Daddy's Game (2 page)

The man closed the window, picked up a phone, and spoke into it. The party on the other end must have confirmed her story because he waved to her and the gate magically opened.

It was a swanky neighborhood, reminding her of her friends’ ‘Dream House’ boards on Pinterest. Colonials, English Tudors, French chateaus, and a modern glass number that didn’t fit in at all, not that she was an expert on architecture—each one more posh than the last.

She took a right at the next stop sign and followed the GPS to the end of a cul-de-sac. “Arriving at destination” said the tinny female voice on her dashboard. Carmen looked up to see the biggest house on the block. The enormous Mediterranean had an almost flat barrel tile roof, and at least three wings. The lawn was immaculately groomed and tropical flora abounded; the hibiscus, sago palms, and climbing bougainvillea gave her the feeling she’d been transported into someone’s luxury vacation villa.

She was here to sell her work, which was not her forte, and socializing with rich people made her nervous. Timidly, she rang the doorbell. If it wasn’t for her impossibly low bank balance, she’d have stayed home.

When the door opened, she was surprised to see the famous smile belonging to Natron Dakers. In a pair of athletic shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, he looked even more handsome than he had the other night. Her eyes couldn’t decide whether to stare at his highly defined biceps or his gleaming smile.

“Natron?” She was perplexed. How had she not known she was meeting him? Either Gustav must not have mentioned it or somehow she had missed it. Apparently, she’d been too frazzled to realize she hadn’t known the name of the person she was supposed to meet. Inside she was kicking herself, more notes to self…

“Yeah. What? You didn’t know it was me?” He laughed and ushered her in.

“Oh, no, it’s not that…” She stumbled over her words.

“Okay, then.”

Ever since she’d met Natron, he’d been on her mind. Because she never expected to see him again, Carmen had allowed herself to fantasize about the man. She’d dreamed about what it would be like to kiss him, to rub her hands over that washboard stomach she’d seen in commercials, and even to sleep with him. She’d never dated anyone famous before. There was something so unlikely about being with him that it excited her. Imagining herself and Natron together seemed harmless fodder for a quick self-pleasuring session in the shower, but now she blushed, remembering her dirty thoughts as she stood here in his home.

They passed through the two-story foyer, complete with an indoor fountain that made her think of the Spanish explorer Ponce de Leon’s quest for the fountain of youth. He led her back to a large living room filled with plush, comfortable-looking furniture in neutral colors. The back of the room was made up of custom-shaped windows, the natural light streaming in, highlighting an indoor aviary. A large stone fireplace served as a focal point, huge television screens flanked the room, and the accessories looked like they were from a magazine. Come to think of it, she
had
seen his home featured in
D
magazine.

When he offered her something to drink, she politely refused because her hands were so shaky she was certain she would spill it down the front of her blouse if she did. It was safer to decline.

“So you gonna take my commission?” he asked, literally on the edge of his seat. The man had the kind of energy that reminded her of an exuberant Labrador puppy.

“That depends. What are you looking for?”

Unable to keep still, he jumped up. “I want one of your big portraits—of me.” He threw his arms out wide to illustrate the size.

“Okaaaay,” she said; his enthusiasm was contagious. A painting as big as his ego, capturing his larger-than-life personality on canvas would be a challenge. But in her work, Carmen loved a challenge. Though it would be a big job, she believed she could do him justice. “What size were you thinking?”

“Ten by eight maybe. I’ll leave it to you to decide the exact dimensions. I just want it big.”

“Ten feet?”

He nodded and rubbed his hands together.

“I’ll need you to model for a few sessions.”

“That’s fine. We’re in the off season, I’ve got plenty of free time.”

“Okay. And price…” Carmen squirmed in her seat. Asking for money to do what she loved made her uncomfortable, but it was a necessary evil.

“Hell, you can name your price. I’m just glad you’ve agreed to do it.”

This was too good to be true. Name her price? “Um, fifteen thousand dollars,” she said with a laugh in her voice.

