The Wedding Deal (Heart in the Game)

by Cindi Madsen

  “Where are they going?” he asked, and his brother shot him a smug expression.

  “Why?”

  He grunted.

  “Jealous of your girl going somewhere without you?” Hunter asked.

  Yes, yes he was. His gut clenched and burned, and he curled his hands into fists. But what he said was, “She’s not my girl.”

  “Why not?”

  “She works for the Mustangs, and there are rules against it.”

  “So can I—?”

  “No,” Lance said, with enough bite that Hunter lifted his hands in the classic backing-down signal.

  Mitch’s smugness moved into punch-it-off-him territory. “I knew it. Mom’s going to be thrilled.”

  “Like I said, it can’t happen, and it would be better not to crush Mom’s dreams, so I’d rather you not mention it.”

  “Fine.” Mitch reached inside the stocked minibar and dug out the booze as the limo pulled away from the hotel. “But it’s not like we can’t all see it, Mom included. You should’ve heard her when they got back from the nail salon. It was Charlotte this and Charlotte that, and ‘I’m so glad Lance finally found a nice girl.’”

  When he’d suggested bringing her along to his brother’s wedding, he thought it’d keep his mom off his case. While she’d dropped the blind date requests and hadn’t given his number to any women so they could randomly call him, she was going to end up disappointed.

  Something to worry about later. He only had so much room in his brain for worries. Right now, every ounce of his focus was on rebuilding the team.

  Or it should be.

  If he was being honest with himself—which he was really trying not to be—it was on the other limo and how it and Charlotte were going in the opposite direction.

  Three stops and countless drinks later, half the guys in the wedding party were one more shot away from belligerence. Lance had stuck to mostly beer and a tumbler of inordinately expensive whiskey, and now he was beyond ready to go back to the resort and put the night behind him. He’d been over the party scene long ago, and clubs had never been his thing.

  Mitch looked at his phone, his face illuminated by the bright screen. He shifted forward in his seat and told the driver, “One more stop.”

  Lance bit back a groan as Mitch rattled off the name of what sounded like a pretentious club. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Pretty soon these guys are going to be stupid enough to end up in the tabloids. You, too.”

  “Oh, and you don’t want me stealing your most-eligible-bachelor-status thunder?”

  Lance whacked the back of his brother’s head, earning a laugh from him and most everyone in the car. “You can have all the thunder, jackass. I just want to go back to the hotel and live out my bachelor status by going to bed.”

  “If you want, you can ask the driver to take you to the resort after he drops us off, and I’ll just have him come back for us afterward.”

  Thank God. Lance didn’t want to sit in a club and watch the guys drink, and he didn’t want to brush off women’s advances, the way he had at the last place. It was hard to explain that he was taken when he wasn’t.

  Although he was.

  Dammit, it was complicated, and he hated when people said stupid shit like that about their relationship status. Either you were in one or not. He didn’t want to be in one. Didn’t have time.

  But…

  “Okay, you guys have fun,” he said when the limo pulled up to the curb. The smile Mitch gave him sent foreboding prickling across his skin. He was about to be the brunt of a joke, he could sense it.

  “I should probably mention that the reason we’re coming to this particular club is because the girls are here. Which means that Charlotte is here, too.” His brother’s grin widened. “Still want to go back to the hotel, old man?”

  Lance lifted his middle finger.

  But then he climbed out of the limo, and at the thought of seeing Charlotte, every ounce of tiredness that’d crept into his body melted away.

  …

  Charlotte laughed as their group danced around the center of the floor, their moves exaggerated and extra sloppy thanks to the alcohol they’d consumed.

  They’d done a pub crawl of sorts, hitting bars up and down the outer banks. Somewhere in the middle they’d also stopped at a luxury lingerie and beauty boutique where the employees had taken their spree in stride. Then they’d ended up in this club, where they’d had another round of drinks. Thanks to all the dancing, Charlotte’s buzz was already fading, which meant other thoughts were creeping in.

