Perhaps Dorothy’s unpretentiousness attracted him. He couldn’t say. All he knew was he was enjoying himself for the first time in many weeks. Nothing could come of it. He had a score to settle, a team to pursue, and records to break. His game plan didn’t allow for the strong attraction he immediately felt for a strange woman in a bar.
“I just thought we could get to know each other better.” The line sounded corny even to him. He was definitely rusty in the flirtation department. And she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. In spite of that, Shane felt a slow smile spread across his face.
Rolling her eyes at his adolescent attempt, she fiddled with a strand of hair and leaned back against the chair.
“You jocks are all alike.” She fingered the chain around her neck. Shane took a slow breath. The gesture was more erotic than her licking the salt off her glass. “You think any woman will be flattered by your attention.”
“You could flatter me with a little of yours.”
His lines were bordering on pathetic, but at least she didn’t break out in hysterics. He thought he saw the beginnings of a real smile, but before she could say anything, the fashion designer and photographer returned to the table. The designer’s eyes went wide as she noticed him sitting there. The photographer recognized Shane immediately.
“Hey, you two do know each . . .” Before he could finish his sentence, Dorothy grabbed Shane’s arm, yanking him up from the table.
“Let’s dance.” Her warm fingers manacled his wrist as she dragged him to the other side of the bar.
She didn’t have to ask him twice. As luck would have it, the jazz trio was playing a cover of a John Mayer ballad, allowing Shane to gather her close. So close he detected the citrus scent of her shampoo. She smelled good enough to eat. Her soft, bare arms glowed beneath the twinkling patio lights. He stifled a groan as her hips swayed against his groin.
“Aren’t you afraid of an allergic reaction?” he teased. She shivered as his breath brushed her neck. He took it as an invitation to lean in closer and trace his lips along the shell of her ear.
“I’ll risk it.” Dorothy breathed against his chest.
* * *
Carly March looked behind the gorgeous hunk of athlete she’d dragged to the dance floor to where her friend Julianne Marchione was waving frantically at her.
What are you doing? Julianne mouthed.
Good question, Carly thought to herself as she stepped into Shane Devlin’s arms. What was she doing? She knew she shouldn’t be touching him, much less dancing with him. But Marco had almost blown it back at the table and could have let it slip who she was. She didn’t think about the consequences before rushing off with Shane. Clearly, the testosterone oozing out of his pores was wreaking havoc on her normally solid common sense. That and a weekend spent Googling everything ever written about him. Carly had stared at his photo so many times in the last few days, she dreamt about him at night. Now her dreams had become reality. And the real thing was oh so much better. She shivered as his mouth grazed her ear. Oh God, she needed to keep a hold of her senses and remember who she worked for.
Shane Devlin was no random stranger at a resort. Anyone who followed sports knew he was an out-of-work NFL quarterback looking for a team to play for. Up until a day or two ago, his prospects had looked bleak. But then, Gabe Harrelson, the record-breaking young quarterback for the Baltimore Blaze, broke a hip and a femur hang-gliding in Australia. As assistant to the team’s general manager, Carly knew Shane occupied a spot on the team’s short list for replacing Harrelson.
The search for a replacement quarterback had encroached on her getaway since the day she arrived at the beach resort. She’d tagged along with her best friend, Julianne, to rest and relax for a few days during the team’s off-season. Instead, the only surfing she’d done was on the Internet. The dossier she’d compiled about Shane Devlin could fill a tabloid magazine. In fact, that’s where she’d gotten most of her background on him. His play off the field was as notorious as his play on the field. Despite the fact that most of the reports about his behavior outside of football looked to her to be rumor and innuendo, she didn’t think Blaze management would see it that way. Hank Osbourne, the team’s general manager, was a stickler about his players being role models for the fans. If you played for the Blaze, you must be above reproach. The same could be said for those who worked for the team.
