The Perfect Play (2 page)

“Yes.”

She stopped in front of him, and she smelled so damn good—like spring and cookies or something—that he was embarrassed, because he sure as hell didn’t smell like anything appealing.

“Take a right turn, then at the first hallway go left. You’ll find the elevators. Punch the button for the top floor. When you get off, turn left again and go to the end of the hall. The main office is there.”

She studied him, then gave him a wide smile. “You’re my hero. I was afraid I was going to be lost down here forever and I’d never get these contracts signed. I have to run. Thank you!”

She turned and practically sprinted down the hall, though how she could run on those shoes was something he’d never understand about women.

She sure was beautiful, but not in the way he was used to. She wasn’t overly made up, so her beauty was natural. She wasn’t the kind of woman he usually went for. Maybe that’s what he liked about her.

And he hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself. Or get her name.

Too bad, because he could have sworn there’d been a spark between them.

Then again, it might have just been his imagination. He could just need a slap of cold water to lower his body temperature. Too much heat today.

He went back inside, grabbed the towel, and headed for the shower.

 

 

AS KICK-ASS EVENTS WENT, TARA LINCOLN THOUGHT this one might be the best she’d ever put together. And it damn well better be, because it could generate more work for her, and The Right Touch needed all the business it could get.

Event planning the team summer party for the San Francisco Sabers had been a stroke of luck. The owner’s assistant had gotten her card from the usual team planner, who was booked solid on the date they wanted to have the party.

It had taken four months of nearly nonstop work, but as Tara took another turn around the ballroom, she nodded in satisfaction. They’d pulled it off. From the glittery yet understated NFL team decorations to the amazing food to the bar setup to the incredible band, it was perfect, and everyone seemed to be having a great time.

Tara mingled, earpiece tucked unobtrusively in her ear so she was only seconds away from hearing about a disaster, answering any questions, or getting help if someone needed it. So far, all the crises had been minor ones. She monitored bar stock, checked with catering to be sure the food was hot and plentiful, and meandered in and around the crowds. No one complained, and the smiling faces all around her told her everyone was focused on what they should be focused on—football and having a good time—which meant she could take a step back and simply observe.

The band was kicking, the crowd was thick on the dance floor, media was in attendance taking pictures of the star players, coaches were giving interviews, and for the first time that night, Tara exhaled as she leaned against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that showcased the beautiful city.

“Why aren’t you out there dancing?”

She lifted her gaze to the six and a half foot hunk of gorgeous man in a tux who’d stepped up in front of her. Black hair, striking blue eyes: she knew exactly who he was—Mick Riley, San Francisco’s star quarterback, and her savior from earlier today. She’d been so rattled after having gotten lost in the basement of the team’s practice facility that it hadn’t even registered who he was until the elevator had taken her to the top floor. Okay, not just rattled, but a little tongue-tied. Who wouldn’t be when faced with a shirtless, sweaty, gorgeous hunk of muscle? God’s gift to women. Good Lord, he’d looked sexy. Unfortunately, all she could do at the time was ask for directions.

Idiot.

But then her synapses had fired, and she’d realized who she’d been talking to.

Mick Riley.
The
Mick Riley. Everyone who lived here knew who he was. Everyone who watched football knew him, too, no matter where they lived. His endorsement contracts put him on every television in America, and probably overseas, too, hawking a variety of products from deodorant to power tools. He was an icon, the all-American success story. And damn fine looking, too.

“We met earlier today,” he said.

“Yes, we did. And thank you again for the directions to the office.”

“You’re welcome. So, you’re a guest here tonight?”

She offered up a smile. “No. I’m not a guest.”

He arched a brow. “Party crasher, huh?”

She laughed. “No, I’m the event planner.”

“Is that right? You did a good job.”

Oh, man, she was getting warm all over. “Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”

“Not that I know a damn thing about throwing a fancy party, but I like to eat, and the food was good. There’s plenty of name-brand booze behind the bar, and the band is kick-ass.”

Okay, her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “Thank you again.”

Now if he would only say all those things to Irvin Stokes, the owner of the team. That would go a long way toward cementing her future.

“How late do you have to work?”

She tilted her head back and frowned. Was he hitting on her? She scanned the crowd, going blind from all the stunning female beauty in the room, many of whom had their gazes trained on Mick. Surely Tara was just misjudging his politeness for something else.

“I stay until the last person goes home.”

He laughed, and the dark husky tone skittered down her spine. “Honey, you could be up all night, then. These guys know how to close down a party.”

That’s what she expected, why she’d told the hotel they’d want the room for the entire night and guaranteed overtime for the band and extra staff for catering and the bar. “I do what needs to be done.”

“And you look fine doing it. How come you’re not wearing one of those butler outfits or a white apron?”

“I’m just the event planner. Everyone else does the real work.”

“So you get to dress up, supervise, make sure every play goes off without a fumble.”

“Something like that.”

“And look good in case someone wants to talk to you about booking a party.”

“Perceptive, aren’t you.”

“And they say football players are dumb.”

She liked this guy. He was funny and smart, but she still didn’t understand why he was talking to the help when the cream of the crop was here.

“I should probably move on,” she said.

“Someone beeping you in your earpiece or screaming for help?”

“Well ... no.”

He scanned the ballroom. “Something on fire somewhere or some high-strung chef in need of a Valium?”

Her lips quirked. “No.”

He moved toward her and took her hand, then slipped her arm in his. “Then you don’t really have to move on, do you?”

“I guess not.”

“Good. I’m Mick Riley.”

“Tara Lincoln.”

“Nice to meet you, Tara Lincoln.” He walked her away from the crowd, outside the ballroom.

“I really should ...”