  I probably should’ve called Dad back. What if I’m not being supportive enough, and that makes it harder for him to succeed?

  No, it’s okay to take a day to figure out how I feel, and I’m not thinking about that for another hour. Or two?

  It’s not like she could have an intense conversation like that at a noisy nightclub, and the girls didn’t seem as if they’d be stopping anytime soon.

  Stacy’s Bride-to-Be sash slipped down her shoulders, stopping around her waist.

  Charlotte stepped toward her and readjusted it. “Those moves are too awesome to be constrained. Not to mention I’d never forgive myself if you tripped and sprained your ankle or something.”

  Stacy giggled and grabbed Charlotte’s hands, swaying and spinning her before pulling her in for a hug. “I’m so glad you came. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Lance so happy, too. He’s usually sorta grumpy.”

  “Oh, he’s plenty grumpy still. I drive him crazy.”

  “Yes, you do, but in a good way.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a thing,” Charlotte said with a laugh, but Stacy nodded, her mini-veil bobbing with the movement.

  “It is. And you can’t disagree with a bride before her wedding—it’s a rule.”

  “Well, I am a rule follower.”

  Stacy gave her a sloppy grin. “Good. You know, ever since Lance’s last girlfriend cheated on him, he hasn’t dated at all. That and the injury turned him into a hermit, and Maribelle’s been so worried about him. I told her that when the right girl came along, he’d get it together.”

  Charlotte didn’t know what to say. Everyone was getting the wrong idea—hell, even she was. Earlier today he’d listened to her, and they’d had a great afternoon, getting a ton of work done and culling down their list to their top picks for several positions.

  “I’m not disagreeing with the bride-to-be, per se,” Charlotte started, “but you should know that Lance and I aren’t a couple. We just work together.”

  “Okay, but then why is he striding over here like he’s coming to claim you?”

  Charlotte whipped around. She thought Stacy would laugh about how she’d proved her point by pretending Lance was at the club, and how fast Charlotte had turned to check.

  But there he was, striding toward her exactly like she’d said, and even as she told herself it wasn’t a big deal and the rest of the guys were heading their way as well, a thrill shivered up her core.

  His gaze was predatory, and her flight instinct should really be kicking in about now.

  But if she was in fact his prey, she couldn’t even pretend that she didn’t want to be caught.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lance glared at the vultures who’d been circling, adding an extra glower at the dude who’d been ogling Charlotte’s legs.

  Not that he could blame him, but those were his legs to ogle.

  Rational thought had fled the instant he’d seen her on the floor, dancing and laughing, and he didn’t even care if his brother gave him shit.

  Finally he reached her, and his hand automatically went to her hip. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “I was thinking the same about you,” she said, her voice slightly breathless from the dancing. Her cheeks were flushed, too, and holy shit she was beautiful.

  He glanced around at the gyrating bodies and felt completely out of place. This was what he got for charging without thinking. He jerked his ch
in in the direction of the bar. “Wanna grab a drink?”

  Before Charlotte could answer, Stacy gave her a firm shove, hard enough Charlotte wobbled and gripped on to his arms for support.

  “Have fun, you two,” she said with a grin. He’d have to thank her later.

  Still, he waited to make sure Charlotte was on board with the plan to grab a drink with him instead of tossing her over his shoulder like the caveman she’d turned him into. He raised an eyebrow, and the tiny groove in her cheek came out as she nodded. “A drink sounds good.”

  He took hold of her hand so he wouldn’t lose her in the push and pull of the moving crowd, and an electric current twisted up his arm as she laced her fingers with his.

  Once they reached the bar, he ordered a whiskey neat and turned to get her order.

  “The same for me,” she said to the bartender.

  He couldn’t keep the surprise off his face.

  “When in Rome,” she said with a shrug. “Also, whiskey was what my dad always kept in the house, and sometimes when friends came over, we’d break into his stash, so it’s my go-to when I want something with a kick.”

