Playing for Keeps (16 page)

It would be exhausting, since she still wanted to watch the wildcard game in person, so she would need to take yet another flight to Portland on Saturday morning. But it would be worth the extra flying time to see Johnny. She didn’t just want a long, leisurely phone conversation with him. If she hoped to gauge his state of mind—and to feel his arms around her—she needed to get to him right away.

Once Steve had agreed, she modified her flight. She would still travel with Connor to New York, but then she would stick him with her bags, trusting him to get them safely to her apartment while she boarded a domestic flight to Portland.

She wouldn’t tell Johnny she was arriving early. She would surprise him, and take a chance on learning the hard way that he had other women in play as well, or had traveled to Los Angeles to visit his family.

He spent tons of time with them for the holidays. And he needs to practice. So he’s in Portland. And in twenty-nine short hours, you’ll be there too.

• • •

She hadn’t brought her trench coat to Greece, so unfortunately couldn’t surprise him with his favorite fantasy. What she
did
have was the bikini. Johnny would love it, even if she felt a little foolish dressed that way in a Northwest winter. Still, she second-guessed herself, and during her layover in New York she took a quick peek in the airport boutiques, hoping to find a pretty silk ensemble, or at least a winter robe to wear over the swimsuit.

She found a lot more than that on a clearance rack. Or actually, a lot less in terms of fabric and coverage. But for her purposes? The sinfully tacky nightie of sheer white voile, thigh-length and covered in red pom-poms with matching panties, and accompanied by a white fur hat labeled “Santa’s Helper,” was irresistible. She had already made a fool of herself for this guy, hadn’t she? Dating him even when he informed her up front that he was dumping her in February?

Why get prudish now? Especially when he was probably miserable. This would definitely cheer him up.

• • •

From the moment he received Erica’s text—
Ashton room 343 if you’re free
—Johnny was crazed with anticipation, jumping into his SUV and careening through the gated entry of his riverfront home, then forcing himself to ease up when he reached the main road.

“Just don’t attack her the minute you walk in, for fuck’s sake,” he warned himself out loud. “She came all this way to see a boyfriend, not a rabid animal.”

He couldn’t believe this latest twist, but it was vintage Erica, wasn’t it? She had surprised him that first day with the raincoat, and the long legs, long hair, beautiful smile. And then again with the insightful comments about his reputation—as a decent guy, not a “player.”

And after that? More surprises, too numerous to count.

So just talk to her. Ask her about her trip. Kiss her, but don’t attack her. Show her she’s special. Or at least,
he reminded himself as he pulled up at the Ashton,
don’t effing attack her the minute you walk in the door.

He tossed his keys to the valet, then strode across the lobby and took the stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator. Finding her room, he reminded himself again that they would talk first, maybe for hours, or a least a few minutes. Then and only then could he do what he ached to do.

Rapping gently on the door, he exhaled to temper his excitement. Then she opened the door, smiled at him, and backed away. And all he could see was naked Erica, except better than naked. It was some kind of erotic costume. An elf or something. Bare legs, bare arms, see-through gauzy stuff, red panties.

But mostly, it was the sparkling gray eyes and playful smile that told him what was going on. She didn’t want to talk first at all.

And he was fine with that.

Chapter 8

“You almost gave me a heart attack, you know,” he told her later as they lay in each other’s arms, naked and satisfied, the Santa’s Helper outfit strewn nearby.

“You should have seen your expression,” she said gleefully. “It was sooo worth wearing that silly outfit.”

“If by silly you mean hot as hell, yeah.” He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her, his dark eyes sparkling. “What are you doing here? It’s only Sunday. Or maybe Monday.”

“Steve’s covering for me. But just for two days. I have to be back by Wednesday morning.”

“No way. You’re not going anywhere. Never again.”

“I’ll be back on Saturday. For the whole weekend. But after that,” she said with a wince, “I need to hustle back to the office again. There’s a huge presentation on Monday morning. For a new client. And Steve’s letting me sit in. It’s an honor,” she added lamely.

His scowl was deep and immediate. “What kind of account is it this time? Diapers? Toilet paper? There must be something I’m more important than.”

