Nice Girls Finish Last (9 page)

It would be simpler if he found someone else, but he had the feeling no other woman would be remotely interesting until he understood all there was to Lena. And had her every which way and back again. He was so on her leash and she was jerking him hard. She was proving better than he at this despite not being anywhere near as much of a player.

Breathing hard, he flicked the shower to freezing and gritted his teeth. His muscles twitched, eager to release pent-up energy as if the two hours' hard-out training had never happened. Dressed, no less frustrated, he thudded up the stairs to Dion's office. Dion glanced up from his computer and a way-too-amused look crossed his face.

‘She smacked you down,' Dion said.

Seth shrugged.

‘Don't take it personally,' Dion soothed evilly. ‘It's happened to all of us.'

‘You asked her out?' That really didn't help his mood.

Dion just grinned and swivelled his chair to stare out of the window.

‘You're her boss.' Annoyance tainted his supposedly lazy drawl.

‘Not technically,' Dion mused. ‘I'm here courtesy of the council, she's employed by the team management.'

‘Dion.' Seth glowered. ‘That doesn't make it any better.'

‘Don't get steamed.' Dion raised his hands into the surrender position and laughed, spinning back to face him. ‘I didn't, okay? I'm not into sexual harassment or power plays.'

‘Yet you have those cheerleader girls in the tiniest outfits,' Seth muttered, not ready to laugh yet.

‘And the rugby guys are all but naked in the calendar.' Dion shook his head. ‘Lena is all yours, but if she doesn't want you, she doesn't want you, and I've never seen her change her mind. You might just have to deal with failure for once.'

Seth didn't know the meaning of the word. And he had no intention of finding it out now.

F
OR
the first half of Monday morning Lena managed to avoid them altogether. They'd arrived, she'd heard the voices; if she went to look out of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the corridor she'd be able to see them on the field. But she kept herself busy buried behind paper. Okay, she was forcing herself to stay there—and the second hand on the clock was ticking too slowly. Eventually, however, her shrieking curiosity could no longer be ignored. She walked down to the change rooms—didn't go into them, though, went straight along the tunnel that led to the pitch instead.

The Knights were working one half of it, pacing through their usual drills. On the other half was some really tall lanky guy, a disparate tribe of teens and the ultra-fit one in the familiar tee shirt and shorts. Seth was calling the play, making them sweat. But also, she saw in less than six seconds, making them laugh.

She couldn't help lingering to watch the interaction between him and the boys. The tall guy was clearly the sidekick, because he was the one doing the big ups and support shouts, while Seth was the one pushing the boys to work. She knew from reading their planned schedule that it wouldn't all be fun on the footie field. They had workshops on all kinds of topics—from drugs and alcohol, to anger management, to basic reading and writing.

She leaned against the rail, couldn't help tracking that one player. And he knew it. Even from fifty feet away she felt it when his attention shot to her. Her body temp lifted as hormones surged. Her heart was pounding as fast as those boys' ones were and she didn't have the exercise excuse for it. Eventually the two groups were pulled together and re-split so they could play a mini-game. Youth and professional. But she watched the one who refused to fit into any category. Lena turned; she'd be stuck here all day achieving nothing if she didn't force her feet to move. It wasn't okay to stand on the sideline and drool—she
wasn't
a groupie, remember?

Ten minutes later she was in the change room sorting the latest box of PR goodies when she heard the shouting. She ran back down the tunnel, nearly bumping into a rookie player sprinting the other way. Quickly she scanned the field. But it wasn't Seth or any of his boys who was down. The Knights were gathered into a loose circle—one of their own sprawled on the ground. Seth stood on the edge of the group. Footsteps thudded past, beating faster than Lena's galloping heart. Gabe moved swiftly across the close-cropped grass, kit bag in hand, while the player who'd fetched him jogged alongside.

But that player wasn't the rookie she'd passed in the corridor. Suddenly Lena remembered that kid's pale face as he'd run. No prizes for guessing who'd been on top in the tackle. Relief hit. She was so thankful it hadn't been one of Seth's boys who'd been involved. But then she remembered the recent history of the rookie who had. Quickly she turned back into the tunnel; twenty seconds later she found him, fists clenched, as he leaned against the wall just outside the change room. He didn't say anything as she neared, didn't look up, didn't move.

She touched his shoulder lightly. ‘It's okay,' she said firmly. ‘Gabe's with him.'

She felt his flinch and then his grip on himself tightened.

‘I didn't mean to…' Beneath his fierce expression she saw his devastation.

