by Lisa Rayne
What was wrong with her? How could she have forgotten who she was traveling with?
Dash and women—bears to honey.
He was a womanizer, and she’d do well to remember that. If she melted for him like these other women, he’d take advantage of her offer, but it’d change nothing between them.
She watched him walk away and gathered her willpower. She’d be sharing an adjoining suite with him when they got to London and again in Ibiza. The first thing she planned to do when they got to those destinations was make sure the adjoining suite doors stayed locked, double locked even. Did they have double locks in hotel rooms?
*
Adjusting his sunglasses, Dash headed back to First Class. The glasses weren’t necessary inside the plane. He wore them primarily to discourage fans from approaching during the flight. He’d learned that when he wore sunglasses indoors, people took it as a leave-me-alone sign. He relied on the celebrity cliché every now and then. It was the easiest way to garner privacy when he wasn’t in the mood to entertain fans. Plus, today, it had the added benefit of annoying Naomi. He suppressed a grin at the thought then his steps halted abruptly.
A man sat in his seat.
The man’s words drifted to him. “Here’s my card. If you every need assistance when you’re back in Kansas City, give me a call.”
Naomi reached for the business card and gave the man an inviting smile. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”
Dash moved beside the seat, casting a shadow over the uninvited guest.
The gentleman looked up. “You’ll be wanting your seat.” He turned back to Naomi and kissed her hand. “Ms. Naomi, it was a pleasure. Sorry you won’t be staying in Chicago. Hopefully, we’ll meet up again when you return to Kansas City.” He stood, forcing Dash to step back to allow him to exit into the aisle. Despite the scowl on Dash’s face, he offered a hand. “Janssen, nice game last night. A few more wins would help us fans rest a little easier.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dash grasped his hand firmly and shook. He took in the tailored navy suit, the easy smile, and the close-cropped wavy black hair. The cocky SOB knew who Dash was, and he’d still had the balls to approach the woman Dash was traveling with. Dash wanted to toss his stylish, black ass out a window. He settled for an extra squeeze on the handshake, and fumed internally when the gentleman simply winked at Naomi before releasing Dash’s hand and walking away.
Dash turned to the little Creole flirt and propped a fist on a cocked hip.
She grunted out a chuckled. “You’re kidding, right?” She reached for his abandoned orange juice and waggled it in his direction. “Here. Your drink is getting warm.”
He ignored the sarcastic offer and sat down. “Who was that?”
“Just someone I met during boarding.” She gestured with his business card. “He noticed my press credentials when he helped me with my bag earlier and thought maybe he could be of service to me in the future.”
“Like hell,” Dash grumbled under his breath, snatching the card from her hand. He read the gentleman’s private investigator credentials and name off the embossed rectangle. The guy’s last name was Rodriguez. Fabulous. He was part Latino. Just the kind of Romeo Naomi would probably go for.
Naomi snatched the card back. “I’ll take that.”
The announcement of the approach to Chicago came over the airplane speakers. Naomi tucked the business card away and pulled out her phone, ostensibly to check the time. He noted her wrists. Today she wasn’t wearing the diamond and emerald watch he’d given her. Intentional? Since he’d made note of the watch, had she decided to stop wearing it?
He silently stewed while she prepared for landing and preened over the private investigator’s antics. He’d intentionally bated Dash over her, and she obviously adored him for it. Fastening his seatbelt, Dash pondered the good fortune the PI was staying in Chicago and not taking their connecting flight to London. If the man spoke to Naomi—or dared wink at her—one more time, Dash wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.
Dash escorted Naomi from the plane at O’Hare International Airport and stayed close until they boarded their connecting flight. The trip to London was long, but uneventful. Naomi alternated between working on her article and sleeping. Dash spent most of the flight watching game film on his electronic tablet. By the time they checked into their London hotel, they were both off their sleep pattern enough neither were able to sleep.
At the London hotel, Dash leaned shirtless and shoeless against the doorjamb of the entry that joined his room with Naomi’s. He held the tourism trifold that had accompanied his airline ticket forgotten in his hand. He’d skimmed the brochure after they arrived and learned more about Ibiza’s nightlife and plentiful resort amenities. He’d decided before he left Kansas City that he needed to reevaluate this situation. Naomi had forced him into this, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take advantage of the trip to settle more than DuChamps’s satisfaction.
Let her work her investigative magic. As much as he wanted to uncover the origin of that photo, he also had a side agenda. With a week off at a Mediterranean resort and the hottest woman he’d ever laid hands on in an adjoining suite, the time had come to press this unfinished business of theirs. He was going to take Peyton’s suggestion and use this as an opportunity to move on, move right on in to Naomi’s bed. She wouldn’t be thinking about Shave for long … or any other man. He glanced over at her laptop bag, eyeing the outside pocket where she’d tucked the card for the private investigator.
He turned his eyes back to her. She’d changed into a pajama tank and loose sleep shorts. Her thick mass of long, wavy chestnut hair flowed loose around her shoulders. Even without makeup, prepped for bed, she was easily the sexiest woman he’d every laid eyes on.
