The Striker's Chance (11 page)

Seeing him interact with the children made her wonder how much of his arrogant, demanding side was a defense mechanism. So many people in the world of professional sports were constantly trying to make decisions about his career without involving him. Maybe it was his way of wresting back some control over his fate.

Maybe no one ever listened, and so he started shouting.

And that thought made Holly feel even worse about what she planned to do next. She pulled her phone from her purse, opened a new email message and typed hastily in order to send it off before Kepler returned.

To:
Sharon Gibson

From:
Holly Taylor

Subject:
Game on Saturday

Hi Sharon
,

Just wrapped the school photo shoot
,
couldn’t have gone better.
Chronicle
coverage should be major coup for national image.

K
limped badly all afternoon.
Insists he’s fine
,
but I think he should skip Saturday match.
Away game
,
little local interest
,
not a big team
,
plus gives some distance after Barstow incident and before
Chronicle
article.
Worst case scenario would be injury in St.
Louis and then to miss next week when
Chronicle
goes to press.

I
will tell Sven to put him on injury list for Sat.
This is just FYI.

Hope all well in NYC.

Holly

Kepler was making his way back to her, wearing his trademark charming grin. As the late-afternoon sun spilled over him, bringing out all the different hues in his wheat-colored hair and illuminating normally invisible facets in his dark eyes, Holly thought he might be the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. And she was starting to believe he had the heart to match.

So she hated herself that much more when she hit Send.

Chapter Ten

It was Saturday night. Holly was at a VIP table in an exclusive club, wearing a brand new dress. She’d just washed down an expensive meal with several glasses of champagne.

And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so miserable.

No, wait—yes she could. This time last year, when her sister had thrown an enormous birthday party at her house in Ballantyne. Holly had scrambled to find a date for the party, and he only lasted about an hour before he snuck off to pursue one of Gina’s very beautiful and very married friends. Holly drank too much, made out with a member of the catering staff and spent the taxi ride home drunkenly weeping off all her mascara.

Gina had declared ladies-only festivities this year, and as much as she’d initially been grateful for the absence of tempting party waiters, as Holly glanced around the group of giggling, glamorous women, her all-too-familiar sense of inferiority reared its ugly head.

“And then I had to call the cable company again,” Gina was saying, wrapping up a long and tedious story. “They said it would be three days before they could fix it. Three days! So I said to the guy, what do you expect me to do for entertainment for three days?”

Gina’s friends all nodded their agreement, hanging on for the story’s exciting climax. Holly must have had slightly more champagne than she’d calculated, because she blurted, “Read a book?”

Gina’s heavily made-up face barely registered her younger sister’s snarky comment, and she pressed ahead with her tale. Holly rolled her eyes and refilled her glass from the bottle on the table.

When the anecdote had been relayed and Gina had her fill of basking in the attendant laughter, she zeroed in on her friend Kirsty. Holly liked Kirsty—not the sharpest tool in the shed, but sweeter and less self-obsessed than the rest of Gina’s group of friends.

“How’s the manhunt these days?” Gina asked. Unlike Kirsty, most of the women present had husbands or serious boyfriends, yet that never seemed to stop them from holding long and detailed conversations about who in the vicinity might or might not qualify as eye candy.

“Same old,” Kirsty said good naturedly. “I’ve finally given in and created an online dating profile.”

“You can’t do that.” Gina was aghast. “Only freaks and losers do online dating. Let’s find you someone tonight.” She clapped her hands together.

“This place is packed full of hotties,” another friend chimed in. “Who would be a good match for Kirsty?”

“Over there.” Gina pointed toward the bar. “Look at the body on that one. Kirsty, go talk to him.”

“I can’t.” Kirsty giggled in a way that implied she most certainly could.

“I’ll be right back.” Holly extricated herself from the velvet-roped VIP area. She tottered as she made her way through the writhing crowd to the restroom, but decided that was just the three-inch heels. She wasn’t that tipsy, not really.

The brightly lit bathroom seemed glaring and harsh after the dark lounge. She washed her hands, fluffed her hair, freshened her lip gloss and then stared at herself in the mirror.

Why couldn’t she relax and have a good time? So Gina’s approach to life was the opposite of hers—what of it? It was her sister’s birthday, and she was entitled to have a good time. The champagne was flowing, the music was pumping, and everyone else in this club was having a great night.

“It wouldn’t kill you to let go for one night,” Holly reproached her reflection. “You don’t have to be so above everything all the time. Get over yourself.”

