Kate yanked open her front door and almost dropped her beloved Tea-Rex mug as she stared bleary-eyed at the surprise addition to her front porch. An oversized shoe box sat on her “Come back after basketball season” doormat.
She toed the mystery box, then glanced from left to right, making sure no one lurked in the shrubs waiting to snap a picture of her bending over in stretched-loose gym shorts and a faded T-shirt. The warm mug curled close to her chest, she squatted and flipped the lid off the box with one finger. Breath caught in her lungs, and she blinked in surprise.
The shoes nestled in the folds of tissue paper were a swirl of outlandishly obnoxious neon colors. So bright mere humans would need a pinhole projector to view them properly. She fell in love on sight.
“Come to me, my pretties,” she whispered, setting her tea aside to draw the box closer. The tissue crinkled as she pushed it back. “Where did you come from, huh? Shoe fairies?” She touched one neon-orange lace and sighed. “Are you looking for a good home?” She peeked at the label on the box. “Look at that. Just my size.”
Caffeine and nowhere-to-be-seen newspaper forgotten, she lowered the lid, gathered the box in her arms, and carried the precious foundlings inside.
Perched on the edge of the sofa, she stared at the prize in her lap. Her heart thrummed against her breastbone, and a giddy, bubbly rush of anticipation simmered in her veins. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had given her a present, much less one this heart-trippingly perfect. She bit down on the tip of her tongue as she tossed the lid aside. A girly laugh of delight rushed past her lips the second she caught a glimpse of the shoes in the light.
Hooking her fingers under the laces, she plucked them from their tissue nest. The box fell to the floor unheeded as she gave the shoes an impetuous little hug. She knew it was silly but didn’t really care. Let other women swoon over toothpick-heeled Jimmy Choos. She was a pushover for leather and mesh uppers with gel-filled insoles.
Setting one shoe aside, she gathered the tips of the laces to line them up. Her greedy gaze cataloged the number of eyelets and mapped the exact route she’d take through the tongue flap. It wasn’t until she reached for the second shoe that she noticed the words inked inside the box lid. The thick, bold slashes of black magic marker seemed harsh and sharply incongruous with the colorful gift.
DINNER? D
She stared at the message, the pricey shoe dangling from her fingertips and her heart lodged in her throat.
Danny.
She shook her head hard. No. It couldn’t be.
Or could it?
She’d caught him sneaking peeks at her all through the awards banquet. A couple of times, she thought he might have even been trying to look down her dress, but she quickly dismissed the notion. Why would he want a gander at her barely theres? Still, she’d had fun sparring with him that night. More fun than she’d had with a man in a long time.
She dropped the shoe to the floor, and her fluttering pulse slowed as the realization sank in. Of course the shoes weren’t from Danny. And double-goddamn Millie for planting the seed. She and Coach McMillan weren’t even on a first name basis, for cripes’ sake. He didn’t know where she lived, what she liked, or her shoe size. They couldn’t be from him.
The D was for Davenport.
She hated Jim’s habit of referring to himself by his last name. Hated that she’d picked up on it too. It made her feel like she was back in sixth grade, awkward and too tall, trying to be buddies with the boys for fear they’d reject her if she drew attention to the fact that she was a girl.
She gazed at the rainbow-colored trainers and shook her head, trying not to wish they’d come from another source. It wasn’t fair. The terse message was Jim to a T, but the gesture was unprecedented. Romantic gifts left on her doorstep? Not a part of their game plan. At least not so far. Then again, they’d never been as close to sealing the deal as they were now.
Turning the shoe, she inspected the intricate pattern of tread and tried to ignore the pang of disappointment reverberating in her gut. She should have been happy. This was easily one of the most thoughtful gifts any man had ever given her. These shoes said he knew her and liked her just as she was. A chick-flick sentiment, but one that worked like a damn charm.
But charm, sentiment, and surprises weren’t Jim’s forte.
