Keeping Score (15 page)

Warrick released her breast. His left hand followed her curves to her hips. Shifting his body, he slipped his hand inside her lingerie. Marilyn groaned as she felt herself dampen against his fingertips.

“I need you, too, Mary. I’ll always need you.” His words husked against her ear.

Warrick moved down her body, kissing and licking her exposed skin. He pulled her silk underwear—the last remaining article of clothing—from her pliant body and stood to shed his briefs. Marilyn’s thighs went lax at the sight of his full arousal.

He climbed back onto the bed. Marilyn rose to her knees to meet him. As he knelt before her, she skimmed her fingernails over the spare flesh of his torso, marveling again at his strength and power. She lifted her gaze to his midnight eyes and lowered her right palm to cup him. His hips pressed into her hand. Marilyn stroked him until he grew even hotter and harder to her touch. Warrick’s body shook and he reached for her. Marilyn pressed him onto the mattress and straddled him.

She swallowed hard as she lowered herself onto his rigid erection. Warrick gripped her hips, helping them settle into a rhythm that was fresh yet familiar. She rocked with him. She worked her hips against him. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes and arched her back.

Warrick slid his large, hot hands up her torso to palm her breasts. Marilyn moaned as he massaged her sensitized skin. She rode him harder and faster as he rubbed her nipples and pinched their tips.

He drew his hands back down her body, inching closer to her thighs. Marilyn spread her legs wider. Warrick strained upward, lifting her. Her body grew hotter, damper. Her abdomen shivered as his fingers trailed over her. He slipped his hand between them and touched her. Stroked her. Explored her. Marilyn’s inner muscles pulled tighter and tighter until her body shattered. She screamed. Her muscles trembled on the waves of release.

Warrick’s back arched, filling Marilyn deeper, lifting her higher. His body exploded, shaking Marilyn again. Spent, she collapsed onto him, breathing in his scent, soap and sandalwood; listening to his heart echo the wishes in her own.

Warrick pulled his black BMW into the front row of the Empire Arena’s parking lot Friday morning. He collected his sports bottle and unfolded from his car. He inhaled the tangy breeze carried from the marina. A gentle wind swept over him and rustled the trees that lined the sidewalk in front of the arena’s rear entrance.

After activating his car alarm, he stepped onto the sidewalk for some easy stretches before his jog. He scanned the lot. Jaclyn’s car stood a couple of spaces from his, but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. He was doing this morning’s run solo. That was a little disappointing.

A movement in Warrick’s peripheral vision drew his attention to the building. Troy appeared from the rear entrance and crossed to him. His suit coat was missing. The sleeves of his pale yellow shirt were rolled to his elbows. He’d loosened the brown and yellow tie he wore to coordinate with his shirt and brown pants. But it was the tightness of the media executive’s features that set off an alert system in Warrick’s mind.

“What’s going on?” Warrick drained the water from his sports bottle as he tried to read the other man’s body language.

Troy stopped an arm’s length from Warrick. “The
Horn
wrote an article on your possible reconciliation with Mary. It’s in today’s paper.”

Troy’s words were wonderful news. But his stance—wary and stiff—warned Warrick that another shoe was ready to drop.

Warrick’s attention dipped to the newspaper in Troy’s hand before returning to the executive’s face. “The morning after game four, they’re more interested in my marriage than our loss?”

“This story ran on the front page of the gossip section.”

Warrick’s neck muscles tightened. “How bad is it?”

Troy sighed and offered him the paper. “The article comes with pictures.”

Warrick tucked his water bottle under his arm and accepted the newspaper. His mind was clouded with confusion. What did Troy find so objectionable about the
Horn
running an article about Warrick and Marilyn’s reconciliation? Although, he and Marilyn had never actually separated.

He flipped the paper to the page Troy had folded open. Warrick’s attention was drawn to the photo that overshadowed the story.

His sports bottle fell to the sidewalk. His eyes stretched wide. “Son of a—”

10

Marilyn’s nude back was framed in the color photo dominating the front page of the
New York Horn
’s gossip section. Her arms were raised toward his shoulders, baring the curve of her left breast. His hands were spread on her hips.

