Game for Anything (5 page)

At some point they needed to have a discussion about their past. Big stuff had gone down and it couldn't be ignored forever. But it was too soon.

She was like a skittish horse, always on the verge of running. Fortunately, Ty was more than willing to be the Julie whisperer.

To say that she was nervous as she walked down the long flight of dimly lit stairs was an understatement. What if Ty was some kind of freak like Picasso and had filled the walls with all sorts of S and M pictures? What if he had S and M equipment down there? Julie wasn't sure what that entailed, but she was guessing that whips and chains and leather clothing with holes cut out in various places weren't too far off the mark.

She shivered. She should be horrified at the thought of Ty being into S and M. So why was she helplessly titillated by the thought of putting leather on for him? Of being tied to a bedpost while he watched?

Ty flicked the lights on, and Julie gasped in shock.

Warm, dark wood shelves surrounded the room and the thick leather-bound volumes seemed to be well-worn, their spines creased as if they'd been read time and time again. The walls held stunning artwork by Impressionist masters—Matisse, Degas, Renoir. She knew the difference between a print and an original canvas, and Ty's paintings were the real thing. She couldn't contain her wonder.

"Is that really a Rodin?"

He nodded and she somehow managed to pull her eyes away from the stunning treasures to look at

Ty. No one had ever surprised her so much before. She didn't know what to think, what to say.

"This sculpture is my most prized possession," he said, reverently running his fingertips over one ballet slipper of the two-foot-tall bronze sculpture of a ballerina. Where Julie had expected to see smug satisfaction was something else entirely: awe. Her traitorous heart leaped within her chest and it took everything Julie had to quell the beast inside her that wanted to love Ty again.

No, no, no!

Just because she was impressed with the things he possessed didn't mean she was impressed with him. How could he have possibly collected so many amazing things? Or had a designer told him that great artwork would impress his guests?

She shook her head. If that had been the case, he wouldn't have so many amazing modern works in the large room as well. His den bore the stamp of a man who knew exactly what he liked. She didn't like feeling as if she'd just found a piece that couldn't possibly fit the puzzle she had already completed. She didn't like to think that Ty could have another side or, God forbid, depth. She moved through the room, lingering over the books, the paintings, the other sculptures.

"Aren't you afraid your friends will ruin these during one of your parties?" She winced at her tone. She hadn't meant to sound so uptight, so prissy, but Ty had been throwing her off balance all day.

"What I mean is, everything in here is priceless. Amazing. I'd want to keep it all to myself." He remained standing in front of the Rodin. She was dying to look at the beautiful piece up close, which meant she had to stand next to him—a highly inadvisable move.

Ty waited to respond until she was merely inches away. "My friends have never been down here. No one else has ever been down here."

She frowned. "What are you talking about? You brought me." He smiled, and her breath whooshed right out of her body.

"I know," he said, and she swore to God that her knees went weak. Pathetic. She took a step back and then another, until she backed up into the lushest, softest crimson sofa in all creation. Even the furniture in this room beckoned to her, which was saying something, considering she'd always liked clean, contemporary lines. She sat down and closed her eyes in appreciation. No seat had ever felt this good, had ever cradled her better. Lord, things were far worse than she'd thought— she wasn't just falling for his art, she was getting a thing for his couch too!

"Comfortable, isn't it?" he asked, leaning against the bookshelves, his muscular, tanned arms crossed across his chest.

He looked like a lion in the heart of his lair, surveying all that was his with deep, unmitigated pleasure. Would he stroke her as reverently as he had the Rodin? Would he look at her with the same kind of wonder that he did his Monet?

Thankfully, the voice of self-preservation told her to reach into her briefcase for her "serious businesswoman" glasses so that they could work up the plan for his image reversal. Thereby getting her the hell out of his house in one piece.

Preferably with all of her clothes intact.

"Okay, then, why don't we get down to business?"

