Winner Takes All (11 page)

Annabelle crossed her arms over her chest. “How are you going to get home if I'm driving you there?”

Stella jerked when Brandon slammed the tailgate closed. She glanced back at the guy, whose eyes were covered by dark sunglasses.

He shot the two women a quick grin.

“I was going to walk,” Stella answered after taking her attention off Brandon.

Annabelle's eyes flew up her forehead. “With that?” she asked, gesturing toward the ace bandage wrapped around her friend's knee.

“Why does everybody always look at me like I have six heads when I tell them I'm going to walk somewhere?”

“Because you're—”

“Problem?” Brandon asked when he sidled up to them. Annabelle hadn't even heard him approach.

Stella glanced back at him. “We're fine, thanks.”

Brandon hooked an arm on the edge of the truck bed. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

One side of Stella's mouth twitched. “I don't live that far from my studio.”

“Because you're limping,” Brandon stated as though he hadn't heard her.

“I— What?”

He pointed toward her bandaged leg. “You've been limping all morning.”

Stella shook her head, sending her long dark hair sliding over one shoulder. “I haven't been limping.”

“Yeah, you have,” he reiterated.

Stella opened her mouth as though to argue again, only to shut it. “No,” she finally stated.

One of Brandon's brows arched above his sunglasses.

“Dad, I have to be at work in ten minutes,” Matt said as he climbed into the passenger seat of the rumbling truck.

Brandon glanced at his son, then back at Stella. “Last chance. I'll be around so I can swing by and pick you up.”

Annabelle stood back and watched the exchange, wondering why Stella was so adamantly against Brandon helping her. She was pretty sure the two didn't have anything against each other. In fact, as far as Annabelle knew, the two of them hardly knew each other.

“I'm fine,” Stella said again.

Brandon snorted and shook his head. “Guy can't catch a break,” he muttered before rounding the back of the truck and hopping in the front seat.

The two women stood back as he pulled away.

“Stella, that was rude,” Annabelle told her friend. “He was just trying to help you.”

Stella hooked her arm through Annabelle's. “I told you I would rather walk. I don't need him giving me a ride anywhere.”

Annabelle was just about to ask Stella what the hell her problem was when she spotted Blake sauntering, because that's the only way the guy walked, out of the gym. Cameron was by his side, the two men equally tall and wide and imposing with their dominating personalities and hard gazes. Cam slugged Blake in the shoulder, which Blake returned with a grin.

Something shifted inside her as she watched the two men. There was a closeness between them that only true friends could understand. Even though she didn't know much about their relationship, she'd guess they were more like brothers. Much like Blake's relationship with Brandon.

Cameron offered Blake a mock salute, then meandered to his own car.

Annabelle paused as she watched Blake and opened her car door when he spotted her. Hard to tell for sure with his eyes covered, but she just knew. The instant his gaze connected with hers, she'd felt it. Down to the pit of her stomach where all those butterflies lived. The hard set of his mouth, framed by stubble just starting to grow in, probably because it had been hours since he'd shaved, sent those butterflies all over her midsection.

“Annabelle,” Stella called as she stood by the passenger door. “Are we going to go?”

Blake continued to advance, his long legs eating up the concrete with wide, sure steps.

“Yeah,” she told her friend. “Just give me one minute.”

Stella glanced back at Blake and grinned. “I'm guessing you'll be more than one minute,” she dared. “At least give me the keys so I can turn the radio on.”

She tossed her friend the keys, then closed the distance between her and Blake.

“Hi,” he said when they reached each other.

“Hi,” she returned. “I meant to say hello in there, but you were pretty tied up.”

Blake glanced back at the gym. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I don't think I had two seconds to myself.”

“That's good. It means you raised a lot of money,” she pointed out. “Listen,” she went on. “I wanted to see when you'd be free to meet with me again.”

Blake tossed out a laugh and shook his head. “You never give up, do you?” he questioned as he walked around her.

Annabelle rushed after him. “I would think you'd understand the importance of not giving up, Mr. Carpenter.”

