The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) (21 page)

Trevor was nowhere in sight. Luke turned on his heel and walked right back out of the living room to the entrance foyer. Spinning left, he jogged down the stairs that led to the gym floor of his complex. Once he’d shut himself in with the exercise machines, he yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and hit a speed-dial number.

“Escobar Security. That really you, Archer?”

“Yeah, Ron, it’s me,” Luke said, massaging his temples with his free hand. “I need you to clean up a mess my brother has made at my place. He decided to throw a party while I was out, and it’s one I can’t be at.”

“I hear ya. How about Trevor? Do I give him a scare?”

“Wouldn’t hurt, but leave him here. He and I need to talk.”

Ron whistled. “Based on your tone, he’s gonna wish I’d taken him with me.”

“Thanks, Ron. I owe you another one.”

“You don’t owe me nothin’, and you know it,” Ron said. “But since you’ll send me tickets anyway, don’t send them for this week’s game since you ain’t playing in it. I don’t want to watch that second-stringer Pitch. Next week is good.”

“You got ’em.” Luke headed for the elevator as he talked. For the first time all evening, he felt a genuine smile at the corners of his lips. “You’re a good friend, man.”

“The best.” Luke could hear the answering smile in Ron’s voice. “I’ll call you when it’s clear.”

Luke disconnected and slumped against the elevator car’s wall as he rubbed his palms over his face, thanking his lucky stars for Ron. Escobar had been a defensive tackle on Luke’s team at the University of Texas. He’d been good enough to go pro, but he’d chosen to serve his country instead. After a couple of tours with the Army in the Middle East, Ron decided to move into private security, and Luke had bankrolled him. It had been one of the best investments of his life, because Ron had extricated him and more than a few of Luke’s teammates from some sticky situations before the police could get involved.

Now, Luke allowed fury at his brother to flood through him. Trevor knew Luke had to stay miles away from drugs of any kind. There could be no whiff of suspicion that the quarterback used any chemical substance to enhance his performance. And illegal drugs were off-limits for so many more reasons. So his selfish screwup of a brother had brought the drugs right into Luke’s home.

He wanted to slam his fist into something, but he couldn’t take the risk of hurting his hands when he was this enraged. He shoved them into his pockets and muttered a long, creative string of curses.

The elevator glided to a stop on the ground floor. Luke stood in the stationary car, trying to decide where to go while Ron did his job. He needed a corroborating witness to say he hadn’t been at his own apartment with the drugs, just in case the press got wind of it. He’d signaled his driver to be at the door, but he needed a destination before he walked out.

There was only one place he wanted to be, and it was a place he should stay away from. If Miranda had to confirm his whereabouts to the press, it would negate all their precautions. But his driver knew where she lived, so the temptation gnawed at him.

He pulled his cell phone out and swiped his thumb over the screen, scrolling to the personal cell-phone number she’d given him.

He shouldn’t do this.

He tapped his thumb against the number and lifted the phone to his ear.

Chapter 19

Miranda’s phone rang on her bedside table, making her roll over with a groan. The ringtone indicated a personal call, which meant she didn’t have to answer it. She stared at the ceiling and debated. As the fog of sleep cleared from her brain, she remembered Luke was going to be out late. Without her.

She grabbed the phone. “Luke?”

“Miranda.” She heard a strange mix of emotions in that one word. There was relief but also hesitation.

She shoved the hair out of her face and sat up against the headboard. “Yes, it’s me.” He didn’t say anything, so she filled in the silence. “How was the gala?”

“Gala? Oh, yeah. It was fine.” He went silent again. When he spoke, the tone of his voice was warmer. “No, it sucked. I wanted you there with me.”

He’d told her he wished she could come when they’d said good-bye much, much earlier that day, but it hadn’t carried the raw honesty it did now. Pure joy zinged through her. “I wish I could have joined you. Did all your friends show up?”

“They did. I was surprised.”

Miranda pushed a pillow behind her back and settled in more comfortably. “Why would that surprise you?”

“They can be . . . unpredictable.”

Luke had told her about the high-tech CEO and the famous novelist he’d recently met at his club. “Did your autographed football bring in a lot of money for the charity?”

“The tickets that went with it did.” His tone changed. This time she heard uncertainty. “I need a favor. A big one.”

“Of course.” She was happy he’d called her but worried about what he might need so late at night. Had his injuries gotten worse?

“Can I come to your place for a couple of hours?”

She straightened away from the pillow in shock. “Now?”

“It’s a lot to ask, I know.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I just wasn’t . . . I didn’t expect . . . yes, please come here. Do you need my address?”

“No, my driver still has it.” Now she could hear the smile in his voice as she called herself a moron. His driver had taken her home this morning. “We’re headed for the Holland Tunnel, and there’s light traffic. I’ll be there soon.”

Miranda hurled the covers off and leaped out of bed. Her apartment wasn’t exactly a mess since she hadn’t spent much time there recently, but she needed to clear her piled-up junk mail off the dining table, stash the recycling bins in the kitchen closet, and get herself dressed in whatever the perfect outfit was to entertain a famous quarterback for a late-night visit.