He liked khaki pants, polo shirts, and brown loafers. His athletic shoes were never even stark white or inky black but a neutral silver-gray. Kate found his monochromatic bent ironic for a guy who’d told her he once dreamed of becoming a color commentator.
She frowned as she wove the laces through the eyelets. They already had a date for dinner scheduled. Why would he buy her the world’s brightest shoes when she was already locked in for a night of pasta and stats?
Then again, it was gratifying to see him finally step up to the line. Of course, she wasn’t naive enough to believe she’d inspired it all on her own. The video of her encounters with Coach McMillan always received a little play on both local and national sports news. Then there were the candid shots students kept snapping and Millie kept leaking. The crazy woman had started adding cryptic comments and pseudo-challenges to the department’s social media posts. And it was all working like a dream. The world was clamoring for another Kate and Danny sparring match.
The only trouble was, the last thing she wanted to do was fight with Danny McMillan.
Maybe these shoes signaled a turning point in her relationship with Jim. There might not be any scary sparks or sharp-edged baiting, but she didn’t have to worry about a clash of the egos each time they went out. They’d settle into their semiregular banquette at his favorite Italian place. It had to be Italian this week, because last week they’d gone to the steak house. But it would be good. Satisfying.
Wasn’t it better to be with a man who made her feel cool and comfortable than one who made her bristle like a porcupine each time he came near?
She gazed at the new loves of her life and hugged herself tight. If they did indeed come from Jim, she’d have to give him credit for bringing his A game. These shoes were awesome enough to bump him solidly into double-bonus territory.
* * *
The building was empty but for two members of the maintenance staff Danny spotted emptying trash cans, their headphones clamped to their ears. The quiet closed in around him.
The day had been fairly easy, and he’d planned to unpack the boxes crowded into his office. Inspired by Kate Snyder’s shoe collection, he’d ordered some racks for his hats. They’d been delivered and were ready to be filled, but a call from the athletic director informing him that good old Dick Donner was on campus put an end to that plan. Housekeeping and the best intentions were no match for a guy with deep pockets.
That was how Danny spent most of the day mapping routes with a computer nerd who considered himself a gridiron tactician. Richard never failed to let a conversation pass without reminding Danny that he’d been instrumental in giving a certain disgraced former football player a second chance at coaching Division I. Danny had known from the moment he accepted the plane ride up here that he’d be at the guy’s beck and call, but he’d hoped for an off-season grace period with no armchair quarterbacking.
Donner was so smug, it was hard for Danny to keep a lid on his inner smart ass, but he had. For Mike’s sake as much as his own, he made it through the entire meeting without acknowledging the fact that the Wolcott Warriors hadn’t had a winning record since the Reagan administration—a stat that sports analysts and a few of his fellow coaches had mentioned a time or twenty since the day he was hired. That bottom line wasn’t going to magically change overnight. Progress would be slow, but it would happen. There was no telling Dickie that though. He wanted results, and fast.
Heaving a tired sigh, Danny shoved his binders and tablet into his battered briefcase. As he gathered his things, he thought about Kate and the look of total understanding they’d shared at the banquet. He’d liked the intimacy of that look almost as much as he enjoyed the barbs they traded. The peachy-pink that colored her cheeks when their knees touched under the table. The sly curl of her lips when she had a zinger locked and loaded, just waiting for the opportunity to sling it at him.
Earlier that day, he’d caught himself searching the severed nets and framed jerseys lining the hallways for hints of what she might be like when she wasn’t wearing her game face. The pantheon of gleaming wood, brass, and crystal proved she had every right to be cocky. But he liked the pictures best. The determination. The drive. Most of all, the joy lighting her smile in those moments of triumph.
And though every meeting with her felt like they were squaring off at center court, he liked seeing her smile. Live and in person.
Danny pulled the office door closed behind him without bothering to lock it. Come to think of it, he wasn’t entirely certain there was a lock. He had a sneaking suspicion that his office might have been an equipment closet. When he’d mentioned something about his predecessor’s decorating skills, Mike had grudgingly admitted that the former football coach had a bigger office that now belonged to Ty Ransom. But Danny didn’t push it. Basketball ruled here. It would take at least three acts of God to change that.
