Heather Graham (32 page)

“And I’m not exactly a Mata Hari in the bedroom,” Katie retorted.

There was a short silence on the line, then Sam sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“I just can’t believe that Harry would be on the take, that he would purposely allow his own team to lose. Hell, Katie, the big thing to half these guys isn’t even the money—they want Superbowl rings, they want the win itself. Don’t you understand?”

“I do understand. But you see, it makes sense. One of the Saxons being willing to throw the game would be a much better guarantee than the Titans
claiming
that they could kill them!”

Sam was silent again. Katie called to him softly.

“I’m here, Katie. Suppose—just suppose, I’m not saying that I believe it yet—that Harry has been accepting bribes. How am I going to prove it? What the hell could I do?”

“I—I don’t know,” Katie replied. “But something, Sam. Surely you can do something!”

“I don’t know. I can confront him, and come out being the bad guy myself. Or I could go to the coaches, and Harry could deny it. I don’t have any proof, Katie.”

“I know, but …”

“But what?”

“Sam, you should stay out of the game.”

She could almost see his smile. “Not on your life, sweets. It’s the Superbowl.”

“You and your stupid games!” She was mad at Sam, furious; she still felt ridiculously like crying. Nothing she could say or do would change any of their minds.

He accepted her comment with a tolerant silence, then asked, “Are you coming down, Katie?”

“I—uh—I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Can you get here today?”

“Probably. Why?”

“Because we’ve got some time this afternoon. I’d like to get together with you and Kent—”

“If I’d wanted to talk to Kent,” Katie said softly, “I’d have called him.”

Sam paused just a moment. When he spoke again, Katie knew he was purposely baiting her. He was trying with a velvet reproach to touch all the feminine strings around her heart.

“Katie, if this is real, and if you really care, don’t you think you should do anything in your power to help?”

“That’s not fair, Sam.”

“Please, Katie? Maybe, between the three of us, we could come up with something. Katie, I can’t believe that—no matter what’s happened—you’d want to see either Kent or me injured. Hurt and bleeding on the field …”

“Damn you, Sam!” she cried.

“Will you be here, Katie?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said quickly. “Listen, don’t worry about your bookings. I’ll get you a room here.”

“Sam, why are you doing this?”

He paused. “Maybe because I want you to forgive me. And maybe because I think I was really, really wrong. Call me back with your flight info, and I’ll get you at the airport later. Okay?”

“All right,” Katie replied quietly.

She said good-bye, then hung up the phone. She turned on the television to keep her company while she started going through her clothing to see what she did and didn’t want to take. She wanted to make damn sure that when she met Kent Hart again, she looked her absolute best—as stunning and sexy as possible!

The television caught her attention, and she smiled. The big news was the Superbowl, and all she kept hearing were the names of the two men now haunting her life.

Sam Loper and … Kent Hart, the Cougar.

The game rested on the two of them, and so, Katie admitted, did the rest of her life.

S
AM WAS WAITING FOR
Katie at the airport that afternoon. He wore a pinstripe, wonderfully tailored three-piece suit, and he looked more like an up-and-coming businessman than an all-star quarterback. Although he had promised to come, Katie was surprised to see him; football fans were flocking in from across the nation, and he might have been swamped by the hordes. But he didn’t appear to be worried—he appeared impatient.

“Katie,” was all that he said when he saw her. He gave her a quick hug, took her by the elbow, and started hurrying toward the baggage claim. Katie decided then that he must have had an in with the airlines, because within ten minutes, they had her bags and were driving away from the airport.

Katie cast a glance at his handsome countenance and smiled. “I was surprised to see you, you know. Weren’t you worried about being recognized?”

Sam grinned. “Not really. Most of the time people don’t recognize me unless I’m wearing dirt and a helmet.”

Katie smiled again and leaned back against the seat. She tried to appear completely relaxed, but her heart was pounding. She had thought Kent might have come to the airport with Sam. She was afraid to ask if he even intended to see her, but she had to ask.

“Where’s Kent?”

“On the field,” Sam replied briefly. He gave Katie a quick glance. “They’re trying not to work me so hard because of the ribs, you know.” He grinned. “But Kent’s nice and healthy, so they’re willing to make him do a lot of sweating.”