  “Underage drinking?” He gasped. “You broke some rules?”

  “Back in the day.” She reached for the tumbler the bartender slid across the bar and tipped it back in one big gulp. “Speaking of the rules”—she lowered her voice into flirtatious territory as she batted her dark eyelashes at him—“your hand is in danger of breaking section three of the handbook, Mr. Quaid.”

  He hadn’t realized he’d hooked it over her hip, but now tantalizing heat was replacing the blood in his body, compelling him to tighten his grip. He tipped back his own drink and tugged her closer so her body was flush with his. “I’m still a bit fuzzy on the rules.”

  “Sounds like I’d better give you a lesson.”

  Usually he’d groan and prepare for a lecture, but she hadn’t moved away, and her voice had a sultry edge, as did the curve of her lips.

  “This is the line…” She put her hand over his and moved it higher on her side. Then she moved it down, sliding it along her hip and leaving it on the curve of her ass. “This would be breaking it.” She moved it up again. “Fine.” Back down to her ass, and his fingers twitched of their own accord. She tsked. “Definitely breaking it.”

  Desire inundated his system and his thoughts grew fuzzy—and not from the whiskey.

  “Also, this…” She pressed the front of her body against his. “Too close, lots of improper touching—it’d definitely make other coworkers uncomfortable, too.”

  His throat went dry, and he rasped out, “Good thing none of our coworkers are here.”

  “Yeah. Guess that’s the positive spin to you firing them all.” Her smile turned haughty, and no amount of thinking of plays or drills could keep him from hardening against her stomach.

  The pulse beating at the base of her throat fluttered, and he reached his other hand up and cupped her neck, his thumb resting against that rush of blood.

  “See, I’m used to football rules. Whenever I’d put my finger on those laces…” He moved his hand to her lower back, spreading his fingers and holding her flush against him. “Protect the ball at all costs. Don’t get sacked. Because when you get sacked, a lot of times things get dirty.”

  “Ooh,” she said, and he gave her a look.

  “Head out of the gutter, James. I mean that players might take advantage of the fact that refs can’t see very well. They might rough the passer a bit.” He gently jostled her. Then he lowered his mouth to her ear. “There’s even been some biting.”

  He sank his teeth into the shell of her ear, and she arched against him, as if she couldn’t help herself. Which made it that much harder to control himself.

  He didn’t even care if they were creating a spectacle. All he cared about was that she wasn’t pulling away.

  “With the helmets,” she breathed, “ear biting seems highly unlikely.”

  His lips brushed her temple as he said, “Did you want me to bite somewhere else?”

  Her fingers dug into his biceps, and her breasts bumped against his chest as she inhaled and exhaled. “Lance,” she whispered, and the want flooding his insides turned to need. He needed this woman.

  But a deal was a deal. Or a decree or whatever the hell it was. She had to make the move. He stayed perfectly still, silently urging her to rise onto her toes and kiss him. “Mm-hmm,” he finally said.

  She peered up at him, suddenly shy. “I…” She glanced around. “There are all these other women here, undoubtedly wanting a shot at dancing with you. There’s a chance someone might snap a few pics to send out to the gossip rags, and it’d be free PR, the NFL’s newest eligible bachelor out on the town for a night.”

  Talk about whiplash. He was thinking of kissing her breathless and whisking her out of the club, and she was worried about PR?

  “Didn’t I tell you I didn’t care about PR?”

  “You can’t just not care about it,” she said.

  “Fine. If I leave your side, other guys will hit on you, and that’ll piss me off and then I’ll get into a fight, which would be bad PR.” Since he wanted a reason to keep touching her, keep this night going where he wanted it to, he took a few breaths to calm himself down the best he could and tugged her toward the floor. “This bachelor only wants to dance with you. And, Charlotte, that’s coming from a guy who would usually run the other way at the mention of the word dance.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  This was the most pathetic attempt at putting up a fight ever. No, she didn’t fight, didn’t drag her feet, simply let Lance tug her into the crowd of swaying bodies on the dance floor.