His thoughts drifted back to his conversations with Donner and Mike. Historically challenged or not, the Wolcott football program did have potential. They had a handful of players with some talent. And the coaches were good enough for now. Mike was right about Mack. The old guy’s insights were invaluable. And Mack was right about him too. He was a punk-ass screwup who needed to get his head in the game.
He had to stop comparing his team to others and quit worrying about what the press thought of them. They needed to make the most of the team’s strengths and minimize the weaknesses. Priority one would be to strip the program down to basics and focus on the fundamentals. Everything else would fall into line.
He wasn’t some ego-driven ex-pro-turned-coaching-wunderkind anymore. He was older. Wiser. And best of all, he had virtually nothing to lose. Money wasn’t his motivator. He wanted his good name back.
Pausing in front of one of the trophy cases, he thought back to booze-fueled inanities Donner’d babbled at the awards dinner. Most people didn’t even bother adding the gender qualifier to the athletics around here. A phenomenon particularly unusual in collegiate sports, where the sting of Title IX still smarted.
The topic of the federal regulation that prohibited sex discrimination in education was a sensitive one for a lot of men, but not for him. He’d been at schools where the disparity in funding between women’s sports and men’s was so blatant it was shameful. Not that he was about to give up any of his funding to buy the field hockey team new sticks. There were times when having the best helmets and pads saved life and limb, and his job was to make sure his players had every damn thing they needed to play hard and safe. But when Dickie dared to dismiss those amazing athletes—those champions—as nothing more than mere “girls,” Danny’s blood had boiled.
A muffled thunk followed by a series of high-pitched squeaks drew him up short just as he reached the doors. The steady drumbeat of a ball hitting hardwood drifted up the concrete ramp that led to the arena. Curious, he hooked a right and started down the corridor toward the court. The pulse of continuous dribbling grew louder. The squeal of rubber soles on varnished floor made the tiny hairs on his neck stand at attention, but it was the sight of the lone shooter that stopped him dead in his tracks.
She was slim and supple, her body curved into an airborne C as she launched the ball from her fingertips. The spinning orange orb arced through the air, but she landed almost silently, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The cotton-nylon netting sang its siren song as the ball passed through, a soft, seductive taunt, daring the shooter to try it again.
Kate caught the ball after a single bounce and trapped it against her hip as she walked toward the foul line. The textured orange rubber pressed against the gauzy spring skirt and sleeveless sweater she paired with blindingly bright sneakers. Warmth gathered in his belly, and a slow smile crept across his face. Somehow, neither the gaudy shoes nor the utterly feminine clothes looked the least bit out of place on Kate Snyder.
The shoes were an impulse buy. It seemed that since the moment he took her hand in his, every reaction Kate elicited from him was completely beyond his control. He had no other way of explaining why he wanted her to have those crazy clown shoes. He just knew the minute he saw them that they belonged with her. From the looks of things, he hadn’t been wrong.
The soles squealed again as she made a break toward the basket. Long, loping strides made her skirt swirl around her knees. Incongruous as they were, the outrageous sneakers couldn’t hold his attention. Not when the taut muscles in her calves were on display and he had the opportunity to watch toned biceps flex under smooth skin.
She took the layup in stride, oblivious to her audience. Drawn like a fly to honey, he set his briefcase aside and made his way courtside. She dribbled around the top of the key and shook her hair back as she toed the foul line. The nylon netting hissed as she sank free throw after free throw without grazing the rim.
The woman was magnetic. Mesmerizing. Magnificent.
Like him, the ball kept coming back to her time and time again. He stood on the sideline, entranced by the glow the exertion gave her skin. The ball bounced wide, and she snagged it easily, bringing it under control with the barest flex of her wrist. Dribbling sure and easy, she kept her gaze fixed on the goal as she backed to the top of the arc.
