by Lisa Rayne
He shut the car door. Bluffing? Like hell he was.
Chapter 3
Naomi walked into Dash’s home and lost herself. The memories hit hard and fast, bruising in the vicinity of her middle chest. She’d practically lived here during her last six months with Dash. She’d helped him decorate the place.
Nothing had changed. The warm colors, the elegant furnishings, the bold artwork, all remained preserved in her original design. She edged further into the entryway and glanced down the hardwood-floored hall. Her stomach tightened. Nothing had changed except for the antique hutch Dash had bought her on a surprise antiquing trip he’d taken her on to Nell Hills in Atchison, Kansas.
She’d spotted the hutch almost immediately upon walking into the nationally acclaimed antique store. She’d admired the hutch, running her hands over its fine oak-grain top in appreciation and lamenting that its large size wouldn’t fit in her one-bedroom condo. To her surprise, when they’d returned to Dash’s, the hutch had sat in the—now empty—alcove at the mouth of the long hallway that led to his back office. He’d said then he’d hold it for her until she got a bigger place. Ironically, circumstances had led her to move into a small, two-bedroom home large enough to house the piece, but he’d gotten rid of it.
Her gaze turned from the empty spot that once held her antique, and she choked off the sense of loss threatening to overtake her. Playful shadows danced across the entryway tile, drawing her attention to the natural light dripping through a series of skylights in the two-story-high ceiling. She’d always loved that feature. Stepping into the invading sunshine, she spun in a slow circle to survey the rest of the area and give herself time to regroup.
“I love what you’ve done with the place. Went crazy with the redecorating I see.” The sarcasm sounded forced to her ears. She hoped he didn’t notice.
“I like everything the way it is.”
She stopped moving to face him. “I’d have thought you’d want to make some changes.”
He shrugged. “You know my motto. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
She did know that motto of his, and well. Living up to it had forced her into a romantic coma of sorts. They’d entered their relationship with a mutual understanding that it would be a casual fling and nothing more. Somewhere along the way, her causal heart had turned serious, but she’d done everything in her power not to let him know. Content with the way their relationship stood, Dash wouldn’t have welcomed the shift. If he’d suspected the depth of her feelings for him, he’d have ended their relationship quicker than Usain Bolt could run the one hundred meter dash. As it turned out, he’d ended things anyway for a different reason, one even more painful than mere rejection.
Dash leaned against the door with his arms crossed. He still had those annoying sunglasses on. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could tell he watched her.
She tilted her head. “So, Dash, what’s it going to be? You going to give me the story behind that photo?”
His lips turned up in a lazy smile. His dimples winked at her and made her heart palpitate.
Slowly, he pushed off the door, removed his sunglasses, and dropped them on the entry sideboard next to his keys. He sauntered towards her. “Darling, I’ll be happy to tell you whatever you want to know about that photo, but first we have some personal business to take care of.”
Her eyes widened. She stepped back, unnerved by the realization he’d been serious about them getting naked. The memory of Dash in the buff flitted through her mind. Female parts long neglected sprang to life. She’d made a mistake allowing him to bring her here. She took another step back. “Dash, be serious.”
“You know I’m not one for jokes. When it comes to getting you in my bed, I’m always serious.” He continued to move towards her.
Naomi’s heart pounded. She took yet another step back, but stopped when she noticed she’d almost backed herself into the living room. She glanced over her shoulder and eyed the black leather couch where he’d first kissed her below the waist. The memory incited dampening between her thighs. Her hand went to her throat, and she nixed the idea of retreating to the living room.
Dash stopped in front of her, his warm eyes lust-tinted. He reached behind her head and fisted his hand down a portion of her waterfall ponytail. “You know, Naomi,” his voice modulated to a low, contemplative tone, “you do things to me no other woman has ever been able to … before or after you. How do you manage that?”
His hand trailed down and rested on top of hers at the base of her throat. His smooth, even words washed over her. She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to lean into him. She wanted to be strong enough to pull away from him, but she found herself easing the other direction. “Shouldn’t that be my line? You’re not my type, remember?”
He chuckled. “You can’t still be hung up on the fact I’m six years younger than you. I thought we killed that beast?”
She pulled away from him with difficulty. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Their age difference had bothered her for a while. She’d never connected well with younger men. Their lack of maturity and inability to be dependable, responsible partners tapped into all her unresolved childhood issues. Dash had surprised her by being more mature than men she’d dated ten years his senior. As they’d gotten to know each other, and she’d learned his history, she’d understood that his upbringing had accelerated his maturation in a way no child should have to endure. Unfortunately for her, that same childhood had made him a trust-adverse, commitment-phobe. So, he lacked the dependability characteristic at the top of her male wish list. She couldn’t rest her mind enough to put complete faith in a guy who had trust and commitment issues, especially a professional athlete.
“Ah.” He nodded “The whole pro athlete, man-whore thing.” He moved closer, brushing the front of his shirt against her blouse-covered breasts.
“I never said you were a man-whore.” Her voice wavered.
