TouchBack (BWWM, Billionaire, Sports, Pregnancy) (2 page)

3.

              Stockard was running drills when he noticed her, along with the rest of the team. He almost laughed. That plucky little reporter was on the sideline watching practice. He saw her talking to one of the coaches. The poor guy didn't look too happy.

              He was waiting his turn behind Jackson Brown, his best friend on the team. He'd had his own run in with the girl. Everyone had. She'd been showing up at the locker room all damn week.

              "Look who's back."

              "She's not going to give up is she?"

              "I doubt it. I've seen that look before."

              "You have? Where?"

              "On you."

              Stockard grunted and glanced at the small woman standing by the coolers. She was talking to anyone who would listen. So far, no one had talked to her.

              Jimmy Reardon came up behind him.

              "She's stuck here. I heard her talking to her editor. They want her on us for the season."

              The other guys groaned. But Stockard had a different feeling altogether.

              Relief.

              He'd get to watch her. For the past week he'd gotten a little thrill, knowing she'd be hanging around. He had no idea why. The woman was outrageously attractive, true, but she was also persnickety, abrasive, stubborn and way too smart for her own good.

              Not the kind of woman he liked at all.

              But it was her face that crept into his mind at night before bed. While he was waiting for his turn at drills. On the drive home from the stadium.

              It made absolutely no sense at all.

              But there it was.

              One Miss Veronica Franklin had somehow weaseled her way under his skin.

              The question was, what was he going to do about it?

**********

              Veronica stood on the sidelines watching the team skirmish. She could see number 47's broad back as he ran a relay. Stockard. He moved like a water snake down the field. As graceful as a dancer. He'd turned down her requests to talk on the record over and over throughout the past week. Surprisingly though, he'd been pretty nice about it.

              And she kept catching him watching her.

              That maybe had something to do with the fact that she was also watching him.

              There was just something about him… a nobility in his bearing. He was better looking than a lot of players of course. But he was smarter too. Quieter in a way. More mature.

              He was at the peak of his career. Calm.

              She wondered why he wasn't married.

              "Here you go Miss."

              She smiled at the intern who had brought her an active player roster. She already had a list of course, she was just hoping there would be other information listed. Such as injuries, status, etc.

              "Thank you so much…"

              She glanced at the list.

              Bingo.

              The paper he'd handed her was a chart. It listed their names but also injuries and a dated row of performance evaluations. Her heart started beating faster.

              Maybe… just maybe the athletes who were injured early in the season were more likely to try steroids. Or the ones who were never injured and had the highest ratings were on a steady enhancement regime.

              Stockard Manning had the highest consistent rating of the entire team.

              She chewed her lip and looked up at the players. They were almost done with practice. Stockard was toweling off and stretching.

              She went inside to take a picture of the document before they thought better of giving her confidential information.

4.

              Stockard walked toward his apartment complex and froze. He'd thought he'd seen someone go inside… but it was just wishful thinking.

              That would be a special treat indeed.

              He held the bag of groceries against his waist and reached for the door, waving the doorman aside. Stockard liked to do things for himself. Everybody knew that. The only place he'd allow himself to be served was in a restaurant and even there, it made him feel odd.

              Hello.

              Veronica Franklin was waiting in the lobby of his building over by the seating area for visitors. She was looking through her purse and hadn't seen him yet. He let his eyes slide over her. She was wearing a trench coat, slim cut dark jeans and black high heeled boots. Her hair was done. Her face fresh and free of makeup. Other than those lips which looked shiny and kissable.

              Gloss. Girls called that gloss.

              She looked incredible. Good enough to eat. He grinned at her as she looked up.

              "Hey."

              "Hey. I was hoping you had a minute."

              He gave her his best serious face.

              "Are you following me?"

              She shrugged.

              "I thought that maybe you'd be more comfortable talking away from the stadium."

              He shifted the bag and tilted his head, pretending to think about it.

              "I'll talk to you."

              Her face lit up with pure joy.

              "
If
you have dinner with me."

              Her pretty little mouth opened into a surprised 'o'.

              "What, right now?"

              He lifted his groceries.

              "Why not?"

              "You'll give me an interview?"

              He nodded slowly, suddenly wanting her to say yes very badly.

              Very, very badly.

              "Off the record. No tape recorder."

              She looked slightly crestfallen at that.

              He smiled and gestured toward the elevators.

              "Come on, I'm starving."

              "You cook?"

              He smiled at her.

              "There's a lot you don't know about me."

**********

              Veronica turned in a circle. She shouldn't be surprised. She shouldn't. But the luxury of the place had her feeling completely off balance.

              It had nothing to do with how handsome Stockard looked in a v neck sweater and jeans.

              He was cooking in what could only be described as a 'chef's kitchen.' Floor to ceiling custom cabinets, granite counters, stainless steel appliances.

              Some of the appliances had Italian words on them.

              She was so far out of her league she couldn't think straight.

             
Focus Ronnie…

              Stockard Manning was cooking for her. Not just cooking either. He looked like he knew what he was doing. Judging from the smells, he was a very, very good chef.

              Add to that the fact that he'd casually pulled off his sweater and was cooking in a form fitting t-shirt and tight jeans. Actually with a body like that, anything would look good.

              The man's muscles had muscles. But he didn't look over done.

              No, he looked perfect.

              He'd poured her a glass of red wine which she was sipping while she watched him cook. Of course she should be interviewing him but he'd asked her to wait until they ate.

