Heather Graham (20 page)

“You never remarried?”

“No.”

“Why?”

She felt his shrug and a change in him, a restlessness with the question.

“I was bitter for a long time. I didn’t think marriage could work for me. I’d been hanged without being guilty once.”

“Because of your work.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think you’ve been successful so long? How long do you think you’ll keep playing?”

“I don’t know … and I don’t know.”

Katie hesitated. “Do you feel that you live for the game?”

“No, but my teammates are important to me … as is the good of the team.”

“Do you ever think about retirement?”

“Yes.”

“As in the near future?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Katie murmured, a little surprised—and ridiculously pleased. She quickly drank some of the coffee, gasping a little at its sudden heat and the potency of the brandy.

“What about you, Katie?”

“What do you mean?” she asked a little defensively.

“Have you ever thought there might be something more important than
World Magazine?”

Katie sighed. “It’s a hard world for freelancers.”

“But not an impossible one.”

“No, but”—she shrugged, pulling away from him to sit up and drink too much coffee once again—“I’m fond of surviving like a respectable citizen. When my dad died”—her voice trailed away for only a minute—“I was up to my ears in debt. Pro quarterbacks weren’t as highly paid as they are today, and his illness took everything. I worked day and night to get through college. I had some of the most horrible apartments you’d ever want to see. I’m not sure I have the nerve to take a chance on total poverty again.” Katie closed her eyes quickly, sorry she had spoken the way she had. Had she sounded mercenary? She wasn’t. She was just determined to support herself. She quickly changed the subject.

“What’s your daughter like?” she asked.

“Anne?”

Katie glanced his way and found that he was watching her with amusement and tenderness.

“She’s a little like you,” he finally answered. “Except, as far as I know, she doesn’t run around clawing people.”

Katie punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Not fair!” she charged. “That was years ago.”

“Yes, it was,” Kent mused. “Except that I got the feeling you would have happily clawed my eyes out the night we met. Remote, as it was.”

“Maybe,” Katie admitted with a grin.

He blinked, and the warm tenderness in his eyes changed slightly. His look had a less than subtle effect on her pulse rate.

“Are you finished with your coffee?” he asked.

Katie nodded.

“Have you got any more questions?”

“I—yes, of course, I’ve got loads of them.”

“Want to ask them in the bedroom?”

She started to laugh. There seemed to be no other response to his direct question.

He raised a brow and promised quietly, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“When you put it that way,” she murmured, “how can I possibly refuse?”

“You can’t,” he stated flatly.

He reached for her cup, and while he went to set the mugs in the kitchen, she fled down the hall, stripping her clothing as she went. When she reached the bedroom, she plunged onto the four-poster with her heart racing and pulled the covers up to her chin, her flesh already alive with a glow, simply knowing that he was coming to her.

She watched him as he appeared in the bedroom doorway and paused, a wry smile curling his lip. Then he gripped the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head. There was no moon glow now, just a subtle twilight, but still she trembled as she saw his naked shoulders. Scarred but broad, powerfully muscled and beautiful to her, the sight of them made the tension inside her coil sweetly with anticipation. He walked slowly to the bed, working at his buckle, and in a moment, he was standing naked before her.

Katie closed her eyes, loving the dizziness she felt, the ache to have him, to hold him, to love him. She’d been so terrified of being awkward, so horrified of her own innocence. But Kent had made everything perfect—he’d made her believe she was wonderful. She colored, realizing that no matter what happened in the future, she would never forget her first, tender lover.

Katie, she warned herself, love him but don’t ask for his love in return. You deny it to yourself, but you’re carrying on a fantasy that it can be a forever kind of love. Don’t do that to yourself …

“Katie, open your eyes,” he commanded, but there was a bit of puzzlement in his words. And as she opened her eyes, she realized that they were damp with tears that had formed absurdly.

He came to rest beside her, kissing her lightly, then leaning on an elbow to watch her. He pulled the covers from her and asked, “You can’t be shy now—not of me?”

She shook her head and moved toward him, allowing her fingers to play over the hair on his chest. “I’m not,” she whispered.