His lips curved into a half grin. He’d noticed the tremors in her voice. “Yeah, but you thought it often enough.” His lips gave in to a full smile. Those dimples reappeared, weakening her resolve.
Before she understood his intent, Dash backed her against the couch she’d tried to avoid. She bounced away from the dangerous seating and landed against a wall of solid quarterback. Her hands flew to his chest. She pushed, trying to restore some distance between them, but he wrapped his arms around her waist and trapped her arms between them. He slid a hand down to her behind, pulling her closer and letting her feel the hard length of his arousal against her stomach. Everything in her went liquid and hungry, but she fought her traitorous hormones.
She pressed hard against his chest again to no avail. “Back off, Dash,” she said in a breathless voice. “I’m not falling for your Casanova magic this time.” She sidestepped away from him.
He stopped her progress with a hand to her hip and gently pulled her back against him. “Magic? Is that what it took for you to give me a chance?” He dipped his lips towards hers in slow motion. “Let’s see if I can still conjure up a spell or two.”
Naomi saw the kiss coming, but couldn’t move. When his lips found hers, the reasons for her reluctance fled her mind. Magic? Yeah, he still had it.
His lips claimed hers without haste. He slid his tongue across one lip and then the other, taking his time as if refamiliarizing himself with her taste. Her pulse raced, and she became lightheaded. His kiss still held the potency to make her forget herself and her surroundings. Her knees weakened. She grasped his shoulders to anchor herself, melding her body closer to his.
Sensing her weakness, Dash grabbed her around the waist with one arm and lifted her off the ground. His free hand rose to the back of her head. When he finally took entry to her mouth, he stoked the embers of their hiatal passion back to a full-on blaze. In mere seconds, the kiss slid from testing to happy-to-see-you-again to damn-I-want-you.
Naomi moaned, feeling her defenses melt under the seductive assau
lt. If she didn’t put the brakes on this, a trip to his bedroom would be the next order of business. She pulled away from his lips. “Dash, I didn’t come here for this.”
“That’s okay. Now, that you’re here, let’s make the best of it.”
His lips brushed hers again, mating seductively against the fullness of her lips then sliding across her jaw and down to that spot on her throat that when suckled by him had the power to spark her arousal almost straight to orgasm. She whimpered. He’d pulled out the big guns. She no longer doubted his seriousness. He meant to have sex with her. At this rate, they’d do the act right here in his living room.
She tried to wiggle out of his arms. “Dash, put me down.”
“Okay.” He perched her on the back of the couch of X-rated memories and stepped between her legs. The bulge straining the front of his pants found her pulsing core. He reached for her belt and began to unfasten it.
She grabbed his wrists tightly. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow your row, homeboy.” Arousal, nervousness, anger wracked her all at once and made her voice come out husky.
“Why? You’re as turned on right now as I am. Why shouldn’t we take advantage of this? I could bend you over the back of this couch and take us both to paradise.”
He could. He’d done it several times before in this very spot. She trembled at the thought of him doing so again.
What had she done with her self-respect? This man had accused her of betraying him and tossed her out of his life. When she’d needed his support the most, he’d let her down. He’d proved himself cut from the same cloth as her absentee father and reinforced her belief that she should never seek romance with a professional athlete.
The realization that his suave moves could so easily entice her into wanting him again washed over her in tremors laced with humiliation. That he’d intentionally turned his seductive powers on stun to manipulate her made her lash out and bait him. “You were caught kissing another man. What makes you think I’d still want you in any way?”
Her curt tone broke his mood, but not his focus. “You mean other than your dilated pupils, your heavy breathing, and your damp panties?”
A sound of affront burst from her. “Damp panties? Don’t flatter yourself.” She released his wrists to dismount the couch.
He took advantage of the release to quickly undo her belt with a couple flicks of his wrist. “Do I need to prove it?”
She gasped as she slid off the couch. “You wouldn’t d—”
She caught the determined look in his eyes and cut off her statement. He’d dare. Only a fool would push him to prove it by claiming disbelief.
Her hesitation gave him the time he needed to release the button and slide down the zipper to her pants. “I wouldn’t what?” he challenged, moving one large hand to the waistband of her pale peach panties.
The urge to run pressed hard against her psyche, but she stilled the impulse. She hadn’t made it in the male-dominated sports journalism world and testosterone-filled universe of professional sports by backing down from a challenge. If she showed fear, he’d devour her. Not today. No way, no how.
She turned sharply away from him, slapping at his hand. “Stop it, Dash! That’s enough.” She stepped aside and refastened her pants and belt with sharp jerky movements. “You can’t gloss over this by distracting me with sex.”
Pants refastened, she moved to the opposite side of the couch from him. “Tell me what happened in the meeting today.” She pulled out her smartphone and pushed a few buttons. “I’ve searched for a press release from your people, but nothing’s come up. Why not? What’s the truth behind that photo?”
*
Dash clenched his jaw. Naomi’s quick reversion to reporter mode served as the reminder he needed that she was a reporter first, a woman second.
