by Lori Foster
Crying out, Gillian climaxed.
She heard Drew chuckle—chuckle—and wanted to strangle him. Later she’d get even. Somehow. She’d have to think about that one. But right now, thoughts were impossible.
He held her close as she came. Toward the end, as a great shuddering moan went through her, she felt him stiffen at her back, felt his hand hard on her hip, keeping her steady for his pounding thrusts.
And he joined her.
They both lay panting, limp. Gillian felt him leave her, and he rolled to his back.
Still breathing fast, he rested a hand on her hip. “I like how you moan, but it does me in.”
Trying to think of something to say, Gillian fell to her back, too—and his doorbell rang.
Both surprised, they looked at each other.
Gillian recovered first. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Popular tonight? First phone calls, and now a visitor.”
His eyes closed for the briefest of time, then frustration took over.
“Son of a bitch,” he snarled as he launched himself out of the bed. “I don’t fucking believe this.” He stormed into the bathroom and came back with the condom gone and a towel in his hand. He wrapped it around his hips as he headed out of the bedroom.
“Be right back.”
He had no shame at all. “I’m not going anywhere.” Gillian knew he didn’t hear her because he’d already stomped through the door. She started to worry about Dickey, as he was the obvious choice for interrupting, but then it occurred to her that it could be anyone calling. Getting caught buck naked in Drew Black’s bed wouldn’t be a smart business move. She all but leaped from the bed.
Forgoing underwear, she stepped into her skirt and was still buttoning her blouse when she crept to the hall to listen in.
Peeking around the corner, she saw Drew look out the window first, and then with a muttered “What the fuck?” he opened the door.
A solid, uniformed officer stood there. He must have gone prematurely gray, because he looked to be in his late forties but had a full head of silvery hair. “Drew Black?”
“Yeah.” Drew leaned out the door to look beyond the cop. “What’s going on?”
“I’m Officer Sparks. Everyone is fine, but there was an incident I’d like to discuss with you.”
For Gillian, an officer at the door was a monumental thing, so she couldn’t believe it when Drew said, “It’s a bad time, Sparks. Can you make it fast?”
The officer’s face grew stony. “All right, I’ll try to cut to the chase, then.” His smile wasn’t pleasant. “A bomb threat was called in to Roger’s Rodeo.”
“No shit?” Drew didn’t seem particularly thrown by a bomb threat, either. “Anyone hurt?”
“No. We did a thorough check of the building and found nothing.”
“That’s great.” He propped a shoulder against the door frame. “So why are you at my door?”
“The caller specifically named you as the target for the bomb.”
Gillian’s automatic gasp drew the officer’s attention. He leaned into the entrance to look at her.
Oops. Too late to dart behind the wall as she’d like to do. It was unfortunate that she hadn’t tucked in her blouse or retied her scarf to hide the love bite on her neck. Chagrined, she stepped out into the open. “Officer Sparks.”
The officer did a quick, automatic once-over before nodding. “Ma’am.” He averted his gaze.
Attention lingering on her breasts beneath the white blouse, Drew sent her a chiding glance. Raising a brow, he turned back to the officer. “As you see, I’m a little preoccupied right now.”
Pen poised, the officer asked, “And she is . . . ?”
Drew repositioned himself to block Sparks’s view of her. “She’s none of your business.”
Shocked at the disrespect, Gillian gaped at him. “Drew, what in the world is wrong with you?”
Sighing loud enough for his neighbors to hear, Drew pivoted around to face her. “He has a notebook, honey.” When she just stared at him, he prompted, “For taking notes?”
Neither the officer nor Gillian understood.
“He’s investigating a bomb threat,” Gillian reminded him. “I imagine he wants to get his facts straight.”
“I’m sure he does.” Drew didn’t budge an inch. “But I’m the prez of the SBC, and someone apparently sent that bomb threat in my name. Given that everything with me goes public, this will sure as hell hit the Net, and probably the local papers and news stations. Even if the good officer is discreet, you know how jammed Roger’s place gets. Lots of folks would have gotten wind of this by now.”