“Done. You sure you don’t want anything to drink? I’m dying for some iced tea.” He started for the kitchen.

“Uh, sure. I’ll have a glass.” Sitting alone in his living room it began to sink in. She’d been kidding about the fifteen thousand dollars, stalling until she had the chance to add up her time and expenses in her head. The most she’d ever sold a painting for in the past was four thousand.

That he agreed to the outlandish figure shocked her. But she was starting to realize that nothing Natron did should surprise her. The man was full of surprises.

When he returned, he handed her a tall glass of iced tea with a wedge of lemon perched along the rim. “Now, I’ve just got to convince you to go out with me.”

Definitely full of surprises.

Chapter Three

Ever since Natron met Carmen the week before, he’d been trying to decide if he should pursue her or not. The girl had already rejected him flat out when he’d asked her to go out with him and his friends that evening after her show, but for some reason he couldn’t get the curvy artist out of his mind. He’d tried to convince himself that she’d really had other plans after the show, that she wasn’t making up an excuse. It had been
her show
after all; she must have had her own celebration to attend.

Yet it nagged at him that she’d said no. Women, as a rule, didn’t turn him down. Natron Dakers was the toast of Dallas. Hell, he was the toast of the nation. His underwear-clad ass was plastered in Times Square, for God’s sake.

With more money than he could spend and more fame than was good for any man, Natron never had any trouble keeping his bed warm. But the long parade of vacuous models and groupies had become lonely and unfulfilling. He longed to meet someone he could connect with, someone with interests that extended beyond commandeering his credit card.

And he longed for someone he could take care of. He’d long been a kinky devil, but he didn’t dare show that side to any of the superficial Barbies with whom he dallied. The tabloids would have a field day with that information, and he had no intention of offering one of those bimbos a payday at his expense.

But when he’d met Carmen, bells went off in his head. Not alarm bells, but the ‘ding ding’ kind of bells that told him he’d won the jackpot. The way her golden brown curls framed her face reminded him of a grown-up Shirley Temple.

Carmen’s innocence contradicted her not-so-innocent body. The girl was all curves, and he much preferred that to the anorexic look that was in fashion these days. He liked a woman he could grab a hold of, not a coat hanger.

Even though he prided himself on being a risk taker and putting it all on the line, it had taken him a while to gather the courage to contact Carmen, and even then he used her work to get an ‘in’ with her. Attempting to protect his wounded ego, he’d led with his interest in her artwork, justifying the manipulation by telling himself that, if nothing else, he’d wind up with an amazing portrait of himself. He truly appreciated her work, so if that was all he came away with, it wasn’t a bad deal.

Now she sat here in his living room, and he wasn’t sure how to move things along between them. He was afraid to come on too strong for fear the shy little dove would fly the coop, his instincts telling him he should take things slowly with her so as not to spook her. But unfortunately, his mouth got ahead of his brain and he’d blurted out that he wanted to take her out.

Carmen shifted her position on the couch where she sat, and he couldn’t tell if she was pleased or trying to figure out how to let him down easily.

“I’d like that,” she said, her blue-green eyes looking up at him through silky lashes.

“You would?” This wasn’t the answer he expected.

She giggled. “Sure. Who wouldn’t want to go out with Natron Dakers?”

He shrugged, thinking she hadn’t that night at the gallery, but he ate up her flattery.

“My brothers would kill me if I passed up an opportunity like that.”

“Oh, are they fans?”

“The biggest.”

“They play ball?”

“All three of them.”

“I’d better send them some gear, then.”

“They would
love
that!” She clapped her hands together.

“I’ll have my assistant take care of that. So where do you want to go?”

“Gee, I don’t know. I thought you’d have that all figured out.”

He paused. “Yeah. You know, going out, that can be kinda a madhouse. The paparazzi…”

“I’d just as soon stay in. Order a pizza or something, that’s alright with me.”

This was just the kind of girl he needed. Most of the women he dated wanted to go out, to be seen with him. They wanted their picture taken with him. Not Carmen; she seemed content spending time with him.