He paused and turned toward her. “I thought we'd moved past the Mr. Carpenter stuff.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I guess it depends on how much you're annoying me.”

“In that case,” he continued walking again, “we may never move past it.”

Damn it, hadn't they come to an understanding? She'd thought, at the very least, they'd reached a mutual respect where they could work together. So why was he blowing her off?

“Blake, please,” she pleaded with a hand on his arm. Which was a big flippin' mistake.

Because. Oh. My. Hard. Muscles.

Blake faced her, dropped his gaze down to her hand on his arm, and lifted a brow.

“Yes, Annabelle?” he queried, throwing the first-name thing back at her.

“I…” Her words trailed off because she was momentarily thrown by the use of her name. “I thought we had come to an understanding.” Why was she still touching him?

“We did,” he agreed. “I understand you can come, on your own time, to work with the players. Before or after practice.”

“Yes, but I would still like to meet with you to discuss the kids.” The heat from his skin had her dropping her hand.

“I'm pretty busy.”

“You had time for me last week.”

His mouth twitched. “That's because you just showed up. I don't remember scheduling anything with you.”

“Then I'll just keep showing up,” she said with arms crossed over her chest. “And texting you. Until your phone blows up. Or maybe I'll just sic the Dollys on you.”

“Now that's just cruel.”

She shrugged, trying to downplay the pounding of her heart. “Take your pick.”

Blake stared at her for a moment, saying nothing, that firm mouth of his turning her insides into cottage cheese. What would it be like to have those lips pressed to hers? Would they soften? Annabelle bet they would.

She also bet she'd spontaneously combust if she kept thinking things like that.

Blake blew out a breath and yanked his sunglasses off. “Look, I've told you before, I don't want just anyone interfering with this team.”

No matter how many times she saw them, Annabelle could never fully prepare herself for his blue eyes. They were deep, like the deepest part of the ocean, where the sun couldn't penetrate. And intense. Perhaps that was the biggest difference between him and Nathan. Nathan had been gorgeous but carefree. Lovable, fun, and always up for a good time.

Blake was intense to the point where it made Annabelle squirm. As though he took himself too seriously. He'd love hard; she knew that much. Probably to the point of distraction. But he'd also be single-minded and focused. Nathan hadn't understood that because he'd been too busy spreading his love to other women.

No, Blake wouldn't be like that. He'd give a woman everything he had and make her feel like she was the only woman in the world. Annabelle shivered at the thought.

She shoved the thought aside and focused on the discussion at hand.

“I understand your hesitation,” she assured him. “In fact, I would be suspicious if you weren't so suspicious. But I'm protective of these kids too. They've become like family to me and I just want to do my part to help them.”

Blake blew out a breath and gazed over her shoulder for a moment. He withdrew his keys from his pocket and twirled them around in his hand.

“Check back with me on Monday,” he told her. “But,” he added, “this doesn't mean I completely trust you. That you need to earn.”

She nodded. “Of course. Also…I'm sorry for taking over your practice the other day. I was out of line.”

Blake shifted his stance and studied her. “I wouldn't have expected anything less from you, Annabelle.”

Was he still mad? “You have every right to still be upset with me, but I did what I thought was right for the team.”

“I'm not upset with you,” he clarified. “When you believe in something that much, like those players, you go after it. I respect that.”

Huh? She'd expected the riot act. A good lecturing. A don't-overstep-your-bounds-again spiel. But respect?

“I…”

He chuckled. “Are you surprised?”

To say the least. She offered him a smile. “Thank you,” she said instead of questioning him further.

He started to turn, then stopped himself. She froze as he lifted his hand, bracing herself for his touch. His thumb and index finger grasped her earlobe, rubbing it between the two digits. The contact sent a zing down her spine.

What was he doing?

He looked at the one ear, then the other, holding on to her lobe the entire time. Skimming his thumb back and forth. She wondered if he realized he was caressing her like that.

“You're missing an earring,” he finally said.

