Love Game

by Maggie Wells

  His thoughts drifted back to his conversations with Donner and Mike. Historically challenged or not, the Wolcott football program did have potential. They had a handful of players with some talent. And the coaches were good enough for now. Mike was right about Mack. The old guy’s insights were invaluable. And Mack was right about him too. He was a punk-ass screwup who needed to get his head in the game.

  He had to stop comparing his team to others and quit worrying about what the press thought of them. They needed to make the most of the team’s strengths and minimize the weaknesses. Priority one would be to strip the program down to basics and focus on the fundamentals. Everything else would fall into line.

  He wasn’t some ego-driven ex-pro-turned-coaching-wunderkind anymore. He was older. Wiser. And best of all, he had virtually nothing to lose. Money wasn’t his motivator. He wanted his good name back.

  Pausing in front of one of the trophy cases, he thought back to booze-fueled inanities Donner’d babbled at the awards dinner. Most people didn’t even bother adding the gender qualifier to the athletics around here. A phenomenon particularly unusual in collegiate sports, where the sting of Title IX still smarted.

  The topic of the federal regulation that prohibited sex discrimination in education was a sensitive one for a lot of men, but not for him. He’d been at schools where the disparity in funding between women’s sports and men’s was so blatant it was shameful. Not that he was about to give up any of his funding to buy the field hockey team new sticks. There were times when having the best helmets and pads saved life and limb, and his job was to make sure his players had every damn thing they needed to play hard and safe. But when Dickie dared to dismiss those amazing athletes—those champions—as nothing more than mere “girls,” Danny’s blood had boiled.

  A muffled thunk followed by a series of high-pitched squeaks drew him up short just as he reached the doors. The steady drumbeat of a ball hitting hardwood drifted up the concrete ramp that led to the arena. Curious, he hooked a right and started down the corridor toward the court. The pulse of continuous dribbling grew louder. The squeal of rubber soles on varnished floor made the tiny hairs on his neck stand at attention, but it was the sight of the lone shooter that stopped him dead in his tracks.

  She was slim and supple, her body curved into an airborne C as she launched the ball from her fingertips. The spinning orange orb arced through the air, but she landed almost silently, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The cotton-nylon netting sang its siren song as the ball passed through, a soft, seductive taunt, daring the shooter to try it again.

  Kate caught the ball after a single bounce and trapped it against her hip as she walked toward the foul line. The textured orange rubber pressed against the gauzy spring skirt and sleeveless sweater she paired with blindingly bright sneakers. Warmth gathered in his belly, and a slow smile crept across his face. Somehow, neither the gaudy shoes nor the utterly feminine clothes looked the least bit out of place on Kate Snyder.

  The shoes were an impulse buy. It seemed that since the moment he took her hand in his, every reaction Kate elicited from him was completely beyond his control. He had no other way of explaining why he wanted her to have those crazy clown shoes. He just knew the minute he saw them that they belonged with her. From the looks of things, he hadn’t been wrong.

  The soles squealed again as she made a break toward the basket. Long, loping strides made her skirt swirl around her knees. Incongruous as they were, the outrageous sneakers couldn’t hold his attention. Not when the taut muscles in her calves were on display and he had the opportunity to watch toned biceps flex under smooth skin.

  She took the layup in stride, oblivious to her audience. Drawn like a fly to honey, he set his briefcase aside and made his way courtside. She dribbled around the top of the key and shook her hair back as she toed the foul line. The nylon netting hissed as she sank free throw after free throw without grazing the rim.

  The woman was magnetic. Mesmerizing. Magnificent.

  Like him, the ball kept coming back to her time and time again. He stood on the sideline, entranced by the glow the exertion gave her skin. The ball bounced wide, and she snagged it easily, bringing it under control with the barest flex of her wrist. Dribbling sure and easy, she kept her gaze fixed on the goal as she backed to the top of the arc.

  Danny found himself holding his breath as she let the ball fly, but he didn’t follow its trajectory. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her. There was a dull thud followed by a soft swish of net, but Kate shook her head in disgust as she reclaimed the ball. An incredulous laugh rumbled in his chest, but he didn’t dare let it out. Her perfectionism didn’t surprise him. He lived with the same drive.

