ROMANCE: SPORTS ROMANCE: Bad Boys of Sports: A Complete Collection (Alpha Male, Football, Hockey Secret Baby Romance) (Contemporary Sports Romance) (18 page)

“I didn’t steal it.  I’m just borrowing it.”  She turned away from him trying to distract herself with the scenery again.

“How thoughtful of you to forget to ask, although you’re right in assuming the answer would’ve been ‘no.’”

“Relax, Mr. Scrooge. I’ll give it back – I just didn’t have anything to sleep in.”

“My sincerest apologies.  I know it takes a lot of forethought to pack pajamas for a week-long trip across the country, but I must insist on you returning my formerly unwrinkled shirt to me
right now
.”

Natalie got up with an exasperated huff. 

“You want your shirt back so bad?  Fine, I’ll give you back your damned shirt.”  She marched up the stairs to their bedroom, grabbed her most scandalous lace camisole and shorts combo, and slammed the door to the bathroom to change. When she came out a moment later, she threw Oliver’s shirt at his face and crossed her arms at him.

“There you go.  I hope you’re happy that you got her precious shirt back, and now all I have to wear to sleep is
this
.” She motioned toward her outfit.  “And there’s not a chance I’m sleeping out there in the living room again tonight practically naked in front of my colleagues, so I guess you’re going to be stuck with me this evening.”

Oliver’s eyes traveled down her body in momentary silence, making Natalie’s face and ears burn. 

“I’d be a lot nicer to you if you dressed like that all the time. Are you trying to give me a show?”

She snorted and whirled around, pressing her barely covered bottom away from his roaming eyes.

“In your dreams.” Her reply was quick and sharp.

Her heart skipped a beat as he continued to stare, and his expression lifted with an amused smirk.  A pair of designer sweatpants were hung low on his hips.  Natalie cursed silently to herself as she felt her body betraying her with a jolt of arousal between her legs.

This twist of his lips was softer than the other looks he’d often shot her, but far from emotionless. “Woman, we are going to have a hard time getting along if you don’t fix that attitude.”

She scoffed a sound that echoed through their room. “I’m the one with the attitude?” His cold eyes studied her as he took another step towards her. She could smell the soap on his skin, the shower he’d taken before bed while she rolled over in her bed and played on her phone.

“I dislike amateurs fumbling around in my world.”

“If I’m such an amateur then why I am here?”

He paused, sweeping a glance over her. His eyes flickered with scorn. “The world has gone insane lately.  Your type lacks foundation,” he said coldly. “Foundation is everything.”

Her cheeks burned, and she narrowed her eyes. “You can do things more than one way, Oliver.”

His lips tugged into a smirk that heated her up with what she hoped was just irritation. She caught the scent of his cologne, upscale and refined as he was when he leaned in. What kind of a man wore cologne to bed? Her mind’s criticism was doing nothing for the inferno starting inside her. The fine line of his iris was the only thing she could focus on, a stormy blue outline around a blue so light that it startled her.

“There may be more than one way to do things, but I do it the best way.” His lips curled. She nearly sank against the wall as his face remained inches from her. “In all things.”

She steeled herself and glared up at him. “You may think you’re the best, but you’ll always be a first-rate jackass.” She went to slip by him, but his hand caught her wrist. The contact sent a shock through both of them. His nostrils flared as she gasped at the contact, trying to tug her arm from her.

“The next time, I find you walking around like this,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’m going to teach you and that smart mouth a lesson.”

Her breath quickened beneath him with wide eyes. Was he threatening her? She wondered if it could be a threat if part of her body wanted to pounce him right there and do the same thing – to wipe off that cocky look on his face. She’d never wanted a man to beg for her, but he was making a compelling argument for wanting a man on his knees.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” she replied coolly and ripped her wrist from him, body twisted away. His eyes were heavy on her scanty pajamas as she disappeared into the folds of blankets on her bed. She yanked them over her head and listened as his feet strode back over to his bed. Her heart didn’t stop pounding until she finally heard his slow and relaxed breathing.

Chapter 3

Breakfast had never been more tense the next morning. Everyone else in the house had already left by the time they’d made their way downstairs to the dining room. Neither of them had to be at the next event until afternoon. Her mind replayed last night’s incident over and over. He sat across from her, biting contentedly into buttered toast and drinking black coffee.

He picked up a discarded newspaper beside them and opened it in front of his face. She sighed in relief at the barrier between them, eyeing the top of his head. Why did her nerves refuse to calm down around him? The cockier he was, the more her skin felt like it was on fire. She cleared her throat as she considered the reasons.

Okay, so he was pretty. Gorgeous even. What had Madeline called him? Mega hot. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat.

“See something you like?” His sly voice asked from behind the newspaper.

“No,” she choked out, nearly spitting out her cereal. He exhaled loudly and pleasantly behind the black and white print. She glared at the paper, boasting a headline about New York Fashion Week. Funny, it had used to be her dream.

“I’ll give you some of my headshots to ogle over.”

