Bigger Than Beckham (26 page)

Still, she couldn’t even mention the alleged
wife abuse. Though it made her rigid with frustration that she
wasn’t able to go after him with claws full out, she’d promised
Tony that Ginny Cross’s secret would remain just that, and it was a
promise she meant to keep.

But, oh, how it tempted her to bust Colton in
print if she possibly could. The type of celebrity comeback story
Martin had commissioned would no doubt propel her career onward and
upward, but an exposé on Colton Butler’s spousal abuse would be
nothing short of front-page news across the world. More
importantly, it would be justice for Ginny Cross, and for any other
woman who might have encountered Colton’s abusive behavior. That
meant a hell of a lot more than giving her career a boost.

If
she could get it past the
Post’s
libel lawyers, who would demand that such serious,
damaging allegations were provable in a court of law. She knew that
meant Ginny Cross would have to step up to the plate, or it would
be a no-go.

But what were the chances of her doing that?
Not great, according to Tony.

Colton regaled her for a few long minutes
with testimonials to his new personal trainer as well as a London
ashram he currently favored. Since
her
eyes were now
starting to glaze over—with boredom—Martha turned the conversation
to the practicalities involved in producing the story if she were
to agree to take it on. “If, and I emphasize if, I’m going to do
this, Colton, I’ll only have about three weeks or so. That’s not
much for a feature like this, believe me.”

He shrugged. “That’s for you and the paper to
work out.”

“Sure, but I’m going to have to somehow find
the time to do extensive interviews with you while still managing
to run my ball club.” She shot her hand out to cover the top of her
wine glass when Colton moved to top it up. With a slight snort, he
filled his own glass three-quarters full.

Colton started to say something about the
Thunder, but then caught himself and regrouped. “Actually, I’d been
thinking about how I want to work with you on those interviews even
before I talked to Martin James. About where we could spend some
private, quality time together.” He flashed her a shit-eating
grin.

Stunned by the sudden admission, Martha made
sure to clamp her jaw shut. Better to let him say his piece, and
then she could decide whether or not to smack him down.
Figuratively, of course.

“My first tournament isn’t until next month,”
he said, “but I’ve got a heavy schedule of endorsement shoots and
sponsor get-togethers before then. Plus, I have to find time every
day to hit both the course and my gym, and for yoga and meditation,
too.”

“Oh, of course,” Martha said between clenched
teeth, dreading where he was going with this.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” he said. “I’m
pretty sure I’ll be able to squeeze in all the interviews you’ll
need if you come with me to Paris and Stuttgart at the end of next
week. And maybe even to Switzerland the week after that if you can
swing it.”

Lord in heaven above.
Martha gaped at
him. “Are you serious? You really expect me to spend two weeks
flitting around Europe with you?”

Colton’s happy smile indicated he’d read in
her expression that she was excited at the prospect. Actually, she
was gobsmacked, and sure as hell not in a good way.

“Why not? I’ve got commercial shoots for LVMH
in Paris, and Mercedes in Stuttgart. Then I’ll be working with my
swing coach for a few days in Crans-sur-Sierre, Switzerland.
Everything’s all set to go.” He looked so revoltingly
self-important that Martha wanted to throw her half-empty wine
glass at him.

“Ah, the lives of the rich and famous,” she
said dryly instead.

Colton put down his wine and leaned forward
conspiratorially, his elbows planted on the pristine white
tablecloth. “Don’t tell me that it doesn’t sound like mad fun,
Martha. Hell, you can run your team via the phone and Internet,
can’t you? Everybody does business that way these days. And the
rest of the time you can pamper yourself in some decadent hotel spa
or shop your sweet ass off until I get through with my
commitments.” His gaze had morphed into a virtual leer in a
heartbeat. “And at the end of the day, after we’ve done your
interviews, we can enjoy some fine dining and, well, who knows what
else?”

He relaxed back in his chair, smiling as if
he’d just offered her the juiciest plum in the history of all the
world’s orchards.

Martha steepled her hands as if praying, and
rested her chin on them.

Lord, give me strength.

“Colton,” she said sweetly, “that proposition
is one of the more inventive come-ons I’ve heard in some time. But,
really, don’t you think your dick has already landed you in enough
hot water to last an entire lifetime?”

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.
His reactions would have been almost comical but for the fact that
he also gripped his knife so tightly that his fingers were white.
“Jesus, Martha,” he growled, “I’m not bloody married anymore, am I
now? And I don’t know of any law against having a little fun while
you’re working.”

He carefully laid down his knife and then
quaffed about half a glass of wine in one long swallow while Martha
remained silent.

“Just think about it, will you?” he finally
said, wiping the back of his hand across his lips. “Think of how
much an article like this could do for you.”

Was he seriously saying “my way or the
highway”? It sure sounded like that to her ears. Well, she was
about to find out for sure.

Martha took her turn at planting her elbows
on the table, narrowing her eyes in her best Steel Magnolia glare.
“You really want
me
to write this article, Colton? Well,
then, you’re going to work around
my
availability. And I’m
damn well not running my business from frigging France or Germany
or Switzerland. No, pal, nothing in that schedule works for me.
But, hey, I’ll tell you what.”

She paused, pretending to study him, making
him wait her out. “I’m prepared to meet you here in London once
more after today.” A good compromise, since it meant more time with
Tony. “But I insist we conduct the bulk of the interviews in
Jacksonville.”

Colton goggled at her. “Jacksonville? Are you
fucking kidding me?”

