The Striker's Chance (4 page)

“How are you?” she asked uncertainly, just before Hank’s fingers dug into his aching hamstring. The sting was sudden and intense, and Kepler muttered a string of curses with a clenched jaw.

“Nice talk in front of a lady,” Hank scolded playfully.

“Don’t worry, I couldn’t understand a word.” Holly moved closer to stand by his head. He could smell her freesia perfume. “What language was that, anyway?”

“Afrikaans,” Hank supplied. “It has roots in Dutch, so de Klerk here can’t get away with too much foul language when I’m around.”

Kepler ignored the physical therapist’s teasing. He concentrated on breathing through the twanging aftershocks running up and down the tendons in the back of his leg.

“Interesting,” Holly mused. “Is Afrikaans your first or second language, Kepler? Do you usually think in Afrikaans or English?”

What language he thought in ranked only slightly above PR strategy on his list of conversations he was in no mood to have. “What do you want?”

“I had an idea,” she said, a touch defensively.

Another wine-soaked dinner with the board? A handwritten apology for every person who attended the match? Or maybe a two-page magazine spread showing him and the bastard from Ottawa going out for lunch and having a bygones-be-bygones laugh about the fact that he could’ve re-broken Kepler’s damn leg with that illegal tackle.

He sighed. Better get it over with. “Okay, tell me your idea.”

She leaned her hip against the edge of the table and looked down at him with a thoughtful expression.

“You’re not home yet.”

His attention sharpened. She couldn’t mean—how could she know?

“What did you say?”

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Hank rotated his calf at an angle that sent arrows of hot agony shooting through his muscles. Nearly blind with hurt, he couldn’t contain the harsh growl that escaped from his throat, and he couldn’t stop the impulse to grab Holly’s hand and squeeze as though it was an anchor in his haze of pain.

Her hand was soft and cool, her fingers small and delicate in his grasp. Yet there was real strength in her grip, something steely and determined thrumming beneath the smooth skin.

As the pain subsided enough for him to realize how inappropriate it was to have grabbed her like that, she squeezed back.

Kepler glanced up and their eyes met. Hers were full of reassurance and calm, and his racing heart slowed to a normal rhythm. She smiled, and in that instant she was exactly what he needed: beautiful, soothing, solid. He knew he was staring at her dumbly, but he couldn’t look away.

“Almost done,” Hank announced, and the moment was gone. Kepler sheepishly withdrew his hand and Holly looked at the floor.

“Sit up, take a breather. I need to grab a sports bandage, then we’ll quickly do the other side. I’ll strap you up and then you’re free to go.”

Hank whistled as he headed toward the supply room, and Kepler pulled himself gingerly into a sitting position, his legs dangling over the edge of the table.

“You were saying,” he said haltingly, unsure how to proceed after what had passed between them—or at least what he thought had passed between them, “something about an idea?”

“Oh, right.” She seemed to give herself a little shake. “You’ve been in Charlotte for a few weeks now and we’ve still got you stuck in that hotel. I don’t know whether you’ve thought about renting or buying somewhere, but if you wanted, I could take you around to look at some properties tomorrow.”

Kepler was so taken aback that he struggled to gather his thoughts for a few seconds. He’d been sure she’d come to talk about the incident on the pitch, but she hadn’t even mentioned it. And now she wanted to take him house hunting?

“I’d like that,” he said honestly, as much to himself as to her. “And I want to look at houses, not apartments. I want to buy a house.”

“Whatever you want.” She nodded. “I’ll have a look at the listings tonight and plan out a route. There are usually lots of open houses on Sundays. I can pick you up after lunch, say two o’clock?”

There was a time when Kepler would’ve automatically suggested he buy her lunch beforehand, with the intention of throwing in a few drinks and never viewing any properties, except maybe the inside of his hotel room. His pursuit tactics had never been particularly subtle.

But then, was he even in pursuit right now? There was something alluring about Holly as a person, no doubt about that. However, when in her professional guise, she could be incredibly annoying. Plus her mission to make him over as some kind of cuddly, kid-friendly soccer hero flew in the face of his desire for authenticity.

For once he wanted to be himself—nothing more, nothing less. But her job was to dress up the truth, to paint over the rough spots and make everything look perfect.