The dream was turning out to be more of a nightmare. Her face reddened as she finished the last bite of her cornflakes. She rose and went to wash in the sink without another word. As she scrubbed the bowl underneath the hot water, she heard the newspaper rustle.

“Will you be attending tonight’s after-party?”

The drop slipped from her hand and landed with a clatter in the stainless steel sink. No cracks. She clutched it as she turned to him with a raised brow.

“Maybe,” she said with a shrug. Was he asking what her plans were all of the sudden? Maybe he was nicer after seeing her half-naked.

“Pretend like you don’t know me then.” He grabbed the jacket on the back of his chair and flashed her a smug grin as he walked out of the kitchen. She stared at the empty chair. The door to the floor swung open and closed down the hallway.

“Asshole,” she muttered, glaring at the seat. Her gaze flickered down to the dirty dishes he’d left on the table. Those were going on his desk or his bed depending on how mad she still was when she stalked back to their room.

~

The events that occurred at New York Fashion Week were great. Carefully planned shows went off without a hitch. Designers accepted rounds of applause. Champagne bottles were popped. Magazine editors rounded up all of their journalists to discuss adjectives for each collection.

While celebrations carried on, Natalie knew better. There was a silent war that brewed beneath the surface of New York Fashion Week. A war of two.

Serious thoughts of committing homicide against her roommate spiked sharply in the first three days. One after-party at a gallery, one secret showing at an abandoned factory, and one dinner with the staff of
Alone
magazine. To be fair, he returned the murderous intent.

During the dinner, which was turning into a party on the balcony of an upscale sushi restaurant, she slipped away to a single bathroom at the end of the hall. She sighed as she lathered soap on her hands and scrubbed them beneath the warm water. The door swung open behind her. She looked up to see his scowling face staring at her in the mirror, arms crossed against his firm chest. He was pissed. The tiniest smile appeared on her face as she blinked innocently at him.

“You’re in the wrong restroom,” she said calmly.

His eyebrows narrowed, eyes turning into darkened slits. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You know exactly what you did.”

“Do I?” She shook her hands over the sink and snatched a folded cloth from a neatly piled stack in a basket on the counter.

“Don’t play coy, Blogger.”

She rolled her eyes and turned, lower back pressed against the counter. “Oh, not even Ms.? I must’ve really upset you.”

“You’re lucky I keep spare batteries with me,” he said with a snarl.

It was her turn to scowl. “Oh no.  They must’ve disappeared into thin air after you told that creep yesterday I was secretly in love with him.”

A smirk broke through his anger as he let out a deep laugh. “Payback for the gallery.”

“You started it,” she fired back with a huff. “It’s not my fault a food fight broke out.”

“I tripped!”

“You’re saying you ‘accidentally’ smeared chocolate on my white dress?!” Her screech shook the mirror as she stamped her foot, hands on her hips now. She was still trying to salvage that dress.

“You’re the one who threw a damn cupcake at my face,” he snapped.

Her face burned. “You told that group of awful models that I sleep naked to get your attention.”

“I said half-naked, woman,” he corrected with a firm voice. “That’s not a lie.”

“It’s not to get your attention.” Her voice rose in volume.

He shot a look at the bathroom door. “You’ll alert the whole damn restaurant that we’re in here.”

“Well, I’m in the right bathroom.”

He scanned the ornate interior around them and shrugged. “Fair enough,” he muttered with a shrug and then snagged her arm in his. “Let’s have a civil conversation at home, huh? Roommate to roommate? Because if you tell someone else that my upcoming Amazon series is a cover for drug trafficking again, I will throw you off this building.”

They stomped into a cab together. Her thigh brushed up against his and she snatched it back towards her as he chuckled darkly. The taxi took them back to the penthouse. She stabbed the elevator button hard.

“Yes, please break all of the things in the hotel you’re staying in for free,” he said with a toss of his hands.

“You’re lucky it’s not your face,” she said as the doors closed behind them.

“It’d be a national tragedy if you hit me in the face,” he told her. “I have a number of women who would come for your head.”

“Let them.” She burned next to him, simmering in frustration. “Why are we back here? They’re going to notice we skipped out.”

He chuckled. “They’re drunk. If anything, they’ll think we’re fucking.”

She gasped at his blunt phrasing, whipping towards him with mouth agape.

“Calm down; they’re already saying it. You can’t put a woman and a man together in a room then not expect people to talk.” His shrug was entirely too casual for her.

“They think that we…” Her fingers pressed together as if to gesture them being involved. He nodded with an amused snarl.

“What’d you think people were going to say?” he asked. “People are idiots.”

Her entire face was red by the time they reached the top floor. People
were
idiots. Her and Oliver?

“You’ve heard people say that?” she asked in a worried tone. The elevator doors opened before them, and they headed down the hall.

“A few.”

Her eyes darted to him with sinking suspicion. “To your face?”

He cleared his throat and averted his gaze to stare at the ceiling tiles.

“Oliver.”

“Well, some may have suggested it to me,” he said with a roll of his shoulders. She sucked in a long steady breath.

“But you’ve told them that we aren’t, right?”