As she tidied, she mentally reviewed her wardrobe. It was heavy on work clothes and very light on anything else other than jeans. So, jeans. And under them, a lacy bra and panties, just in case.

The buzzer sounded as she was dragging a brush through her hair. She’d gone basic: a tailored cotton blouse over slim jeans and silver ballet flats. With peach silk underneath.

She checked through the peephole, catching only his profile, and opened the door. She nearly gasped out loud. He stood on her stoop in a perfectly fitted tuxedo with the tie loose but still draped around his neck. His tuxedo shirt was open at the throat, so the strong column of his neck was visible. The fine black wool of the tux subtly highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, the leanness of his waist, and the muscles of his thighs. His hair glowed like molten gold under the streetlight.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said, his voice a sharp rasp.

“It’s impossible not to.”

She could swear he moved at the speed of light, because he was in her house with her body sandwiched between his long, hard frame and the back of the door before she could blink.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he said, his eyes blazing down at her before he lowered his head and gave her a mind-bending kiss.

His words were as potent as his kiss. Heat blasted through her at the idea that she’d been in his mind at the gala, and she shifted against him. He drove his thigh between hers, sending a bolt of electric desire zinging through her as his solid muscle hit the sensitized throb between her legs. Her mouth opened under his.

“Now,” he said, his voice pure male command. She knew what he meant, because she wanted the same thing.

They tore at each other’s zippers as though they’d gone mad. He yanked her jeans and panties down as she toed off her flats. She ripped open the condom he’d pulled from his pocket and shoved down his briefs to roll it onto his erection.

Then she was levitating upward like an autumn leaf caught in a whirlwind as he lifted her off her feet. Bracing her against the door, he shifted his grip to her thighs, opening them so he could thrust up into her, burying himself fully in one motion. “Oh, God, yes, Miranda,” he ground out. “This is so good. You are so good.”

He held her in place up against the door so he could withdraw and drive into her. It was primal and powerful and made her beg him to do it again. She teetered on an exquisite balance of yearning emptiness and fierce fullness. The contrast made her grind her hips into his for more.

He obliged, moving faster, filling her more completely, until she locked her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and let him take her wherever he was going. Sensations swirled inside her like a kaleidoscope: the unyielding wood at her back, the controlling grip of his fingers on her thighs, the husky warmth of his breath on her cheek, the wool of his tux on her bared skin, the stretch and thrust of him moving inside her. Her need tightened down in her belly until he flexed his hips at exactly the right angle, and everything inside her burst into a perfect storm of contraction and release and pure, elemental satisfaction. She threw her head back, knocking it against the door, and shouted his name.

Her orgasm ignited his. He drove into her and stopped, suspended for a moment before he pulsed and arched back from where they were joined, her name tearing from his throat.

The force of his climax sent more tremors through her, a ripple of pleasure tugging at already sated muscles. She sighed into him, her head dropping onto his shoulder.

His iron grip on her thighs eased as he let his weight hold her up against the door. His chest expanded against hers when he drew in a long, shuddering breath. “Sweet Jesus,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes flew open and she lifted her head. “Sorry?” She tried to see his expression, but he was resting his forehead against the door beside her cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take more time with you.” Regret laced his voice.

She let her head drop onto his shoulder again. “In case you didn’t notice, I beat you to the finish.”

He was silent for a moment before she both felt and heard a chuckle rumble up from his chest. “You’re a mite competitive.”

“This is a win-win situation,” she said. “We both get a prize.”

“Sugar, you
are
the prize.” His weight shifted and he slid out of her. “I’m going to let you down slow now.”

“That’s good, because I think my legs might fold up under me.”

He eased them both away from the door and set her down on the floor as gently as though she were made of fine crystal. Her knees wobbled, and she clutched at his lapels while he kept his hands firmly around her waist to support her. She looked up to find his pale eyes warm with something she might have called happiness. It transformed his face, gentling the angles and softening his implacable will. “Want me to carry you?”

“Yes, but I’m going to walk,” she said, remembering his injury.

He released her and turned away while she scrambled back into her panties and jeans, the lightest touch of the fabric against her still-sensitive clitoris making her suck in a quick breath. She watched Luke zip his trousers, leaving the tails of his tux shirt hanging out.

It was surreal to see this huge, gorgeous man in the midst of her ordinary apartment. She crossed her arms and wondered what to do next. They’d already cut to the chase. “Would you like a drink? Wine? Coffee?”

“I’m good.” He glanced around, and she wondered what he thought of her exposed-brick wall, the built-in bookcases she and her brother had spent a weekend constructing, and the scarred but lovingly polished parquet floor. “This is a nice place,” he said.

“Not quite the penthouse, but I’m content here.”

He walked to the bookcase to examine her reproduction of a Degas horse sculpture before he pivoted to meet her eyes. “It’s like you. Warm and elegant.”

