Field of Pleasure (11 page)

Jared's lips twisted in a grimace. “Okay, we are not ending our date talking about my dad or my ex-girlfriend. That's just all kinds of wrong.”

“Sorry,” Chyna said, chagrined. “It does leave a bad taste in my mouth.”

His brows lifted knowingly. “Only one way to get rid of that,” he said, lowering his head.

Stop him,
a quick stab of conscience demanded, but Chyna swatted it aside and tilted her head up. The moment Jared's soft, pliant lips touched hers, a jolt of
sinfully sweet desire shot from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, leaving a tingle of want humming throughout her body. He angled his head and, with gentle insistence, pushed his tongue into her mouth.

A moan caught in the back of her throat, then escaped, sounding like a plea to her ears.

Jared must have heard it, too, because he answered with more of that tender, pleasurable pressure, dipping his tongue inside her mouth, pulling her body into direct contact with his. The touch of his powerful thighs pressed against hers ignited her insides, causing her stomach to clench with need. He clamped her backside with his hands and pulled her firmly against him. Chyna's entire body shivered with awareness as she felt his arousal pulsing against her pelvis.

Summer let out a tiny bark, and Chyna pulled back.

“Oh, baby,” she exhaled on a breathy sigh, pressing a kiss to the dog's head. “Mommy's sorry.” Chyna chanced a look at Jared and his hot stare nearly singed her. His chest rose and fell with his deep, labored breaths.

“I should probably go,” he said with effort.

“You probably should,” Chyna agreed.

Why neither of them moved was the question of the hour, but she was still too dazed to come up with a plausible answer. Instead of taking a step back, Jared took a step forward. He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his head.

But instead of another breath-robbing, toe-tingling, heart-stopping kiss, he simply brushed his lips on her forehead before letting her go. He walked down the building's steps and stood on the sidewalk.

“It might be dangerous for me to walk you to your apartment's front door, but I'm going to stand here until you call and tell me you're safely inside.”

“You don't have to do that,” Chyna said.

“Why are you arguing with me, woman?”

Chyna couldn't help her grin. She unlocked the door to the building, then quickly made it up the stairs and into her apartment. Stooping to put down Summer—who immediately ran to her water bowl—Chyna closed the front door and leaned against it. She pulled her phone out of her backpack and called Jared.

“I made it safely up the stairs. You can leave now.”

“How do I know you're safe? How do I know there wasn't some masked gunman waiting for you, and he's not just making you say that so I can leave?”

Chyna walked over to the window and pulled up the shade. She unlocked it and pushed the window open. “No gunman,” she called.

Jared looked up from where he stood just below her window, the phone still to his ear. “I'm starting to think I should come up there to make sure,” he spoke into the phone, his voice low and seductive.

“I think that's a bad idea,” Chyna returned. Because it sounded like a really,
really
good idea.

“I'm going to teach you how to have fun one of these days,” Jared said.

“The Shake Shack, a visit to the animal hospital and ten minutes of an action film, and you say I don't know how to have fun? What more do you want?” she asked.

“Let me come up there and I'll show you.”

Oh, he was bad. The good kind of bad. The
really
good kind of bad.

Still looking up at her, he grinned. “Good night, Chyna.”

“You, too.”

“Will I see you Saturday night?” he asked.

Chyna quickly went through her plans. All she had
was that grand opening event, but that wouldn't last all day.

“Yes,” she answered. “This time you get to pick the place. Just don't go overboard.”

“Think paper napkins and peanut shells on the floor,” he said.

“Now you're getting the hang of it,” she laughed. She gave him a small wave before closing the window and pulling down the shade. She couldn't make herself step away from the window. Instead, she lifted the edge of the shade and peeked out, her eyes following Jared as he crossed the street and opened his car door. He stopped with one foot in the car and stared back at her building for a long moment before sliding behind the wheel. A second later, the headlights came on and the Mercedes pulled away from the curb.