‘Of course you didn't.' She wished one of the guys would come—like now. Because this kid had been in a game before where another young up-and-comer had ended up with broken bones and smashed dreams and she didn't know if she was saying the right thing.

‘You know they want players with passion,' she tried anyway. ‘They want guys who put everything they have into it. Risk comes with that. Accidents happen.'

‘I don't want to kill another guy's career.'

‘You won't have.' At least, she hoped not. ‘You're a great player. They believe in you. Your team-mates believe in you.' Anxiously she looked into his face, wishing she could reassure him. ‘I believe in you. And your job is to get back out there. They need you to be the force you are.'

‘Lena's right, mate.' The assistant coach spoke from behind her. ‘He's fine. Bit groggy but nothing that can't be fixed. You know it was a clean tackle.'

Thank goodness they were there at last—the assistant coach and Ty. She quickly raised her brows at the captain and he winked. She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Talk to Coach and get back out there,' she said to the rookie as she moved away. ‘Train hard.'

‘Thanks, Lena,' the kid called gruffly as she walked back out towards the pitch.

Only, her adrenaline levels didn't dim, because Seth was at the end of the tunnel.

‘You really know the history of them all, don't you?' he said quietly as she neared.

So he'd been listening in.

‘Sure,' she answered on auto, trying to keep her eyes on the players who were back into training and nowhere near Seth. Because he was even more bone-melting masculine with his just-worked-out glow on. ‘It's helpful when I do the PR spin on the tours. People like to know facts and figures.'

‘We sure do,' he murmured lightly. ‘But he's okay? Because the other guy's fine.'

She glanced, unable to resist the concerned note in his voice. Big mistake. In a microsecond of sharing the same airspace as him again, she was back to the wildly wanting woman of a week ago. She couldn't believe it. Surely sex was supposed to shred all the tension? Surely once you'd gorged on the cake you didn't want any more? It wasn't supposed to leave you hungrier than ever.

‘I think so.' Lena forced her answer, but she was drowning in his blue eyes and she started babbling, ‘He's got huge power, but he's still learning how to handle it. He'll end up an amazing player. Are your boys okay?'

‘A bit subdued.'

‘It's probably no bad thing for them to see the reality of injury.'

Lena jumped at the foreign voice. Turning, she realised the tall lanky guy was standing beside them. She'd been so busy staring at Seth she hadn't noticed.

‘Lena, this is Andrew, the boys' social worker.' Seth introduced her with a knowing grin.

Embarrassed, she shook his hand.

‘I heard you talking to him,' Andrew said. ‘It'd be great if you could talk to our boys, too.'

‘Don't mind Andrew's directness.' Seth chuckled. ‘He's shameless about asking for what he wants.'

Lena knew someone far more shameless and she flashed him a look telling him so.

Andrew seemed to miss the undertone as he went on with
his query—all genuine enthusiasm. ‘It would be great to give them an insight into the PR stuff that you expect from the team, how you curb their behaviour.'

‘Some players' behaviour is impossible to curb,' Lena said, sending Seth another charged look before turning a softer smile to Andrew. ‘But if you think it would be of interest, of course I will.'

Immediately after that she retreated to her upstairs domain, determinedly not looking out of the window at all for the next four hours. Wishing she could kill the desire to gawp at the gorgeous one all day. Wishing she'd never agreed to his presence here. But then, when the sun had passed the zenith and was on its way down, she heard it—the music.

Oh, no. She spun away from her desk and stood in the one swift movement, striding straight out to the corridor and out of one of the doors leading to the second-level seating of the stadium. Her high heels echoed as she moved down the concrete steps to the edge of the railing from where she had a fantastic view of the field. She stared—hard—and told herself she was
not
jealous.

But there was not one, not two, not even a mere three. There were five of them around him already. In their skimpy skirts with their legs up to their armpits and their hair down to their tiny little waists.

Just as Contez Stadium was home to the Silver Knights, it was also home to the Silver Blades—the dancers who entertained the crowds before the game and during the interval. And Lena had completely forgotten that Monday afternoon was their on-pitch practice session.

She knew a few of them. Most were students. Most were lovely. All were completely gorgeous—glossy, slim, sexy. Amazingly flexible, too. She tried very hard not to care about the flock currently hanging on Seth's every word as
he stood encircled by them. She tried very hard not to glare. She wasn't interested in what he did with any or indeed all five of them. Who was she to judge? After all, she'd thrown herself at him, too. By rights all women should get to experience what she had a week ago.