Her hand automatically flew to her ear, which then collided with his hand. He dropped his so fast that she barely had time to register the contact before it was over. But it left her hand burning as she fingered her empty ear.

“Oh,” she breathed. “I didn't even realize it fell out.”

He replaced his sunglasses. “Why don't we go back inside and I'll help you look for it.”

Annabelle shook her head. “No, it's okay. They were an old pair and I have to get Stella to her studio.”

He bent so he was eye level with her. “You sure?”

She nodded, because her throat was suddenly tight.

He'd offered to find her earring for her.

Why was that a big deal? It shouldn't be.

Only, Nathan had never offered to do anything like that. He'd just smile and tell her to go buy herself a nicer pair. Because that had been easier than putting in the actual effort. And she'd have done it because she'd been too inexperienced to know any better.

With Blake it was different. She'd been burned enough to know when to jump back when the fire got too hot.

And Blake Carpenter was definitely too hot.

A
fter several more hours, and twenty-five more text messages from her mom, asking for things like pineapple chunks and cheese cubes, Annabelle locked up her studio to run some errands of her own. She picked up her mother's groceries, as well as some for herself, then headed to the hardware store to purchase a few more things for home repairs.

The pipes underneath the sink in the hall bath had been leaking and she needed some plumber's tape to fix it. Then the garage door started squeaking and she'd been fresh out of WD-40. So she was browsing the aisles of the place, trying to think of anything else she might need for the home, when she came across a fireproof safe that was on sale for 40 percent off.

As she stared at the thing, her mother's voice chimed in, reminding Annabelle the importance of always being prepared.

Anything could happen, Annabelle,
her mother would say.

What would you do if your house burned down and all your important documents were gone?

Her mother could have given doomsday preppers who stockpiled food in case of a zombie apocalypse a run for their money. Who really needed to have battery-operated radios and heat-resistant blankets lying around?

When my uncle Barney's house burned down, he lost everything. Even his driver's license and Social Security card were lost. Do you know the hoopla he had to go through to get all that stuff replaced?

Yeah, she knew. Because her mother had told her twenty times.

Annabelle stared at the safe for a good ten minutes before relenting. She flagged down a store employee because,
damn
, the thing was heavy.

She told herself it was more of an impulse buy and nothing to do with quieting her mother's nagging voice. Which was stupid. Because who just impulsively tossed a forty-five-pound fire-proof safe in one's cart as though it were a Milky Way bar?

Daughters who care way too much about pleasing their mothers.

After paying for the stuff, and gritting her teeth against the highway robbery of paying for a hundred-dollar safe, Annabelle left the hardware store and pushed the cart through the parking lot. When she came to her car, which thankfully had one of those automatic opening back doors, she stuck her foot under the sensor to open the door and then turned back to the cart. While the door slowly lifted open, she hefted the safe in her hands, struggling to hold on to one side, and waited. As soon as the door opened wide enough, she planned on sliding the thing right in so she wouldn't have to hold it longer than necessary.

And kudos to her for being all smart and prepared and stuff.

Except she'd completely forgotten about the plastic grocery bags covering all the space in the tiny back end of her SUV.

She took a tiny step toward her car, gritting her teeth against the quivering muscles of her arms. “Shit,” she breathed. Not one ounce of spare space to set the thing down.

How could she have forgotten she'd crammed all these groceries in?

With no place to set the safe down, Annabelle turned back toward her cart before she dropped the damn thing. Only the cart was rolling away.

And there it went, backward down the slight incline of the parking lot. One, two, now three parking spaces away.

“Uh, wait…,” she huffed as the cart continued its journey until it nudged the bumper of a jacked up truck and stopped. “Double shit.”

Okay, so she could either put the safe on the ground and break her spine in half or smash her groceries.

Nothing but great choices.

“Someone please kill me,” she muttered to herself.

Just as she was about to drop the damn thing, a set of big, strong, and thickly muscled arms took the safe from her trembling hands. Just lifted the box right from her as though it weighed no more than a sack of chips. Annabelle jolted forward from the sudden loss of weight and gasped as Blake Carpenter stood before her.