Chyna was shocked at the sense of bereavement that came over her. What was happening to her? This was only their second date. Why did it feel as if a lightbulb had dimmed, and wouldn't get back to full wattage until Saturday?

“This is ridiculous,” Chyna said, letting go of the window shade. She sat on the end table next to the window and expelled a sigh.

She was barreling full steam ahead toward a heap of trouble, and she couldn't do a single thing to stop it.

J
ared stood on the forty yard line with his arms crossed, a metal whistle resting between his lips. He tried to concentrate on the four college seniors running sprints between the hash marks, but his mind continued to bombard him with the image of Samantha and Carlos embracing, smiling into each other's eyes. Someone had left a copy of the celebrity magazine in the common area of the locker room, opened to an article that covered some charity event in Miami the two had attended over the weekend.

Anger and disgust burned hot in his gut as he recalled the contented bliss that was evident on both their faces. The unmistakable adoration as they gazed upon each other couldn't have been forged in the few months since he'd found Samantha and Carlos in bed together. It took time to build that kind of love.

Jared had often wondered how long their affair had
been going on behind his back. And how long it would have continued if they hadn't been caught.

He shook his head with a fierce curse.

Disregarding the stopwatch in his hand, Jared mentally counted down the seconds before blowing the whistle.

“Stop,” he yelled. The guys abruptly halted their sprints.

Jared strolled up to the four players, trying like hell to keep his expression impassive. They looked ready to piss in their pants. Man, he remembered those days, jumping through hoops—literally—to impress the players and coaches. Willing to do just about anything to earn a spot on some team's roster.

After a lifetime of Pop Warner, high school and college football, knowing that your performance over a single week could decide whether you got to continue playing the game or hung up your shoulder pads forever; that was a lot for a twenty-one-year-old kid to handle.

Torrian walked up to him, carrying a clipboard and wearing an identical whistle attached to a teal-and-gray Sabers lanyard.

“How did this group do?” Torrian asked.

“Some had better numbers than others,” Jared answered.

Torrian addressed the players. “You guys ready for The Wall?” He gestured to the twenty-five-foot cushioned wall with several ropes dangling from the top of it. Jared
hated
that damn wall, but he loved watching other guys fight with it.

As Torrian walked the group toward the apparatus, Jared headed for the Gatorade station. Randall was standing next to it, gulping down fluid from a paper cup.

“Nothing like tryout week,” Randall said with a
wicked laugh. “I especially love seeing the cocky ones who've bought into all the hype from the sports analysts get what's coming to them. A Heisman trophy doesn't mean crap when you have three hundred pounds of pissed off linebacker charging after your ass.”

“You want to see some real tears?” Jared grinned and nodded toward the back end of the field. “Torrian is taking the group I just worked with over The Wall.”

“And today isn't even my birthday,” Randall said with the excitement only one who'd suffered at the hands of The Wall could experience. “Hey.” He nudged Jared's shoulder as they strolled across the practice field. “Did you end up going out with The Brain on Friday?”

“Don't call her that,” Jared snapped.

“Why? That's her name.”

“Her name is Chyna. And, yeah, we went out.”

“And?” Randall asked when Jared didn't elaborate.

“And it's none of your business.”

“Man, I know you're not holding out on me. I'm the one who told you to go after her in the first place.”

“And when she blew me off you told me to go after another one,” Jared reminded his teammate. “So, yeah, I'm holding out on you. Chyna and I had a good time. That's all you need to know.”

Randall shook his head. “Dude, that's not even cool.”

“Maybe if you went on your own date you wouldn't be so concerned about mine.”

“Last date I had was with Big Bird and Elmo.”

“Hard to compete.” Jared grinned.

“That's nothing. I've got
Nemo and Friends on Ice
up next. Eat your heart out.”

They stopped about ten yards back from The Wall and openly pointed and chuckled at the rookies who were literally brought to their knees by the grueling exercise.
With a twinge of unease, Jared noticed the cornerback from Rutgers lasted the longest.

