A blueberry mojito in hand, Charlotte surveyed the ebb and flow of guests on the terrace, searching for a man with a burr haircut and dark eyes that had seemed to hold the power to look right through to her every unspoken wish. What would be his motive for not showing up to this fund-raising event, when the announcement she’d found online had all but gushed over his generosity and dedication to children’s literacy and academic excellence?
Had he guessed she would attempt to find him here and backed out of the commitment? Not only did the sneakiness of the move frustrate her, but Charlotte found it intolerable that he’d brush off an event and cause he was supposedly so devoted to.
Or his absence could have nothing at all to do with her.
Why do I care one way or another? Why am I even hoping he’s a better person than that?
Charlotte returned her attention to the mojito and let a circle of women draw her into a conversation about the benefit.
Yesterday she’d contacted the event’s chairperson and made an anonymous donation to the Young Minds, Bright Futures charity. She approved of the cause that offered Clark County’s academically gifted children the recognition they deserved no matter their families’ incomes or social statuses. While some of the silent-auction items offered entertainment, many were scientific in nature—such as the gemstone Charlotte had her eye on—and the proceeds from all would be funneled into the charity’s scholarship fund.
She’d come here for one mission, but in between searching for Nate she found herself enjoying the atmosphere and the company of brilliant, humble kids and the grown-ups who were not only present to share the glory but appeared genuinely proud.
In that respect they were more fortunate than Charlotte had ever been.
As the conversation waned and a few of the women stepped away, Charlotte finished her mojito and found Joey leaning back against a wall at the opposite end of the terrace, clad in leather pants and a hunter-green Naeem Khan peasant blouse. “I don’t think Nate’s going to show,” Charlotte said. “And I was so looking forward to playing spy.”
“I found out that Nate participates in this benefit every year. It hits close to home for him, turns out. He’s a brainiac, too.” Joey hitched her chin up at the sun bleeding hues of orange and purple into the horizon. “It’s early. He’ll probably show. Are you going to take off?”
Charlotte preferred to stick around for the ceremony and the results of the silent auction, but the idea of Nate turning his back on these kids and this fund-raising event—to avoid her?—left her feeling unsettled. The fact that it bothered her was even more troubling.
“Maybe,” was her uncertain answer. “For a woman who wasn’t too enthusiastic about making an appearance here, you sure seem comfortable,” Charlotte noticed, realizing for the first time that Joey held two glasses. And both contained what looked like tropical punch garnished with orange slices.
Joey’s gaze lowered slightly as she sipped from the glass with the lipstick-stained rim. “I met a cop. His name’s Parker.”
“That’s great!”
“He’s a widower. Has a son.” Joey held up the second glass in explanation. “An actor from that FX show about a motorcycle club is here, and Parker took his kid to get an autograph.” She polished off her juice and handed Charlotte the glass, then straightened and grabbed her cane from its hiding spot behind her.
“You hid your cane?” Charlotte whispered. “If you like this cop so much that you’re holding his son’s juice glass, you should find out up front if he has a problem with your injury.”
“Lottie, it’s not like I looked at him and saw wedding bells. I guess I was pretending for a bit that I’m one hundred percent whole…. Dumb.” She laughed, but it lacked warmth or humor. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to find a guy. I came to help you scope out Nate.”
“Things have an odd way of changing course sometimes,” Charlotte said, but she’d let her friend make her own choice. She handed Joey’s glass to a waiter and turned discreetly, scanning faces. “Which one’s Parker?”
Now Joey’s smile was authentic, and she braced her weight on the cane, carefully taking inventory of the terrace crowd. “Over there by the band. Dark hair. Dimples. Roman nose… Isn’t that what they call it?”
The man bent to say something to the boy in front of him, and both women fell silent, enjoying the view.
“Somebody’s got a crush,” Charlotte whispered.
“He’s a dad. And his son’s a ten-year-old physics genius, turns out.”
“He’s a man—” Charlotte paused as the man and his son turned to wave Joey over “—and both he and his kid seem taken with you. Get to know him, if you want a friend’s suggestion.”
Joey frowned, as if ready to protest, when something trapped her attention. She subtly lifted her brows at Charlotte. “Well. Here comes your man.”
Charlotte felt Nate’s approach even before she turned to see him backlit by the million dots of glowing gold from the lights that had been strung about the terrace. She thought she’d memorized every detail—his height, his bronze skin, that beautiful curve of his mouth—but seeing him weave through the clumps of guests, in an almost black suit and stark white shirt with no tie and an unbuttoned collar, jump-started her senses.
Something about him affected her in a way she couldn’t define and certainly didn’t want to accept. It was as if he’d figured her out even before meeting her. Without touching her, speaking to her or even looking at her, he called to her.
And this was how it had happened to begin with…. Except there would be no fantasies tonight. Just reality. Just business.
“I won’t be far,” Joey let her know in a low tone only Charlotte could hear before she slipped into the crowd.
Nate let his eyes touch her in one smooth stroke from her hair, which she’d wrangled into a high knot, to her boa stilettos. If he was waiting for her to react, he could keep waiting, because she wouldn’t shrink or flush under his stare. Establishing right now that he didn’t outmatch her was paramount.
