Bigger Than Beckham (29 page)

The truth was that Will Winston had wanted
nothing more than to secure that franchise and retire, turning his
corporation over to his only child. Four years ago, he’d
reluctantly sold Winston Papers instead. And Martha was sure he’d
never completely forgiven her for letting him down when she balked
at giving up her job at the
Post
to return home and run the
family business. His unrealistic desire to pass control of the
company to his prodigal daughter had left her no alternative but to
hand him a disappointment far more hurtful than she’d ever
anticipated.

To her father, her commitment to
journalism—and sportswriting in particular—embodied some kind of
tragic failure on his part, as if he hadn’t imbued her with
sufficient ambition or true passion to accomplish something
significant and lasting. Sportswriting was pedestrian—the province
of the barely literate—according to Will Winston, and horribly
beneath her capabilities. Yes, he adored her and was proud of her
accomplishments, but he’d never hidden the fact that he believed
she could do so much better than spend her life writing about
sports.

She forced the painful memories aside, having
no intention of dredging them up for Tony now.

“A dream he and I certainly shared,” Tony
mused, still watching the field as the Lions took control of the
ball again. “A worthy dream for anyone, I’d say.”

Martha’s heart clutched at the soft-spoken
words that sounded like a vow. Most of her father’s family and
friends—most everyone, really—thought Will Winston had completely
lost his marbles when he sold the company and started the team. But
she understood it, because that’s the way she felt about her chosen
career and path in life.

“Yes,” she murmured, “it was. And it still
is.”

Tony turned to face her again, locking his
hands on her hips and tugging her into him. “Still, it’s not
your
dream, is it, Martha?”

From his lips, it didn’t quite sound like a
question. There was no point in trying to lie to him or shade the
truth. He knew her moaning and groaning about the Thunder had
little to do with any truly deep attachment to the team or the
sport. Unlike her father, it wasn’t in her blood. Most likely, Tony
figured it was all about her pride. Pig-headed pride and willful
ignoring of overwhelming odds.

But it had been her father’s dream, and she
couldn’t give up on it.

She hesitated, trying to conjure up a joke
and failing miserably. The way Tony gazed into her eyes, all dark
and intent, Martha didn’t think she could manage anything other
than the simple truth. “My dream? For a long time, it’s been to win
a Pulitzer Prize for sports journalism.”

Tony kissed her gently on the lips. “A
wonderful dream. Surely as worthy as any.”

Martha liked the kiss—a lot—but wondered
where he was heading with this conversation. “And even less likely
to happen for real, I’m afraid, than the Jacksonville Thunder
winning the ASL championship,” she said wryly when he let her
go.

Despite her self-deprecating words, she
actually thought that the piece on Colton Butler, if everything
wound up falling into place, could conceivably get some
consideration for prestigious awards. At the very least, it would
get a whole lot of attention. And, hopefully, help correct an
injustice.

Tony shook his head. “Any dream can come true
if you believe enough, and if you work hard enough.”

Martha rolled her eyes. “Come on, do you
really think the Thunder can win it all?” she said, playing with
him by deliberately misconstruing his intent.

He took his hands off her hips and gently
tapped her under the chin. “I believe you’ll win a Pulitzer Prize
someday, if you want it badly enough.”

Suddenly, his words sounded patronizing to
her ears. Not only was he spouting platitudes, he seemed to be
implying that she should get her ass back to doing something she
was actually competent at.

She instinctively rebelled. “Are you giving
motivational speeches in your spare time now, Tony? Well, I don’t
need one, thank you very much. I’m doing just fine on my own.”

Their pact not to talk about Tony’s bid for
the Thunder seemed to be in danger of shattering any second. Though
he hadn’t quite crossed the line yet, Martha took his warm and
fuzzy encouragement about her journalistic future to be simply
another strategy to motivate her to throw up her hands at the
futility of trying to salvage her hopeless team.

Tony didn’t move, but she could sense his
emotional retreat. “You’re satin-smooth and honey-sweet when you
want to be, love. But that honey can run bitter sometimes,
yes?”

Martha’s stomach plummeted straight toward
the red sandals with the sexy little bows that she’d bought in a
hurried expedition to Harrods before the game. Tony turned to stare
down at the field as she bit back the quick retort that flew to her
lips. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Believe it or not, I care a lot about you,
Martha,” he said, keeping his eye on the game. “I want you to be
happy, and do whatever makes you happy. But I don’t think you can
look me in the eye and tell me you’re going to be happy running a
losing football club in Florida.” With that, he turned his head and
captured her with a challenging gaze.

She resisted the urge to wipe her perspiring
palms down the side of her skirt. Her good mood had evaporated, and
her brain skittered back and forth between skepticism and
confusion. Did Tony really care about her, or were his smooth words
just another ploy in his campaign to get the team? Was the whole
lusty weekend simply part of his larger battle plan?

And if so, how could she even blame him,
since she’d intended to use this weekend to determine exactly
that.

After last night’s wild sexual romp, they’d
talked for hours before making love one last time and finally
letting sleep take them as dawn approached. She’d felt a surprising
connection to Tony, one unlike anything she would have ever
expected. He’d revealed an innately modest and yet entirely
masculine sincerity that she thought he likely never showed to the
world—perhaps not even to his friends. Some kind of bond seemed to
be forming between the two of them, and it had been enough to get
her to consider abandoning the pact not to talk about the Thunder.
Maybe even to have a no holds barred discussion to figure out where
they were going with the whole thing.

She planted her feet in her absurdly
frivolous sandals and returned his gaze with as much determination
as she could muster. “Maybe running a team isn’t my life’s
ambition, Tony. But it’s my
job
, and it’s an important one.
I made a promise to my daddy, and I’m damn well going to keep
giving it everything I’ve got, for as long as I’ve got.”