  “It was a beautiful shot.”

  Kate froze, her arm wrapped protectively around the ball, but she didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, she cast an assessing glance at the basket. “A little short.”

  “Still a beautiful shot.”

  Danny knew he was taking a chance, stepping onto her court without permission, but there were forces stronger than common sense at play here. He needed to move closer. Needed a better look at the well-defined muscles in her arms and intimidating brace she wore on her right knee. His fingers itched to touch that filmy skirt, to smooth the thin sweater where it bunched at her flat stomach, to feel those small, high breasts in the palms of his hands. She pivoted, and he stopped, arrested by the sight of her. Pink lips, damp and parted. The pearly flush of exertion riding high in her cheeks.

  He liked what he saw in her wide-set eyes. Wariness. Welcome. Just a flash of something he didn’t recognize but wanted to know better. Much better.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He couldn’t help but smile. He heard the proprietary note in her voice. “I work here, remember?”

  The smart-assed reply seemed to give her the boost she needed. Rolling those beautiful eyes, she shifted the ball to her hip. “I meant now. I thought everyone was gone.”

  “I had a little heart-to-heart with Dickie Donner.” A wry smile twisted his lips. He was gratified when Kate returned it with a smirk of her own. “You’ll be glad to know you aren’t the only one manning the welcome wagon.”

  Her nose wrinkled when she grinned. Just a little but enough to make him want to kiss her senseless. “He didn’t come over here and lick your cleats?”

  He managed a sage nod. “He had some plays drawn up.”

  “Oh, I bet he did.”

  An optimistic man might think he saw sympathy in those amber eyes, but Danny had given up optimism years ago. This woman was more likely to skewer him than offer consolation. Still, he stubbornly refused to step back when she gave the ball a couple of hard bounces.

  “Play your cards right, and he’ll keep you in Gatorade and mouth guards for years to come,” she said.

  “Play them wrong, and I’ll be lucky to get a job striping the field,” he finished.

  Her smirk transformed into a smile so brilliant he had to resist the urge to shield his eyes. “I bet you’d be so good at it. I hear you’ve been working real hard on walking the straight and narrow.”

  Torn between the urge to flee from another fruitless confrontation and the other urges wreaking havoc with his self-control, he shifted from defense to offense. He let his gaze roam down her body and slowly back up again.

  “Love the new uniform. Of course, see-through or not, everyone in the place will be hoping that skirt flies up when there’s a jump ball.”

  She blinked, a frown transforming the clean, classic lines of her face as she glanced at her skirt. “It’s not see-through.”

  He widened his eyes, trying for an innocent look. “No? Must just be my overactive imagination.”

  Sticking her chin up in the air, she turned her back on him and started toward the sideline. There, he spotted the open shoe box and fought back a smile. A profusion of discarded tissue nearly masked a pair of shoes comprised of two thin straps of black leather and spindly heels.r />
  Four-inch heels. They stood eye-to-eye as it was. The addition of those shoes would make her tower over him. A prospect he found oddly arousing.

  Odd, because he’d always liked the tiny girls. Little, delicate things he had to stoop to kiss. The kind of woman he could sweep off her feet literally and figuratively. Willowy figure notwithstanding, there was no doubt in his mind Kate Snyder could take him down. Hard. Physically, psychologically, and professionally.

  And damn if that didn’t make him want her more.

  She dropped into the chair beside the box and toed off the retina-searing shoes. Eyeing him skeptically, she stripped off snowy-white ankle socks and balled them in a swift, practiced move. “Was there something I could help you with?”

  The slight quaver in her voice sparked his curiosity. “Would you?”

  Her sleek, brown hair cascaded over one shoulder when she cocked her head. He stared transfixed as she reached for one of the discarded sandals.

  Shoe dangling from the crook of her finger, she raised an eyebrow. “Would I what?”