“Oh.” Drew was trying to protect her. Gillian felt like a fool.
“So tell me, doll, do you really want him to write down your name, give details of how he found you, and share with others what it’s pretty clear that we’ve been doing?”
Her cheeks warmed at his deliberate provocation. “Of course not.”
Drew smiled at the cop. “There you go. The lady’s keeping mum.”
If she had something to throw, Gillian would have lobbed it at his head. How dare he put this all off on her? He didn’t want their intimate relationship known either. Sure, she had more to lose. But if the SBC owners found out, Drew could end up fired.
Officer Sparks looked between them with disinterest. “I take it one of you is married, huh?”
Gillian gasped, “No.” How dare he make such an assumption? Holding up her ringless fingers, she gave the cop a good frown. “It’s not like that at all.”
Drew silenced Gillian with a single look, and when he gave his attention back to Officer Sparks, his smile turned feral. “Neither of us is cheating, but again: it’s none of your business.”
Thankfully for Gillian’s peace of mind, the officer let it go. “Were you supposed to be at the bar tonight?”
Drew shrugged. It amazed Gillian that he was as at ease in a towel as he was in a suit. “Had planned on it, yeah.”
“What happened?”
“You’re kidding, right?” He referenced Gillian with a shrug of his head. “I found a better way to spend my evening.”
The fib left Gillian uncomfortable. Drew had changed his plans because of Dickey. Getting together with her happened after that. But maybe he had a reason for keeping Dickey out of the equation.
“Were you supposed to meet anyone at the bar?”
“Not a set meeting or anything. Just loose plans to hang out with friends.”
“Any of those friends maybe want to see you blown up?”
Drew laughed.
Asking the question forefront in Gillian’s mind, the officer said, “That’s funny?”
Cool, rainy air blew in through the open door, but Drew didn’t invite the cop in to extend his visit more comfortably.
“Look, in my position, someone always hates me. Threats are made.” He shrugged with indifference. “It comes with the territory.”
“How so?”
Holding out his arms, Drew said, “The buck stops here, baby.” Then, more seriously, he explained the scope of his responsibilities. “I’m the one who decides if a fighter gets a spot in the SBC or if he gets sent home. I choose the venues, not just here in the States, but in the rest of the fucking world, too. Everyone wants us, but not everyone can have us. So someone’s always crying foul play.”
Officer Sparks stopped writing to listen.
“I deal with overzealous managers and agents, and the athletic commission. On top of all that, I handle a lot of the press. Every pissant so-called reporter who doesn’t get a scoop wants to rip my guts out. And then there are the fanatics who think the sport is too brutal or who—”
Holding up a hand, Sparks cut him short. “Got it. You can be public enemy number one.”
Drew’s smile showed his lack of concern with the animosity. “Yeah, and sometimes I’m everyone’s best friend. Just depends on what’s going on and who’s involved. I can’t let any of that shit get to me or I wouldn’t be able to
do my job. I’m sorry that Roger had the hassle, and I hope it didn’t ruin the night for anyone, but what the fuck? You can’t expect me to take it seriously.”
Gillian held back, but it wasn’t easy. Whether or not Drew saw any validity in the threat, it scared her.
The cop considered his attitude. “Actually, as long as I’m taking it seriously, I’d appreciate it if you did, too. So tell me, have any of the haters, past or present, seemed the type to issue a bomb threat?”
“Not really, no. But then I don’t exactly go out of my way to understand the mental workings of those who give me grief, you know?”
“Understandable. So who knew about your plans tonight?”
“Just some people in the business. Regular folks.”
“You know them all well?”
“Well enough that I wouldn’t accuse any of them of being bomb happy.”
The officer had several more questions, wrote lots of notes, and finally handed a card to Drew. “If you think of anything, even something that might not seem important to you, give me a call.”