The crowd below erupted again. Both she and
Tony turned their eyes to the jumbo screen for the replay. It
showed the Blackhampton goalkeeper making a stunning, leaping save
by tipping a long shot just over the top rail of the net.

“Too bloody close,” Tony said, blowing out a
relieved breath.

Martha whistled softly in admiration. “Wow.
It’s totally wild out there. Kind of makes me wish I could be down
in the stands with those crazy fans.”

This kind of wild scene—tens of thousands of
screaming, chanting, totally ramped-up spectators—this had been
what her father so desperately wanted. Had it been an impossible
dream? Would it always be one? She couldn’t even imagine anything
in Jacksonville that would come close to the inspiring scene
unfolding below her.

But she could feel herself starting to want
it. Badly.

Tony set down his beer and grasped her bare
arm. “So, let’s go then, love.”

Martha jerked her head back. “Are you
serious?”

“Why not? Rex and I do it all the time.”

She grinned at him, glad to relinquish the
tension that had flared up between them. “Lead the way, sir.”

They made their way to a private elevator and
through a narrow hallway where they emerged onto a concourse in the
grandstand. As Tony ushered her to a set of steps leading down,
fans around them stood and started to cheer.

“Ton—y! Ton—y!”

Tony slapped extended hands as he and Martha
carefully descended the stairs.

She gripped his arm tightly as she navigated
in her high-heels. “God, Tony, this is freaking inspiring.”

He leaned his head down until she could feel
his hot breath tickle her ear. “I promise you, Martha, it could be
like this in Jacksonville. Someday soon, too.” He paused for just a
split second. “We could do it together.”

Martha stopped cold, right on the steps,
surrounded by thousands of boisterous fans. “Hon, it’s so loud that
I don’t think I heard you right. Say again?” she yelled.

Seeming to ignore her shout, Tony got her
moving again with a gentle push, and they sat down in seats on the
aisle, not too far above field level. A man sitting directly behind
them gave Tony an little appreciative pat on the back, earning him
a smile as Tony turned and nodded.

Impatient, Martha poked her finger into
Tony’s chest, meeting a hard wall of resistance. “I want to hear
that again, buddy. What you said before we sat down.”

Tony’s intense gaze caught and held hers. “I
guess what I’m saying, Martha,” he said, leaning in close, “is that
if you really do want to stay in the game, why don’t we become
partners?”

Her stomach did a series of Olympic-caliber
back flips as she stared up at into his confident grin.
Oh,
Lord.
What new game he was about spring on her now?

As Martha sank down in her seat, her short
skirt slid up to reveal so much of her tanned, slim thighs that
Tony’s heart pounded with a beat that almost drowned out the roar
of the crowd. He didn’t know whether to laugh at himself or smack
his head against the chair in front for his relentlessly
cock-driven thoughts. He’d just hit Martha with the proposition
that had been on his mind for the past twenty-four hours, and yet
his sodding, sex-addled brain was fixated on how fabulous her long
legs had felt draped over his shoulders last night as he sank
himself inside her sweet, sweet body.

Forcing his eyes back to her face, he
confronted the shock plainly written on her tight features. She
stared straight out at the pitch with her mouth slightly open,
clearly surprised. But was she surprised pleased or surprise
horrified? He couldn’t read her yet and his body had tensed in
response.

Finally, she tilted her head and brushed back
an errant lock of glossy blond hair before catching his eye. “This
is a hell of a place to propose a big-time business deal,
Branch.”

Tony let out a big breath, his muscles
starting to relax in response to Martha’s wry smile.

“I can be impulsive at times,” he said with a
self-deprecating shrug. “Maybe I just got caught up in all this
excitement.”

He shot a quick look around them. Even though
he figured no one could overhear their conversation in the midst of
the continuing din, he kept his voice low. “But now I’ve said it,
so I suppose I can’t take it back.”

“I know exactly how impulsive you can be.”
Martha impatiently pushed her hair back again after the wind blew
it across her face. “Hell, you’re the guy who hopped on a business
jet with your buddy and flew all the way across the Atlantic Ocean
on the off chance I might actually listen to what y’all had to
say.”

She reached into her bag and fished out a
pair of stylish red sunglasses. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to
tell you that your carbon footprint sucks.”

Tony had to laugh at the deft way she was
able to poke a needle into him while maintaining a perfectly
deadpan expression. But was she just stalling for time?

“So, what do you think?” he prompted. He
glanced down again and noticed that despite her breezy tone, her
hands were gripping the arms of her seat tightly enough to whiten
the skin across her knuckles.

Martha thrust her chin out in an unconscious
defensive gesture he was beginning to recognize. “What do I think?
Well, I think that if you’re really serious about this and not just
playing me, Tony, it would be a very good idea if you made it clear
exactly what you mean by a partnership.”

He took a moment, sitting on the edge of his
seat and watching intently as the Lions passed the ball back and
forth in midfield, patiently preparing to launch another attack.
He’d thought long and hard about how to make this deal work,
especially during the frustrating three hours when she was in the
clutches of that prick Butler. He figured it all came down to what
she wanted from continuing to own the Thunder. And since she hadn’t
exactly been forthcoming in that regard, he had to make some
educated guesses.

Was it all about her pride? Martha Winston
had pride by the boatload, and though she could be self-deprecating
at times, everything Tony had seen so far made him believe she
hated like hell to fail at anything. Even her jest about how her
pro basketball career had tanked over her inability to hit the
three-point shot had been laden with enough wounded pride that only
a dolt could have missed it.