Danny found himself holding his breath as she let the ball fly, but he didn’t follow its trajectory. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her. There was a dull thud followed by a soft swish of net, but Kate shook her head in disgust as she reclaimed the ball. An incredulous laugh rumbled in his chest, but he didn’t dare let it out. Her perfectionism didn’t surprise him. He lived with the same drive.
“It was a beautiful shot.”
Kate froze, her arm wrapped protectively around the ball, but she didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, she cast an assessing glance at the basket. “A little short.”
“Still a beautiful shot.”
Danny knew he was taking a chance, stepping onto her court without permission, but there were forces stronger than common sense at play here. He needed to move closer. Needed a better look at the well-defined muscles in her arms and intimidating brace she wore on her right knee. His fingers itched to touch that filmy skirt, to smooth the thin sweater where it bunched at her flat stomach, to feel those small, high breasts in the palms of his hands. She pivoted, and he stopped, arrested by the sight of her. Pink lips, damp and parted. The pearly flush of exertion riding high in her cheeks.
He liked what he saw in her wide-set eyes. Wariness. Welcome. Just a flash of something he didn’t recognize but wanted to know better. Much better.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He couldn’t help but smile. He heard the proprietary note in her voice. “I work here, remember?”
The smart-assed reply seemed to give her the boost she needed. Rolling those beautiful eyes, she shifted the ball to her hip. “I meant now. I thought everyone was gone.”
“I had a little heart-to-heart with Dickie Donner.” A wry smile twisted his lips. He was gratified when Kate returned it with a smirk of her own. “You’ll be glad to know you aren’t the only one manning the welcome wagon.”
Her nose wrinkled when she grinned. Just a little but enough to make him want to kiss her senseless. “He didn’t come over here and lick your cleats?”
He managed a sage nod. “He had some plays drawn up.”
“Oh, I bet he did.”
An optimistic man might think he saw sympathy in those amber eyes, but Danny had given up optimism years ago. This woman was more likely to skewer him than offer consolation. Still, he stubbornly refused to step back when she gave the ball a couple of hard bounces.
“Play your cards right, and he’ll keep you in Gatorade and mouth guards for years to come,” she said.
“Play them wrong, and I’ll be lucky to get a job striping the field,” he finished.
Her smirk transformed into a smile so brilliant he had to resist the urge to shield his eyes. “I bet you’d be so good at it. I hear you’ve been working real hard on walking the straight and narrow.”
Torn between the urge to flee from another fruitless confrontation and the other urges wreaking havoc with his self-control, he shifted from defense to offense. He let his gaze roam down her body and slowly back up again.
“Love the new uniform. Of course, see-through or not, everyone in the place will be hoping that skirt flies up when there’s a jump ball.”
She blinked, a frown transforming the clean, classic lines of her face as she glanced at her skirt. “It’s not see-through.”
He widened his eyes, trying for an innocent look. “No? Must just be my overactive imagination.”
Sticking her chin up in the air, she turned her back on him and started toward the sideline. There, he spotted the open shoe box and fought back a smile. A profusion of discarded tissue nearly masked a pair of shoes comprised of two thin straps of black leather and spindly heels.
Four-inch heels. They stood eye-to-eye as it was. The addition of those shoes would make her tower over him. A prospect he found oddly arousing.
Odd, because he’d always liked the tiny girls. Little, delicate things he had to stoop to kiss. The kind of woman he could sweep off her feet literally and figuratively. Willowy figure notwithstanding, there was no doubt in his mind Kate Snyder could take him down. Hard. Physically, psychologically, and professionally.
And damn if that didn’t make him want her more.
She dropped into the chair beside the box and toed off the retina-searing shoes. Eyeing him skeptically, she stripped off snowy-white ankle socks and balled them in a swift, practiced move. “Was there something I could help you with?”
The slight quaver in her voice sparked his curiosity. “Would you?”