Martha did her best to look genuinely
puzzled. “Well, why not? Bring your caddie and your sticks with you
so you can play TPC Sawgrass a few times. You’ve always had trouble
there at the Players’ Championship, so it’ll be a damn good
challenge for you. And, hey, you can get your swing coach to mosey
on over, too. God knows you can afford it, what with all those
sweet endorsement deals you just talked about.”

Martha
did
want to write the article.
She wanted to put Colton on the hot seat with a brutally frank
interview, grilling him to find out the truth about what he did to
Ginny. But
she
would dictate the terms, not him. He knew an
article by her would be well-received in the sports world, so if he
really did want her for that reason, he’d put up with her insistent
stance. But if the whole point of dangling the carrot in front of
Martin James had been as much to lure her into his bed as write a
puff piece, then she’d cut bait and scoot right out of there before
the dessert menu showed up.

Colton’s flat-out grimace wordlessly relayed
what he thought of her proposal. “Even if I wanted to blow off LVMH
and Mercedes, I couldn’t afford to. They were the only major
sponsors who stuck with me through the bad times. I owe them.”

Martha moved in for the kill. “Then let’s
compromise. Go do your shoots on the continent and fit in a couple
of trips to Florida in between. That shouldn’t be too hard for a
powerful guy with his own jet airplane, should it?” She smiled
sweetly across the table.

Colton seemed to approve of her thoroughly
insincere genuflection to his wealth and power since another little
shit-eating grin crept onto his face. “Well, maybe we could work
something out. Leave it with me for now. But it would take a hell
of a lot of rearranging, Martha.”

“I’m sure. But if anybody can do it, Colton,
you can,” she cooed.

“Well, if I wind up agreeing, I just hope
you’re ready to do your part,” he said, getting huffy again.

And what part would that be?
Despite
his disappointment, Colton had clearly not given up entirely on his
lustful plans. The venue would change, but she suspected his intent
would not.

“More wine?” Colton asked, picking up the
bottle. It was nearly empty, and Martha had barely drunk any.

She held up her hand. “Ta, as they say over
here, but no. And there’s one more thing we have to talk about now
if I’m going to take this job.”

He put down the bottle and spread his hands
wide, as if surrendering.

“Colton, we talked a few minutes ago about
how you were prepared to open up to me, and I sure do appreciate
that. But let me be blunt again. If there are
any
subjects
you want to declare off limits, please do it now. I sure don’t want
to hear about anything like that halfway through the
interviews.”

He gave her both a snort and a shrug, then
held up his left hand, fingers spread wide. “Here’s what I assume
you’re talking about, and I’m okay with all of them.” He started
counting on his fingers. “Booze, check. Recreational drugs, check.
Parties, check. Hookers, check. Gambling, check.” He sat back,
chuckling. “Not quite the seven deadly sins, but close enough, I
suppose.”

Pig.

“We’ll talk about all the above,” Martha
said. “But one of the things everyone has been most interested in
is how your…infidelity was responsible for destroying what seemed
to be such a solid marriage.”

“Yeah, I guess, but all that’s old news,” he
said, sounding cautious. “I’ve been clear about how hard I tried to
patch things up with Ginny. But sometimes it’s impossible to go
back to the way things were, no matter how much you might want
to.”

To Martha’s practiced eye, he looked about as
sincere as the smooth-talking carneys she used to see as a kid at
the local country fair.

“Fair enough,” she said, “but I’m going to
want to delve into that subject a little more.”
Actually, a
whole lot more.

She gave him the type of firm gaze that
conveyed determined intent. Martha didn’t intend to try to fool
him. “So, if you’ve got a problem with talking about your marriage
and divorce, you need to say so right now.”

Colton shot her a look that seemed both
amused and puzzled. He shrugged yet again. “I need to cleanse my
thoughts forever of all the negativity of my past life, and being
honest with my fans is one of the ways I’ve chosen to help
accomplish that.” He bobbed his head slowly a few times over
intertwined fingers, as if he’d come to some deep conclusion. “So,
no, I don’t have a problem with talking to you about that
stuff.”

She gave him a polite smile, finally taking a
sip of her wine. It felt good to be back in the hunt.

Martha had a devil of a time getting rid of
Colton. He insisted on driving her back to her “friend’s house”, a
problem she tried to dodged by claiming she was meeting some other
friends for a late drink first. When he remained adamant about
giving her a lift, she reluctantly agreed to have him drop her off
at the Langham Hotel in Portland Place.

True to form, Colton had come on to her
during the seemingly interminable drive from Chelsea up to the
Langham. She managed to keep him at bay, but his new-age
sensitivity bullshit obviously hadn’t affected his notorious
libido. She had to wonder if he might try to seduce her by holding
out promises of ever-more tempting secrets as the interviews
unfolded. So far, he seemed altogether too willing to cooperate,
and Martha believed to the depths of her soul that he must have the
proverbial hidden agenda. Whether it had to do with bedding her or,
more likely, that it was all about manipulation of the feature
article itself, remained to be seen.

Her paranoia about Colton and his intentions
ran deep enough that she decided to stick around the hotel long
enough to order a wildly expensive cocktail in the bar. Alone at a
table near a set of high windows, she half-expected the creep to
come slithering in with some lame excuse as to why he needed to see
her again. After thirty minutes, she finally felt safe enough to
send a text to Tony, telling him she’d arrive shortly.

When she got out of the cab five minutes
later, Tony already had his front door open and greeted her with a
tight embrace. “I missed you like hell,” he murmured, trailing
little kisses down the length of her neck.

“I can see that,” Martha said with a sigh of
pleasure. The erection nudging her lower belly told her everything
she needed to know. Clearly, their incendiary lovemaking in the
terrace room had stoked, not dampened, his desire for her.