“Funny how you and I never ran in the same social circles before you were hired,” Nate said, his baritone tight with tension. He acknowledged a trickle of passing acquaintances—men in suits and women in soiree dresses—with easygoing nods and brisk handshakes before zeroing in on her again. “Is your interest in providing for incredibly studious kids new?”
Charlotte let the fire glint in her eyes but blinked it smoothly away after a moment. “I support this charity’s mission and am glad the Las Vegas Slayers chipped in. But I’m here because I looked you up on Google and I need a word with you. In private.”
Nothing like blunt honesty to throw a man off his game. She liked seeing surprise flare in his eyes but didn’t bask in the satisfaction. Divulging the location of an unlocked meeting room that she’d found earlier, she instructed, “I’m going there now, but you’ll need to wait some minutes before slipping out of the ballroom—”
“This feels familiar.”
“I’ll be a saint.” Charlotte’s mouth softened as if on the verge of a smile, just enough to reel in his attention. “History won’t repeat itself. I can promise you that.”
She made haste, pretending to be on a pressing cell phone call as she walked with purpose through the halls, then dropping the phone into her tiny handbag when she found the vacant meeting room without anyone in her way or on her trail.
While she waited, she let her foot shake freely, getting the nervousness out of her system. It made no sense that he could rattle her so, when she’d come to this benefit to rattle him enough to drop whatever unfounded vendetta he had against her family.
If, in fact, he had one.
“The presentations will be starting soon,” Nate said, coming into the meeting room that suddenly felt too small for the two of them, “so we may have to cut this short.”
Charlotte let the razor-thin sarcasm pass but was stunned at Nate’s audacity to set her up and be sullen about not finishing the job in hi
s suite at the Rio. “Won’t take long.”
“What about your friend? Is she around or did she outfit you in a wire or something?” He must’ve noted the concern sweeping across her face, because he continued, “I saw her at the team party and again here, speaking with you. And she looks on edge, like she wouldn’t trust a nun.”
“My friend is here for moral support.” And to help me spy on you, of course.
“Then a wire…?” Nate came farther into the room, into her space, and circled her, his gaze coasting deliberately, agonizingly meticulously over her every line and curve.
“That would be unnecessary, seeing as I came here only for a colleague-to-colleague conversation.” Charlotte needed him to stop moving, to stop allowing his scent to wash over her and drag her memories back to dangerous moments. “I want to know if you set me up the other night at the Rio.”
Nate did stop, as if frozen in place. “How would I have done that?”
She wanted to be able to see the truth in his eyes, to see deeply into him the way he’d seemed to be able to stare right to the core of her when they were just random strangers in a hotel nightclub. Or perhaps she hadn’t been random to him but the woman he was after from the start. “Carefully but easily. You had someone follow me around and let you know where I was. Then you…pounced.”
“Understand this. I didn’t know who you were when we met. And it was all up to you, Charlotte. You came and went on your own terms. And why would I go to such lengths for sex?”
Oh, he wasn’t going to throw her off with that. “Maybe sex wasn’t your actual objective.” Charlotte refused to look away, wouldn’t let her nerves get the best of her. “Was sleeping with me going to be a bonus or a token or something?”
“No.” The word was low, but it resounded in Charlotte’s ears until it penetrated all the way down to her heart.
“Then what was your agenda…Nate Franco?” At his hesitation, she prodded, “Just admit that you have a problem with my family and with me being on the training staff.”
“Damn right I have a problem with your family taking what doesn’t belong to you.” The truth ignited the heat in his eyes, and though the reality of it stung, Charlotte would’ve respected him less if he’d lied.
“Your father sold the franchise to my father. It was a fair deal.”
“Preying on a man still grieving the death of his wife isn’t fair where I come from.” Nate pulled a chair back from the conference table and sat, watching her openly. He legitimately believed that her father had intimidated his father into selling the Slayers. It was absurd, because she knew it wasn’t true. But to him…
“The Blues don’t roll like that, Nate.”
Whether he trusted what she told him or not didn’t matter. She would help her parents fight whatever trouble the Francos sent their way…if they let her. Of course, if Nate decided to disclose the details of their first meeting, there was an almost certain chance that her parents would want her as far away from the organization as possible.
“What do you intend to do?” she asked, going to stand in front of him. “Notify my family and the media and the league that you saw Charlotte Blue’s underpants? Is that the satisfaction you want?”
“What would that accomplish?”
“Nate, for starters it would get me off your territory. I’d be off the team.” The possibility of losing it all hadn’t felt quite as real as it did once she’d said the words to him aloud. “But so would you. Are you really so confident you can break down my family that you’re willing to risk your own career?”
“Your family controls the front office. You’re golden, Charlotte. As good as tenured on the damn training staff.”
“Actually,” she said quietly, “you have that ‘family takes care of family’ luxury. I don’t. People on the outside calling foul, claiming nepotism? They’re so wrong. None of you know my parents.”
“Charlotte. You say my family takes care of one another.”
“Clearly.”