He'd been surprised that the rookie had been brought in for tryouts. Everyone knew the Sabers were in the hunt for a new quarterback now that their star for the past nine seasons, Mark Landon, had decided to retire. Talk around camp had been that the Sabers would trade their first- and second-round draft picks in order to get a more experienced quarterback from one of the other teams, but Sabers upper management were playing their cards close to their chest. Not even the players knew what move they would make come Draft Day.

But there wasn't a single mock draft in the online fantasy sports arena that had the Sabers picking a cornerback, which made their choice to audition the player from Rutgers even more puzzling. Why not bring in a quarterback or maybe another running back to take the load off Cedric Reeves's shoulders? Hell, they'd just lost that bastard Carlos Garcia to the Colts. Why not try out a rookie tight end to fill his spot?

After another ten minutes of torturing the candidates, Torrian blew his whistle and called all eleven of the potential draft picks into a huddle.

Jared checked his watch. He had only a few minutes before he had to join the team in the media conference room. The rookies would be given a chance to shower then it was a bit of show-and-tell for the rest of the afternoon. A current player from every position would discuss their role on the team and give some insight into the Sabers organization.

“I'll meet you in the media room,” Jared told Randall before heading toward the field house's exit. He pulled out his phone and called Chyna, but his call went to voice mail. He tried again with the same result before
remembering that she was at work and probably couldn't take personal calls.

He wasn't used to dating a woman with a regular day job. Even though Samantha had a degree in finance, she hadn't held a job since finishing her internship back in their senior year at San Diego State. Once it was obvious that Jared would be drafted into the NFL, there was no need for her to work.

Jared suppressed the rage that flared at the thought of how Samantha had used him. He'd given that girl everything she could possibly want, and it hadn't been enough.

He pushed through the main building's double doors with a silent curse. He was done with this self-torture. He'd spent a decade of his life making sure Samantha wanted for nothing, and look at how she'd repaid him. He was done. Samantha had made her choice, and he was making his.

His cell phone rang, and Jared nearly dropped it in his haste to answer, but it wasn't Chyna's number on the screen.

“Yeah, Patrick,” Jared answered with a terse breath.

“You can at least pretend you're happy to hear from me,” his college buddy said.

“I thought—” hoped “—you were someone else.”

“The growl kinda gave that away,” Patrick said. “I'm just calling to tell you the Red Zone passed inspection. We are good to go, my man.”

Jared's shoulders sagged with relief. “That's the kind of news I needed to hear today. Congratulations, man. Hey, is everything ready for Saturday? You need me to do anything?”

“It's all taken care of. Just be there by ten o'clock for the ribbon cutting. I've got a photographer from the
Post
coming.”

“You
have
taken care of everything,” Jared said, impressed. “I'll see you Saturday.”

He disconnected Patrick's call and stared at the phone, willing it to ring with Chyna on the other end. It didn't.

Jared shook his head, unable to believe a woman whose name he didn't even know a week ago could have him staring at the phone like a love-struck teenager. Chyna was supposed to be only a distraction, someone to help get his mind off Samantha. But in just over seventy-two hours she'd become so much more than that. He couldn't get
her
off his mind. And the more he thought about her, the more he wanted to be with her.

Saturday night couldn't get here fast enough.

 

Chyna met up with Liani inside the marble-and-gold lobby of the Fifth Avenue building that housed her parents' eight-thousand-square-foot penthouse. Chyna turned right when they exited the building, heading for the subway, but Liani caught her by the elbow.

“This way,” she said, nodding to a black Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows. “I figure since I'm staying here, I might as well take advantage of all the perks, right?”

When the Dixon family's personal driver pulled the Town Car in front of a handsome brownstone at the corner of 107th Street and Amsterdam Avenue, Chyna sent Liani a quizzical look. “Are you sure this is the right place? It doesn't look like a barbershop to me.”

“This is it. The Red Zone.” Liani pointed to a chrome-plated sign flanked on either side by three-feet-tall red-and-white barbershop spirals. They climbed out of the backseat with Liani leaving instructions for the driver to meet them back here in another two and a half hours.