              It wasn't such a large request. So she'd just nodded and accepted the glass of wine. He'd poured himself one and gotten to work.

              She was staring at his back as it flexed under his shirt while he cooked. His neck alone looked so strong. It had to be, though right?

              She wondered for the hundredth time if he used steroids. That would just be a kick in the pants wouldn't it? But somehow she didn't think he did.

              He lacked the machismo and bristling nervous energy she'd observed in other users. Plus, he just seemed too good for it. Too honorable, if that made any sense.

              "Alright… we are just about… ready."

              He glanced over his shoulder at her, catching her staring. She blushed and looked away. Come on Ronnie, this is not a date.

              "Come, sit."

              He gestured to a long table by the glass windows. He adjusted the light so that it was bright enough to see, but soft enough to see the incredible view of Manhattan. Then he set a plate in front of her.

              Fresh fillet of sole with steamed vegetables and some sort of sauce that was making her mouth water.

              "It looks delicious."

              He was staring at her with a bemused look on his face as he slid into the seat across from her. Once again she was struck by his physical presence and grace.

              He was beautiful, yes. But he was a man in every sense of the word.

              "Go ahead."

              She cut into her fish and speared a bite. She closed her eyes as she chewed.

              When she opened her eyes he was staring at her, his chin rested on folded hands.

              "It's wonderful."             

              "Good."

              "Aren't you going to eat."

              "Yes."

              He picked up his fork and knife and started into his meal. She watched him eat as she dug into her food. His mouth was sensuous looking in the extreme. The man had pillow lips. She had a very clear image of him suddenly going to work with his mouth.

              On her.

              It was a very good thing he couldn't read her mind.

              She took a sip of her wine and reminded herself why she was here.

              "So."

              He looked up at her and grinned.

              "Back to business?"

              She nodded.

              "What do you want to know?"

              "How many players use performance enhancing drugs? Is it an open secret."

              He leaned back in his seat.

              "Well, they don't flaunt it if that's what you mean. So I wouldn't know for sure unless they told me."

              "And have they?"

              He shook his head.

              "No. But I don't really encourage that sort of confidence."

              "So you don't know players who use."

              "Oh I'm sure I do. I think at least half had tried them once or twice. The guys who use it heavy, well, it's sort of obvious."

              "Care to name names?"

              He raised an eye brow at her.

              "No. It's illegal. I don't want to ruin anyone's career."

              He refilled their wine glasses and she took a sip.

              "But it's dishonest. Where's the sportsmanship in some people having an edge?"

              He shrugged, his massive shoulders drawing her eye again.

              "It's none of my business what they do. Besides, some people need help to keep up. Especially after an injury."

              "What do you think their reasoning is. They are risking their careers and reputations?"

              "You really aren't going to give up are you?"

              "This is my one shot. They gave me the assignment thinking I wouldn't get anywhere with it. The ground has already been well covered."

              "You want to get out of the minors."

              She nodded.

              "Drink your wine."

              She sighed and took another sip. She was already starting to feel tipsy.

              "I'll answer whatever I can. If you let me interview you afterwards."

              A thrill went through her body at his words. It almost sounded like… he wanted to do more than ask questions.

              "Alright. Please. If you have any insight I'd appreciate it."

              He sighed.

              "I think a lot of guys think it's their own body. They can do what they want to it."

              "What about you? Do you believe in sports enhancement drugs."

              He grinned at her arrogantly.

              "I don't need any enhancing."

              As if to prove his point, he stood and lifted their plates. His body blocked out everything for a moment.

              She realized that she believed him.

              He didn't need drugs to be at the top of his game.
He just was.

              He put the dishes in the sink and then came back to scoop up the glasses and wine.

              "Come on, let's sit over here."

              She followed him without a word, somehow knowing that things were about to change. He wanted her. She knew it.

              It wasn't professional to get involved with a source.

              But she'd be lying if she said she didn't want him too.

              Rather badly.

              She sat on the long low ultra modern couch with him. It faced the wall of windows. The lights were lower over here. He refreshed her wine and leaned back in his seat, staring at her.

              "Any more questions?"

              "I know I should be grilling you but I can't think of anything else right now."

              "That's okay. You can ask me later. Besides, I want to know about you."

              Warning bells went off in her head as he leaned towards her. He was going to kiss her. She just knew it.

              "What about me?"

              Gently, he pulled the glass from her fingers and set it on the table beside his. He got closer and closer until his lips were hovering above hers.

              "Where are you from? Why are you so damn persistent?"

              He brushed his hand against her cheek.

              "What do you taste like?"

              Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. He grinned and leaned in, softly rubbing his lips across hers. Then he nudged her lips further apart and slid his tongue inside. She moaned as he slowly and expertly tangled his tongue with hers.

              Stockard Manning could
kiss.

              It was a long time before he pulled back. She realized that her arms were around him, gripping his shoulders tightly. His palms were making slow circles on her back.

              "I thought you didn't… date during the season."

              "I don't. But I can make an exception."

              He lowered his mouth to hers again. She should stop this. But somehow, she couldn't.

              She felt utterly at his mercy. But she knew he wouldn't hurt her. She also knew that she didn't have the strength of will to fight this insane attraction she was having to him. Her whole body was tingling in anticipation.

              He eased her back onto the couch and pressed his body against hers.

             
Oh. My. Goodness.

              The lights went out.