  Discomfited by the directness of her gaze and the beginnings of what would certainly be a hard-on of epic proportions, he shoved his hands into his pockets and gave a stilted shrug. “Help me.” Her look of shocked innocence made him laugh. “Yeah, well, call me crazy, but I get the distinct feeling you don’t want me here.”

  “Crazy.” Kate tipped her head back and stared straight into his eyes. “Why on earth would you think I wouldn’t want you?”

  He froze, but God help him, his dick stirred. Resisting the need to adjust the growing tightness in his pants, he fell headfirst into that steady, golden gaze. “Do you?”

  She wet her lips with the tip of her pink tongue and, for the first time in his life, he wished he had access to slow-motion replay. He tossed whatever half-assed game plan he had, stepped out of the pocket, and threw a Hail Mary.

  He bent at the waist, his hands closing around the biceps he’d just been admiring as he pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were sweet and damp. Impossibly soft, despite the fact that her body stiffened in surprise. Then she relaxed into the kiss with a soft gasp of surrender, and he lost all semblance of reason.

  He dropped to his knees. A jolt of pain sailed through his body, but then her arms were around him too, and he couldn’t care less. One hand slid up his neck. Her fingers were in his hair. Fingernails scored his shirt and bit into his shoulder as she arched into the kiss.

  “Jesus,” he panted when they came up for air. Pressing his forehead to hers, he ran his hand over her hair and then tucked it behind her ear just as he’d seen her do countless times. Mustering superhuman strength, he pulled back far enough to whisper, “This is insane.”

  “I have a date.”

  Her voice was faint, tinged with shock. Danny fell back on his heels, what little air he had left exploding from his lungs. He watched as the hands that mussed his hair and wrinkled his shirt groped for the sexy sandals. Fuck-me heels she planned to wear for another man. She wriggled her polished toes under the toe strap, and a surge of white-hot jealousy and anger balled in his gut.

  “Who?”

  Tugging the other strap up over her heel, she ducked her head to avoid his eyes. “None of your business.”

  “The hell it isn’t.” He stifled a groan as he rolled to his feet, ignoring the creaks and pops of his joints. He glared at her, but she remained stubbornly silent.

  They sized each other up, looking for chinks in the armor they both wore. Recognizing a little of himself in her defiant gaze, he nodded shortly. “Fine. Yeah. Okay. Go on with your date. I hope you enjoy it.”

  He let his insincere good wishes hang in the charged air between them.

  “But remember who kissed you first tonight, Kate.”

  She stared up at him, her lips parted and wet, hunger gleaming bright in her eyes. He had her just where he wanted her. She was off balance. Rattled, like he was. And that was good. Damn good.

  “Remember who kissed you first. Then tomorrow, you come tell me who kissed you best.”

  He turned on his heel and strode the length of the court, gratified to note she didn’t recover until his foot hit the bottom riser.

  “What makes you think you were so great?” she called, her voice high and tight.

  He chose not to chase after that ball. Instead, he snagged the smooth leather handle of his briefcase without breaking stride and headed for the steps. His heart hammered as he took the stairs two at a time. At the mouth of the tunnel, he turned back.

  She stood with her feet wide, those heels doing incredible things to her shapely calves. Her hand perched on one hip, lending extra definition to the outline of her slender curves. God, she was incredible. The harsh overhead lights caught planes and angles of her face, sketching her classic beauty in sharp, bold lines. He let his gaze fall all the way to her pink-polished toes, then he took his time meandering back up to meet her eyes.

  Determined to get the last word, he held her gaze. “That knee brace is sexy as hell.”

  Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened before squeezing into a cringe. But she didn’t look down. The hell of it was, he really did find everything about her sexy as hell. Including the knee brace. Lifting one hand in a resigned wave, he attempted a modest shrug.

  “Be gentle with the poor guy, Coach. We are only men.”

  Chapter 8

  The date was a bust. Of course it was. Danny McMillan guaranteed that the second he decided to plant that big, wet kiss on her lips. Okay, it wasn’t all that wet. In truth, it was just the right amount of soft, slippery, and hot. Maybe a dash of demanding in there. Or was it commanding? Either way, he was hungry. She’d tasted desire on his tongue, and damn if she didn’t feel the answering ache deep inside.