“Sure.”

“Sure is not yes,” she said through gritted teeth as he opened the door to their apartment. An excited pulse had begun to run through her body beneath the initial disgust. Her stomach soured as she accused her body of betraying her yet again. Not fair.

As they entered the penthouse, they immediately heard the loud screams and moans of lovemaking coming from Penny and Taylor’s room.

“Oh God, what is this, the hookup hotel?”  Taylor slapped a hand across his forehead.

“You said yourself that when a man and woman are sharing a room…” 

“You bloggers remind me of the time when I first started my career in editorial.  My friends and I couldn’t keep our pants on with all the hot models running around.  We paid for our immaturity, though, and my career benefited from keeping things strictly professional at all times.  It’s something I’ve yet to see from the likes of you and your colleagues.”

“Not this crap again,” Natalie rolled her eyes.  “I’m so sick of you and your judgy nonsense.  It sounds to me that you and your high and mighty
pro
photographer friends went through an
amateur
stage too.  So why do you have to shit on bloggers all the time?  What has a blogger ever done to you?”

“For one thing, a fucking blogger – excuse me, I meant a ‘vlog star’ went around with my ex for months before I finally found out about it. And he posted videos actually gloating that he was dating her because she’s a famous model.  That pencil dick piece of shit.”

“Whoa – okay calm down, Mr. Scorned Lover.”  Natalie stood squarely in front of him, with her arms across her chest.  “There are assholes in every field, but that’s no reason to blame the entire blogging world for one idiot’s mistakes.  And the situation doesn’t exactly exonerate your model ex-girlfriend either.  It takes two to tango.”

“She would’ve never have stooped so low to leave me for a blogger before,” he went on, lost in his reverie.  “She hated bloggers as much as I did.  The indies are taking over the fashion world, and she was booking fewer ads because companies favored girls with followers on social media who would practically market their products for free.  And don’t get me started on how it’s taking a toll on the editorial photography field.  Not only are the print magazines all failing, but the ones that do manage to scrape the last of the business are paying photographers less too.  Why do you think I even took this job to cover a bunch of bloggers in the city.  Because the topic
interests
me?”

“Because you’re on contract with
Alone
?”

“Not anymore.  My contract ended last year.”  He started up the stairs toward their bedroom.  Natalie followed after them.

“Is that why you started your project in the Amazon?  Because your contract has ended here?”

“Yes and no,” he said simply.

“Well… that’s a great thing!  You’re pivoting your career and that’s what everybody has to do in times of change,” she shouted after him as they crossed their way to the room door. 

Oliver sighed heavily as he entered.  “Truce time,” he announced and collapsed on their carpet near the edge of his bed. She mirrored him, but with a scowl and crossed arms. He glanced at her steely pose. “You know, when you cross your arms, you lift your breasts to attention. Did you know that?”

She unfurled her arms quickly and balled her hands into fists, resting them on her knees. His hearty laughter filled the room as her cheeks burned.

“Not funny,” she growled.

His eyebrows lifted in interest. “I never said it was. I only assumed you were trying to half-heartedly seduce me every time you did it.”

“You should be so lucky,” she muttered bitterly. “And if I were going to seduce you then you’d know.” The comment that she’d meant to come out as fiery, but instead it seemed suggestive. Her face grew redder as she pinched the bridge of her nose to stop an oncoming headache.

If he’d had a comeback, he kept in underneath his cocky grin. Instead, he grabbed a pad of paper from his desk and placed it in between them.

“Even war has rules,” he said as he wrote something on the pad. “Let’s agree to some conditions. My first is no stealing any of my equipment.”

She snorted. “Second is stop implying to people that we might be sleeping together.”

He jotted something down. “Third is no more throwing food.”

“Fourth is stop telling creeps that I’m secretly into them.”

“Fifth is stop snarling at me in public.”

She cried out in irritation. “You do that all the time!”

He gave her a pointed look. “For Oliver Bacall, a snarl is expected. Pretty little bloggers should be smiling when chatting with me, so people don’t think I’m a brute.”

    “You are a brute,” she countered.  She wondered if he said the word “pretty” sarcastically.

“I am,” he admitted. “But, we’re both working in this industry.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Both of us? I’m not an amateur anymore?”

He hesitated. “You are, but your business networking has been acceptable,” he said and then added quickly, “From afar, that is.”

A peaceful feeling washed over her. Her muscles relaxed. That was about as close as a compliment that she was going to get from him. Her nerves buzzed, and she bit her lip. Why did such a simple comment make her feel like singing in joy?

“You’re a professional,” she said slowly. “I respect that. I want us both to succeed.”

A victorious grin bloomed on his handsome face. She nearly thought about tugging the comment back, but his eyes seemed to soften by the tiniest bit.

“Agreed, Ms. Blogger. What’s our sixth rule for war?”

“Sixth,” she pondered with a thoughtful hum. Her mind kicked up.
Walk around naked all the time.
She sputtered, clearing her throat, as the image of him walking around nude popped up in her mind. First, her body. Now, her mind!