Warrick saw red. He was angrier than he’d ever been in his entire life. His fists crushed the page. “How in the
hell
did they get this photo?”

A shadowy memory taunted the edge of his mind. A movement outside his window. Jesus! He’d been right.

“It’s obvious they took the photo around venetian blinds.” Troy bent to rescue the sports bottle that had fallen from Warrick’s numbed grip.

The media executive’s words were muffled beneath the blood roaring in Warrick’s ears. Warrick spun on his heel and started toward his car.

Troy’s hand caught his arm, pulling him to a stop. “Where are you going?”

Warrick turned to glare at the other man. “I’m going to find that photographer and bury his camera so far up his—”

“Jackie’s already spoken to the newspaper’s publisher.” Troy’s grip tightened on Warrick’s forearm. “She’s threatened him with legal action if he doesn’t immediately give us all of the camera discs and take down the photos posted to their site—”

“There are photos of us on the Internet?” Warrick’s question was just short of a roar.

“She got them to agree not to print or post any of the photos ever again.”

Warrick shook off Troy’s hold and continued toward his car. “I’m going to sue that rag into bankruptcy.” His voice was as rough as tree bark and colder than ice.

“Rick, I know you’re angry. I would be, too. But you’ve got to calm down.” Troy’s voice came from behind him.

Warrick deactivated his car alarm and opened his trunk. “I have to call Mary.”

Troy tossed the water bottle into the car. “Shouldn’t you calm down first?”

He pulled his cell phone from his gym bag and pressed the speed dial code for his wife’s cellular number. After several rings, a recording came on. “Dammit. I’m being sent to her voice mail. Mary, call me as soon as you get this message, okay? I love you.”

He had similar results when he called Marilyn’s work phone number. Warrick disconnected the call after leaving a message on that machine as well. He dropped the cell phone in the front pocket of his running shorts, then slammed the trunk closed. The violent act didn’t ease his temper.

“I can’t reach her.” Warrick’s muscles vibrated with tension.

Troy laid his hand on Warrick’s shoulder. “I understand you’re angry. But don’t do anything that will keep this story alive.”

With his pulse pounding in his ears, Warrick could barely hear the other man’s words. His car alarm beeped as it reset.

He looked at Troy, but he couldn’t focus on his friend’s face. Warrick’s vision was too blurred by anger. “What gives them the right to violate my privacy, my wife’s privacy? We were in our home with the blinds closed.”

Troy let his hand drop from Warrick’s shoulder. “I know this is hard, but think about Mary.”

He
was
thinking about Marilyn. Without responding, Warrick spun on his heel and circled his car.

Troy followed him. “Now where are you going?”

Warrick deactivated the alarm a second time. “To get the photos.”

“The discs are on their way.” Troy’s arm stretched from behind Warrick. His hand pressed against the driver’s side door to keep it shut. “So what are you really going to do?”

Warrick looked at Troy from over his shoulder. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Regret flashed in Troy’s eyes. “I’m your friend. Yes, it does.”

Warrick crumbled the
Horn
in his fist. His car alarm reset again.

He turned to clench the paper in front of Troy’s face. His throat worked as he pushed the words past his rage. “Imagine this was Andrea. What would you do?” He had the satisfaction of seeing Troy’s face darken and his jaw clench.

“I’d want to make the photographer eat his camera. I’d ...” Troy stopped himself. “Rick, tearing apart the
Horn
’s offices wouldn’t help Andy or Mary. Jackie’s taking care of this.”

“
I’m
Mary’s husband. This situation is
my
responsibility.” And his fault.
He
was the reason a photograph of his wife in the nude was plastered to the front page of a newspaper’s gossip section.

“Your way isn’t constructive.” Troy spoke carefully.

The cool breeze coming off the marina didn’t ease Warrick’s temper or his guilt. He tightened his grip on the paper. “Do you know what this will do to her? To her career?”

“I know what you’re saying. But are you going to the
Horn
for Mary or for yourself ?”

That pulled him up short. Warrick jabbed a finger toward Troy. “I do the press conferences and one-on-one interviews. I stepped aside as captain when Barron arrived. I sat on the bench when Jamal was drafted. All for the team. But I
will not
sit quietly while my wife is disrespected, not even for the team.”