“You have communication central in your ear. If something comes up, someone will holler. And your job is to make sure your guests are happy, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a guest, and I’d like to get the hell out of this ballroom and talk to you. Which means you’re doing your job in making sure I’m happy.”

True enough, though for some reason she felt like she’d just been blindsided by a lineman.

And now who was thinking in football terms?

He sat her down on one of the cushioned benches in the outer lobby area beyond the ballroom. She had to admit it was blissfully quiet away from the noise of the party. And oh, what she wouldn’t give to be able to slip out of her heels for just a few minutes. But looking fashionable was required, even if it hurt. “Why aren’t you inside partying it up with your teammates?”

He shrugged. “Needed a break.”

“You needed a break from that awesome party I put together?”

“Your party is fine,” he said, leaning back and resting his arm over the back of the bench. “I’m just not a party kind of guy. Standing around making small talk just isn’t my thing.”

“And yet I see you in magazines at nearly every big event in New York and Los Angeles and here in San Francisco. Right in the center of it all, usually with some gorgeous woman right next to you.”

His lips quirked in a devastatingly sexy smile that made her belly quiver. “That’s just PR, honey.”

“Uh-huh. That’s not what the tabloids say.”

She felt his arm brush against her back. Very disconcerting.

“Don’t tell me you buy into those rags.”

“Don’t tell me all those women you’ve been hanging out with for the past ten years have been just arm candy and nothing more.”

“Okay, you’ve got me there. But I’ve never been seriously involved with any of them.”

“So you’re saying you’re a man whore?”

He choked out a laugh. “Wow. You don’t hold back, do you?”

She smiled at him. “Just call them as I see them.”

“Don’t believe everything you see on TV and read in the magazines. That’s not who I am.”

“Really. And who are you?”

“Hang out with me after this is over, and you can find out.”

He was definitely hitting on her. No doubt about it. And she had no clue why. But admittedly, it felt good. Star quarterback, fine-looking, and it had been a long time since a man paid attention to her. Plus there were some stunning women inside that ballroom, and for some reason he’d chosen her. Her ego had just climbed a few rungs up the ladder. Okay, maybe it had climbed to the top of the ladder.

Nothing was going to come of it, of course, but she was going to bask in his attention for just a few moments longer.

“I don’t get it, Mick. Why me?”

“Because you’re real.”

“And all those women inside the ballroom aren’t?”

He grinned. “Pretty much, yeah. But it’ll be time for me to get back to some serious work soon. And what better way to end my time off than with a woman who’s honest and not a game player.”

“You had a great last season. Congratulations. But I can’t imagine you wouldn’t enjoy your off season by basking in the glory of a beautiful actress or model or someone to help you relax.”

“Thanks. We did have a kick-ass season. And I have a top-notch agent who likes to toss these cover models and whoever’s the current hot actress at me. Good for my image, ya know.”

She leaned back to study him. “Yes, I can see how that would put you front and center in the entertainment news. And maybe get more people coming to your games.”

“Exactly. But it’s tiresome. And maybe once I’d just like to be with someone who isn’t—”

“Famous? Connected? Isn’t going to drag you onto the cover of the tabloids?”

He laughed. “Something like that. Someone I can just talk to, have a real conversation with. Be with because she just wants to be with me, not because it’s good for her career.”

She’d always envied people like Mick Riley and the women on his arm. Maybe she shouldn’t have. “It doesn’t sound like you’re having much fun.”

“Oh, on the field I have a lot of fun. Off the field ...”

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that much of a hardship having to be with all those beautiful women.”

His chest rose when he inhaled, and Tara wished he wasn’t wearing that tux. She watched all of the Sabers games. In his uniform, Mick was something to behold. He had an amazing athlete’s body. This afternoon when she’d run into him in the locker room? Wow. She didn’t know they made bodies that sculpted. She had to admit she wouldn’t mind a closer inspection. Did that make her shallow?

Probably.

“Most people don’t understand why I’d complain about dating the model who was on the cover of
Sports Illustrated
, or a popular actress without a single flaw. Sometimes I wonder about it myself.”

“It’s not always about looks. Granted, physical attraction is what gets you in the door. But there has to be something beyond that to want to keep you there.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You understand.”

“Of course. I like a good-looking man as much as any woman does. But there has to be some substance beyond just his great looks. Something that keeps me coming back for more. Otherwise you’re left feeling empty.”

“I don’t have these kinds of conversations with the women I meet.”

“Have you tried?”

“You mean do I try to talk to them beyond just having sex with them?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I do. We don’t get very far. They’re more interested in talking about themselves and their careers. It isn’t too long before I’m bored and out the door.”

She smiled at him. “Maybe you’re just not meeting the right woman.”

“Probably because I’ve never looked for her.” He stood, held out his hand. “Let’s go dance.”

A rush of panic hit her. “Oh, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Again, because I’m working.”

“Bullshit.” He tugged her along, and she went helplessly as he opened the door and led her back into the ballroom, through the crowds, and onto the dance floor. He pulled her against him, slid his arm around her back, and drew her close.

How timely. A slow song. The lights had dimmed, and couples were pressed intimately against each other. She cringed, certain she was the center of attention, but when she took a quick glance around, no one seemed to be looking at them. Maybe it wasn’t unusual for Mick to grab random women and dance with them. She prayed the media was off interviewing someone else or taking pictures of Katrina Strauss, the latest Hollywood It Girl. Maybe she was safe from the cameras at least.

But Tara was certain any moment someone from management was going to drag her off the dance floor and fire her. She tried to search the ballroom for Mr. Stokes or his assistant or anyone else on his staff, but the dance floor was too crowded.

“Hey, would you relax?”