The Striker's Chance (15 page)

Holly’s eyes silently implored him to trust her, and her fingers tightened over his. Images from the previous night flashed through his mind. The self-conscious reluctance as she’d slid her bra straps down her arms. The vulnerability in the way her lips had parted at his touch. And the sweet, rapturous surrender as she’d given herself over to their lovemaking, her body welcoming his with openness and honesty.

He sighed and squeezed her hand. “Do you promise it’s only your job you’re worried about? You’re not having doubts about the two of us?”

She shook her head earnestly. “Once the season’s over, we can tell the world for all I care. If we make it that long.”

Kepler arched a brow. “You don’t sound optimistic.”

Her smile was bitter. “When it comes to sabotaging relationships, my winning record is almost as good as yours.”

He drew back his hand after giving hers a final, reassuring squeeze. “Why is that?”

Holly bit her lip and drummed her fingertips on the ceramic mug. “I used to tell myself that I got bored, or that the guy was holding me back,” she said finally. “But to be honest, I think it was fear. As soon as a relationship starts to get serious, I feel the control slipping out of my hands and it terrifies me. So I end it before the other person can, and that means I’m never rejected. I can tell myself the fault lies with the other person, not me.” She winced. “I sound like pretty terrible girlfriend material, huh?”

“I think you sound like someone brave enough to face up to her insecurities.”

“I don’t know about brave, but the fact you’re still sitting there and haven’t bailed on me already is a good sign.”

Kepler grinned. “I like a challenge. And I play to win.”

Her lips curled into a reluctant smile. “Even when the prize is a workaholic brunette who occasionally drinks too much champagne and needs to be rescued by her own client?”

“And who’s smart and funny and beautiful to boot? I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

He remembered those words as they finished their breakfast, Holly got dressed, and he walked her out to her car. He trailed her to the driver’s side, and for a moment they stood with the open door between them, smiling but saying nothing.

“Thanks for letting me spend the night,” she said eventually, beaming up at him.

“Thanks for coming over. And don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word about us to anyone.”

Bracing herself on the door, Holly pushed up on her tiptoes to brush a kiss against his lips. “Have a good practice today. I’ll see you later.”

She dropped into the seat and he shut the door behind her, then stood back as she started the engine and pulled down the quiet street and out of sight.

Kepler made his way back to the house, pausing halfway to the front door. The spongy grass of the front lawn was dewy and cool beneath his bare feet, and the early morning air was fresh and fragrant with summer flowers. He was fit and healthy, he was paid to play the game he loved, and he was falling hard for a gorgeous, exciting woman.

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

Chapter Thirteen

“De Klerk is like a new man out there.” Sharon Gibson peered through the glass of the corporate box at Tammany Stadium. “I’ve never seen him so calm and full of energy.” She spun to shoot Holly an encouraging smile. “Whatever it is you’re doing with him, keep it up.”

“I will,” Holly replied neutrally, stepping up to the window to gaze at the man who was now her lover—and maybe, technically, her sort-of boyfriend.

She’d spent every one of the preceding five nights with Kepler. During the week they’d developed a pattern. She drove over to his house in time for dinner, which they cooked together and then ate amidst easy, comfortable conversation. After the dishes were rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher they retired to the swing on the back porch to watch the evening sky darken, curled up on the couch to watch TV or simply lingered over the kitchen table, talking and laughing until way past bedtime.

And once they went to bed, it was still a long, long time before either of them slept.

On Friday, she’d boarded the plane to Newark airport with the rest of Charlotte Discovery but made sure her exchanges with Kepler were few and overtly professional. She ended up in the seat across from and a row behind his, so she had a diagonal view of him throughout the short flight. She tried to concentrate on her laptop in preparation for her meeting with LKC Energy, but her attention kept drifting forward, staring intently at Kepler’s golden-haired head bent over a book, his expression placid even though his broad shoulders and long legs barely fit into the cramped space of the airplane seat.

The check-in process at the hotel was organized chaos, as a horde of travel-antsy athletes and their accompanying entourage jostled for room keys and luggage while firing questions about the hotel pool, breakfast hours and dinner options at the reception staff.

Having decided to hang back rather than compete with the players, by the time Holly made it to the reception desk the lobby had almost emptied of Discovery personnel. She accepted her set of key cards in its thin paper holder, slung her bag over her shoulder as she turned and nearly collided with a solid wall of muscle.

“That looks heavy,” Kepler said as he slid the strap from her shoulder. “Better let me carry it.”

“Thanks,” she said with false brightness as she cast her eyes around the lobby for any lingering players or staff members who might spot them.

“The coast is mostly clear,” he murmured as he led her to the bank of elevators and pressed the button. He plucked her key cards from her hand and slid one out, replacing it with his own before handing it back.

The elevator arrived and he punched in the two numbers for their differing floors. Then he let her bag drop as he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

Holly sank into his embrace, which in only a few days had come to be one of her most favorite places in the world.

