Sacking the Quarterback (4 page)

I'm the first
to arrive at the Hideout, so I order myself a latte and take a seat in a booth at the back of the shop to give us privacy. It's a good table because I can still see the door when Grayson arrives.

I don't have to wait long—only a few minutes. From the doorway, Grayson scans the coffee shop. His eyes land on me and he smiles.

And I feel that smile deep inside me, curling my toes.

I try to shake the feeling off, but it's not easy when he's walking over to me, his eyes clearly fixed on mine. Okay, so I'll admit it now: I'm definitely attracted to Grayson Knight. But I'm also the assistant state attorney on the case, and my job is the most important thing to me.

I need to push this attraction down and ignore it.

“Hi,” he says. “I'm gonna order a coffee. You want anything else?” He nods down at my latte.

“I'm good, thanks.”

I watch as he walks over to the counter, orders his drink, and pays for it. He comes back over empty-handed. “Waitress said she'll bring it over.”

He sits down across from me and there's a moment of quiet. I curl my hands around my cup, unsure what to say. How to open the conversation. It's very unlike me.

“So, you wanted to talk?” Grayson says, his voice soft.

I lift my eyes to him. “My boss wants me to up the charge against you to possession of a Section II drug with intent to supply.” I see a flicker of something in his eyes, but his expression doesn't change. The words hang between us as the waitress comes over and puts Grayson's coffee on the table in front of him.

He breaks his stare and looks at her. “Thank you,” he says. His eyes scan the coffee shop after the waitress has left our table.

Finally, he looks back at me. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay. That's all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say? The State Attorney wants you to up the charge. He's your boss. I'm assuming you do as he says. So…okay. Thank you for telling me.”

I stare at him, perplexed. “How can you be so calm about this?”

“Why do you care so much?” he fires back. His words almost knock me out of my seat.

But he's right—why do I care so much?

The question is almost like truth or dare.

I say the truth, I'm done for. I don't and he takes on the biggest dare of his life.

“Because…” I lift my shoulder as I drag out the word and play for time. “Maybe I think you're not telling me everything about what happened that night.”

“Even if I wasn't, why would that matter to you?”

“Because I don't want to put innocent men in prison when I can do something to avoid it.”

I watch his hand tighten around the cup. His eyes stare down into his drink.

“Tell me what happened that night in Liv,” I say softly, coaxing him.

He doesn't speak for a long moment. When he lifts his eyes, I hope to see something in them. The truth, maybe. But what I see is nothing. His eyes are blank. “I told you what happened,” he says. “I got the drugs from a dealer in a bar. Then I went to Liv and the cops busted the place. I was arrested. End of story.”

He's hiding something. His expression might be blank, but the small shift he just made and the way his eyes darted to the left—both movements tell me differently. I had a hunch that that was the case in my office the other day. But here in the coffee shop, I can see it clearly. And I'm not willing to let it go this time.

“How long were you in Liv before the cops showed up?” I ask. I want to question him to see if I can learn anything new.

“An hour, maybe.”

“And the search, how did it go down?”

“They came into the VIP area. We were one of the first to be searched.”

“‘We'?”

“My friends…and my brother.”

Interesting. I didn't know he had a brother. I wonder if he looks like him.

“And you didn't think to try to dispose of the drugs at any point?” I ask. Of course I don't condone that type of thing, but I see it time and time again—dealers disposing of drugs before the arrest can be made. It's hard to make a charge stick if the drugs can't actually be found on the person. Especially in a public place like a nightclub.

I hold my stare and watch Grayson shake his head. I don't know how else to push this, even though I know there's something he's not saying.

So I shift the conversation elsewhere—to football. He relaxes immediately, and we spend the next hour drinking coffee and talking sports.

One could call it a date. But it's not. It's definitely not.

But I won't deny that I like talking to him. He's smart and fun, and charismatic. He's also nice to look at, which is always a bonus.

Once I get him relaxed, I try to swing the conversation back to the charge, but even then, he doesn't give me anything to work with. After a few hours, my second coffee cup is empty. “I should go,” I tell him. “I've got an early start in the morning.”

Drafting up his new charges.

I feel my mood drop down like a rock in water.

“Yeah,” he says.

I note the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, and I wish it didn't, but it lifts my spirits a little.

Okay, a lot. And, yes, I know how screwed up this is. I'm about to charge this guy with possession of a Schedule II drug with intent to supply, and some people could say that I've just been on a date with him.