She was stunning. Intriguing. And not at all the woman he needed right now.

“Two o’clock is fine,” he said, his tone already more guarded. “I’ll meet you out front.”

“Great,” she chirped. “I’ll see you there. And I hope your leg feels better in the meantime.”

“Thanks,” he said as Hank emerged from the supply room, bandage in hand.

Hank made a circular motion with his finger, and Kepler obediently stretched out on his stomach, his long frame leaving his feet hanging over the end of the table.

He dropped his head onto his folded arms. He didn’t look at her or say goodbye, but he listened intently as the click of Holly’s high heels receded toward the door and finally disappeared.

Chapter Four

Mixed emotions tumbled through Holly like clothes in a dryer as she pulled up to a stoplight down the street from the hotel. She shifted the car into neutral, grateful for the extra seconds to think.

Last night this had seemed like a brilliant idea. She’d gleefully flipped through house listings, pulling together a schedule and even noting a few of the best restaurants and stores near each property. She’d gone to bed full of positivity, convinced this was just the thing to help Kepler settle in and become part of the team. The happier he was, the easier it would be to publicize him. Plus, she was excited to spend more time with him.

And that was the problem.

She’d tossed and turned for what felt like hours, unable to get their encounter in the medical room out of her head. Her mind spun with flashes of memory. The hard contours of his muscled legs. Golden hair curling on tanned skin. The rough, dry feel of his hand on hers, the power in his long fingers. Those depthless dark eyes gazing up at her, searching for something with such desperation that her heart threatened to split in two.

When she’d woken that morning and stared at the midsummer sun filtering through the curtains, she was suddenly full of reservations.

She
was
excited to spend time with Kepler—too excited. Her interest in him was becoming increasingly personal. That wasn’t only inappropriate from a career standpoint—Discovery paid her to do his publicity, not go out on dates—it was also unfair to him. Whether or not he agreed with her particular strategy, it was down to her to revamp his public image and salvage his career. This was his one and only shot at a career in the American leagues. She owed it to him not to be distracted.

He’s out of bounds
, she’d reminded herself sternly while gathering her hair into a high, smooth ponytail. She would be friendly and polite today, but nothing more.

“Nothing more,” she repeated aloud as the light changed to green, and minutes later she pulled up in front of the hotel.

Kepler stood outside, and as soon as she laid eyes on him she realized this professional-distance plan would be harder than she thought.

He was lounging against one of the pillars by the entrance, looking sun kissed and delectable in tan cargo shorts, sunglasses and a dark blue T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders.

He acknowledged her arrival with an unsmiling nod, pulled open the door and dropped into the passenger seat, which he immediately adjusted to accommodate his long legs. Holly could smell the cedarwood and citrus in his aftershave, and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel as though that might strengthen her resolve.

“How’s the leg today?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Is this your car?”

“Yes.” Kepler made no further comment, and she suddenly felt self-conscious about her perfectly respectable four-year-old Toyota Corolla. “I suppose you’ll need to buy a car as well,” she said, eager to break the uncomfortable silence. “You do know how to drive, right?”

“Of course I know how to drive,” he shot back, his tone harsh and offended.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” Holly paused to rethink her phrasing. How had this excursion gone so wrong so quickly? Maybe she really had imagined their moment of connection yesterday, because it seemed like Kepler was back to his rebellious, hostile self.

“I just heard once that most people in London don’t have cars, because the roads are so busy. I didn’t know if South Africa was the same, or if you had a driver, or whatever.”

His eyes were flinty as he fixed her with a hard, cold stare.

“You may recall I was involved in a rather highly publicized car accident. During which I was
driving
.”

Hot shame burned in Holly’s face as she cursed herself inwardly. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t herself at all this afternoon. Kepler always managed to put her off balance and keep her there.

“That was really stupid of me,” she said tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Never mind. Maybe if my PR manager can forget about it, there’s hope that someday the rest of the world will too.”

“Of course they will,” she assured him. “After all, it’s been proven that it wasn’t your fault, and Tommy’s injuries weren’t nearly as bad as they thought at first.”

“Not even as bad as mine, it turns out. Yet he’s back on the pitch with Archway and I’m in North Carolina.”

