by Lisa Rayne
She stepped to him until they stood toe-to-toe. Her eyes levered up his chest to his face. The twin emeralds flashed sparks that should have set him aflame. “Besides, if I were going to seduce someone into giving me inside information, why settle for second best? I’m smart enough not to waste my time with the backup quarterback. I would have gone straight for number one and spread my legs for Shave Stephens.”
His jaw twitched. He reached for her, but she spun away in a huff.
“Maybe I still will,” she said over her shoulder. “After all, if you’re gunning for his first-string spot, he’d have strong motive for wanting to ruin your credibility with DuChamps. That’d be one way to find out if he’s a viable suspect.”
“What!”
Naomi stormed from the kitchen, ignoring his angry bark.
He caught up with her in the entryway and grabbed her by the arm. “You stay away from Stephens.”
Naomi’s curt laugh bounced around the high ceiling. “What? Now you think you can order me around? Screw you.”
“I already made that offer. You just turned me down.”
“Grrrr!” She yanked her arm out of his grasp and grabbed his car keys off the sideboard. Snatching her tote off the floor, she headed for the front door.
“Where do you think you’re going with my keys?” he shouted.
“Home. You brought me here. You’re getting me home. I’m not paying for a cab, and I’m not waiting for you to call and pay for one. You have another car. Heck, you’ve got two more in your garage. Drive one of those.”
She grabbed the doorknob and pulled open the door. It bounced off the adjoining wall with a bang. She glared at him. “I’ll drop the Hyundai at the stadium tomorrow.”
Leaving the door wide open, she rushed outside.
Dash followed her. “Wait just a minute, woman.”
She ignored him, dashing to his car and activating the remote unlock mechanism en route.
“Dammit, Naomi. Wait.”
She continued to the car without pause.
His anger escalated. “Don’t you dare take off in my car without my permission.”
She didn’t stop.
“I’ll call the cops and have you arrested for theft.”
After opening the car door, she eyed him over the hood. She had the audacity to laugh at him. “You do that. I’m sure DuChamps is going to love having this domestic tiff written up in the morning paper on top of all the other speculation about you. Let’s see who ends up the real loser.”
She slid into the car, revved it to a start, and burned out of his driveway. She never looked back.
Dash stepped back into the house and slammed the door. “Shave Stephens, my ass.”
He’d make sure she didn’t get anywhere near another member of his team. The first man to touch her would end up with two broken legs.
After seeing her again today—after touching her again today—he understood something he hadn’t suspected before. The two of them had unfinished business. They might not be a couple anymore, but she was his until he said otherwise.
If she wanted to make this a battle of wills, he’d damn well give her one.
Chapter 4
Naomi stopped inside the doorway of the Griffins’ weight room the next morning. The clank of free weights and whoosh of pulleys accompanied muffled male voices that cursed, panted, and joked. The scenery—though not the smell—was enough to make a grown woman cry for joy. The offensive line had the room today. Half challenged their bodies beneath the free weights. The other half made their muscles groan beneath the resistance of high-tech weight machines.
She considered few sights more beautiful than a physically-fit, well-cared-for male body. Before her worked out twenty-four of the most well-preserved specimens of male physique within a one-thousand-mile radius. She stood silent, allowing herself the pleasure of ogling a firm tush here and a well-developed biceps there.
Finally, she stepped into the room. Like she had a tracking mechanism in her head and he wore a homing beacon, her eyes went unerringly to the man she’d come to find. Dash. She’d give him one more chance to be reasonable.
Dash stood under the weighted bar of the squat machine, his back to her. He’d removed his shirt, which allowed her to see the ripple of his back muscles as he situated himself into the proper position. A noticeable sheen of sweat glistened over his torso.
She watched him squat a few reps beneath his selected weight. The nylon of his workout shorts molded to his tight, firm buns. A kick of hormones pinged through her nervous system. She stifled the urge to fan herself.