Not a date!

Shit.

We both stand and leave the coffee shop.

“I'll walk you to your car,” he says when we're out on the sidewalk.

“I took a cab here,” I tell him.

“Then I'll drive you home,” he says.

And I don't argue.

I follow Grayson
over to a shiny black Range Rover. “Nice car,” I say as he unlocks it.

“Thanks.” He opens the passenger door and I climb inside. He shuts the door behind me and makes his way around to the driver's side.

I put my seat belt on as Grayson climbs in the car, buckles up, and starts the engine. He pulls out into traffic. I can't help but watch him drive. There's just something so incredibly sexy about watching a man like Grayson drive. Looking at his strong hands around the steering wheel has my mind wondering what his hands would feel like wrapped—

“So where am I going?” he asks, snapping me out of my reverie.

“What? Oh.” Flustered, I fire off my address to him. Then we slip off into silence. It's not uncomfortable but definitely filled with tension on my part.

It doesn't take us long to reach my place. I can't deny that I'm disappointed that my time with him is over—until I see him in court, anyway. You know, since I'm trying to put him in prison and everything.

Grayson pulls into the parking lot to my building and kills the engine. The tension between us feels so much heavier now in the dark and silence. I'm very aware of the fact that we're alone.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for inviting me to coffee. Even if it was to deliver bad news,” he says. He glances over at me and smiles.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I was the one who made the decision to carry those drugs with me. I wasn't going to sell them. But I had them. A lot of them. I have to face the consequences for what I've done.”

I shift in my seat, facing him. “See, you weren't going to sell them. So why did you have so much on you? It doesn't make sense to me.”

He looks away, his hands curling around the steering wheel, gripping. “It…I…it doesn't have to make sense to you. It's just the way it is.”

“But it doesn't have to be this way. If I knew the truth, I could maybe—”

“You're not my lawyer, Mel.” He turns to me, his eyes blazing. “It's not your job to fix this. You're the one charging me. Why does this matter so much to you?”

“I told you why it matters,” I say, keeping my voice even and low to show him that I mean every word. “I don't like to put innocent men in prison.”

“I think it's more than that. Tell me,” he demands.

“Tell you what?” I fire back. And we're inches apart now, eyes locked together.

“This.”

His mouth slams down on mine.

He's kissing me.

Oh, God, he's kissing me
.

Heaven. And hell. It's the only way I can describe what's happening right now.

The feel of Grayson's lips against mine, his tongue in my mouth, his hands in my hair…heaven. But then there's the message in my brain, screaming at me that I shouldn't be doing this. I'm the assistant state attorney on his case. I'm going to be standing on the opposite side of the courtroom, across from this guy, as I charge him with a crime. This is so very wrong. It's hell.

Just one more second. I'll kiss him for one more second and then I'll stop.

Grayson groans into my mouth. It's a sound that can only be described as sweet ecstasy, and I nearly come right there on the spot.

Holy shit. I'm so screwed.

I don't want to stop. He tastes so damn good…
feels
so damn good. His hands leave my hair, skimming down my shoulders, my arms, coming around my waist as he pulls me closer to him. My hands slide up his biceps, curling around the back of his neck. His tongue slides along my lower lip, then he sucks it into his mouth.

“You feel so damn good, Mel,” he says, and his voice rumbles against my lips, before he captures them savagely in an even hotter kiss.

I'm going to lose my job.

“Stop.” I press my hand into his chest, pushing myself back and away. “We have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because!” I throw my hands up in the air and move back to my seat. I grab my bag from the floor and put it in my lap as a barrier. “I'm the assistant state attorney on your case! And you're a drug dealer up on a charge, you realize. I could get fired from my job for this!”

“Hey, it's okay,” he says, reaching for my arm.

I dodge his move. “No, it's not okay. I'm the one who's prosecuting you.”

Grayson doesn't say anything. What can he say? It's the truth.

I'm in so much trouble.

“I have to go.” I pull away from him, reaching for the handle.

“Mel. Wait,” he says. His tone is imploring, but I can't stay. I have to go.

I jump out of the car and slam the door shut behind me. I hear him get out, too, and then he's calling my name, but I'm practically running to my building.

I'm relieved to find that the lobby is empty. I furiously press the button for the elevator. When it arrives a few seconds later, I practically fall into it. I lean back against the wall as the doors close in front of me and the elevator begins to ascend slowly.