Holly drew a breath to respond, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

There was so much misery and pain in his voice, she wanted desperately to reach over and give his knee a comforting squeeze, or better yet, pull over to the side of the quiet residential road and throw her arms around his neck. He would press his forehead against her collarbone, she would whisper soothing words as she ran her fingers through that thick blond hair...

Holly braked hard at a red light, bringing her fantasy to a screeching halt and working hard to ignore the delicious tingle still buzzing through her from the mere thought of touching him.

Professional distance. Friendly, polite, nothing more.

“Well, I hope you’ll learn to like Charlotte as much as I do,” she managed eventually. “I’ve never lived anywhere larger, and although I’d love to try life in a big city, I still think Charlotte’s a great place.”

She interpreted his silence as skepticism, so she carried on. “The first house is in an area called Ballantyne. It’s south of the city—actually most of what we’re seeing today is on the south side.”

“Is this where you live?”

She shook her head. “I do live on the south end of town, but in Dilworth. My sister Gina lives in Ballantyne. She has a beautiful house.”

And a rich husband who bought it for her.
I
couldn’t afford this neighborhood if I saved up for a million years.

“Is yours a house or an apartment? Do you live with anyone else? Roommates, or your boyfriend?”

Holly stole a sharp glance at him as she steered the car into the immaculately manicured, high-end community. His expression was annoyingly neutral.

“I don’t have roommates—or a boyfriend. I live in a house. I bought it last year,” she added with a hint of pride.

His attention had strayed out the window. “It seems slightly sterile around here. Does your sister like it?”

“It is a little bit farther out of the city center,” she acquiesced, “but the houses are big and new, and you have everything you need in terms of amenities. My sister loves it. She doesn’t work, so there’s plenty for her to do during the day. She shops at the mall, goes to the spa, hangs out at big chain coffee shops with the other neighborhood wives, that kind of thing.”

“That’s my idea of hell,” Kepler said so bluntly that Holly had to laugh.

“I don’t disagree with you. My brother-in-law wants to start trying for a baby, but she keeps telling him she’s too busy to be running around after his children.”

Kepler made no reply, and Holly realized she was probably veering into too-much-information territory.

“I guess it works for her. Anyway, this is our first stop.” She parked on the street in front of an imposing, brick-faced house at the end of a cul-de-sac. The front door was open, and the several other cars parked nearby were of a considerably more expensive standard.

“This one backs up to the country club,” she explained as they proceeded up the walkway. “And it’s sort of secluded down here at the end of the road. I thought you might like that.”

“What gave you that impression?”

Holly suppressed a groan. Had she said the wrong thing again? For someone people hired to smooth things over, she was doing a great job of making a mess.

“Most of my celebrity clients value their privacy. I assumed you would too.”

He smirked as they reached the front door. “I appreciate the appeal to my ego, but I have no illusions about the extent of my fame in Charlotte.”

The realtor appeared at the other end of the entry hall and began walking toward them. Kepler turned to Holly with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that filled her with dread.

“Watch,” he said, “I’ll prove it.”

“Kepler, wait.” But it was too late. Although her heavily applied makeup made her look older, Holly guessed the realtor was in her early twenties. She was blonde, slim and tall, and her partially unbuttoned blouse walked a thin line between sexy and skanky. She shot Kepler a toothpaste-ad smile as she handed them both brochures on the property. Holly hated her instantly.

Please don’t flirt with her in front of me.
She didn’t think she could survive five bedrooms’ worth of watching Kepler deploy his smoothest lines on this infuriatingly attractive young woman.

“Welcome, y’all. Thanks so much for coming down. I’m Leslie-Ann and I can’t wait to show you around this amazing house.”

Holly fought the urge to roll her eyes, but Kepler grinned and stuck out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Leslie-Ann.” He pumped the girl’s hand with more warmth and animation than Holly had thought him capable of. “I’m Kepler, and this is my gorgeous wife, Holly.”

He slung his arm around Holly’s shoulders and pulled her into his side. Somewhere between the shock of his statement and the intoxicating heat and scent of his body against hers, she found enough mental clarity to notice Leslie-Ann glance skeptically at their bare ring fingers.

“We had to get married quickly for his green card,” Holly blurted out, possibly surprising herself even more than Kepler, who glanced at her with a playful grin.