One brow slowly arched above the rim of his sunglasses.

“Much as I'd love to stand here and hold this thing…,” he told her.

She blinked at him, momentarily distracted by his out-of-nowhere presence and then his rumbling voice. “Oh,” she blurted out. “Right, sorry.” She spun around and began haphazardly rearranging the groceries so Blake would have a place to set the safe down. She attempted to move aside but bumped into him, which only solidified the impression that he really was as steely and sculpted as he looked.

“Just set it right there,” she instructed with a lick of her lips because all the moisture in her mouth had dried up.

He set the thing down, with way less effort than what she would have done. And she would have resented the hell out of him for the ease in which he did everything, but the way his athletic pants glided over his smoothly rounded butt cheeks took all the resentment right out of her.

Damn, the man was a sight.

She cleared her throat. “Thanks,” she told him with a grin.

“That wasn't planned out very well, was it?”

“I grabbed it at the last minute and forgot the back end of my car was full,” she told him. Saying it out loud made it sound just as dumb as it was.

He slid his hands into his pants pockets. “You bought a fireproof safe on impulse?”

See? He's thinks it sounds just as implausible as you do.

“Yeah, well, it was on sale, so…,” she answered with a lift of her shoulders.

One side of his mouth kicked up. “And you like to be prepared for everything, don't you?”

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” she answered.

He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “Like I said before. Control freak.” A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest when she opened her mouth. “There's nothing wrong with needing to be in control, Annabelle.”

The name tumbled so effortlessly from his lips, just like everything else about him, that it was mildly disconcerting. The intimacy of using her first name created a whole new set of feelings.

He'd muttered it in a way a lover would whisper in one's ear.

And she liked it way more than she should have.

“So I like things a certain way,” she agreed with a casual lift of her shoulder. “So what?”

“So nothing.” He slid his sunglasses off his face and tapped them against his thigh. “I just don't think you realize how sexy it is.”

Say what?

Annabelle didn't know many men who'd think control issues were sexy. It was true she liked things a certain way. And she liked knowing she had a modicum of control over her circumstances. That way she would never be blindsided ever again like she'd been by her ex-husband.

But sexy?

“Uh…” Her voice trailed off because she was speechless. For, like, the first time ever.

A gust of wind picked up, whipping her hair across her face. Blake lifted a hand, the one not endlessly tapping those sunglasses against his thigh, and tugged the strand of hair off her face. Just barely glanced his index finger over her cheek, sliding the piece down and tucking it behind her ear. Slowly. Almost too damn slow so that the tip of his finger left a tingling trail across her cheek and then blazed back up into her hairline.

Where had that come from?

Men had touched her before. A lot more purposefully and thoroughly than that. So why did this touch seem so much more intimate? Why did it make her breath feel short and her pulse flutter?

“You're wound so tight, you're practically vibrating,” he told her.

Did he have to mention vibrating while she was so damn turned on?

“Says the guy who doesn't know the meaning of easygoing,” she argued.

His brow twitched. “That's because you've only seen me on the field. In the right setting I can be the easiest going guy you'll ever meet.”

She doubted that but had to push him anyway. “I find that hard to believe. Today was the first time I've ever seen you crack a smile.”

“I smile plenty,” he said. “But my players would hardly take me seriously if went around grinning and cracking jokes all the time.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “No, but they might find you more human.”

“You think so, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Then he took another step closer. As if he weren't already invading her personal space. In fact, he was so close that he'd managed to dominate her personal space. Forget invade. The man conquered.

Before she could figure out what to do next, her cell vibrated from her back pocket. She retrieved it, touched the screen, and groaned at her mother's text, which read:

Marshmallow cream.

“Good grief,” Annabelle said to herself, and put the phone away. Her mother would have to get her cream another day. Annabelle had already gone to the store and was tired. Not to mention the physical drain of her banter with Blake.

“Problem?” he wanted to know.

Annabelle shook her head. “It's just my mother. She's been texting me her grocery list all day and I've already done my shopping for her.”