Now she felt sick.

He glanced up to where she stood at the front of the stand and gave her a huge grin and an oversized wink. She froze, wanting to turn and storm off, only not wanting to be so damn obvious. But then, with a few words and a devilish smile, he extricated himself from the bevy of gorgeousnesses. She remained frozen, watching as he crossed the grass and then walked up the steps, effortlessly swinging up and over the railing to where she stood like an ice sculpture.

‘I see you've found the way to have your needs met.' She couldn't resist baiting.

His expression remained bland. ‘Well, I do love women who don't try to hide what they want.'

She flushed but fought on anyway. ‘Actually, not all women need a man.' She wanted to cut him down.

‘No? You've got Ben Wa balls in and having orgasms every other second?'

Her mouth dropped. She snapped it shut again as his eyes sparked—daring her. His boys had gone and he was back to being as unsubtle as she'd been when they first met. The images flooding her head, the feelings flooding her body, were so not helping with getting her frost back.

‘You don't need them,' he teased, not dropping the seductive assault. ‘You know I do a better job.'

‘You—' She gulped.

‘Your eyes give it all away,' he taunted gently. ‘You haven't been able to take them off me.'

‘I'm amazed you could notice anything past all that
cleavage,' she said cattily. Too inflamed to care about what she was revealing in the process.

‘You're jealous as hell and you can't hide it.'

‘You can sleep with who you like, it's none of my business. I really don't care.' She glared at the grass, pointedly
not
looking at him.

‘Protesting too much.' He shook his head. ‘And those poor young dancers. They're not the kind to take a guy home and do him over within ten minutes of talking to him.'

Her head whipped as she scowled at him, her frost snapping back. ‘What do you mean, not the kind? As in some easy tart?'

He laughed—but his blue eyes intensified. ‘We both know you're anything but easy.'

‘That's right.' She batted out her words, all bravado. ‘I'm way too difficult for you.'

‘I actually think you might be right on that.' He grinned. ‘You stand up to me.' He broke every social rule—moving too close, too quick, until he stood a mere millimetre away from her. ‘I really like it how you don't back away.'

Well, that was only because she'd locked her knees tight to stop the jelly feeling in her thighs, so as a result she couldn't take a single step. ‘You don't think it's rude to invade my personal space?'

‘If you were uncomfortable with it you'd move.'

‘Over the railing in these shoes?' she asked sarcastically.

The Cheshire cat's grin just went wider. Okay, so the railing was a good metre away and she could get around him if she wanted.

He bent and breathed in her ear. ‘Fact is you like me this close.'

She did. She also liked the way his shorts wrapped close around his thighs. She wanted to wrap him like that. Good grief, she was jealous of cotton. She was a fool. All he had
to do was look at her like that and her stupid legs ached to slip apart. Even more stupidly she was glad he hadn't given up on her. That it was her he was chasing, not all the bendable ballerinas currently rocking out on the grass. Yeah, there was her weakness—she wanted to be the one in front. She moved, quickly, taking a seat rather than leaning into him.

‘We're not doing this.' She forced herself to say it. Tried to believe it. Glared harder at the dancers rehearsing their high kicks and tricks.

He took the seat next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. His fingers stroked down her bare skin with the casual ease of an intimate lover. She fought the urge to lean into the inviting breadth of his chest.

‘Maybe if we got to know each other a little better, we'd discover all these things we didn't like about each other and our lust would die a quick death,' he drawled.

‘You've told me all your angst already,' she answered, keeping her attention firmly on the girls on the grass. And it hadn't worked. The likelihood of her lust for him dying was as remote as the Silver Knights coming bottom of the table this season. For him, however, it was totally probable. Men didn't like home-wreckers, not even men who liked women fast and loose. And in truth men only wanted the fast women for a few quick thrills. She frowned. What they needed to do was steer the conversation away from the personal. She had to talk to him as politely as she did all the other guys. There didn't need to be an undercurrent of tension, of suggestion, in every word they swapped. She could normalise their interaction and thus neutralise the pull between them. Right?

‘You don't like them, do you? The dancers.' He smashed through her thoughts, the teasing note gone from his voice.
‘Why? You don't like other women stealing your limelight? You want to be the only babe on the block?'

Any idea of going polite on him fled at that. He was so wrong.

‘Isn't that why you like working here?' He pressed her more. ‘Why you don't have any girlfriend flatmates?'

‘Maybe it's that they don't like me.' She turned her head, trying to hide the hit of his words.