Drew tossed it onto a table. “Thanks.”
Hands on his hips, Officer Sparks turned to Gillian. “If you want to maintain anonymity, I’d suggest you finish dressing and get out of here. The press was showing up when I left. If the owner of the club, Mr. Sims, mentions any details . . . well, you could end up with reporters at the door instead of me.” And with that, he tipped his hat and left.
After he closed and relocked the door, Drew surveyed her and groaned. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
Gillian stared at him in wonder. How could he remain so cavalier? “Most definitely. The sooner, the better.” Already on her way back to the bedroom, she shouted, “Get dressed and get me out of here, Drew. Hurry it up.”
CHAPTER 8
DESPITE understanding, Drew’s mood soured with each minute he got Gillian closer to her car and the official end of their . . . well, not exactly a first date. But a notable night all the same. “This was not how I’d wanted the evening to end.”
Face silhouetted by weak moonlight, Gillian kept her gaze out the window. “No?”
“Hell no. I had about a dozen more things I wanted to do.” He glanced at her. “To you.” His gaze dipped over the prim way she’d folded her hands in her lap, how she crossed her ankles, and the contradiction of that ladylike posture with the way she’d been in bed only stoked the fire. “To that smokin’ body of yours.”
“Drew, really.” But she smiled when she said it.
He saw the slight dimple appear in her cheek. Her mouth . . . damn, but her mouth made him nuts. He shifted uncomfortably. Right now her makeup was more off than on, her hair hung loose, and she’d left off the panty hose.
His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Her passion matched his, and that was saying something. If this bullshit bomb stuff hadn’t happened, she’d have stayed the night, and his imagination went nuts conjuring up ideas of what they would have done, the many ways he would have taken her.
Few cars passed them on the road. The storm had blown past and now a sliver of moon struggled past remnants of dark clouds. Drew had the radio playing low, but he could still hear the hiss of tires on wet pavement. With every breeze, raindrops fell from trees and overhead lines.
Suddenly, she turned to face him. “I detest waiting around for a man to make a move.”
Taken aback, Drew asked, “Is there a move I missed? Because, hell, I’m willing.”
Exasperation changed her expression. “Will I see you again? Other than with business, I mean.”
“Well, hell, I hope so!” Was there a doubt on that one? Had she been sitting there stewing, wondering if this was a one-and-only kind of night?
“Given the circumstances—”
“That stupid bomb business?” Drew locked his teeth. If he ever found the guy responsible, he’d make him pay. “Forget about it, will you?”
“Forget a bomb? No, I don’t think so.” She pulled one knee up onto the seat. “But you’ll probably be under closer scrutiny now. There’ll be added risk of us getting caught.”
Yeah, because God forbid anyone should know how he makes her scream in the sack. Damn it. He’d had plenty of sexual relationships, but never one where the woman was ashamed of herself for sleeping with him.
“I haven’t even come close to getting my fill, Gillian, so don’t go there.” He turned down the street of the boys’ home and went on past it toward the empty gravel lot where Gillian had parked her car. “It’s not like we don’t have reason to be seen together, you know. You were hired to . . . what? Transform me?”
Her gaze shot to him. “If anyone asks, I’m a publicist, which is true. But also a handler and a—”
“Miracle worker, right?” It still burned his ass to think about it. “Isn’t that how you first put it?”
“Drew.” She reached across the console and put a hand to his thigh.
Dangerous move, lady.
“I said that before I really knew you.”
She thought she really knew him now? After one bout of sex? He flicked his gaze over her. “And now?”
She gave him that small smile again. “As a publicist, I think you have some rough edges that we could smooth down just a little bit. As a woman, your sexist attitudes make me nuts.” She squeezed his thigh. “As someone who’s shared your bed . . . well, words desert me.”
Drew laughed. “Liar.”
“About what?”
“You know I’m not really sexist and it doesn’t really bother you that much.”