She laughed. “It’s erasable ink. And it’s the future. Or at least,
my
future.”

“I thought Lager Storm was your future.” He shook his head. “Erasable ink doesn’t even make sense. The whole point of ink is to be permanent. Otherwise just use an effing pencil.”

She smiled apologetically. “Forget about all that. Just tell me about the game. Did they hurt you? Is Bannerman’s hand okay? How’s Sean?”

“Things are great,” he assured her, nuzzling her neck as though ready for another round.

“Your dad’s team made it to the wildcard round too. In their first year as an expansion team. That’s cool, right? And the Chargers did too, so your brother’s still in it.”

“I’m sick of them. Let’s talk about
you
. I’m not happy about this tan,” he said, pulling back the sheet to eye her in feigned annoyance. “You didn’t actually let Greek guys see you in that bikini, did you?”

“We had a very private pool and patio. Of course, the sailboat was a little more public.”

“Where the heck was your dad?”

“Sailing the boat. We had to find Troy, you know.”

“Who? Oh, you mean the city?”

She smiled. “He’s an expert on the subject and always wants to revisit things in person. Oh!” She jumped up and rummaged in her carry-on bag. “I brought you something. A souvenir and a Christmas present combined.”

He accepted the packet, which contained the gloves and was wrapped in gunmetal gray paper, reminiscent of the Lancers uniform, but tied with a red ribbon. Dominating the package was a green envelope containing a sketch she had made for him.

“I have something for you, too,” he assured her. “But it’s at my house. So let’s go there and do this. Among other things.”

“Just give it to me next time,” she said, frustrated by the delay. “Please?”

He chuckled and opened the envelope, then stared at the six-by-eight piece of white card stock with an art-crayon sketch. “Damn, is this you?”

She smiled and nodded. “I thought you’d like it.”

She had emulated Botticelli’s
Birth of Venus
,
but rather than a naked Venus with blonde, flowing hair, she had substituted a brunette in a raincoat. The hair still cascaded in long, wavy lengths around her, and she struck the same pose—demure yet unashamed to be seen by a man’s admiring eyes.

“It’s a parody,” she explained when he just stared at it. “Venus was naked, and obviously more eye-catching. A goddess, right? But I never did a self-portrait before, and I felt inspired. Mostly because I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

“It’s effing amazing.” He pressed her back against the pillows. “You’re so beautiful, Erica. I keep forgetting to tell you that.”

“Aren’t you going to open your gift?”

“There’s more?” He seemed confused, then laughed. “Right, the actual present. Man, I don’t think you can top that drawing.” Rolling away, he tore the paper from the gloves and nodded approvingly. “What kind of leather is this? It’s almost as soft as your beautiful ass.” He pulled the gloves over his hands and nodded again. “Perfect fit.”

“I was hoping you’d touch me with them. Just above the waist though, otherwise ewww.”

“In Aspen, you mean?” He winced. “This was supposed to be
our
week. Instead we’re in a cheap hotel waiting for the God damned wildcard game.”

She sat up and gave him a hug. “Yesterday we were continents apart. Now I can touch you. Kiss you. That’s good enough for me.”

His gaze warmed. “There were a couple of times, these last few weeks, when I almost sent Murf over there to kidnap you.”

“I wish you had.”

“I can still do it.” He arched a playful eyebrow. “Carry you off and hide you at my place, so you can be mine—
all
mine—until after the playoffs.”

She laughed. “I think Mr. Caldwell would have something to say about that.”

“Good. Let him fire you. That definitely works for me.” He cleared his throat, then added dutifully, “Sorry, babe. I know how sensitive you are about your career.”

“I’m not
sensitive
about it,” she told him, her tone harsher than intended. “I’m proud of it. Grrr . . .” She tried for a laugh and failed. “You’re channeling my mother again.”

“When did I channel her the first time?”

“Never mind.”

He sat up and looked her in the eye. “Come on, Erica. Tell me.”