  “I had a great time tonight.”

  Jim leaned in, startling her from her thoughts. She squelched a perverse impulse to insist he tell her which parts he thought were so great. Was it the predictability of his restaurant choice, or the fact that the food they’d eaten looked exactly like its photo representation in the menu? Did the framed jerseys and aging pennants that adorned the restaurant’s walls psych him up? Was he turned on by the replica of one of her old WNBA jerseys hanging over the bar?

  Kate smiled, an automatic response, but she could hardly bring herself to nudge her internal date-o-meter out of the “pleasant” zone. As far as she was concerned, there’d been nothing great about the evening. Aside from the pregame warm-up.

  Jim propped a hand on the doorjamb, and she quickly stowed all thoughts of the capricious Coach McMillan and his marauding mouth. At least, she tried to. The kiss Jim brushed over her lips was barely more than a glancing blow, as easy to miss as a hip check on a rebound. Danny’s had been a game stopper. A foul so flagrant, he should have been tossed from the game. But Lord, she wanted to keep facing off with him.

  “So, you and the prince of pigskin planning on going at it anytime soon?”

  She blinked up at Jim, thrown by the shift in topic. “What?”

  “I figure the triple chocolate cake should buy me at least a heads-up if you plan to put the guy in his place again.”

  He actually said it with a smile. He stood there on her own doorstep, the tips of his shoes touching her toes, and dared to imply she owed him a floorshow to go with the lame-ass dinner he’d bought her. Shifting her weight and squaring her shoulders, she moved out of the kissing zone. If he thought he was coming in after an implication like that, he was cracked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His eyebrows rose, and he ran a hand down her arm. “Millie’s got this idea that it’s like watching Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs going at each other, but I don’t see it. Still, the guys at the local affiliate are interested.”

  She stiffened, mortified at being caught in the middle of this ridiculous ploy to score media coverage. “There’s nothing to be interested in. I simply welcomed him to Wolcott.”

 
“And let him know who ruled the school.” He crowded her a little. “I have to admit, you’re a lot hotter than Billie Jean.”

  She blinked, taken aback.

  “Thanks,” she said dryly and stepped away. With his tasteless kiss a faint memory and the insinuation that she owed him something hanging heavy between them, she didn’t want to be within striking distance. She’d cracked a rib or two with a well-thrown elbow. “I didn’t realize dessert came with strings attached.”

  His brow puckered. “I wouldn’t call them strings.”

  “What would you call them?”

  He tilted his head, studying her carefully. At last, the corner of his mouth ticked up in a rakish smirk she was certain he practiced in front of a mirror. “Inducement?”

  She matched his fake rake with wide-eyed guilelessness. After all, if insincerity was good enough for him, it should be for her as well. “Is that what this was all about? A bribe so I’d tip you off on nonexistent stories? What about the shoes? What are they worth?”

  He gave her a crooked smile that should have been more appealing than it was. He glanced down at the strappy heels she wore and came up with a shrug that marked him clueless. “Your shoes are great.”

  Her heart sped up as realization and vindication kicked it into high gear. D didn’t stand for Davenport. D was for Danny. Danny, who kissed her hard and hot and left her feeling wobbly all night. The one man she shouldn’t want.

  She tried instead to focus on the one she was supposed to want. Jim’s smile became a bit lecherous as he leaned in to kiss her again. Her stomach turned over, and her fingers curled into his shirt. She let it happen. Not because she wanted it, but because she needed a time-out. Just a few seconds to draw up the next play. And nothing would clear the slate like another one of Jim’s zestless attempts at seduction.

  He knew nothing about the shoes. She was sure of it. The tip of Jim’s tongue tripped along her firmly sealed lips, but she didn’t want to let him in. Some crazy, irrational part of her mind worried that he might be able to detect the lingering taste of Danny McMillan on her tongue. The sane part refused to take the chance on having an incredible kiss replaced by one that was forgettable at best.