Head bowed over her keyboard, she typed at a feverish pace. He never failed to be amazed by how fast she could type. She knew he stood at the door, but she chose to ignore him. For now, he’d ignore her ignoring him. As much as he’d like to get their business-finishing tryst started, if he made a move now, he’d blow his chances later in Ibiza. He would suppress his body’s immediate urges and wait for the romantic backdrop of the island resort.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She replied without looking up. “I could eat.”
His lips turned up. The statement struck him as funny. “Yeah, of course you could.”
Something in his tone made her look up. “Got something to say, Janssen?”
“Nope.” The woman had an appetite. When they’d first started dating, he’d been amazed how a woman with her svelte figure could eat so often and so much. He’d never met a woman, other than his foster sister, who actually ate around him.
In Peyton’s case, they’d known each other since childhood so he figured she couldn’t care less what he thought of her eating habits. With Naomi, eating was one of her favorite pastimes. She’d said if a man was going to pay for her to have a meal, she felt obligated to make sure he got his money’s worth. He later learned that in addition to being a food fanatic, she was hypoglycemic. If she didn’t eat every two to three hours, her blood sugar dropped. At worst, this caused scary physical complications. At best, it made her cranky as hell.
“How about I order us something to eat?”
Her eyes narrowed and her gaze roamed over his bare chest. “You do that.”
He nodded and turned to leave.
“Oh, and Dash?”
He turned back.
“Make sure you have all your clothes on the next time you come to my room.”
He chuckled. “No problem, Your Highness.”
She grinned at him before turning eyes and hands back to her laptop. His reference to their inside joke had gotten to her even though she was obviously trying to stay immune to his charms. Years ago, he’d heard Ray call her Queenie and wondered why. When she’d told him, he’d made it clear she was his Creole Queen and not Ray’s. He’d referred to her on and off as Your Highness ever since.
Dash tipped the attendant and wheeled the food cart to Naomi’s room. She hit a few buttons on her laptop then snapped it closed. She moved to get up.
He waved her back to the bed. “No no, Your Highness. I’m here to serve you.” He pulled the lids off the platters on the cart and looked over at her. “Dinner in bed?”
She laughed. “Sure. Why not.”
He served her then settled with his plate opposite her at the bottom of her bed. When he looked up, she was staring at her plate.
“Something wrong? Should I have gotten you something else?”
“No,” she said quietly. “No, this is good.” She looked up at him, but she didn’t look happy. She looked … confused?
He reached for her plate. “You’re not happy with that. Here. Let’s switch.”
She grabbed the side of her plate and pulled it away from him. “Absolutely not. The last thing I want is that humongous steak.”
“Apparently, the last thing you want is also that grilled fish with asparagus and rice.”
“Actually, it’s exactly what I want.” Her voice was hushed. She met his eyes. “You just surprised me that’s all.”
Naomi wasn’t much of a hamburger and fries kind of woman. When she wanted food, she tended to want real food. Did she think he had forgotten that in so short a time?
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the little things, Naomi.” He sat too far away to touch her, but he floated his voice out like a slow caress. “I remember everything about you.”
She flushed. No doubt her thoughts slid to some of the physical things he might remember about her. She’d be right.
Her lips parted slightly and her breath whispered out. Her demeanor sent him an invitation he couldn’t let his body accept. He dropped his gaze to his plate, picked up his utensils and willed his body to focus on the nutritional meal and not the dish of a woman sitting across from him.
Chapter 8
Not wanting to risk the easy manner he’d gained with Naomi this evening, Dash dove into his dinner and changed the subject. “What are you working on?”
She got a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary look. “Oh, just a piece about the likely success of a couple of second string quarterbacks who recently got moved up due to injuries to starters.”
His interest peaked. He was a second string quarterback who’d recently become a starter due to Shave Stephens’s injury.
“As you know, Johnson of the Jaguars went down last Sunday. This morning—” She glanced at her wrist, looking for a watch that wasn’t there. “Or maybe it was yesterday morning. This time change has me all screwed up. Anyway, they added Johnson to their injured reserve list. He’s out for the rest of the season. They’re putting Miller in as starter next week for the Monday Night Football game.”
“What’s that got to do with your story?” He lounged sideways across the foot of the bed, propping himself on one elbow.
“Analyst are laying odds as to the likelihood the Griffins or the Jaguars will be playoff contenders this year without their experienced quarterbacks at the helm.”
“So, they don’t think I can get the job done.”
“The consensus seems to be that Miller doesn’t have enough time on the field or the nerves of steel he needs to lead the Jaguars to the playoffs. Where you’re concerned, the opinions are split. You certainly have the on-field experience. Coach Waterman has worked you in whenever he didn’t need his starter on the field. However, the current Griffins starting offensive line is more suited to Shave’s strengths than yours. Many believe that makes the Griffins’ chances a crap shoot.”
He chewed. Around a mouth full of steak, he said, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I didn’t say I agreed with them.” She forked an asparagus spear.
He dropped his fork on his plate. “Don’t you?”
“Yes and no.” She nibbled the asparagus spear down to the fork tines.