Jesus Christ, what was I just thinking!
Clearly I wasn't. Otherwise I wouldn't have been making out with the defendant in the front seat of his car.

I can't believe I did that. That's not me. I don't do reckless things like that. Especially not things that would put my job at risk.

I let myself into my apartment and drop my bag on the counter. Just as I do, my cell starts to ring. I go through my purse and pull it out.

Grayson's calling.

I stare at his name for a long moment. And for the first time in a really long time, tears well up in my eyes.

I reject his call, leave my cell on the kitchen counter, walk through to my bedroom, and undress. Falling into bed, I let the tears flow.
How did I make that mistake?

But that's when I realize that my tears are about something else, too.

Because I can't have what I want.

And right now, that's Grayson.

I've shut down
my computer. I need to talk to Ben. Though I've been putting this off all day, I can't put it off any longer. I want off this case. In all honesty, I also have to tell him that there's a personal conflict. I'll have to deal with the consequences, whatever they may be. My stomach roils with unease. Forcing strength, I get up from my desk and leave my office, heading down the hall.

Ben's door is ajar, and I hear him talking to someone. It takes me a moment to realize that he's on the phone. I'm just about to walk away when he says something that catches my attention.

“—Dolphins versus Browns, next month. Yeah, put fifty grand on the Browns.” Silence, and then he laughs. “Yeah, well, maybe I've got a good feeling about this one.”

Feeling sick, I take a step back, my hand pressed to my stomach. I glance around to make sure no one has seen me and hurry back to my office.

I close the door behind me and lean against it, feeling off-balance.

What the hell did I just hear?

Ben wouldn't be pushing up Grayson's charge just to win a bet, right?

Grayson is the star quarterback. If the team loses him, they'll probably lose most of their games. Even against a team playing as poorly as the Browns are this season.

Ben wouldn't do that.

Would he?

I slump down in my desk chair. My cell rings on my desk. I pick it up, answering on autopilot as I usually do during the workday, and don't even look at the caller display.

“Melissa St. James.”

“Mel,” Grayson says. His deep, masculine voice hits me square in the chest.

It takes me a moment to speak, and all I manage to say is: “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says.

There's a beat of silence between us. An unspoken word, filled with everything that happened between us last night.

I shut my eyes. But behind my lids, all I see is him. Kissing me. Touching me. Wanting me.

I can't do this. I open my eyes and say, “Why are you calling? Because if it's—”

“Wanted to hear your voice.”

With that one utterance, Grayson knocks the wind out of my sails. I lose my resolve.

He wanted to hear my voice.
I feel like crying in frustration. He's being so sweet and I want him so very badly.

And my boss is trying to put him in prison. Actually, he wants me to put him in prison. I'm royally screwed. I have no clue what to do. For the first time in my life, I don't have the answer to this. I really hate the universe sometimes.

“You shouldn't say things like that to me,” I tell him.

“You think I shouldn't. I think I should. One thing you should know about me is that I always tell the truth. So I'll keep saying those things until you start listening to them. I want to hear your voice, I'll call you. I want to tell you that I want you, I will. And, Mel, I do want you. Whether you want to hear that or not, I'm still going to say it. It doesn't make it any less true.”

Oh, God.
Now he's being all forceful and alpha, and it's so goddamn hot. He's got me spinning in circles.

“Now, I'm going to tell you that I want to see you. That I
need
to see you.” His voice is low and deep, almost a growl, making me shiver.

“That's…that wouldn't be a good idea,” I say, because it's true. It would be the worst idea ever. But also probably the best idea.

It's only because he's forbidden,
I tell myself. We all want what we can't have, right? It makes it all the more desirable.

Even as I think the words, I know they're not true.

I would want Grayson even if he was readily available to me.

There's just something about him…something that has gotten under my skin and embedded itself deep inside me.

“The best things usually come from the worst ideas,” he says seductively.

“I…can't.”

God, I want to punch myself in the face.
Just end the call. Get off the phone. Tell him no, and stop torturing yourself.

But then his tone changes and he says, “I really do need to see you. Just to talk. About the case. Nothing else. I'll keep my hands to myself, I promise.” His voice sounds soft and sweet. And just like that, all bets are off.

Because, goddamnit, I
want
to see him, too.

“Where are you?”

“I'm at the Bubble. Come in through the field entrance. I'll tell security to let you in.”

“I'll be there in ten.”