“It’s no big deal,” she assured him, but when he didn’t budge, she shrugged. “Remember when I told you about the thing with Frank? And you gave me the third degree? Did he touch me, did he threaten me, did he quid pro quo me? If not, then I’m just a big baby, right?”

He drew back as though shocked. “I never said that. I never thought it either. Are you saying your mom said it?”

“I haven’t told her. Because I already
know
she’d say it.”

He was still staring. Wary. Silent.

“It’s no big deal,” she assured him.

“Sure it is.”

“Just drop it.”

“Man, you’re mean.” A playful smile broke out, lighting his handsome face. “I’m scared of you, you know.”

“Good.”

“Remember what you said about Deck? He’s tougher than he looks? That goes double for you.”

“That’s so sweet.” She laughed in apology. “Psycho girlfriend, right?”

“It’s hot, so keep it coming.”

Her heart melted. “How can we fight if you’re going to be adorable?”

“We’ll
never
fight,” he promised. Then he touched her cheek. “I see how much you love your job, and I support that. My sister-in-law was the same way, you know. She loved teaching. Didn’t want to give it up.”

“Teaching?” Erica tried not to roll her eyes. He wasn’t choosing the best example given the occupation of his blind date.

“Yeah, it worked out well for them. But that was different. She was always home from work before Jayce got home. No traveling, obviously. And other perks. But after three kids, she hung it up and just focused on them. It’s like a freaking romance movie.”

Erica wondered if he was an idiot despite the brilliant strategizing and play calling. Didn’t he hear the subtext in this little love story? Girlfriend in advertising, bad. Girlfriend in schoolteaching, good. Travel bad. Long hours bad. Quitting the job she supposedly loved? Jackpot!

“And obviously, Beth loved kids even before she met Jayce,” he added helpfully.

“You know what, John? Good for her. I’m glad she found her calling.”

“Exactly.” He ran his fingertip over her lips, then down her chin and neck to her breast. “Speaking of calling. Is it my imagination? Or are we ready for another round?”

“Sure, why not?” she asked, still annoyed.

“I told Deck about you, you know,” he murmured, nibbling her ear. “He thinks you’re the best.”

It was good news, and she thawed easily. “Things are good with you guys, then?”

“The friendship’s good. But Coach Coz is still a dick. I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” he added, grinning in frustration. “You’re such a soft touch when it comes to Decker. Next thing I know you’ll be asking me to kiss him again.”

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Just kiss
me
, and I’ll be satisfied.”

He covered her mouth with his, kissing her hungrily and hardening against her, his need so powerful, so throbbing, she could barely speak.

Luckily, she didn’t have to. Her body did all the talking for her.

• • •

They slept well that night, and the next day, after his grueling practice, they headed for the coast. She wore the bikini, but given the forty-five-degree temperature, also wore jeans and a sweatshirt. Everything about the interlude was perfect. Borderline syrupy, actually, as they traded holiday stories, trying to out-family each other. Johnny had attended one too many bowl games, while Erica had gotten way too many lectures. When she explained that both parents had wanted her to pursue a career in art, he won her heart by insisting she was a natural at advertising. Lager Storm, he declared fervently, was a work of art as valid as any other.

They strolled the beach hand in hand, picking up rocks and pieces of abalone shell. Every few minutes—sometimes seconds—he pulled her into an embrace, kissing her with warm, leisurely thoroughness. It would make a great commercial, she knew. Two people so in love they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Yet there was no urgency. Just him. Just her. And the pounding of the waves.

But their time together was short, and she didn’t mind a bit when he coaxed her behind an outcropping of rock and helped her shed her jeans so he could make love to her. It felt daring, yet sweet too, and she wanted it to last forever.

When he had finished rocking her world, he loomed above her, his dark eyes sparkling. “Let’s sleep at my place tonight. I can give you your Christmas present, and I promise to get you to the airport in time for your flight.”

“Give it to me next time,” she suggested. “It’ll give me something to look forward to. Not that your body’s not enough.” She ran an appreciative hand down his torso. “Yowza.”

But Johnny didn’t seem amused. Instead, he sat up, then fixed her with his inquisitive stare. “You don’t want to come to my house. Tell me why.”