Two girls staggered in, chatting noisily, and she squeezed past them and plunged back into the noise and press of the Saturday night revelers. The heavy beat vibrated through her body and she squared her shoulders, willing herself to have fun.

As she approached the table, Gina spotted her and gestured for her to hurry up.

“Look what we found!”

Holly rounded the velvet rope and a man half stood to slide down the faux leather-upholstered seat to give her space. She glanced up at him and her mouth dropped open.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was invited.”

“Holly, this is Kyle,” Kirsty explained from her place across the table as Holly sat beside him. “He’s from England. Or was it Australia?”

“Still playing the name game, I see,” she murmured irritably. Any positivity from her little bathroom pep talk was a distant memory. This night couldn’t get any worse.

“No, she’s just forgotten it already,” Kepler replied coolly.

Gina’s eyes darted between the two of them. “You know him?”

“Remember I told you I was working with a soccer player? This is him. Although I can’t be doing that great a job if none of you recognized him,” Holly concluded miserably.

“Holly is the best PR manager I’ve ever had,” he said, turning back to her. “Hello, by the way.”

“Isn’t everyone in St. Louis? Did you come here by yourself?”

“Yes, and yes. And as pissed off as I still am about being inexplicably put on the injury list, I thought it was a good win this afternoon. Good enough to merit a drink or two. Plus I need to make friends in this city somehow, don’t I?”

“I guess,” she grumbled, feeling absurdly jealous of all of these so-called friends that didn’t even exist yet.

“So, Kyle,” Gina interjected, clearly annoyed she wasn’t the center of their attention. “What’s it like being a professional athlete?”

Kepler looked up as if seeing her for the first time, and his face relaxed into a smile. “You must be Holly’s sister.”

Holly’s heart sank so heavily that she was suddenly on the verge of tears. She should’ve known Kepler would be just another one in the long line of guys who never looked at her again after they met Gina, the upgraded, more fun version of herself. They had the same dark hair, except Gina’s was thicker, shinier and cut by a more expensive stylist. Their matching blue eyes sat less strikingly in her face, which was elegantly gaunt and much less round than Holly’s. And her boobs—Holly couldn’t bear to think about them, particularly as tonight they were spilling halfway out of her dress.

“Oh, that’s so sweet that she told you about me,” Gina cooed. “We’ve always been super close.”

“So I hear.” Kepler leaned against the seat and slung his arm over the back so it extended behind Holly. The bunched cloth where he’d rolled his sleeve up on his forearm brushed against the nape of her neck.

“And how long have you been in America, Kyle?” Gina asked, taking a dainty sip of champagne. Holly leaned forward and splashed more into her own glass, then threw back half of it.

“It’s Kepler,” he corrected. Gina’s expression was puzzled, and he repeated, “My name is Kepler,” a little more loudly.

“Right, whatever.” Gina turned to Kirsty. “Well?” she whispered in a voice more than loud enough for everyone to hear. “Aren’t you going to make your move?”

Kirsty looked at Kepler like a gazelle might size up a lion. Holly drained her glass and poured another. Maybe she should call a taxi now and let the rest of this bizarre mating ritual finish without her.

When she put her glass down after another big gulp of champagne, Kepler was watching her.

“What?” she demanded.

“Do you want to have a go on the dance floor?”

Holly blinked. “What?” she repeated with less hostility and more confusion.

“You heard me.”

“I never pegged you for a dancer.”

Kepler smirked and took her elbow. “Follow me.”

As soon as she stood, Holly realized that her teetering wasn’t just from her heels. She’d drunk too much. Her head spun and her stomach lurched, but she also felt remarkably light and happy.

What was it she’d said to herself in the bathroom? It wouldn’t kill her to let go.

He guided her across the room but bypassed the dance floor and led her into a little alcove between the bar and the hallway to the restrooms.

“I thought we were dancing?”

“I only dance at weddings, and even then only after many, many drinks.” He smiled.

She frowned. “So what are we doing?”

“I thought you wanted to get away from those women. We can go back if you’d prefer.”

“No,” Holly said too quickly, too forcefully. She took a deep, steadying breath. “No, I don’t. It’s my sister’s birthday, that’s why I’m here. Otherwise this is basically the opposite of my scene.”

Kepler quirked a brow, and she realized that, since he’d come here of his own accord, she’d essentially insulted his taste in nightlife.

“I didn’t mean—I mean, I’m just not a club kind of girl. There’s nothing wrong with them though.”

To her relief, he laughed. “That’s fair enough. I have to say, I’m not that impressed so far. One of the guys on the team told me this was a fun spot for a Saturday night, so here I am.” He shrugged.