Troy’s eyes dimmed with disappointment. “And I wouldn’t ask you to. This isn’t about the team, brother. This is about Mary. What will you do when you get to the
Horn
?”

“I told you not to worry about it.”

“Are you going to give the photographer a beat down? Take a swing at the editor-in-chief ?”

Warrick held his silence. He would neither confirm nor deny the other man’s suspicions.

Troy didn’t wait for a response. “You know the
Horn
would jump at the opportunity to charge you with assault. Think of the number of papers they would sell with that headline and those photos. But what would happen to Mary?” Troy nodded toward the paper crushed in Warrick’s fist. “As her husband’s reputation was being shredded in the press, that photo would be on rotation on television stations across the country. Networks would show it every time they talked about your assault trial.”

“This is bullshit.” Warrick stepped around Troy, needing some space. But he couldn’t run away from the truth of the other man’s words. He stared across the parking lot, the events Troy described playing out in his mind.

The media executive continued. “I agree. If we didn’t have to worry about the repercussions, I’d go with you. But in the long run, we’d only cause our ladies more problems.”

Warrick pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I need to talk with Mary.”

He walked away from Troy and toward the marina. Warrick hit the speed dial for her cell phone number and waited. A strong breeze pulled against his jersey. Overhead, trees bent but didn’t break in the wind. Sunlight glared at the blue gray water. Marilyn’s phone rang several times before tossing Warrick into her voice mail.

Why wasn’t she answering?

Marilyn stared at the newspaper spread across the top of the desk. A six-by-nine-inch color photo exposed her during one of the most intimate moments of her life. Her skin burned with outrage and agony. The ringing in her ears was her cell phone, screaming for her attention. The buzzing in her head was her blood, rushing through her veins. Any moment now, her alarm clock would go off and she’d wake from this nightmare. At least, she prayed that’s what would happen next.

“I’m waiting for an explanation.” Arthur loomed just behind her in the break room.

Her cell phone went silent, but the buzzing in her head grew louder.

“I don’t have one.” Marilyn couldn’t look at him. Her head spun. Her vision went in and out of focus. Was she going to throw up?

Oh, my God.
She was on the edge of hysteria. Her muscles shook. She clenched her fists to make them stop.

Arthur’s tone hardened. “The board of trustees will want an explanation.”

Her desk phone rang.

Warrick!
It must be him. Who else would call now and so persistently? She was desperate to talk with him. The team’s loss to the Waves last night ... The photo in the newspaper this morning ... How much more could he handle? But Arthur was obviously determined to manipulate this incident. Marilyn was fighting for her career. As much as she wanted to speak with her husband, she’d have to call Warrick back after she’d dealt with Arthur.

Marilyn took a deep breath and forced herself to meet Arthur’s gaze. “What do you want me to say? I didn’t take the photo myself. I didn’t ask for it to be taken and I didn’t pose for it, either.”

Why? When? How ... ?

Oh, my God.
Warrick had been right. Someone must have been hiding outside their kitchen window a few weeks ago, while she and Warrick were ...

Marilyn squeezed her eyes shut. She was going to be sick. She inhaled long, deep breaths, pulling in the hospital’s familiar scents—bleach and iodine.

Arthur folded his hands in front of him. “The hospital cannot condone this behavior.”

Marilyn’s pulse drummed in her ears. She knew what he meant, but she’d make him say it. “What behavior would that be? The photographer sneaking around my property taking pictures of my husband and me without our knowledge or permission? Rick and I don’t condone that, either.”

Arthur’s thin cheeks pinkened. “You know very well the behavior to which I’m referring is the photo the newspaper printed of you engaged in that act.”

Marilyn arched a brow. “So you blame the
Horn
for printing the photo? So do I.”

She was probably grinding centimeters from her teeth. Marilyn knew full well that Arthur wasn’t blaming the person who’d taken the photo or the newspaper that had reprinted it large and in color. Dear God, the photo was huge! No, instead Arthur was blaming her and Rick—and they were the victims. She clenched her fists tighter.