“Oh,” Katie murmured.

“He’ll be with us soon.”

“What have you told him?”

“Everything.”

“And?”

“We’re all in the same position, Katie. There’s no proof.”

She gazed out the window. She loved the streets of New Orleans with all their old-world flavor. But today she couldn’t appreciate a thing she saw.

Sam took her to the hotel and stayed with her while she checked in. The process went surprisingly quickly, and this time Katie was certain that Sam had managed to cut a lot of red tape for her. There was a long line at the counter; a man came out from behind it to give her her key and wish her a pleasant stay in New Orleans.

Sam went up with her. The room was a suite with a huge bedroom and an even larger sitting room. Sam seemed edgy; he kept pacing around the room.

Katie was definitely feeling a little edgy herself. Sam’s pacing wasn’t helping her at all. “What is the matter with you?” Katie demanded.

He stopped, startled. “I’m just … worried.”

“Why?”

“Because I think Kent intended to confront Harry and find out what he might have to say.”

“Oh, God!” Katie murmured. A few minutes later she discovered she was pacing the room along with Sam.

Kent waited until the majority of the team had showered and left the locker room after a grueling practice. Luck was with him, and he was able to corner Harry Kolan alone near his locker.

“Kolan, I want to talk to you.”

“Yeah?” Harry dried his face with a towel and gave Kent a broad grin. “What’s up, Cougar?”

Kent crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a locker, watching Kolan’s round face for reaction. Kolan was a big guy, tall and heavy, a solid rock in front of the quarterback—supposedly.

“I’ve heard a rumor about something, Kolan, that makes me a little sick. Gut sick, in the stomach, you know? I’ve heard that you might be making some big bucks on this game—to lose it.”

It was there. It was just a second, but it was there, a startled look in Harry’s eyes that hinted of fear and guilt. But then he started smiling again.

“Ah, come on, Cougar! Money against my own team? Where did you hear such a thing?”

“It’s true, isn’t it, Harry?”

“Hell, no!” His eyes narrowed, almost disappearing in the heavy lines of his face. “And you listen to me, Hart, you come to me with an accusation like that again, and I’ll bash your brains into a sidewalk, you hear?” He eased up then, chuckling. “You heard it from the girl, right? That Hudson woman who’s so chummy with Paul Crane? And you believe her. You’re whipped, Cougar. You’re whipped over that blond. Not that she isn’t something hot, man, but it sounds to me like you’re losing your jockstrap over her. You know what I mean?”

Kent’s hands were clenched into tight fists; he didn’t dare move. “I’m not losing anything but my temper, Kolan.”

“You’re
losing your temper? You come to me with an accusation like that? All over some …”

He had a few uncomplimentary things to say about Kate. A few too many.

“You’re a liar and the worst kind of cheat in the world, Kolan.”

Kent was never sure who took the first swing. All he knew later was that he pounded the hell out of Kolan, and Kolan pounded the hell out of him. Kent managed to hold his own, though, until one of the assistant coaches came running in, threatening to bench them both.

They separated and eyed one another warily. When the coach demanded to know what the hell was going on, they both shrugged and agreed stiffly that it was pregame jitters.

But when they left the locker room, Kent had a chance to get in one last verbal volley.

“So help me, God, Kolan, if Sam gets flattened in that game, I’ll have your ass in a wringer.”

Kolan cast him a fleeting, furious stare.

Kent was still dabbing at the blood on his forehead when he reached Katie’s room. He felt weary through and through—from the practice and the fight … and because he was going to see her again, and he still didn’t know what to say to her. He wanted to see her so badly he felt shaky. But she’d called Sam, not him. It didn’t seem that she was so crazy about the prospect of seeing him.

Sam answered the door. He took one look at Kent and murmured, “Oh, hell!”

Katie was standing behind Sam. Beautiful, fresh, lovely—almost touchable—in a tailored mauve suit and ruffled off-white silk blouse.

“Dammit, Kent, you’ve been fighting again.”

“Fighting again!” He strode into the room, forcing her to move back with his angry steps. “Yes, I’ve been fighting again—and it’s your damn fault again!”