“Then …”

“Nothing, Kent, really.” She pressed against him, needing to feel his body with her own. “I want to make love to you, Kent, and … I want you to make love to me.”

He reached for her chin, lifting it so that her eyes met his. “Katie, I want to know what you feel for me.”

“I—”

“I don’t want it to be just a weekend in the mountains, Katie.”

Emotions raced through, warm like a summer stream, cold with the icy tentacles of fear. He couldn’t mean it; she was falling for him, and if she dared believe, she would be dashed against the rocks with the pain …

“Katie!” He gave her a little shake, then pulled her to him, her face against his heart, her nose tickled by the dark hairs on his chest, her body heated by the force of his. “I want you, Katie, for more than a week or a year. Can you understand that? I did fight it because of your father, because of the past. But from that first time I saw you, wet and bedraggled in the showers, I knew you were a stunning woman. When I touched you, I wanted you. And more. Talk to me, Katie.”

She lifted her face to his, and she started to laugh, a little hysterically because there were tears in her laughter. “Oh, Kent! I was so afraid … I tried to tell myself that it couldn’t be real. I—”

He tangled his fingers into the hair at her nape, tilting her face still further, capturing her lips with heat and passion and promise. He drew away from her. “Keep talking to me, Katie,” he whispered, and she smiled with the sheer pleasure of it.

She drew herself over him, palms on his chest, hips to his. She dipped to breathe a kiss on his lips. Her hair fell about him; her eyes shimmered provocatively. “I want you,” she whispered, “time and time again.” She lowered herself against him, trembling as she grazed his chest with her breasts, then pressed her lips against his throat, his shoulders, and teased his bronzed flesh with the tip of her tongue. “I want you in a way that lives with me night and day … I want to kiss you down to your toes and know the taste and scent of you …”

“Oh, Lord, go on!” Kent groaned with a shudder. His fingers clutched convulsively into her hair as her body moved along his like an undulating tide. Her kisses were languid and hot, determined to drive him wild. As her husky words had promised, she touched him all over with her lips—boldly, lovingly, with an intimacy he encouraged with hoarse words of soaring pleasure.

He caught her, drew her to him, kissed her passionately, and rolled her to her back. His mouth found her breast, his tongue curled around it, his teeth flicked over the nipple, drawing a delighted cry from her lips. Trembling, she clutched his shoulders and begged him to take her. He forced her to wait, hands and lips eager to know and love her completely. With each new intimacy he sought, she shuddered and murmured out; he refused to allow her inhibitions and exalted in the response of her body. Her taste was springtime to him; her pleasure something that made him smile. He told her she hadn’t failed him at all—she was about to learn that she could find a pinnacle again and again.

He kissed her lips hungrily, shuddering as her long legs teased his body, parting for him. He held her face between his hands and groaned, “Damn! I’d give my eyeteeth not to be heading for New Orleans … to spend day after day here with you …”

She went rigid suddenly, her eyes troubled as they met his. “Kent … I’m so scared.”

“Scared?” He shook his head.
Now?

“The game!” She clutched him strenuously. “Kent, I don’t want you out there. I don’t want you hurt!”

He was losing her—just when he was about to go mad. “Katie … Katie, listen to me. There’s nothing to worry about. We plan to take the first half as a running game. As soon as the guards have covered me, I’ll switch sides. I’m going in as quarterback for the second half—they’ll be expecting to sack me, but we’re going to run it then, too. Believe me, the guards are forewarned. We’re going to switch places at the last minute before every play.”

“I don’t want you hurt, Kent,” she told him, her voice catching on a little sob. “Please, please, be careful.”

“I will be,” he promised. And he had never meant it more; the absolute, innocent beauty of her eyes had touched him in a way he couldn’t begin to fathom. And then her lips were touching him again, fevered, wonderful. He shuddered, knowing he had to have her soon. And he thought again that she was beautiful, her skin so silken and flawless, her body so curved and slim. And he, beside her, was battle-scarred and rough, but perhaps, he thought, that was the way it should be. “Katie—”

Just as he murmured her name, the phone began to ring. She went rigid once again.