Needing a distraction to allow her body chemistry to settle, she pulled her gaze away from Dash, and let it roam around the weight room. When she spotted Jonathan “Shave” Stephens sitting at the bench press station, she smiled at the fortuitous coincidence. Shave had earned his nickname because he could shave more points off an opponent’s lead, in the least amount of time, than any other quarterback in the history of the game. It stood to reason he might be able to turn the tide in this skirmish between her and Dash. Maybe she should alter her initial game plan and kill two birds with one stone.
Letting her hips sway in a movement as natural to her as breathing, Naomi glided over to Shave. She kept her focus on Shave but noticed over half the men present stopped what he was doing to watch her walk across the room. She internally shook her head at the unexpected compliment, not letting it go to her head. Men got distracted so easily.
When she got to Shave, he smiled at her. “Well, if it isn’t the female Clark Kent.” His words flowed out in a slow, sexy Texas drawl.
“Hello, Shave. How are you?” She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “And wouldn’t I be the jock version of Lois Lane?”
He chuckled. “Hardly. Lois was a bit of a pansy. You’ve got way too much … um … gumption to be a Lois Lane knockoff.”
Naomi laughed. “Why do I get the feeling you were about to refer to anatomically round male body parts rather than my ‘gumption’?”
He just grinned at her, wiping his sweaty brow with a white towel.
She looked down at the leg he had strapped in a black brace from mid-thigh to ankle. If not for the injury, he’d be the current starting quarterback.
He pointed towards the leg. “Looks like your guy is finally going to get his shot at taking my job.”
“Come on, Shave. Is it really that bad?”
“It’s as well as can be expected under the circumstances, but I’m thirty-four years old. My body doesn’t bounce back from these injuries like it used to.” He dropped his towel onto the bench he straddled. “Of course, a few more sessions with the physical therapist from hell and who knows. Maybe I’ll have another season or two in me yet.”
“Giving you fits is he?”
“She. And yeah. Hitler would have been a nicer taskmaster.”
“Ah. Not a football fan, huh? Can’t work your usual quarterback charisma on her?”
“That’s just it. She is a football fan, the stubborn woman. She keeps pushing me like I’m some high schooler making a half-ass effort at my recovery. Knows my career and my playing style almost better than me. Heck, she knows more about the sport than most of the players here, and keeps tossing my past performance at me. The only other woman I’ve ever met with near as much knowledge of the game is you.”
Naomi considered his statements. Shave didn’t give idle compliments. He focused on performance and results. Even though he’d grumbled his thoughts, he’d unconsciously given this woman high praise. A Nazi she might be in his mind, but she’d definitely gotten his attention. Naomi wondered what the woman looked like.
“Enough about Attila the Hunnette. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? We haven’t seen you here in a while.”
“Oh,” she shrugged, “trying to get a certain hardheaded quarterback to work with me on the story behind the kiss that never really was.” Her eyes moved to Dash, who was still preoccupied with his workout and hadn�
�t noticed her yet.
Shave gave a hard single laugh. “Good luck with that.”
Naomi glanced back at him. “Don’t tell me you doubt me, big guy?” She ran a hand across his shoulder and gave him a flirtatious grin.
Shave grinned back at her. “Darling, I’d never doubt you. But you’d better have more than one ace up your sleeve if you’re going to poker it out with Janssen.”
He slid to the edge of the bench and placed a huge hand at the side of her waist. Letting his accent thicken, he called her bluff. “And stop trying to work me, little miss. I saw you watching him earlier. You only have eyes for one guy in this room, and he ain’t me. So what’s up with the flirtin’? You using me, Pellier?”
“Crap. Am I that transparent?”
“You are to me. To that knucklehead you keep watching, I doubt it.”
Naomi liked Shave. As a good guy and a straight shooter, he could handle the truth. She needn’t play games with him. She’d reserve those for the “knucklehead.”
