Chapter Fourteen

Charlotte knocked on the door to Lance’s suite revoltingly early, hoping she wasn’t waking him before he wanted to be up and going. When he didn’t answer, she took out the key he’d given her and tapped it against her thigh, debating whether to use it or retreat to her hotel room.

Where she’d just had a worrisome call that made her want to throw herself into work. If she hadn’t been so tired yesterday evening that she’d left her laptop in their “office,” she could easily put in a few hours in the lobby or find a corner table in the resort restaurant to occupy.

I’ll just sneak in and grab it, along with a few folders…

Right now she needed to lose herself in stats and football players and résumés and basically anything that’d take the edge off her panic. All that money and time, and he…

Not going there right now. Decision made, she slid in the card as quietly as possible and eased open the door. Lance wasn’t in the living room area, but the door to the bedroom was cracked open.

On her way to the coffee table, she caught a glimpse of the king-sized bed through the open bedroom door, sheets and covers rumpled and thrown back.

She paused, listening for the sounds of a shower. The bathroom door was also open, no sound coming out. “Lance?”

After a few seconds of ringing silence, she called again, louder this time.

No answer. A quick look around confirmed he wasn’t there.

Maybe last night after he dropped me off, he found a woman who was willing to kiss him. To do more… Her stomach pitched at the thought, a toxic burning coming along for the rocky ride. It couldn’t be jealousy.

More like it shouldn’t be jealousy. But there it was anyway, the bite and the sting.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t wanted to kiss him—she’d nearly come unraveled when he’d told her he wanted to kiss her, and that he’d been thinking about it since she made her first touchdown. Her lips and body had been shouting that they were definitely ready and willing, her common sense was just stronger. Although right now she was cursing her stupid brain for not letting her give in to her racing hormones. How often did insanely hot, wickedly smart men want to kiss her?

Wasn’t the beach like Vegas? What happened there stayed there?

Only idiots truly believe that—of Vegas and the beach.

The other woman would be beautiful and have one of those bodies made for string bikinis, no need for a skirt. Was she currently snuggled up next to Lance? Running her hand over his scruff?

That line of thinking is nearly as toxic as the one that sent me running here in the first place. Stats. Paperwork. Rules. They’d save her, the way they always had.

What the company needed from her right now was a solid football team. They had a whole crew who analyzed players before the draft—correction: they’d had. The reports were kept in a big Google doc, so she grabbed her laptop and began poring through them. She read through report after report, comparing what they’d said and the stats in her head, trying to get a fuller picture.

On the screen it was hard to do, though, so she dug through her bag and found the stack of index cards she used on the corkboard in her office whenever she needed to write herself reminders and memos and such.

Luckily she had a roll of tape as well, in a shoe-shaped dispenser, no less—and to think she’d wondered if it was silly to have packed it, just in case.

The project took over, pushing other thoughts far from her mind, and she began furiously scribbling on the cards. The whiteboard Lance had brought in their first day was covered in his handwriting. Since she wasn’t sure if he still needed the information, she flipped it to the other side and taped the cards there, connecting lines and writing extra notes in marker.

When she’d filled every inch of that, she taped the index cards to the wall around it. Marking up the walls wasn’t an option, so she simply numbered each note to correspond to the ones on the board.

Within thirty minutes, she’d transformed the area into her very own war room. Sure, it was much smaller scale than the massive one back at Mustangs’ headquarters, where the staff compiled lists for the draft, but impressive all the same.

The beep of the door sounded, and Charlotte braced herself to see Lance in his walk-of-shame clothes and pretend she didn’t care.

He stepped inside shirtless, mesh shorts slung low on his hips, sneakers on his feet, and a sheen of sweat covering his entire body. It highlighted every muscle and made it impossible not to gape at him. The scent of beach and cedar and him filled the air, and desire hijacked her system.

Clearly, she hadn’t prepared herself for the right image.

Not that she believed there was any way any heterosexual woman could fully prepare herself for the sight of Lance Quaid after what’d clearly been a strenuous workout.

…

Lance hadn’t expected Charlotte this early, and as she stared at him, all the deep breaths he’d taken to calm his rapid pulse had now been done in vain.

His heart hammered against his rib cage at the sight of her standing in his hotel room, her eyes wide and—if he wasn’t mistaken—flooding with lust.

It made him want to stalk across the room, watch those endlessly green eyes widen even more, and claim her mouth with the predatory flare she awoke in him.

His feet took him a couple of steps before he recalled telling her that she’d have to initiate. Why the hell had he gone and done that?

Because that’s what she needs.