Her sleek, brown hair cascaded over one shoulder when she cocked her head. He stared transfixed as she reached for one of the discarded sandals.
Shoe dangling from the crook of her finger, she raised an eyebrow. “Would I what?”
Discomfited by the directness of her gaze and the beginnings of what would certainly be a hard-on of epic proportions, he shoved his hands into his pockets and gave a stilted shrug. “Help me.” Her look of shocked innocence made him laugh. “Yeah, well, call me crazy, but I get the distinct feeling you don’t want me here.”
“Crazy.” Kate tipped her head back and stared straight into his eyes. “Why on earth would you think I wouldn’t want you?”
He froze, but God help him, his dick stirred. Resisting the need to adjust the growing tightness in his pants, he fell headfirst into that steady, golden gaze. “Do you?”
She wet her lips with the tip of her pink tongue and, for the first time in his life, he wished he had access to slow-motion replay. He tossed whatever half-assed game plan he had, stepped out of the pocket, and threw a Hail Mary.
He bent at the waist, his hands closing around the biceps he’d just been admiring as he pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were sweet and damp. Impossibly soft, despite the fact that her body stiffened in surprise. Then she relaxed into the kiss with a soft gasp of surrender, and he lost all semblance of reason.
He dropped to his knees. A jolt of pain sailed through his body, but then her arms were around him too, and he couldn’t care less. One hand slid up his neck. Her fingers were in his hair. Fingernails scored his shirt and bit into his shoulder as she arched into the kiss.
“Jesus,” he panted when they came up for air. Pressing his forehead to hers, he ran his hand over her hair and then tucked it behind her ear just as he’d seen her do countless times. Mustering superhuman strength, he pulled back far enough to whisper, “This is insane.”
“I have a date.”
Her voice was faint, tinged with shock. Danny fell back on his heels, what little air he had left exploding from his lungs. He watched as the hands that mussed his hair and wrinkled his shirt groped for the sexy sandals. Fuck-me heels she planned to wear for another man. She wriggled her polished toes under the toe strap, and a surge of white-hot jealousy and anger balled in his gut.
“Who?”
Tugging the other strap up over her heel, she ducked her head to avoid his eyes. “None of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t.” He stifled a groan as he rolled to his feet, ignoring the creaks and pops of his joints. He glared at her, but she remained stubbornly silent.
They sized each other up, looking for chinks in the armor they both wore. Recognizing a little of himself in her defiant gaze, he nodded shortly. “Fine. Yeah. Okay. Go on with your date. I hope you enjoy it.”
He let his insincere good wishes hang in the charged air between them.
“But remember who kissed you first tonight, Kate.”
She stared up at him, her lips parted and wet, hunger gleaming bright in her eyes. He had her just where he wanted her. She was off balance. Rattled, like he was. And that was good. Damn good.
“Remember who kissed you first. Then tomorrow, you come tell me who kissed you best.”
He turned on his heel and strode the length of the court, gratified to note she didn’t recover until his foot hit the bottom riser.
“What makes you think you were so great?” she called, her voice high and tight.
He chose not to chase after that ball. Instead, he snagged the smooth leather handle of his briefcase without breaking stride and headed for the steps. His heart hammered as he took the stairs two at a time. At the mouth of the tunnel, he turned back.
She stood with her feet wide, those heels doing incredible things to her shapely calves. Her hand perched on one hip, lending extra definition to the outline of her slender curves. God, she was incredible. The harsh overhead lights caught planes and angles of her face, sketching her classic beauty in sharp, bold lines. He let his gaze fall all the way to her pink-polished toes, then he took his time meandering back up to meet her eyes.
Determined to get the last word, he held her gaze. “That knee brace is sexy as hell.”
Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened before squeezing into a cringe. But she didn’t look down. The hell of it was, he really did find everything about her sexy as hell. Including the knee brace. Lifting one hand in a resigned wave, he attempted a modest shrug.
“Be gentle with the poor guy, Coach. We are only men.”