Earlier in the day, Carly made a strong case to management via a conference call that the exploits reported by the media of Shane’s “extracurricular behavior” had been greatly exaggerated. One woman’s claim that he was the father of her child had been easily refuted a few weeks later with DNA testing, but the stigma of his playboy reputation still lingered. A more recent claim by a San Diego Charger’s employee that Shane had sexually intimidated her was never substantiated. However, the stink associated with both incidents was a red flag for Blaze management.
The tabloid press was notorious for blowing things out of proportion—Carly knew this firsthand. They even turn on their own. She felt a kinship for anyone crucified by the paparazzi, and it was one of the reasons Carly felt she needed to defend Shane against the sensational articles. Heck, she’d stuck her neck out for Shane this morning. The same neck his lips were skimming over right now. Oh, this was not good. It’s just a dance, she told herself as he moved her slowly around the patio. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t listening to what her brain was saying as she pressed dangerously closer.
The photos on the Internet didn’t do him justice. He wasn’t glamour-boy gorgeous, but his dark, intense looks definitely drew the attention of most of the women at the resort. And when he’d smiled at her a few minutes earlier, she’d been lucky to be sitting because she was sure her legs had turned to jelly. Unlike most of the men at the bar, he had eschewed the resort uniform of khaki shorts and a golf shirt. Instead, he was dressed in a pair of well-worn jean shorts, flip-flops, and a white linen shirt unbuttoned to reveal enough skin for her to know he spent a lot of time outdoors. Sun-kissed brown hair curled around his collar, one stray lock hanging in front of eyes so dark, she couldn’t make out their color. A hint of stubble along his jaw gave just the right amount of danger to his look. His presence was . . . intoxicating, to say the least. And he was focusing all that dark, brooding intensity on her.
Strong arms held her against his tall, athletic frame and she sighed softly as his chest came in contact with her breasts. His lips brushed her hairline; the beginnings of his beard gently rubbing against her skin sent shock waves to the pit of her belly and below. He smelled of shea butter and soap. Clean and sweet. Definitely not the words most people would use to describe Shane Devlin, the Devil of the NFL. He shifted her against him again and she felt the heat and strength of his arousal.
Okay, this was definitely a bad idea, she thought to herself. Letting a player kiss you would likely be frowned upon by management. Anything more would probably lead to dismissal. Carly really liked her job. She didn’t want to jeopardize her position with the Blaze in any way. It gave her an excuse to live in Baltimore where she could help take care of her sister. Besides, she was through with jocks. With all celebrities, for that matter. If she was going to have a fling, it had to be with an accountant or podiatrist. Someone who didn’t have paparazzi hiding in his bushes.
If she were being honest, though, it was nice to be held in a man’s arms again. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it these past months. Shane had been watching her all weekend—either through the pages of a magazine or in person. She couldn’t help but be flattered by his attention, especially with twelve bikini-clad models running around on the beach.
If he were any other man, she’d be tempted to let her inhibitions run wild for one night of sex. Judging by the attraction humming between them, she knew it would be an interlude she’d not likely forget. She wished the team had already picked someone else so she could let him have his way wi
th her on the makeshift dance floor. Or on the beach. Or in his bungalow.
But he was who he was, and she’d been down this road before. Carly couldn’t let this get out of hand.
Shane had somehow maneuvered them off the edge of the patio to a dimly lit alcove beside the pool. She looked up into his shadowed face as a lock of hair fell past his left brow. Intense gray eyes blazed with hunger as his hands gently rubbed her back, one hand roaming lower to lightly skim her bottom. Her body continued to betray her as Shane’s potent chemistry wore down her defenses. When he nipped at her collarbone, heat ricocheted through her belly and beyond.
Maybe just a kiss. Surely she could stop at one?
“What is it you want, Mr. Devlin?” she asked again, lifting her eyes to meet his.
“I want whatever you’ll give me,” he whispered, lowering his head.
She closed her eyes as her stomach quivered in anticipation, waiting for his lips to make contact.