“Sorry about that, Shave. He pissed me off the other day. Accused me of sleeping with him to get a story. I told him if I were going to sleep with someone to get a story, I wouldn’t have settled for second best. I would have slept with you.”
“Really?” Shave’s deep belly laugh echoed across the room. “Would’ve liked to been a fly on the wall for that conversation.”
“Yeah.” She glanced over at the squatting Dash once again. “A possible theory behind the surfacing of that picture is that someone created it to get Dash in trouble with DuChamps. You know how narrow-minded that man is. He’d have a low tolerance for public homosexual displays of affection by anyone, let alone a key Griffins player no one knew was gay. Dash is already in the hot seat with DuChamps. This could be the straw that finally lands Dash at the top of the man’s trade list. In which case, it would stand to reason the story was planted by someone who’d want to blow Dash’s chances of remaining starting quarterback.”
“Me?” The surprise on his face was genuine.
“You’d be an obvious suspect. But I know you well enough not to waste my time exploring down that road. However, I gave him the impression I might sleep with you to find out. I just thought I’d give him reason to wonder.”
“Not nice, Naomi.” The natural highlights in the quarterback’s shaggy, dark hair flickered in the light as he shook his head. “Not nice at all. Do you know what it does to a man to see a woman he’s been with switch to one of his teammates?”
She grabbed her lower lip with her teeth and gave a slight shrug.
“Darling, that’s just downright mean.” He grinned. “And I love it. So, why don’t I help you with that?” He stood. “Is he watching us?”
Naomi checked with her eyes without moving her head. Dash had finished his squats and watched them closely.
“Yeah. Actually, he is.”
“Good.” Shave leaned in extremely close and wrapped an arm around her waist. He planted his lips against her temple in a slow, drawn out kiss before he released her. “If I didn’t think you’d have slugged me, I would have really kissed you.”
A noise came from Dash’s direction.
They both glanced his way before Shave whispered in her ear then turned her towards the door. He grabbed her hand. “Come on, it’s time for you to leave so his imagination can take over.”
Naomi laughed. Holding Shave’s hand, she let him guide her towards the exit.
*
Dash pressed down his heels and pushed up from a squatting position. He locked the squat bar back onto the machine and blew out a breath. He’d thrown in an extra set of twelve hoping it would relieve some of the tension remaining in his body after his near miss with Naomi last night.
He grabbed a white towel from the side of the machine where he’d draped it earlier. Rubbing the towel down his brow and across his face, he turned towards the room and about choked on his saliva. Naomi stood with her hand on Shave’s shoulder, a smile he could only classify as inviting graced her face. She’d flat-ironed her hair this morning and left it down. The long, straight strands hung to her middle back.
Shave sat at the bench press station. He had his hand on Naomi’s waist. Dash’s possessive instincts roared up, making him want to pound his chest then charge over and pound Shave. To stifle his urge, Dash flipped the towel over his shoulder and grabbed his water bottle from the floor at his feet. Eyes still trained on Shave and Naomi, he raised the bottle and squirted a stream of cool liquid into his mouth. When Shave rose and put his arm around Naomi to press a prolonged kiss to her temple, Dash squeezed so hard on the forgotten water bottle that water attacked his face and ran down his bare chest.
“Dammit.” He snatched the white towel from his shoulder and wiped his chest. When he looked up, Naomi and Shave were watching him, along with about half his teammates. The amused look on Shave’s face did nothing to endear him to Dash.
“You may be starting, but you’re still second best, Janssen.” Max Gordon, Shave’s preferred wide receiver, smirked as he stopped next to Dash. “Once Shave finishes rehab, you’re not going to be able to stop him from taking back his position any more than you seem to be able to stop him from taking your girl. I guess you don’t put it down in bed any better than you toss a pass.” Gordon laughed and walked away.