  As if Fate—or the Master Temptress—was in charge, the music changed to a slow song. Lance drew her close and wound his arms around her waist. She tipped onto her toes and linked her fingers behind his neck.

  Every inch of her body was plastered against him, and since she had to reach—even in her heels—it meant she was also leaning heavily on him.

  “I like this dress you’re wearing,” Lance said, his gaze dipping to take her in. Passion flared in the blue depths, and his pupils nearly swallowed them up. That same passion transferred to her, rolling through her body in a molten wave. “And those fucking tights. The mix of siren and sweet shoes with bows on them made me crazy the instant I saw them.”

  She swallowed and worked to keep her voice even. “Usually I wear more proper ones, but I decided the club and this purple bandage dress called for fishnets, so I picked some up on my way back from the nail salon.”

  “Proper,” he said with a pft. “Those other tights with the black line are just as sexy. Every time I see them my fingers twitch with the need to trace that line up the back of your calves, thighs…all the way up your skirt.”

  Her attempt to swallow again went nowhere, her throat too tight. “They’re classic. And vintage.”

  “They’re naughty.”

  She shook her head but couldn’t help the smile. “I stand by my classic claim. I do see what you mean about the combo, though. Yours is also doing strange things to my insides.” She ran one finger down the buttons on his shirt. “Part business, with top buttons casually undone. Sleeves rolled up, showing off your muscled forearms…”

  With a smile, he lifted his arm and let her get up close and personal with one of her favorites of his features. She traced the large vein across the top, her mouth going dry.

  “Then there’s the beard…” As soon as she shifted to touch his jaw, his hand returned to the curve of her ass, an inch or so lower than proper. She dragged her fingertips across the stubble, up to the scruff above his lip. She flattened her hand and smoothed her palm down the side of his face, enjoying the scrape of whiskers against sensitive skin.

  They barely swayed, their eyes locked on each other. The rest of the people faded away, her world narrowing to the feel of his body against hers. His blue eyes. The soulful musician singing about love. The flickering light
s highlighting each one of Lance’s rugged features.

  Her attention narrowed in on those lips, so inviting, so close. “Prepare for the awkward,” she whispered, and he held her tighter as a slow smile spread across his face.

  He inclined his head, his mouth a breath away. “Okay. I’m prepared.”

  “I don’t think you are.” She moved her hands to his shoulders and tipped as far on to her toes as she could. Seconds ground out in the air, and her rapid pulse thundered through her head. Self-consciousness set in, and she really should’ve popped a mint or something. Without thinking, she lowered herself back onto her heels.

  “You’re right,” he said. “This is awkward.”

  She gave him a dirty look. “I just need…” Her tongue struggled to form the right words, which were never going to come to her anyway.

  “What do you need, Charlotte? Name it.”

  Okay. Try two. She could do this. “Don’t move…”

  “Your wish is my…wish.”

  Her stomach rose up, up, up, and she mimicked the movement with her whole body, tipping onto her toes again. One last sip of oxygen and she pressed her lips against his. A jolt whipped through her body, zapping every organ at once.

  But he didn’t move. Didn’t deepen the kiss. She pulled back an inch and scrunched up her eyebrows. “I thought… I thought you’d help a little more.”

  His low laugh echoed against the hands she’d braced on his chest. “You told me not to move. Trust me, it wasn’t easy, either.”

  “I didn’t mean like forever. Just as I was—”

  His lips crashed down on hers, insistent yet soft, and her body went pliant. If he hadn’t held her up as he parted her lips with his tongue and delved inside, she would’ve melted to the floor. She clung on to him as the world around them spun, lights flickering faster, the music drowned out by the rush of her heated blood.

  His thigh slipped between both of hers, and she moaned as he pressed against the ache forming between her legs. Her body arched of its own accord, and she gasped at his hard length.