Her laughing reply got cut short when Drew said, “Fuck.”
“What?” She followed his gaze through the windshield and saw her small car illuminated in the headlights. “Oh, my God.”
Someone had trashed her little RX8. A shattered side window had let in the rain. White spray paint showed stark against the dark green exterior, across the hood and driver’s-side door. The words—Let the damned go to the devil—sent a red haze over Drew’s vision.
“That’s a reference to me.”
Gillian didn’t hear him. When he stopped, she opened her car door. Moving like a zombie, she made to get out.
He caught her arm. “Are you nuts? Stay put and let me call Officer Sparks.”
“Wait.” She snatched at his cell phone. “We have to think about this.”
In her pretty blue eyes, Drew saw shock, confusion, and hurt. He could tell that no one had ever personally attacked her before and she didn’t quite know how to deal with it.
“Read what it says, Gillian. Someone is pissed at you for working with me.”
“You . . . you can’t know that.” But she did stare at her car to read the sloppily painted message. Slowly, she shook her head in denial. Voice faint, she said, “What does that mean?”
It seemed clear enough to Drew. “I’m the devil someone wants damned.”
In quick denial, she said, “Don’t be ridiculous.” But she didn’t look convinced as she continued to stare at the destruction. “Not everything is about you, you know, despite your monumental ego.”
Drew appreciated her effort to deflect the accusation, but he knew a real threat—when it was aimed at an innocent like Gillian. “Get real, honey. First the bomb threat, and now someone beats up your car, which was left near a place where you arranged a speaking engagement for me? I just hope whoever did this doesn’t know why you left the car here. But either way”—he took his phone from her again—“I need to call Officer Sparks.”
She groaned and fell back in her seat. “I just know this is going to end up front-page news.”
Drew shook his head at her. “Hardly that. I think Sparks can be tactful.” When the officer answered, Drew gave him the details. They ended up waiting on Sparks, who arrived twenty minutes later. He took a report, which included getting Gillian’s full name and association with Drew, but, as Drew had suspected, not much could be done.
Sparks did caution them to be careful, and he pr
omised that he wouldn’t share Gillian’s name unless it became absolutely necessary. Right now, it wasn’t.
After he left, Gillian wanted Drew to do the same so that she could call for the tow truck—and not be seen with him.
What was he? A scourge? An embarrassment? The devil himself, as the car wrecker presumed?
Gillian’s desire to hide her personal interest in him made him nuts, but he still would have obliged if he wasn’t worried for her safety. Instead, he called an associate who had a tow truck and asked him to take the car to a garage. No other explanations were necessary.
“Just that easy?” Gillian asked with wonder.
Drew paced around her car, even though he’d already done that with Officer Sparks and even though there wasn’t enough light now to see much. “When you’re as high profile as I am, it’s good to make affiliations with people who don’t ask questions. I’ve worked with that garage before, too. They’re good. Your car will be in good hands.”
Drew left the key hidden in a designated spot. “Tomorrow you can give the garage a call, tell them it’s your car, and you can take over from there with no one the wiser on your social life.”
Pleased with that plan, Gillian said, “You’re a handy man to know, Drew.”
Actually, knowing him was what had gotten her car trashed.
Feeling powerless, he escorted Gillian home.
They rode in silence with her worrying and him stewing until they reached her driveway.
Gillian unhooked her seat belt in a rush. “You don’t need to get out.”
Because she didn’t want to risk anyone seeing her with him. The insults were starting to get under his very thick skin. “Am I allowed to sit here until I see you’re safely inside?”
For answer, she craned her neck to look out the rear window, the side windows. “I think it’s okay. No one is up and about right now anyway.”
Drew’s smile started to smart. “Then it’s safe for me to do this.” Catching her before she could suspect his intent, he brought her closer and stole her gasp with a scorching kiss. As always, she melted in seconds, and soon she had her fingers knotted in his shirt as she tried to get more of him.