If he kept staring at her, though, it’d be that much harder to keep the grip on his control, so he glanced away.

At the madness on the whiteboard and the wall. “Whoa. It’s like A Beautiful Mind erupted in here.” His gaze flicked back to her. “Is there an imaginary friend in the room I should know about?”

That seemed to break the spell, and she cocked her head, that admonitory pinch to her lips. “Very funny. I just woke up early, and I felt restless, so I came to the”—she made air quotes—“‘office’ and dug in.” There was a hint of sorrow in there. Something that didn’t quite ring true, although obviously she’d done a lot of work. “How was your…run? Along the beach, I’m guessing?”

“It was good. I was feeling a bit restless myself.” With all the wedding events, he’d have even less time over these next few days, and there were still so many positions to fill, not to mention the draft. The only benefit to having a shut-out season was getting top pick, and he needed to find the right piece to help complete the puzzle, which would be a lot easier if the bulk of the pieces weren’t currently in a messy pile.

But that wasn’t the only reason he’d tossed and turned so much last night.

He’d kept thinking about Charlotte’s head against his shoulder as she slept. About her laugh and her smile and how much fun he’d had with her the past four days. It’d been a long time since he’d let anyone in besides his immediate family, yet he could feel himself opening up to her, and something about that both calmed him and scared the shit out of him.

Mostly he’d thought of that moment in the hallway and how much he’d wanted to kiss her.

Since she didn’t say anything else, he added, “I figured I should take the chance to run along the beach, especially before it got too warm.”

“How’s your knee?”

“Fine.” He ran a hand through his hair, realized how sweaty he was, and gestured toward the bedroom area. “I’ll jump through the shower and then you can explain the crazy wall to me.”

“Calling it the crazy wall doesn’t exactly make me eager to comply.”

“When are you ever eager to comply?” he teased, and a knot he hadn’t realized had formed in his chest loosened when she cracked a smile.

They were okay.

Although her smile wasn’t as bright, and she had to work for it. Something had upset her. And if it was someone, he’d make sure they regretted it.

Stifling his urge to seek and destroy, he focused on her. He moved closer and brushed his fingers down her arm. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m totally fine. I just need coffee. I bet you could use some, too.” She reached for the phone on the desk. “I’ll put in an order.”

Evidently, it was going to take some extra digging. He’d get to the bottom of it, but he’d let her order her coffee and explain what she’d done before trying again. Since his mom informed him Charlotte was going to need a few hours off in the middle of the day for spa time, and tonight was his brother’s bachelor party, they’d need to get as much work done as possible in the limited time they had.

He also wanted to get as much Charlotte time as he could before then. Another thing that caused a strange mix of trepidation and calm.

Yep. Pretty sure I’m losing my mind over this girl.

Was it bad the thought that immediately followed was that if it meant a few days to explore and enjoy this connection between them, he’d happily slip into madness for a little bit?

…

Torture.

This was torture, sitting here listening to the whoosh of fabric, knowing that behind that bathroom door, Lance was getting undressed.

Charlotte’s attempt to swallow was thwarted by her sandpaper-dry throat. She stared at the closed door, her mind replaying what he’d said last night about how she’d have to initiate any kissing. She still could hardly believe he’d laid it all out like that—that he even wanted her in the first place. Her eyes narrowed, and for a delirious second or two, she wished for X-ray vision.

The spray of water sounded, and she wondered what Lance would do if she snuck into the bathroom, yanked back the shower curtain, and told him she was going to join him.

Heat streaked through her body, growing faster and hotter until her entire body was aflame.

It’d be so satisfying to see the shock on his face. To be that brazen and bold.

It’d break every rule. Of the team’s and of mine and…

For once that didn’t seem as big a deal as it should.

He has those big hands and long fingers…those muscular thighs, that ripped torso. She could picture the way the water would pour over them, and while she was picturing stuff, she figured she might as well reach out in her daydream and run her hand over those pecs and abs.

She imagined his eyes darkening, the way they did last night when he’d had her almost pinned against the door, the inches between them proper yet not and still way too much.

The knock on the door brought the real world screeching back.

Fanning her face in a futile attempt to cool herself down, she rushed to the door and accepted the large pitcher of room service coffee, along with the two breakfasts she’d ordered.

“Do you feel all right?” the guy asked, concern filling the creases of his forehead. “You look flushed. If the A/C unit’s not functioning properly, I can call and—”

“It’s fine, thank you!” She scribbled her name and closed the door. Hazards of staying at a place where the staff were so friendly, she supposed, but had he not ever delivered food to someone who’d been flushed from sex?