But they never did. Instead, the Wizard of Oz ring tone grew louder. Julianne emerged from the shadows somewhere behind them, Carly’s ringing cell phone in her hand. Carly leaped out of Shane’s arms, a wild jumble of nerves, nearly bowling over her friend.
“You told me not to let you miss a call.” Julianne handed her the phone.
“I’ve got it!” Carly said, annoyed that her friend seemed to be enjoying the moment a little too much.
Julianne failed to hide her grin, and, offering Shane an elegant shrug, retreated back into the shadows.
Carly turned to Shane, who stood, hands on hips, that single lock of hair obscuring an eye. Aside from his breathing being a little ragged, he stared nonchalantly back at her.
“I’m sorry, but I have to take this call.” She spoke softly, embarrassment warming her cheeks. “I really have to go. Good night.”
He said nothing, his lips compressed in a thin line. Quickly, she crept away before she changed her mind.
Mortified by her behavior, she felt a tinge of guilt for leaving him in a state of potent arousal. But as she glanced at the text message on her phone, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. She’d just dodged a bullet. Shane Devlin was her team’s new quarterback.
Now all she had to do was find a way to avoid him altogether once he arrived in Baltimore.
Two
Carly dug the heels of her Steve Madden boots into the carpet as she maneuvered the wheelchair through the hallway of the Blaze headquarters building, all the while trying not to jiggle the chair’s occupant too much. The Baltimore weather hadn’t been welcoming after the sun and warmth of Mexico. Despite the fact it was nearly the end of April, winter still had the mid-Atlantic in its grip, complete with gray clouds spewing icy drizzle. Dressed in a sleek, gray wool pantsuit and silk pink blouse, Carly was beginning to regret her choice to dress for the weather as sweat began to pool on her neck, the result of wielding the bulky wheelchair for what felt like miles this morning.
“I can’t believe you busted up your knee skiing, Asia.” Carly tried not to sound as out of shape as she felt. “One would have thought you’d be a bit more graceful, being an All-American college basketball player and all,” she teased.
The going got easier as they entered the cafeteria with its linoleum floor, and Carly pushed Asia Dupree, media relations director for the Blaze, to a table near the row of coffee urns.
“Yeah, well, college was a few years ago, Carly. And all this sitting behind a desk hasn’t helped to keep my old body in shape.”
Carly slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table, reaching over to adjust the pillow cradling Asia’s injured knee. She smiled at the statuesque African American beauty. “Thirty isn’t old.” Carly gestured to the coffee bar.
Asia nodded. “Yeah, well, it’s the last time I celebrate my birthday with a ski vacation.”
Carly carried over a steaming cup of coffee, placing it on the table near Asia before going back to grab a handful of sweetener packets and a container of creamer. “Ah, but you did get rescued by a handsome hero. Seriously, if you wanted to get a certain director of security’s attention, wouldn’t it have been easier to break a heel here at work?”
Asia shot her a glare that turned to a smile before taking sip of coffee.
Laughing, Carly poured herself a cup of tea. “Next birthday, head to the beach. Cabo is beautiful this time of year,” she said.
“Oh Carly, I’m so sorry that my accident ruined your vacation. I should have been the one vetting our new players, not you. But I was pretty hopped up on the painkillers. I feel bad you didn’t get to relax yourself.”
Carrying her own steaming cup to the table, Carly gently squeezed her friend’s shoulder before taking the seat next to her. “Don’t be silly, Asia. I had a great trip.” She gave her friend what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she blew on her tea.
It was true; Carly did have a nice time in Cabo. Especially the brief time spent in Shane Devlin’s arms. Putting down her tea so Asia couldn’t see the slight tremor caused by her thoughts of Shane, Carly winced inwardly at the way she’d left him. It was childish. She should have just come clean in Mexico. Instead, she now faced an awkward situation when they first ran into one another at work. He was arriving today for a press conference and meetings with the coaches. A three-day player mini-camp was scheduled for the rest of the week. Maybe Carly would seek him out to explain why she’d abruptly left the dance floor. Maybe they’d both laugh about it. Yeah, maybe.
