room?”

  “Exceptionally nice. I sort of feel like I don’t belong there—maybe you should’ve booked me at a different, less fancy hotel. Or do they have a room in the basement or something? I’d feel more at home there.”

  He scrunched up his forehead and stared at her, trying to figure out whether or not she was joking. Maybe a little bit, but he got the feeling she truly wasn’t that comfortable with being treated well, and that scraped a nerve. Why did she always downplay what she did, how she looked, what she deserved? “Between all the long hours and being willing to come along on this trip, you deserve that and then some.”

  “Thank you.” She reached up and rubbed the side of her neck. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your family time, either. If you need a break from me, just say the word and I can make myself scarce.”

  “The whole point of you coming along—besides getting all our work done—is so my mom can’t play matchmaker. I don’t have time for that nonsense. Not the matchmaking, not the dating. None of it. So I’m going to need you by my side at family functions, too.”

  “Oh, so I’m your beard?” she asked with a laugh, way too amused at herself.

  “Funny.” He ran a hand across his jaw. “I’ve already got a beard. One my mom will probably tell me I need to shave before the wedding.”

  Charlotte took a few steps closer and examined him. “It’s a nice beard. It suits you.”

  “Oh, hey. An actual compliment.”

  “Compliments aren’t against the rules,” she quickly said.

  He couldn’t quite figure her out. Most of the time she was the uptight rule follower—and spouter—but there were these moments she’d suddenly be surprisi
ngly laid-back. Like on the beach earlier when she’d been laughing and kicking water at him, her hair swirling around her smiling face.

  It’d caused an oddly pleasant tightening sensation inside his chest, and he wasn’t sure if he was experiencing residual affection or if he was softening toward her in general. It was like the ocean water had swept away some of her seriousness and revealed a hidden side to her—the same side that wore those tights and heels. “Noted,” he said. “You ready?”

  She nodded, and without thinking, he lifted his hand to put it on her lower back as they exited the room. Last second he dropped it, sure she’d take issue with it. As he pulled the door closed behind them, he remembered the phone call he’d taken right before she’d shown up.

  “I made a few inquiries about Coach Bryant and have decided to conduct a phone interview with him for the head coach position. Do you want to be on the call, too?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes, that’d be awesome.” The excitement faded, and two creases formed between her eyebrows. “Unless you think… I know there have been some big changes and even a few female coaches signing with NFL teams, but there’s still a lot of pushback. The good old boys’ club isn’t exactly open to a woman weighing in, and even though he’s on the younger side, I’m not sure what camp he falls into. What if the fact that I’m part of the interview process makes him decide not to take the job?”

  “Then screw him. I don’t want someone like that on my team.”

  Utter astonishment flickered across her features.

  He meant it. If someone was stupid enough not to take a job because of that, he didn’t want to work with him. He wanted open-minded people. People willing to shake things up enough to take a losing team to one they could all be proud of.

  “That means a lot,” she said, her voice soft.

  And that damn tightening sensation went through his chest again.

  …

  Charlotte watched Lance’s family interact with each other, smiling as they jibbed and reminisced and caught up on each other’s lives. While the tablecloths in the private room they’d reserved were white linen, and there were candles—that quickly got blown out by Taylor when one of her sons reached for them—the room was far from quiet, the mood far from swanky.