Try as he might, Dash had been unable to achieve a reasonable completion percentage when throwing to Gordon. The receiver took every opportunity he could to remind Dash of the shortcoming. The guy’s jibe hit home while Dash watched Shave lean over and whisper something in Naomi’s ear. Naomi laughed and nodded her head. The two turned hand-in-hand and started towards the exit.
Dash’s feet started moving before he made a conscious decision to follow the couple. In four long strides, he caught up with them. “Naomi, hold on a sec.”
Naomi stopped and turned towards Dash.
“Weren’t you looking for me?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Actually, I’m here to see someone else this morning.”
Dash glanced at Shave, who gave him a satisfied smile. He’d always liked Shave Stevens, greatly respected him on and off the field. Right now, Dash saw only a man moving in on his woman and respect no longer topped the list of feelings he had for the guy.
Naomi gave Shave a quick glance before looking Dash in the eyes. “But since I’ve got your attention, Dash, have you changed your mind about that interview I wanted?”
“No.” He slid his hands towards pockets that weren’t there, dropping the forgotten towel in the process. He bent to scoop it up. “I think it best if we let that matter rest.”
“Rest? You know this story isn’t going anywhere for a while.” Her expression turned serious. “And neither am I. With or without your cooperation, I’m going to get my story. I’d rather do it with your cooperation, but I’m not opposed to forcing the matter other ways.” She turned to leave with Shave.
Dash reached out and grabbed her free hand. “Before you go, don’t you have something for me?”
Naomi’s brow crinkled in confusion.
“My keys? You took my car when you left my place last night.”
Naomi’s narrowed eyes drilled into him. He’d made that statement loud enough not only for Shave to hear, but also any of his teammates within twenty feet. She didn’t like what his comment implied. He smirked at her.
She tilted her head. A thick fall of hair spilled over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about that. You were such a sweetheart to loan it to me after the way we parted.” She gave him a glowing smile, a glowing fake smile, but no one but him probably knew that. “I left your keys with the receptionist in the front office. I know you’re a busy guy, and I didn’t want to interrupt your workout.”
But she could interrupt Shave’s workout?
She’d negated his implication with a simple twist of a phrase. He should have known better than to play word games with a woman who made her living crafting words.
She turned away
and wiggled her fingers in goodbye over her shoulder.
Shave put his hand at the small of her back. As he did so, he leaned down to Naomi’s ear and whispered loud enough for Dash to hear, “Sounds like you’re going to need a ride. I’ll be happy to take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Why, thank you, Shave. I’d love to take you up on that.” Naomi smiled and leaned against Shave as he escorted her from the room.
Dash cursed his stupidity at mentioning Naomi’s return of his car. His annoyance at her verbally outmaneuvering him now greatly surpassed by his upset over her going home with Shave.
He shook his head. She wasn’t going home with Shave, he told himself. Shave was just giving her a ride.
At least, he hoped Shave only gave her a ride … in his car.
The disturbing vision of another kind of ride Shave could give her pushed into his mind. Fighting the impulse to go after them, he mentally wrapped his hands around Shave’s neck and squeezed.
Chapter 5
Forty-five minutes later, Dash received a summons to DuChamps’s office. He stood outside the door and ran fingers through hair damp from his shower. That he could think of, he hadn’t done anything recently to warrant being called before the owner, but that didn’t mean DuChamps wouldn’t find something to complain about.
Steeling his nerves, Dash knocked and entered when beckoned. He stepped into the inner sanctum of the power behind the Griffins organization and pulled up in surprise. Naomi sat across from DuChamps, who leaned his massive frame against the front of his desk. He had the bulk and shoulders of a former linebacker.
A good ole boy from Texas, Martin DuChamps—like Shave Stephens—had lived his Friday-night-lights moments and carried the glory on to college. Unlike Shave, however, DuChamps hadn’t made a standout performance during his university days and was passed over during the draft. Some players got to live football glory out on the professional field. Others, like DuChamps, had to settle for commanding it from the back office.