“There's Kenya and Jamie,” Chyna said, pointing
at two members of the Saberrettes squad who had just turned the corner.

“Hi, girlies,” Kenya greeted. She motioned to Chyna's dress. “Look at you looking all
Project Runway.
Somebody's trying to land herself a man.”

“From what I hear she already has,” Jamie said. “I heard about you and Jared Dawson.”

Chyna opened her mouth to respond, but Kenya cut her off. “You're dating Jared Dawson?” she asked, her pencil-thin brow arched in inquiry. Her joking tone had taken on a note of accusation. “I guess there are some perks to being just a choreographer. No one looks at you as if you're a gold digger since you're not in a Saberrette uniform.”

“First of all, I didn't take this job to land a man,” Chyna said. “And it's not really anyone's business what I'm doing with Jared.”

“I agree,” Liani said. “What Chyna and Jared do is no one else's business, except for mine since I'm her best friend. Now can we stop the chitchat and get to work.” She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through a list of messages. “According to Amy's email, we're meeting someone named Patrick. Go to the side entrance that's just off the alley.”

The four of them walked around the side of the building. Chyna followed a few steps behind, trying to get a handle on her temper, burning slowly just beneath the surface.

Of all the things Kenya could have accused her of, being a gold digger was up there with mass murder. Chyna took care of herself. Always. She'd been schooled in the art of self-reliance years ago, and had worked her ass off to make sure she never had to depend on anyone else for her well-being.

She was not dating Jared for his money. If anything, his extravagant lifestyle had been more of a hindrance than a benefit to their…relationship, for lack of a better word. Chyna wasn't sure if she would call two and a half dates a relationship, but when they took place in the span of two and a half days, it deserved some kind of title.

She forced herself to shove Kenya's words out of her mind. She was here to support the Saberrettes and get an idea of the type of work they did outside of the stadium. She would not let Kenya Simmons get to her.

“This must be it.” Liani knocked on the side door, but with the music blasting on the other side, Chyna doubted anyone would hear. “Is this a barbershop or a dance club?” her friend asked.

The door opened and a handsome guy with wire-rimmed glasses greeted them. “Oh, great. You're just in time. Come on in.” He gestured for them to follow him into a small room with shelving on either side of a narrow walkway. They were stacked with white towels, toilet tissue and boxes with pictures of little black combs on the outside, evidence that it was, indeed, a barbershop.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “The deejay just started up, and we're about to have the first door-prize drawing. I'd like you all to take turns drawing the names.” He abruptly stopped and turned. “Hey, aren't you all supposed to be in uniforms?”

“Give us a minute,” Liani said. “Is there somewhere we can store our bags?”

He gestured to an empty shelf a few feet away. “You can put them right there. The door leading to this room stays locked, so everything will be safe.”

Chyna stood to the side as, like synchronized swimmers, the three women simultaneously stripped out of their warm-up suits, revealing the barely there
teal-and-metallic-gray uniforms underneath. Each squad member stuffed their warm-up suit into their personalized Saberrettes duffel bags and placed them on the empty shelf.

Liani tapped Patrick on the chin. “Close your mouth, honey. There's no need to drool.”

One by one they filed out of the back room and entered the main area of the barbershop. Chyna was the last out. She walked through the door and came face-to-face with Jared.

 

“The Saberrettes are here.”

Jared heard Patrick's voice coming from somewhere behind him, but his business partner could have been yelling “fire” for all he cared. As he stared at Chyna standing there in a hot pink dress that was holding on to her curves for dear life, he had a hard time focusing on anything else.

Her gray eyes widened in astonishment. “What are
you
doing here?”

Jared shook his head, trying to get his bearings straight. “This is my place,” he finally answered. “Well, partly mine. I'm an investor. I knew the Saberrettes would be here, but I didn't know you were joining them.”

He glanced at her face, but couldn't keep his eyes from traveling back to the luscious breasts that were deliciously displayed in the deep V of her dress.