“Sounds good. Or I have a chef. We can get him to cook something for us…”

“Wow. That’s so cool. I didn’t realize that.”

He nodded. “What kind of food do you like?”

“Pretty much anything. Italian, Mexican, Chinese…”

“My chef makes a mean lasagna.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said, beaming.

He called his chef and then asked if she’d like to watch a movie.

“If you do,” she said.

She was so easygoing that it made his heart sing. Carmen was a breath of fresh air, so different from the high-maintenance women he was used to.

“Maybe later. Tell me about you. Are you from Dallas?”

“Denton. How about you?”

“Pensacola, Florida. You said you have brothers, any sisters?”

“Nope, only brothers. They’re all in high school. Trent is seventeen and the twins Robert and Jeff are fifteen. How about you?”

“Only child, I’m afraid.”

She chuckled. “Why afraid?”

“My mamma doted on me, spoiled me rotten, probably ruined me for life.” He slapped his knee.

“Oh, wow. So you’re a mamma’s boy?” she teased.

“Hey, now. That’s not it. Let’s just say I’m my mamma’s favorite.”

“The only child.” She giggled. “You’re her favorite, okay. What about your dad?”

“Never knew him.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

An awkwardness hung in the air until Carmen asked, “Tell me about football. When did you
know
you were going to be really good at it?”

“Good question. You know, I didn’t even play football until I was a sophomore in high school. Before that I was a basketball player. I played soccer too, goalie. It’s all about the hands,” he said, holding up his giant palms.

“When I was eleven, I played goalie on my soccer team and after a game my mamma was talkin’ to me about a difficult save I made, and I got to telling her how I saw it all going down, in my mind, before it happened. Like the ball, I could tell where it was going, and I visualized my hands catching it milliseconds before it got there. I’m not sure how else to describe it, but it’s always been like that for me.” He shrugged. “Easy to catch things.”

“So how did you get into football?”

“Oh, well, both our school’s wide receivers went down, one with mono and one with a broken wrist. They needed somebody and recruited me from the basketball team. Don’t tell anybody,” he said conspiratorially, “but at first I didn’t like getting hit. I got used to it though, and then I played college ball at a small college in South Florida, then got drafted by the Vipers.”

“And the rest, as they say, is history,” she smiled.

He nodded, admiring the way her breasts peeked ever so slightly over the top of the neckline to her blouse. His cock twitched as he thought of the dirty things he’d like to do to her.

When their meal was ready, he showed her the way to the dining room. He let her go first, not only because he had good manners, but also so he could enjoy the view of her hips swaying in front of him, a slight shake to her plump, round ass.

Carmen gave him an appreciative smile when he pulled out her chair for her, and he took the seat next to her at the head of the table. Natron’s chef came in and filled a goblet for each of them with red wine. Then he brought out their entrees, two plates of delicious-smelling meat lasagna.

They’d talked enough about him. Over dinner he wanted to learn more about her.

“So what about you? When did you first know you were an artist?”

She took a bite of her food and closed her eyes, savoring the flavor. Damn, she was sensual.

When she finished her bite she replied, “Mmm. That is delicious. Oh, you were asking me about my art. I don’t know, really. I’ve been drawing all my life, used to get in trouble at school for doodling on all my schoolwork.”

He pictured an adorable mini-Carmen being fussed at by the teacher for drawing all over her papers. She was a rebel in her own way, and that drew him to her. He appreciated that she had a little wild side.

“I won some awards too, some contests. By the time I got to middle school, people considered me ‘that artist girl.’ I was a geek, yeah, but most of the kids were impressed enough with my artwork that I didn’t get picked on as much as you’d think.”

He found himself feeling protective of her; it vexed him to think about anyone bullying her. “If anyone bothers you in the future, you send them to me. I’ll have something to say about it.”

She giggled. “Wow, I never had anybody like you stand up for me before.”

“Well, now you do,” he said with a wink. “I’ll see to it nobody messes with you.” He measured his words and kept his gaze steady on hers. The connection, the heat between them was palpable in the air and he hoped he could convince her to stay.