“Who takes care of you?”
I do. It’s what I’m used to. But she wouldn’t tell this man that. Already she’d said too much, let the conversation go too deep into waters she didn’t want to disturb. He knew that he could hurt her…but would he?
Rather than press for an answer to his question, he came back with another one, getting to his feet as he spoke. “Who’s to say you didn’t plan to casually run into me at VooDoo?”
“Like I said earlier, the Blues don’t roll like that. We play fair and that makes winning sweeter.”
“You didn’t know who I was?” he countered.
“I didn’t realize you were Santino Franco’s brother until you told me your name at the party.”
“Santino’s brother.” A rueful smile touched his face. “Yeah, he was the star. I was a competent athlete but didn’t have the same ‘star quality,’ so I hung somewhere in the background…a nerd…a kid who was all about the books, just like the kids being honored in this building tonight.”
So he was committed to the charity’s cause. Did he see aspects of his younger self in the kids in the Valencia, kids who were gifted in some ways but disadvantaged in others?
“No one should be overlooked or forgotten.”
Was he referring to the kids who now had “bright futures” or himself…or her?
Charlotte hadn’t realized that with each sentence he’d come a step closer to her, and now he was in her space again.
“After this, you’ll remember me.” Nate tucked her against the wall of his body and fit his mouth over hers.
At his impassioned touch, Charlotte felt herself going willingly deeper down the path that had put her square in the middle of this mess in the first place, but the last thing she wanted to do was disengage from a man who was talking to her—not with words but with lips and tongue.
His hands found their way between them, roaming over her from breasts to belly, then found their way around to her rear. All the while his mouth was hot and dangerous and so thorough.
When he finally released her, she staggered, momentarily dazed, and for a long moment there was only the ragged sounds of their breathing.
Charlotte smoothed her dress. “Told you I wasn’t wearing a wire.”
“Had to know what you intended to do,” he said, volleying her words back to her, his voice rough like gravel.
“I intend to go to Mount Charleston and do my job.” She headed for the door.
“Charlotte…I won’t take any cheap shot against you. But the one thing worse than getting hot with you when I didn’t know you were my coworker, that you’re a Blue, would be to get hot with you again.”
“Then don’t do it.” She rolled her tongue over her bottom lip and could taste him there. “See you at camp.”
*
Desert Luck Center, the Las Vegas Slayers’ training facility, spread out over a corner of Mount Charleston, Nevada, was architectural heaven, with its most grand outdoor features being two practice fields, a basketball court and an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Beyond the spacious lobby, the sprawling main building housed a weight room, equipment room, cafeteria, auditorium and lounges for players and staff.
Like the first day of school, Charlotte thought as she parked her Fiat in the lot, hitched the strap of her duffel bag over her shoulder and hurried inside out of the light summer drizzle. Growing up, she’d been that oddball girl who was excited at the start of a brand-new year but who purposely wore the previous year’s clothes just because everyone else would be decked out in brand-new stuff, making every classroom smell like a department store. Today, though, brand-new athletic shorts peeked out from underneath her favorite oversize cotton T-shirt.
Today she was more anxious than excited. It was imperative that she check her nerves at the door and present a cool exterior. If she could show up to camp every morning and return to her temporary “villa home” each afternoon knowing that her presence on the staff had made a difference, then she’d be all right.
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She’d expected uncomfortable glances from players and coaches alike but had not expected to locate her assigned locker and see a new-with-tags push-up bra taped to the door.
A few muffled snickers rode the air.
Wasn’t this supposed to be professional football? Even her college athletes and colleagues hadn’t stooped low enough to pull this kind of junior high prank. She peeled the garment away and twirled it around her finger. “Oopsie. You guys gave me too much credit, ’cause my breasts aren’t this big.”
The majority of the laughter stopped and she scanned the mostly unfamiliar faces, pausing when she met Kip Claussen’s eyes.
She pitched the undergarment into a wastebasket, embarrassed to be caught waving around a bra in front of the head coach. He’d warned her about this, and she’d been so cocky about being equipped to handle it. No doubt he’d report the episode to her parents, who would be more interested in how she dealt with the situation rather than who instigated it.
Kip swaggered past, clipboard in hand. “Well done, Charlotte.”
Suppressing a grin, she issued a short nod of acknowledgment and finished checking in, meeting people she’d glimpsed at the team party but couldn’t recall by name, as well as others for the very first time.
Of all the hands she’d shaken, the nods she’d returned, none had been Nate’s. She didn’t like compulsively searching a group for his face or that when she paused for a heartbeat, she remembered how it felt to have him against her, taking up her oxygen and replacing it with something that felt like uncorked lust. Nor did she appreciate the worry that lingered like a dark lullaby in the recesses of her mind, one that warned she couldn’t trust a man with such an obvious motive to cause her family trouble.
Up to this minute he hadn’t gone back on his word—her parents were all about action and would’ve contacted Charlotte by now if Nate had talked. So he was keeping their secret, or secrets if one also counted the heated-kiss-slash-wire-check encounter in the JW Marriott meeting room.
Night Games Page 8