Blake's brows lowered over his eyes. “It takes your mother all day to send a text message?”

His assumption coaxed a smile from her. “No, she's been texting one item at time. Starting from this morning,” she added.

“You do your mother's shopping for her?”

Annabelle leaned against the back end of her SUV and sighed. “Yeah, she's had two hip surgeries in the past year. She's also epileptic and had a seizure while she was driving.”

Blake visibly winced. “Not good.”

“Nope. She had her license taken away, so she's pretty dependent on me. I take her out when I can, but…mostly I just run her errands for her and make her dinners.”

Blake nodded as though he understood her situation. “So you do it all, then?”

She stared back at him, trying to read the meaning behind his words. But his deep blue eyes gave away nothing. The man was damn good at that. She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug, even though, to Annabelle, the situation was far from casual. “I'm her daughter. It's my job to take care of her.”

Blake tilted his head to one side, passing his sunglasses back and forth from hand to hand. “That's not why you do it.”

A heavy breath escaped from her. “You're right, it's not. But I'm all she's got, so if I wasn't around to do it, she'd be on her own.”

“You don't have any brothers and sisters?”

Now that was a subject she didn't want to explore. “I have a younger sister, but she doesn't live in the area.”

“What about your father?”

“He died several years ago. So it's just me and Mom now.”

Blake was silent a moment as though processing the information and possibly even understanding her situation. Then he slowly nodded. “Loyal as well as controlling. No wonder you refused to leave when I tried to let you go.”

Annabelle pursed her lips. “First of all, you didn't have the authority to fire me. Second of all, I'm only controlling where it matters. Besides, I think you like having me around and just won't admit it.”

“Why is that?”

“For one thing, you know I can help,” she told him.

Blake finally stopped passing his sunglasses back and forth and slid them over his eyes. “And the other?”

Annabelle was silent a moment, suddenly realizing how much she enjoyed coaxing a smile from him. Stony-faced, the man was something else. When he smiled? He could downright melt concrete.

“Because I'm under your skin,” she told him.

One of his brows arched above his sunglasses. “Sure of yourself, aren't you?”

She shrugged. “I know how to read people.”

He took another step toward her, until she could count the stubble shadowing his square jaw. The coarse hair along his chin was a shade darker than the dirty-blond locks on his head. “
I
know how to read people, Ms. Turner.”

She couldn't see his eyes, but she felt the heat of his gaze over her face, then lower to the fluttering pulse and the base of her neck. Then he did something that made her want to jump out of her own skin.

He touched her. And not to brush away a stray piece of hair. It was a stroke of the back of his hand over the erratic thumping of her pulse. His knuckles rasped across her sensitive skin, sending an electrical current through her system and igniting a fire that had been extinguished a long time ago.

“Case in point,” he murmured as the rough pad of his thumb continued to stroke the soft flesh of her neck.

Annabelle licked her lips, which had grown dry with each circular motion of this thumb. If her body reacted to such a basic gesture, how would it react if he were to kiss her?

More important than that, why was she thinking about him kissing her?

Maybe because his mouth was so close. A whisper away from her own that she could feel each gentle breath that left his mouth.

Man.

That's what he smelled like.

All man and heat and desire.

If it were even possible, his mouth moved a centimeter closer. “Now who's under whose skin?” A heartbeat later, he took a step back. Then he turned that fine backside to her and sauntered away, each long leg taking him farther across the parking lot.

Yet he lingered. His heat, his scent, and his devastating aftermath curled around her like fingers digging into her flesh.

Oh boy, she was in some big trouble.

Blake had always considered himself to be an intelligent person. After all, he'd gone to Texas A&M on a full football scholarship and had been an honor student. Then he'd been drafted into the NFL at the age of twenty-three and had been one of the best QBs, and he hadn't squandered all his millions away like a lot of athletes did.

So the fact that he'd just acted like a complete ass in the middle of the hardware store parking lot was beyond him. Anyone with brains would have accepted Annabelle's thanks and moved on. But he'd stuck around and goaded her. Because that's what he did best when he was around her.