“But you really needed some downtime after all you and your family have been through these past few months,” Asia persisted, forcing Carly’s thoughts back to the present.
“Asia, I gave my sister some bone marrow, not a kidney. I’m fine. Besides, I’m just glad I could help you and Hank out. It made me feel useful.”
“Useful? Carly, you were amazing!” Asia said. “Your contacts are unbelievable. I never would have been able to ferret out some of that information about Shane Devlin.”
Carly took a sip of tea. “Well, one tends to become great friends with those slimy paparazzi when they were picking through your garbage.”
Asia gave her a look tinged with pity, slightly shaking her head at Carly’s self-deprecating humor. Carly steeled herself with another swallow of tea.
“Do you miss it?” Asia asked softly.
“Having total strangers hound your every move?” Carly shuddered.
“No, the sophistication and glamour of living as a European socialite.”
“Never,” Carly answered firmly. It was true. She hadn’t asked to grow up in a fishbowl of European paparazzi. Her mother, Veronica March, was a media heiress, traveling the world as a correspondent for a cable news channel. Carly was ten when Veronica had been murdered by terrorists. She’d never known who her father was. It was the media who broke it to her. “Darling Carly,” as they’d dubbed her, was Veronica’s “love child” with a married American news anchor. Unfortunately, Carly’s existence was news to her father as well. It made for great fodder to sell tabloids—including those owned by her grandmother. It was not a pleasant way to grow up. But her childhood couldn’t prepare her for how the media treated her later in life. Carly refused to think of Max right now. Lifting her gaze, she locked eyes with Asia.
“No, Asia. I don’t miss it. Like I said, I love my job here. I feel useful.” Her voice was steely, she knew. But Asia boasted not only a national championship in NCAA basketball, but an MBA from the Wharton School’s business program as well. Carly knew Asia appreciated toughness.
“Good,” Asia said, her voice sounding just as determined as Carly’s. “Because I’m going to need a little more help in the next few weeks.”
“Of course. Whatever you need. I’m sure Hank won’t mind.”
“It was Hank’s suggestion, actually. It’s going to be difficult for me to carry out the media blitz we have planned for our new quarterb
ack with this bum knee.” Asia gestured to her leg, which was encased in a brace. “Someone needs to babysit him on his media outings while I’m still immobile. Both Hank and I thought you’d be perfect.”
Carly took too big a swallow of her tea and nearly choked as the hot liquid burned down her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was the hot drink or the shock of having to spend time with Shane Devlin—more than just sharing a laugh over her humiliating exit in Cabo—but she couldn’t seem to find words to respond to Asia. Not that Asia was waiting on a response.
“I can handle today’s press conference, but my knee is going to need surgery once the swelling goes down. Then there’s physical therapy . . . Carly, are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Carly reassured her friend. “Just feeling bad that you have to go through all that.” It was a lie. Not that Carly wasn’t feeling sorry for Asia; she was. But she was trying to figure out a way to deal with Shane Devlin without her hormones going haywire.
“Hmm. I’ll be suffering and you’ll get to spend time with a gorgeous bad boy,” Asia said. “Who knows, maybe you two will hit it off.”
Carly stared at Asia, trying desperately not to let her mouth gape open, all the while wondering if Julianne had broken her promise not to tell a soul about her close encounter with the Devil of the NFL.
“He’s not my type.” A girl could lock lips with a guy who isn’t her type. It happened all the time.
“No one’s your type,” Asia said sarcastically before taking a swallow of coffee.
“I wouldn’t say that,” a male voice chimed in from behind them. “I’m sure there are a few guys who could be the perfect type for Carly.”
The hairs on the back of Carly’s neck stood on end as she recognized the voice behind her. Great. It was Joel Tompkins, one of the team’s beat reporters. She’d made the mistake of having coffee with him several weeks ago and he’d been pestering her for a date ever since. Lately, he’d been popping up everywhere she went.
Game On (AN OUT OF BOUNDS NOVEL) Page 2