"With pleasure," he agreed. Though he sat on the facing couch and kicked his long legs up on the antique coffee table, she didn't trust him.

Not when the word "pleasure" sounded like a clear and direct invitation to sin. She pulled out a file of newspaper and magazine clippings. "Sean gave me this and said it would help me get a handle on your image thus far." She pulled out a particularly indicting photo of him locking lips with a mostly undressed brunette. "Impressive stuff." He grinned. "You're right. The doctor who created those breasts was an artist." She almost laughed, but she needed to straighten him up, not encourage him to be a jokester.

"My job is to stop photos like this from being printed. Do you know what the first step to that is?"

"Pay off the editors?"

"Don't be a smart-ass."

"Then don't ask dumb questions."

She sucked in a breath.

He took advantage of her momentary silence and moved to sit next to her. "Look, sweetheart," he said and she hated how much she liked it when he used an endearment, especially given that he'd just insulted her. "Neither of us are idiots."

She pressed her lips together and tried to stop looking at his mouth, but his eyes weren't any better than his beautiful lips.

"Don't call me sweetheart," she said in a no-nonsense tone, though she sensed that he knew he had her right where he wanted her. The lion hovered over his prey.

Suddenly everything shifted as he relaxed back into the couch.

"I shouldn't be messing with you," he said, "and I apologize for that 'dumb' comment. It's just that I've spent most of my life being treated like a brainless jock. It gets pretty old after a while." Not only was Julie immediately chastened by what he said, but she felt like a complete and utter idiot. He hadn't been coming on to her. She was nothing special to him.

He was just messing with her.

She should be celebrating the fact that she was going to make it out of his underground lair free and clear with all of her clothes intact, after all. So why wasn't she happier about it?

Why did she feel like crying?

"And I apologize for the 'smart-ass' comment," she forced out. Trying to get back on track, she said, "I think the best thing for your image would be a series of charity events throughout the Bay Area."

"As long as they don't interfere with football camp next week."

"Sounds to me like you won't make it to camp if you don't take care of this," she pointed out. Something flashed in Ty's eyes and in an instant he was the predator again. "Have you ever been wrong about anything?"

"Excuse me?" she asked.

He moved closer. "I think my question was pretty clear."

She swallowed, tried to lick her lips. "Rarely."

"Okay, then. How about surprised?"

He'd just surprised her by bringing her to his private sanctuary, and she'd been surprised by how strongly her body reacted to his nearness after all these years.

"No," she said, but her voice was weaker.

His smile was wicked this time. "Good thing there's a first time for everything." She should move to the other end of the couch, or better yet, run up the stairs and out the door. Anything to get away from the sensual pull he held over her.

"I've been surprised before," Ty said, not seeming to expect a response—which was good, since she wasn't capable of giving one at the moment. She was too busy trying to remember how to breathe, how to keep her head on straight, how not to dive at his mouth and tear all his clothes off and beg him to take her right this goddamned second!

He leaned down and said, "Don't you wonder what I was surprised by, Julie?"

"No." But what she meant was, "Yes, oh yes!"

He brushed one finger against her cheek and said, "You."

She was so caught up in his touch, in the way he was looking at her like she was everything he ever wanted, that she forgot about running. Forgot that she hated him. That he was only equipped to hurt her, no matter how good he was capable of making her feel.

Her silence amused him, she could tell by that lazy grin, the way his fingers moved across her lips. She felt funny all over, like she'd left her real body, her brain elsewhere.

"Don't you want to know why?" he asked. Desperately.

But she couldn't admit that. Not even now that she'd almost given herself to him by not pushing away his hand, by not reading him the riot act for slamming through the client-consultant boundary. If she spoke she'd only betray herself, her longing. She tried to shake her head no, but all her small movement did was cause his fingers to slide all the way across her lips. That way lay madness.

She had to say something. Had to let him know that she was here for business and business only.