He turned away and headed for the kitchen. He needed a drink, a stiff drink. Too bad he didn’t drink alcohol during the season. Once summer training camp started, he strictly avoided the stuff. He’d have to settle for a really, really strong cup of coffee.
Naomi followed Dash into the kitchen, waiting patiently while he filled his coffee pot with water and measured out ground coffee beans. The gurgle of heated water infusing through the coffee filter filled the room before he turned back to her. “You can’t actually believe that picture is what it seems?”
“Why not?”
His eyebrow went up.
She shook her head and leaned against the frame of the doorless entry. The devil on her shoulder made her taunt him. “It looked pretty real to me.” She mimicked his earlier shrug. “People do things for strange reasons. I can think of a myriad reasons why a guy in your position would be silent or secretive in this situation—fear, intentional deception, self-denial. I’m not here to judge.”
He watched her face as she said the last. A scratch of hurt settled in his throat. “Really? After everything we’ve been through together, you honestly believe I’m lying about this?”
This time she raised an eyebrow. “Says the man who failed to give me the benefit of the doubt three years ago.”
She walked over to his cupboard, pulled down a jumbo Griffins mug, and walked to the coffee pot. She waited a minute for the last of the percolated brew to trickle into the carafe before filing the mug and handing it to him. “Many women have found themselves in relationships with men they later find out are gay.”
He took a sip of the black coffee she’d handed him. She was right about him doubting her before. He still did, but that was different.
She leaned against the counter, situating herself only a few inches from his shoulder. “Or bisexual.”
A sharp cough exploded from his airway as he choked back a swill of coffee. He disguised the fit of shock with a clearing of his throat and lowered his cup abruptly. “And most of those women would admit that in hindsight there’d been clues.” He lifted his mug, thought better of slurping another gulp, and lowered the cup. “What about you? In hindsight, what were your clues?”
She smiled, but didn’t answer him.
“Right.” As he watched her face, his hurt dissipated and he got peeved. “You minx. You don’t doubt me at all.” The mug in his hand plunked to the countertop.
Her lips lifted along with one shoulder. “No. I can tell there’s something not right about your image in that photograph. Was it doctored?”
“No.” He watched her eyes to see how she’d react to that.
“N-no. What do you mean, no?”
“According to KC Report Legal, they verified the authenticity of the picture before publication. They have a report from an expert certifying that the picture has not been altered.”
“How is that possible?”
He stabbed rigid fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Someone’s lying or bad at their job or … I don’t know. All I do know is someone’s screwing with my career. After that incident with the cheerleaders …” He skirted his eyes from hers and tried to stifle the sheepish pallor he felt creeping up his face.
Naomi rolled her eyes.
He gave a tiny shrug before he continued. “DuChamps warned me after that. Third strike and I’m history.” He sighed. “I want the starting position permanently. This tabloid blitz is going to screw up everything by sending DuChamps into another anti-Dash tizzy.”
She perked up. “You think someone is trying to get you in hot water with DuChamps? Maybe get you back on the bench or traded off the team?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. All I know is it’s not me in that picture, and I don’t know who the other guy is.” He pushed off the counter and crossed to the pantry where he pulled pasta noodles and a stock pot from the shelves. He carried the stock pot to the sink and filled it with water. He sat the pot of water on the stove to boil.
“Could someone have hired a lookalike? And if so, who and why?”
“I. Don’t. Know. Look, Naomi, I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Come on, Dash. I want to find the truth. You�
�ve got to have some idea who’d do something like this.”
“The truth? Ha. Don’t you mean you want to find another scoop to further your career?”
Her expression tightened.
“Bingo.” He gloated.
“I’m a reporter. This is what I do. You knew that when you pursued me. Now, stop acting so self-righteous and talk to me. Come on. I could use this story, and you’d do better to let me tell it than to trust someone else.”
“Yeah, right. Like trust and journalism go so well together.” He positioned himself in front of her. “I’d have thought the last story you did on my life would have set you up pretty well. Have you already burned out the shining star that rose over your career with that story?”
“How many times do I have to say it, Dash? I didn’t leak that story about your childhood. I would never do something like that. I tried to keep it from coming out, but I couldn’t.”
“You couldn’t? Really? It was your byline on that article. Well, yours and Ray Jackson’s. That doesn’t suggest you tried very hard.”
Naomi’s fist clenched at her side at the mention of her mentor. Those jewel green eyes darkened. He’d hit a nerve.
He moved back to the stove to check his water. “I’m through talking about this for today. If you’d care to stay for dinner … and the night, we can speculate all you want as to the what, when, who, and why after you wake up in my bed tomorrow.”
She pushed off the counter. “Stop suggesting I trade sex for your cooperation. It’s not funny anymore,” she snapped.
“You slept with me before to get a story. What’s so different now? At least this time, I know the score. No need to pretend there’s something more going on between us than a reporter plying her assets to further her trade.”
Naomi’s face reddened. “You know, one of these days maybe you’ll stop being such a jerk and actually let me explain what happened.” A cold edge laced her voice. “I’ve never slept with anyone for a story, least of all you. You should know me better than that.”