“That’s right,” he confirmed. “We’re only just getting down to basics now. Like buying a house.”

“I see.” Leslie-Ann nodded, her perky smile never leaving her face. “And where did you move here from?”

“Africa.”

Leslie-Ann’s pretty green eyes widened. “Wow.” She tilted her head sympathetically. “It must be so overwhelming to move somewhere so different. But I promise you one thing, every house here in Charlotte has an indoor toilet, including this one.”

Holly had no patience for ignorance and was about to interject that Africa was a diverse continent with a huge variety of plumbing options, when Kepler replied, “God bless America” with such earnestness that instead she struggled to stifle a laugh.

Leslie-Ann nodded solemnly and gestured to the rest of the house. “Let me take you through.”

As soon as the realtor turned around, Holly squirmed out of Kepler’s grasp and shook her head to clear it.

“What are we doing?” she whispered as they followed the girl down the hall. Now that Holly had extricated herself from his hold and the giddy excitement of his proximity—which she planned to worry about later—was subsiding, all her professional alarm bells were ringing.

“Viewing a property.”

She sighed in exasperation. “You know what I mean. What if someone recognizes you? What if people think we’ve really gotten married? In many ways Charlotte works like a small town, and if we’re not careful we’re going to see a far crazier headline than the one about tequila.”

“Stop worrying so much. I’m proving my point. No one knows who I am.”

“That means I’m not doing my job.”

Kepler shot her a withering look, but before he could speak Leslie-Ann ushered them into what she described as the French country kitchen.

“And in here you’ve got granite countertops and fabulous painted cabinets.” She spun to face them wearing an expectant smile.

“Uh, great,” Holly said uncertainly, but Kepler flashed his gorgeous grin.

“Holly loves to cook.” He slipped his hand across her lower back. “Don’t you, honey?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed, trying to ignore the thrill of his touch. She knew she shouldn’t encourage him and that she should put a stop to this—but she didn’t want to.

“I cook all his favorites, lots of African delicacies,” she elaborated, getting caught up in the joke. “But mostly I’m just trying to find the best way to mask the poison so I can collect his life insurance.” She gave Leslie-Ann a conspiratorial wink.

The realtor’s carefully maintained smile faltered ever so slightly, but Kepler’s reaction was stronger. He dissolved into hearty, genuine laughter.

Holly realized she’d never heard him laugh before. It was an awesome, infectious sound, boyish and full of mischief, lighting up his whole face.

At that moment another couple wandered into the hallway outside the kitchen, and Leslie-Ann turned to them gratefully, her smile already back to full force. Holly heard her describing the simply fantastic iron balustrade staircase as she guided the newcomers back toward the foyer.

Holly twisted to face Kepler, but he didn’t drop his hand; instead he raised his other one to rest at her waist.

“I should’ve known you were trying to kill me,” he murmured, his lips curled in amusement. He tightened his grip on her waist and spread his fingers so his thumbs brushed her hipbones.

She swallowed. This situation had spun completely out of her control, and she had no idea how to claw it back.

“Come on, Kepler.” She tried to make her tone light and joking. “I’m not your consolation prize. You played the wrong card with Leslie-Ann back there. You might have had her with the exotic accent, but she’s not the type to let a man cheat on his wife. Even I could see that.”

Confusion clouded his handsome face for a split second, and then he shook his head. “I was never interested in the realtor. Not my type. But you’re right—you’re no one’s consolation prize.”

He pulled her against him so suddenly that her hands flew to his arms to steady herself. She spread her palms over his biceps, indulging in the feel of him, smooth skin pulled taut over the hard swell of muscle.

A creak in the hallway outside sent panic fluttering in her chest. This was an expensive neighborhood—what if someone on the Discovery board was house hunting and came upon them like this? What was Kepler doing, anyway? He seemed so underwhelmed by her earlier in the day, and now...

...now he was lowering his lips to hers. She’d been too preoccupied with worry to anticipate his kiss, and there was no time to stop it.

He kissed like he moved on the pitch: confident, patient, unyielding. Holly jerked in surprise at the first crush of his mouth, but as the initial shock wore off she melted into his embrace. The logical, rational, utterly boring part of her brain shut down layer by layer until her mind was blissfully overtaken by sizzling, sensual heat.