“Elegant?” She raised her eyebrows and glanced around. Maybe the small Oriental area rug in tones of burgundy and blue was elegant. And the bronze-and-crystal Victorian chandelier she’d found in a consignment shop might qualify. The rest was just comfortable. “It’s home.”

His expression darkened at her last word. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why don’t you have a seat and tell me why?” She wanted to keep him there, so she waved toward the sofa she loved so much. It was upholstered in a subtle, cream basket-weave pattern that she’d found marked down in a high-end fabric store.

He held out his hand. “Sit with me.”

She put her hand in his and let him help her onto one of the plump cushions. When he settled beside her, she snuggled into his uninjured side. “
I’m
glad you’re here, so why shouldn’t
you
be?”

The arm he had draped around her tightened. “Because my brother is an asshole.”

“I’m not getting the connection.” She felt the tension in his body and rubbed her palm in circles on his chest to ease it, stroking the fine, soft cotton of his shirt.

A sigh expanded his ribs. “When I got home from the gala, Trevor was throwing a party at my place. That was a jerk move, but I could have swallowed it. However, he broke the cardinal rule. There were drugs.”

Miranda let all the implications of that circle through her brain. Now she knew why they’d had fast, hard door sex, and why he’d apologized for it. Luke was venting his anger at his brother. “So you needed to get out immediately and find someplace else to go.”

“Yeah, where there was someone who would corroborate that I wasn’t at the party to take the drugs, in case the press gets wind of it. I have a good friend cleaning up Trevor’s mess, so I don’t think it will be an issue, but I shouldn’t have involved you.”

He might be right, but Miranda felt a warm glow of pleasure that he’d chosen her as his refuge.

Before she could say anything, he continued, his tone reflective. “I can’t remember the last time I did something I knew for a fact was wrong.”

“You’re a highly principled person.”

She felt him shake his head. “The temptation hasn’t been there. Until now.” He tipped her face up so their eyes met. “Do you know how damn good this feels?”

“Really damn good,” she said.

“I was cranky as a bear about going to that gala without you.” He dropped a kiss on her lips.

Miranda felt it all the way to her toes.

“There was a necklace there I wanted to buy you.”

She held up her hand. “No more gifts.” Knowing he’d wanted to buy her something was enough of a thrill.

“I haven’t given you anywhere near what you’ve given me. You broke me loose. I don’t know how—” He fell silent.

“How what?”

“How about a glass of that wine, after all?” he said.

She could tell he wasn’t going to finish his sentence for her. “Red or white?”

“Real men drink red wine.” His humor didn’t reach his eyes. They were shadowed by something she couldn’t read.

Before she could get up, he rose to his feet. “I’ll give you a hand.”

She led the way to her small kitchen. When Luke stepped in, the space seemed to shrink, so she could practically feel the air moving when he did.

Pulling her best bottle of merlot out of the tiny built-in wine rack, she rummaged through a drawer for a corkscrew.

“I’ll take care of that,” he said.

As she put the wine and the corkscrew in his strong hands, she glanced up at him with a smile. “I was pretty grumpy about not being with you tonight, too.”

It took him only a few seconds to extract the cork. “Good to know.” His answering smile flashed and was gone as he poured the garnet-colored liquid into the two balloon glasses she set out.

“It’s not that I begrudged the charity your presence at their gala,” she said. “It’s that we have so little time left, I hate to give up even one day.”

His glass halted in midair. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “You have to go back to football on Sunday. You don’t have, um, relationships during the season.” She’d read all about how Luke didn’t date during football season. She didn’t expect to be the exception.

“So you know about that.” He finished lifting the glass to his lips and swallowed a slug of wine. “I didn’t start out with the intention of getting this involved.”

That stung, even though she understood. He had gotten more involved than he expected, which was a backhanded compliment.

“I didn’t, either,” she said with equal honesty. “Sometimes circumstances weave themselves together to create a moment out of time. And when someone walks into that moment, you can’t stop what happens. You just savor it for what it is . . . a strange, wonderful interlude.”

“An interlude.” He stared down at the wine he swirled in his glass. “Is that what this is?”

“What else could it be?” She’d expected him to be relieved that she knew the parameters of their relationship. So why didn’t he look pleased?

He lifted his glass with a smile that didn’t come close to warming his eyes. “To interludes,” he said, touching the rim to hers. Then he tossed back the entire glass. “Strange and wonderful.”

He refilled his glass and met her eyes. “Maybe it could be—” An electronic tone sounded from his inner jacket pocket. “Ah, hell!” he said, reaching inside his tux and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, Ron.”

Miranda wanted to strangle Ron, even though he must be the friend cleaning up after Trevor. Luke had started to say something about their relationship. Some sort of possibility.
Maybe it could be . . .
what
?
A dangerous flicker of hope came to life in her heart.

“Thanks, man. I’ll send over those tickets tomorrow.” Luke’s shoulders went rigid. “I’m going to make some things real clear to him.”