To take his mind off the commotion watching her lips caused with his awakening lower half, he reached for the cup of water on the cart he’d left beside the bed. He took a sip. “Explain that.”
“I know you could easily put the Griffins in the playoffs if you stop acting like a backup Shave and start playing like a first string Dash.”
He took offense. “I’m not acting like a backup Shave.”
She reached for her own glass of water. “That’s bull, Dash.”
“We have an offense the mandates the plays—”
“You have an offense with set plays. The style in which they’re implemented depends upon the guy who takes the snap.”
He frowned.
Naomi replaced her glass on the tray and moved her empty plate there as well. She scooted back and propped herself up on pillows against the headboard. “You forget I used to watch you play college ball before we ever met. You were quick and versatile in the pocket. You had the best play-action pass of any quarterback in Division I football at the time. Your slight of hand?” She shook her head, a look of admiration on her face. Her green eyes sparkled. She loved to talk football, and her passion for the sport lit up her face. “Simply amazing. Add that defenders couldn’t predict whether you would throw a long or short pass or run the ball yourself, and you were downright dangerous. You were the only quarterback in the Division—and now in the National League—that could run forty meters as fast as any running back or receiver.”
He’d finally gotten those All-State track honors his last three years of high school, cinching State Champion in the one-hundred meter and two-hundred meter dash his junior and senior years. He’d been the fastest sprinter on his high school team, which had earned him his nickname.
He positioned himself closer to Naomi’s feet, allowing the familiarity of the moment to lure him into a comfortable ease. They’d spent many a night stretched out on the bed together talking, football being one of their favorite subjects. Out of habit, he reached for her foot and began to rub. She attempted to pull her foot from his grasp, but he didn’t let her. His urge to touch her was too strong to be denied.
He pressed his thumb into her instep, massaging her foot while he mulled over her words. “College was different. The coach built that offense specifically around me.”
“Isn’t that what Coach Waterman has in mind?” she countered.
“When Shave’s no longer playing.”
“Shave isn’t playing now, Dash.” She tugged her foot again.
He held tight. “Yeah, but—”
“But nothing.” She blew out a sharp breath and gave up trying to get free. “I keep waiting for the day you run for three touchdowns in one game like you did your sophomore year with Nebraska. Or, throw a touchdown pass over sixty yards in the air like you did more than once your senior year. Basically, I keep waiting for the day you stop playing it safe and realize that who you are is good enough.”
Were they still talking about football?
Their gazes met. His thumb stopped moving. The air crackled with the undercurrent sizzling between them.
Taking advantage of his distraction, she slid her foot from his grasp in a slow, steady movement. She broke the palpable connection between them by turning away from his gaze and grabbing the laptop from the bed. She stood to put the computer in its case.
Computer secured, she turned back to him. “It’s late. We should both get some sleep before our flight tomorrow.”
Dash unfolded from the bed. He stood over her, letting his eyes roam over the pajama tank top and loose sleep shorts she wore. His gaze stopped on the way back up at her braless breasts, perky beneath the soft fabric. Under his gaze, their peaks rose to attention.
Naomi crossed he
r arms over her chest and said something to him. He had no idea what. Finally, she got his attention with a curt “Hello?” and a wave of her hand in front of his face.
He looked into her eyes. “Huh?”
“Stop gawking at me and take the room service cart.” She leaned over the bed to gather up his empty plate.
Her sleep shorts flapped with her movement, giving him a peek at a shapely butt cheek. The appendage below his waist was definitely awake now. He stepped behind the cart to hide the evidence of the physical effect she had on him. He’d adjusted his gaze to a respectable location on her body by the time she turned back to place the plate on the cart.
Naomi shooed him out of the room with the cart. When she moved to close the internal door behind him, he put his hand up to stop its progress.
“Did you forget something?” Her head turned to survey the bed behind her.
When she turned back, he stepped up to her. “Yeah, I did.”
Her brow creased. “What?”
He slid both his hands into her hair behind her ears. “This.” His lips found hers in a sure, forceful kiss. He claimed her, letting all the pent up sexual attraction he’d been nursing since she first came back into his life flow through him and pass from his lips to hers.
She moaned. Her hands flew to his waist. “Dash,” she breathed against his lips, pushing against him.
He dropped his arms behind her back and pulled her closer, letting her feel everything he’d hid from her only moments ago. His kiss grew more insistent and for a time, she didn’t fight him. She fell into him and absorbed everything he gave.
She finally disengaged, eyes haunted. “Dash, please. I—”
“I know. I know.” He pulled her into a hug. “You didn’t come here for this.” He inhaled, breathing in the familiar coconut scent of her shampoo. When he pulled back, he planted his hands once again in her hair on either side of her head. Focusing intently on her, he said, “Would you believe me if I told you I had no idea I was going to do that?”
She stepped back from him. “I believe you,” she said quietly. “But it can’t happen again. I’m not interested in being some sexual diversion for you.” She put a hand against his chest when he started to speak. “It’s over between us, Dash. You made that decision not me.” She pushed him through the door.