She cleared her throat. "I don't care about our past, Ty. Only the future—the one where you act like a respectable celebrity and I get a paycheck for a job well done. The only reason I'm here is to turn you into a decent human being and make sure that photos like these never happen again." She'd never told so many lies in one breath before.

CHAPTER SIX

Bringing Julie downstairs and surprising her with his art and books had been a stroke of genius. He was going to have to thank Bobby for the brilliant idea of hiring an image consultant. All these years, part of him had been hoping Julie would materialize in the crowds at a football stadium. Who would have thought Bobby Wilson would be the mastermind behind their long-overdue reunion?

She was so sexy when she got flustered and tried to pretend she wasn't wanting him just as much as he was craving her. Ty couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun.

"Okay," he said, his lips an inch from hers. She clearly thought he was about to kiss her, but he couldn't. Not yet, anyway. It was imperative that she kiss him first. Otherwise she'd cry foul, blame him for taking advantage of the situation. "You tell me what I need to do and I'll do it." Her eyes went wide at his sudden about-face and she looked more than a little disappointed. She'd thought he was about to swoop in and take her lips, taste her, pin her beneath him while she moaned in ecstasy.

A little patience, that's what she needed to learn. Because sometimes drawing out the anticipation was worth the resulting fireworks.

Julie quickly recovered her composure. "Fine. Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. First off, you need some practice looking conservative in pictures."

He raised an eyebrow. "How do you plan to do that?"

"We'll hire a media consultant to train you how to answer questions and pose for photos."

"That's a nice offer, but I don't think a media consultant can help me with my problem." Her eyebrow arched up. "Which problem would that be? The fact that you're too rich? Or too good-looking? Or, maybe, that you're too successful? Woe is you."

"If you hadn't noticed, women can't resist me."

Her eyes narrowed. "Uh-huh."

"So if they're going to throw themselves at me no matter what I do, you'd better teach me another way to deal with them."

"You mean other than Frenching them in public?"

That little quip was downright snarky—which meant they were finally getting somewhere. He liked to see that bit of fire in her eyes, knowing it would translate into great things in the sack. And his bed was definitely where they were heading, whether she realized it or not.

"See, that's why your company is so successful. You know exactly how to frame a situation with a few simple words."

"Your point being?"

It shouldn't be this easy. It really shouldn't. "Kisses like this"—he held up the magazine—"are how I've been kissing all my life. It's all I know."

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "If you were anyone else, I'd know you were joking." He found himself holding his breath for a long second as she paused. "But you, I think, just might be serious." He held back a smile. An easy five yards on the first down. The next five should be just as easy.

"So, say I'm sitting on a couch with a woman who wants a piece of me. Assume there are cameras and that someone is going to take a picture that ends up in the papers the next day."

"Do you actually think I'm going to do this kind of role-playing with you? I'm starting to wonder what goes on in your alternate reality."

He couldn't help grinning this time. It had been far too long since he'd had such an enjoyable conversation with anyone, let alone the opposite sex. His guy friends mostly drank and screwed around and played video games. And the women were either trying to get into his pants or his bank account, or trying to convince him to hook them up with another football player's bank account and/or pants.

"Sure," he said. "You've got to be the hot babe. And then you've got to teach me how to resist you." He dropped his gaze to her breasts. "Don't worry that you're all natural. That won't throw me off at all. Real, fake, as long as they fit right here."

Hoping he could make her laugh instead of walk out on him, he cupped his hands in the air and moved them slightly, as if he were holding a soft weight.

"You didn't actually just pretend to squeeze a pair of breasts, did you?" Fortunately, she looked more amused than annoyed.

"You know how us jocks are. Now, back to your role as hot babe."

"As if I'm stupid enough to fall for this."

He was all innocence. "For what?"

She opened her mouth. Then closed it.

Her lower lip was plump and he wanted to gently sink his teeth into the sensitive flesh, see if she would shiver, if her nipples would tighten in response.