Not that she’d had sex. Unfortunately. Or good on her, cheers to being strong! Or… Shit, she was a mess. Not just a conflicted mess, but one who was suddenly using British phrases she’d never used before. No wonder the room service guy was concerned. She walked over to the thermostat and made the room a couple of degrees cooler for good measure, then focused on doctoring her coffee with the creamer in the mini-fridge.

A few minutes later Lance emerged, freshly showered, hair wet, smelling all soapy fresh. Like with her earlier attempt to steel herself, the cooler temperature didn’t much matter.

“Breakfast is here,” she said, her voice way too high. To keep herself from saying anything else that might reveal her traitorous preoccupation, she quickly shoved a piece of bacon in her mouth.

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but she ignored them and settled on the couch with her plate.

They ate in silence for a while before he pointed his fork at the wall. “You think we should pick Darius Fox first?”

“Defense wins championships. He has a record number of sacks, along with interceptions, and for such a big dude, he’s remarkably fast.” She set her plate aside, stood, and walked over to the wall. She explained the names along the top, the connecting lines, and how her system worked, along with how she’d come to those conclusions. “A star means the names lined up with the reports our former GM, coaches, and the rest of the staff made. I put an X on the ones they picked that I disagree the most with, although I’m not saying they’re wrong, for the record.”

Lance walked up behind her, and she wished she weren’t so acutely aware of how close he was. Of his height and the arms that’d hugged her after she’d scored her first touchdown and how amazing he smelled. “We need a quarterback.”

“I know,” she said.

“Everyone likes Richards.”

“Another thing I know.”

“And? I want to hear your thoughts.”

“He’s a three-quarter quarterback. We need one who can go four, plus overtime. Rookie quarterbacks also take a while to train, and often they’re on the skittish side, especially when the going gets rough. They rarely make the playoffs—and have a .355 winning percentage of those games when they do—and so far none have made it to the Super Bowl. I’m just not sure he’s the player to pull us out of our losing streak and get us our best chance at playoffs.”

When Lance didn’t say anything, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “What? You disagree?”

“No. I’m just…” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’m so turned on right now.”

Heat streaked through her again, more savage than before, and apparently she should’ve set the damn thermostat to sixty degrees. “I… I’m right there with you.” She should take it back, but she couldn’t, not with her gaze trapped by the intensity in his. “But we’re drifting toward dangerous territory.”

He stepped closer, not touching, yet she could feel every inch of his tall body. Every ounce of oxygen whooshed out of her lungs and she was afraid to move or to speak, and even more afraid not to say what she should.

“What if I just think about violating a rule?” He asked it lightly, but the question was heavy with flirtation. His voice dipped lower, and goose bumps skated across her skin when he added a husky, “Maybe picture it in my mind.”

Now she was imagining tipping her head back a bit more so his mouth could descend on hers, how his scruff would scrape lightly across her skin. “The problem with that is thoughts lead to actions,” she said, her voice way too breathy.

“But there are no punishments for thoughts, correct? No reprimands?”

Lifting her chin in a facsimile of firmness, she spun to face him and attempted some fake it till she made it sternness. “I’ll, uh, see that you’re thinking about it and reprimand you anyway.”

Instead of looking repentant, a smirk twisted his lips. “Now I’m picturing that.”

“Lance, this is… We shouldn’t…” She started past him, needing space to keep herself in check, but he gently placed his hand on her elbow, halting her steps.

“I’m sorry. I slipped there for a second, but I’ll try to behave.” He crossed his arms tightly across his chest and gripped his elbows, as if that’d be enough to keep him on his best behavior. Amusement flickered through the eyes that met hers. “Please finish explaining your crazy wall.”

He was so damn impossible. And sexy. And holy shit I’m in trouble. She turned back around and rattled off her last few thoughts.

He reached over her and flipped the board to the other side, where he’d written a long list of names. “And your top pick for GM?”

She hesitated before pointing at the second name from the top. “He was in the middle of transforming the last team he worked for, but the owner, who’s made nothing but stupid decisions, fired him before his plans could come to fruition. It’s sad because they’ll probably benefit from what he did anyway, but then they’ll go downhill again.”

Lance made a noncommittal hmm. His fingers wrapped around her shoulders, and she tried to stifle her earlier thoughts about his hands. “Now, tell me what upset you so early in the morning. Why were you so bothered that you came in here and did weeks’ worth of analysis in a matter of an hour?”

“Thirty minutes,” she said, and his fingers dug in a bit deeper.

“Spill.”