All too soon the elevator pinged to a halt, and the doors slid open to her floor.

“The team dinner should wrap up by nine or nine-thirty,” he said as she shouldered her bag. “I’ll text you an all-clear.”

She nodded, her gaze darting up and down the hallway. Satisfied they were alone, she indulged in one final, lingering kiss before hustling out of the elevator a split second before the doors banged shut.

“He’s more of a team player than any of us expected,” Sharon commented, snapping Holly’s attention back to the present.

“What?”

“De Klerk,” Sharon clarified, swirling the white wine around in her glass. “He seemed like a lone wolf at the start of the season, but now he plays far more inclusively.”

“It’s great for us,” commented one of Sharon’s colleagues from LKC Energy’s corporate communications department. “Before he was only marketable as a goal-scorer. Now we can legitimately claim he’s turned around a failing team, which is far more attractive to potential buyers.”

“Fantastic,” Holly chirped, but her enthusiasm sounded hollow in her own ears. Down on the pitch, Discovery were holding off Tammany with one goal up on the scoreboard and less than thirty minutes left on the clock.

The corporate box reserved for the away team sponsors was far nicer than its equivalent in Charlotte, with luxurious seating, copious amounts of alcohol and a gourmet spread of appetizers that could probably fund a month’s rent on an apartment with a Central Park view. She was surrounded by PR professionals who operated at levels she’d aspired to for years, whose side conversations included names of company accounts she would’ve drooled over a few weeks earlier, who all had designer clothes and took foreign vacations and represented everything she’d been working for since leaving college.

And she’d never been more unhappy.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to run to the restroom.”

Sharon nodded absently, her attention fixed on the field. Holly plunked her wine glass on a side table and pushed through the door, heading blindly down one of the corridors that snaked through the interior of the stadium.

While the team had been preparing for that evening’s match, Holly had been at LKC Energy’s corporate headquarters in midtown Manhattan, pumping hands and smiling as she accepted compliment after compliment on what everyone referred to as “the de Klerk campaign.” She’d been introduced to the departmental top brass and taken out for a long, boozy lunch at a chic restaurant. Finally, Sharon had shown her to one of the desks in the open-plan room that boasted views of Bryant Park.

“We’re holding this one for you, for when the season ends,” she’d said. “Charlotte is looking like more of a shoo-in for the top three with every match, and de Klerk is rapidly becoming the center of a bidding war. As long as everything keeps going the way it has so far, you’ll be sitting here in a few months’ time.”

It should’ve been one of the best moments of her career, Holly thought glumly as she flashed her all-access pass and shoved through a heavy door to the general seating area at the back of the stadium. She should’ve felt giddy, triumphant, like she’d finally arrived.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Kepler.

She picked her way carefully down the concrete steps in the too-high heels she’d worn to impress her future New York colleagues. There were lots of empty seats this far back, and she gestured to one on an aisle.

“Is anyone sitting here?” she asked a man in a Discovery shirt, who had a young boy next to him.

“It’s all yours,” he replied in a warm Southern accent. “My wife was there, but she’s taken the baby back to the hotel.” He nodded to the all-access pass hanging around her neck. “Do you work for one of the teams?”

Holly nodded as she settled into the seat. “Discovery. That’s why I thought this might be a safe place to sit,” she joked, indicating the blue shirts he and his son wore.

The man laughed. “You’ve come to the right place. We’re relatively new fans, but we’re already devoted. We’ve been to see them play a couple of times in Charlotte, and when I realized that they were here in New York the same weekend as my wife’s family reunion in Long Island, I snapped up some tickets. Danny plays soccer in a local community league every weekend—” he indicated the boy, who was about eight years old, “—and it’s been great to get him exposed to the professional game right in our home town.”

Danny leaned out from behind his father, his blue eyes wide. “Do you know Killer?”

She blinked, and Danny twisted in his seat to show her that the back of his replica jersey was printed with the number nine in the center and “de Klerk” in an arc across the shoulders.

“I sure do.” She turned to Danny’s dad. “I’m his PR manager.”

Now it was the older man’s turn to widen his eyes, as Danny asked, “Do you think I could get his autograph?”

“Kepler is on par with Santa Claus in our house,” his dad informed her. “For me and Danny it’s his consistency, bravery and creativity on the pitch. For my wife, it has more to do with photos of his six-pack in some women’s magazine.” He rolled his eyes playfully.

Holly smiled and glanced down at the field. Discovery were on the attack, pushing into Tammany’s half again and again. Kepler led the charge, but he wasn’t alone anymore. Tyson circled protectively beside him, and the young players who only weeks ago would’ve timidly hung back now surged forward, ready to assist the striker who had become an unexpected uniting force on the squad.