She wobbled on her heels and put her palms flat against the wall behind her, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She felt warm and tingly all over, and the longer she gazed up into Kepler’s face, the more beautiful it seemed. The broad, high forehead, the ever-twinkling eyes, that rakish, playful smile...

“So what is your scene?” he was asking when she blinked back to reality.

“What? Oh, my scene. Um—” Her thoughts were coming too fast and too slow all at once. Her mind rushed with ideas and emotions, but it took a long time to slot them into words. “Well, I like hanging out with my friends. Having barbecues, low-key house parties, going for hikes, that kind of thing.”

He looked at her curiously, and she wondered if she’d said something weird without realizing it.

Someone brushed past them and Kepler moved in to make room. Close enough for her to smell now, that cedarwood and citrus scent as intoxicating as it was masculine. He wore jeans in a dark denim and a light blue collared shirt made out of some incredibly fine weave.

She had to touch it. To touch him.

She ran her hand down his chest and tugged on the tail of his shirt, pulling him closer.

Just let go, she told herself. Let go.

Kepler had hunger in his eyes as he gazed down at her. The wall was cool at her back with the hard, solid heat of his body against her front. She reached up to stroke his freshly shaven cheek. Then she rose on her tiptoes and put her mouth on his.

He responded with the confident pressure that was so familiar and yet so longed for, and she shuddered with a mixture of need and fulfillment. His hands moved to her waist as if they belonged there, and she crossed her wrists behind his neck as though she could keep him kissing her forever.

They’d barely eased into a rhythm when he pulled back.

“You taste like champagne,” he growled.

“I bet.” She smiled coyly and leaned into him, but he put even more distance between them.

“Holly, you’re drunk. I think I should take you home.”

Anger flashed through her with such sudden intensity that she swayed on her feet. “I am not. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Her emotions swung violently in the opposite direction as a horrifying thought smacked her full in the face. “Is this because of my sister?” she asked, ruing the tremble in her voice but unable to control it. “Is it because she’s so much prettier than me?”

Paralyzed by fear and anxiety, she stared at him, waiting for his response. She didn’t know how she would carry on if he said yes, how she could ever look at him again if she knew that he’d only liked her until he met someone better.

Kepler cupped her chin in his big hand, and the gentleness with which his thumb swept over her cheekbone belied the steel in his voice.

“I’m going to choose not to be insulted by the implication that piles of makeup and a low-cut top are all it takes to turn my head. But I don’t want to hear talk like that from you ever again. Is that clear?”

Holly nodded dumbly, too shocked to take in the full meaning of his words. His eyes searched hers, his forehead creased with unspoken intent.

Finally he sighed. “I would love nothing more than to stand here and kiss you senseless. But you’ve had too much to drink, doll, and you’re not making good choices. Come now, I’ll give you a lift home.”

“But I can’t leave now,” Holly protested, struggling to process this sudden change in plans. “What about my sister? And where’s my bag?”

“Your bag’s on your shoulder. And your sister’s disappeared onto the dance floor, probably hoping to impress me with her moves.”

Then his arm was around her bare shoulders, and he held her against his side as they made their way out of the club and into the humid night air.

“This is your car?” Holly asked in surprise as Kepler unlocked the door of a brand new but decidedly rugged Jeep Wrangler.

“What did you expect?” he asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat beside her.

“I don’t know. Something flashier, I guess. Like a luxury SUV.”

He wrinkled his nose as he started the engine and put the car into gear. “Not really my style. Now, where to?”

She gave him directions to her house and lay back against the seat. The interior of the car seemed to be spinning around her. Her feet ached, her head throbbed and her stomach threatened to reintroduce her to her fancy dinner. But Kepler was a calming presence beside her, his hands sure and strong as he steered the car through the quiet streets.

She let her eyes fall shut. Right now this felt like the safest place in the world.

* * *

Kepler surveyed the street while Holly fumbled with the key to the front door. It reminded him of the neighborhood where he’d grown up and where his parents still lived. Small but proudly kept houses on immaculate lots with sturdy, reliable vehicles parked on the driveways. He imagined the people behind the darkened windows tended toward hard-working but not rich, who voted in local elections and ferried their kids to sports practices and observed strict rules about vegetables and bedtimes.

Suddenly his million-dollar house in Myers Park seemed like an atrocious, frivolous waste of money.

“Got it,” Holly declared and pushed open the front door. She staggered inside, flicking on lights as she went, but Kepler lingered in the doorway. Keen as he was to spend more time with her and assure himself she would be all right, it felt somehow ungentlemanly and inappropriate to barge into her home when she was in a compromised state.