“I never asked you to get into a fight!” she yelled back.

“Hey, Kent, Katie—” Sam began.

They both looked at him and yelled with spontaneous harmony, “Stay out of it, Sam!”

He lifted his hands. “I’m going. Kent, you said something to Harry, I take it. What happened?”

“He denied it, what else? And he suggested I was listening to a blond—among other not-so-nice things—woman who was twisting me around by certain parts of my anatomy.”

“Oh!” Katie gasped furiously. When Sam laughed, she gave him a vehement look.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he protested, then he walked to the door. “My turn to try something, Kent.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t plan on getting into a fight. I’m going to go a diplomatic route.”

He was gone suddenly, and Kent and Katie were left to stare at one another. But she just couldn’t keep eye contact with him, and she strode to the window to look out at the city. “Do you believe me, Kent?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she felt ill. Waves of shivering heat seemed to be washing through her. She wanted him to believe in her so badly! She wanted to rip him up; she wanted him to beg an apology. And more than anything else, she suddenly knew that she wanted the future to wait; she didn’t want any words between them at all. She wanted to turn to him and hold him, dim the lights, and pretend that he was in love with her and nothing else mattered so that she could make love with him again.

“Yes,” he said at last, and she did turn to him. His hands were on his hips, pushing his jacket back. He seemed tall and trim and very unique—both oddly relaxed and tense. In the bronze column of his neck she saw the beat of his pulse. His forehead was bruised, still oozing a trickle of blood. He wasn’t frowning, but neither was he smiling; there was an air of expectancy about him that was electrical. He walked toward her then, slowly. She had the strangest sense that she should move, and yet she couldn’t. He stopped in front of her and lifted her chin, bringing her eyes to meet the fathomless darkness of his own.

“You’re very sure about this, Katie, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

“I—yes,” she said, her voice wavering.

“You wouldn’t use me, would you, Katie?”

“I—oh, stop it!” she cried suddenly. “I don’t want you hurt, you idiot. Can’t you understand that, believe that?”

“Yes,” he murmured, and she found that she was imprisoned by his eyes. This wasn’t what she had wanted at all, more doubt, more uncertainty, but she knew from the dark and heated midnight fire in his eyes that he had no intention of giving her a chance to plague him with reproach.

No, she thought fleetingly, but then his lips touched hers, briefly, stirringly. His tongue brushed over them and then between them, and then he took a full, forceful possession of her mouth.

She moaned something, passion or protest, Katie wasn’t sure. She had come to know Kent too well; heady excitement coursed through her as he pulled her body to him. His fingers wound into her hair; his lips left hers to tenderly ravage the soft flesh along her cheek and throat.

“Kent,” she murmured weakly, bracing herself with her hands on his shoulders, nails digging into the material of his jacket, “we haven’t solved anything.”

“We’ve solved everything!” he told her harshly, and God help her, for the moment she believed him.

Katie was suddenly dizzy and a bit lost, but either too helpless or too heedless to fight his strength of purpose as he strode across the room with her, kicking open the bedroom door. The light was dim in the bedroom, providing an aura of sweet illusion, allowing Katie to forget everything except her love for him. She could only stare at the planes and angles of his beloved rugged features as he eased her down and laid down beside her, his fingers working the buttons of her blouse, his eyes following the work of his fingers. The material fell away, and she closed her eyes, shivering with delight as his lips, heated and moist and hungry, touched her flesh. His hand slipped beneath her skirt, hiking it up. His fingers moved over her thighs until she was twisting to him, whispering his name, almost sobbing with frustration as she tugged at his clothing.

He rose over her, pulling off his jacket. Katie didn’t meet his eyes; she raked her fingers over his chest, finding the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one with trembling fingers. And when his chest was bare, she pressed her face to it, kissing him and feeling the luxury of that intimate touch explode in her mind. He left her, and she felt cold. She heard his shoes fall to the floor, then heard him curse as he tripped in his effort to rid himself of trousers and briefs. Suddenly, he was beside her again, making love to her while removing her shoes and stockings, her jacket, blouse, and skirt. And then, with slow, sensual movements, he removed her panties and bra.