Of course it felt great to see the results of her campaign so perfectly illustrated in these Discovery fans. But at the same time, she knew she wasn’t the mastermind of artifice that Sharon Gibson, Alan Brady and the whole LKC Energy PR team thought she was. Kepler had always been an innately heroic, inspiring and unifying player. She’d just let people know about it.

“I can take you down to the tunnel when the match ends,” Holly assured Danny. “We’ll get that autograph.”

* * *

Kepler walked off the pitch with a throbbing hamstring, an ache in his shoulder where he’d blocked a tackle and the lightest step he’d had in months.

Discovery had not only defeated the mighty New York Tammany, they’d solidified their victory with a second goal in the last ten minutes.

And for once, Kepler hadn’t been the one to score it.

Sure, he’d set it up and provided a crucial assist, but it was Tyson who launched the ball into the net, sending the few blue-shirted fans scattered around the stadium leaping to their feet and shouting his name. The young forward’s grin hadn’t faded since, and as they made their way through the tunnel Kepler watched with a sense of pride as his teammate humbly accepted high fives, pats on the back and enthusiastic congratulations from the Discovery staff that lined the walls.

If Kepler’s body could withstand one more season, he saw no reason why Discovery couldn’t go all the way to become league champions.

A familiar voice called his name, and he turned with a ready smile, momentarily forgetting that they weren’t supposed to be anything more than colleagues.

In fact, they’d become so much more over the last week that at times he could barely believe it had only been a few days since Holly had turned up on his doorstep.

None of it had been particularly glamorous or adventurous. They hadn’t gone out to fancy restaurants, he hadn’t plied her with champagne and expensive jewelry, and neither of them had worn anything more formal than jeans and T-shirts.

For a man who had met most of his sexual conquests in crowded nightclubs where the darkness was only occasionally punctured by strobe lights, these low-key encounters were welcome and exciting.

He savored every minute he got with her, and he certainly didn’t miss the distractions of the outside world when they were together. She made him laugh, she made him think, she stripped him down and laid him bare. And when they slid between the sheets, he found a release within her body so intense and all-consuming that it shocked him every time.

He didn’t have the courage to say it to her just yet, but she made him happier than he’d ever been before. So happy, in fact, that he thought he might be falling in love with her.

Holly was standing beside a middle-aged man, her hands on the shoulders of a sandy-haired boy who gaped up at him as he ducked out of the procession of his teammates to join them.

“Kepler, this is Danny and his dad, Jim. They’re up from Charlotte, where Danny plays in a weekend league. He’s a big fan.”

“I see.” Kepler smiled down at the star-struck young man. “And what position do you play on your team?”

“Midfield,” the boy whispered.

“That’s one of the most important positions on the pitch. We strikers couldn’t do our job without good support from the midfield.”

Danny nodded, his eyes like saucers.

Jim stuck out his hand and gave Kepler’s a firm shake. “Thank you so much for taking the time to say hello to us. It means an awful lot. You’ve really inspired Danny here to get into soccer. Go on, show him your shirt,” he prompted, and as the boy turned around he added in a low voice, “We had some issues with bullying on his baseball team, and I thought I’d never get him back into a team sport. Now he’s absolutely thriving. We watch you play every week.”

Kepler blinked in surprise and managed to gather himself just in time to be appropriately enthusiastic about Danny’s jersey matching his own. In the back of his mind, though, he was reeling. He’d certainly enjoyed his share of fan worship at Archway, but it was usually in the form of drunken Englishmen on the street delighted with a win or a particular goal.

But inspiring? That had been reserved for the handful of British players that had emerged from poor backgrounds, not the middle-class South African with an aggressive nickname and an unfortunate reputation.

“I’m flattered,” he said honestly, looking to Holly for help as he was suddenly lost for words.

“The merch guy gave us a shirt for you to sign, if that’s okay?” she asked. “Then we’ll let you go, you must be exhausted.”

“Sure,” he replied dumbly, accepting the T-shirt and thick black marker. He signed his name, adding his jersey number and the date, and handed it to Danny, who held the cotton shirt as if it were made of priceless crystal.

“Thank you again,” Jim effused, but Kepler dismissed his gratitude with a shake of his head.

“Thank you for coming out to support us. And keep working on those midfielding skills, Danny. Maybe we’ll see you starting for Discovery in a few years.”

“I need to grab Kepler for a second, but security will point the way back out,” Holly instructed. After a few more thank-yous thrown in for good measure, Jim ushered Danny to the door, the boy still clutching the T-shirt to his chest.

“This way.” She gestured Kepler behind a stretch of wall that supported the angle where the tunnel opened onto the pitch.

“Let me guess, is this where the camera crew was secretly filming that whole encounter?”

She shook her head. “No camera crew, no photo op. Just a good deed, plain and simple.”

“I’m happy to do that sort of thing more often, if you think—”

The words died in his throat as Holly fisted her hand in the front of his shirt and pulled him in tightly, then planted a hot, lingering kiss on his unsuspecting mouth.