Two rings, then the machine answered. “Kent, damn you, I know you’re there.
Pick up the phone!”

“It’s Sam,” Katie said.

“I know it’s Sam!” Kent snapped with exasperation.

She brought a hand to his cheek. “Talk to him, Kent. I’m not going anywhere. You didn’t call him back, you know. Go talk to him—then we can pull the plug out of the wall.”

Kent sighed, then decided she was right—he was going to have to pull the damn phone out of the wall. He still had the night, and if he left things as they were, Sam would just hang up and call back.

“Don’t move,” he warned Katie, “and don’t forget where we were!”

“I won’t,” she promised with a husky laugh.

He rolled over, picking up the bedroom extension. The recorder made a shrill beep, and he turned it off before saying, “Hi, Sam, what’s the emergency?”

“Dammit! Why didn’t you return my call?” Sam demanded with uncharacteristic impatience.

“I’ve been busy,” Kent replied, smiling at Katie. She returned his smile and sidled against him, running her nails lightly over his arm, brushing the back of his shoulder with kisses.

“Is Katie there?” Sam demanded tensely.

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, watch it,” Sam said. “Watch yourself … and watch what you say to her.”

Kent frowned. “What are you talking about?” He heard a long sigh.

“I’m telling you, Kent, I would have never believed it myself. I was completely bowled over. If it hadn’t been for your interest, I would have been madly in love with her myself.”

“Sam, you’re not making any sense.” He glanced at Katie’s blond head beside him, at her elegant fingers playing along his thigh. He frowned. She glanced up at him, and he forced a smile, pulling away to sit up on the bed, ostensibly to concentrate on Sam’s words.

“Listen to me, Kent—Kent, are you listening?”

“Yes, go on.”

“Kent, she’s after a whole lot more than a story. Has she been asking you about the game?”

“Why?”

“Listen to this: she’s been seeing Paul Crane for the last six months.
Paul Crane!
Connie was telling me all about some party Katie had been to with Crane. They were fooling around together, then they left.”

Something seemed to pound in Kent’s chest, something that hurt like a hammer. “So?”

“Paul Crane!
Our opposition for the Superbowl, Kent.”

“Maybe it’s—nothing.”

“Nothing?” Sam laughed hollowly. “I gave the guy a call myself—on the pretext of a ‘may the best man win.’ He assures me that it really is something. As soon as she gets back to New York, he intends to announce their engagement. Kent, come on! Now, listen to this: I told you about the rumors regarding the betting in Vegas? Well, inside rumor has it that some of those heavy betters have been approaching some of the Titan players. And some of the guys have been accepting pretty high payments to knock us out of the game. Do you understand me, Kent? This game is worth a fortune to Paul Crane. Has she asked you about the game? Hell, Kent, I’m sitting here with the New York papers. There are hints of the damn engagement on the front of the sports section. She’s sure as hell going to run back to New York and tell him everything she knows.”

So what? Kent wanted to shout. He closed his eyes. He thought of the tears in her eyes when she had told him how she didn’t want him hurt. Those beautiful sea blue and green eyes, eyes that beguiled him from the start. He thought of himself telling her their game plan. He thought of her whispering that she wanted to know him time and time again …

He remembered the morning. That very morning and how they had lain contentedly together after making love. He had talked to her about very particular plays. Hell, he’d given away more than a stupid first-year rookie. It had just seemed right. She was Dante’s daughter—he could talk to her, because she understood the game. Dear God, he’d said so much. He’d talked to her about strengths and weaknesses.

She’d expressed her concern about him so sweetly when all the while, she was planning on returning to New York to announce her engagement to another man.

His mouth went entirely dry. There was no fool like an old fool, he warned himself. But he wanted to shout at Sam.
No!
She was a virgin when she came to me …

A sickness pitched its way into his stomach. Paul Crane was known for being hell on his women, for using them. It wouldn’t be beneath the man to send out his own fiancée …

A woman who was Dante Hudson’s daughter. A woman who had wanted to claw Kent’s eyes out as a child—and had, as an adult, planned a totally conniving revenge, no matter what the cost to herself?