Wicked Game (5 page)

“I can’t feel my legs. I think I might be paralyzed.”

“You are going to be a handful, aren’t you?” He grabbed her hand and hauled her up and out of bed so fast she barely had time to drag the sheet with her, much less stay covered.

“There, you’re up. Do you think you can manage a shower on your own now, or do you need me to toss you in there after all?”

Her legs were wobbly, but with the help of the bedpost, she managed to stay up. Unfortunately, that set the gin in her stomach to churning, and she barely made it to the bathroom before it all came back up.

“Note to self: don’t give Pepper liquor.” She felt warm hands on her shoulders just before he dragged her hair out of the line of fire. “I’m sorry for getting you drunk.”

“I think I’ll live.” Too drained to hold her head up after the last bout, Cass lay against his thigh and waited for the world to stop spinning. After a while, she became aware of his hand gently caressing her back. To her horror, she noticed the sheet lying on the bedroom floor ten feet away. But she didn’t have enough energy to care that she was wearing nothing but a pair of blue lace panties while she puked in front of Jaime Dalton.

“I’ll call Sam and postpone that meeting.” He eased out from under her and headed for the door. “Come down when you’re ready. And Cass, I really am sorry.”

“I know,” she said, but he’d already gone. She wrapped her arms around her breasts and sat on the floor, trying not to think about the tingling sensation his hand caused. Or that despite being hungover and pukey, parts of her body had suddenly decided Jaime Dalton wasn’t such a bad person after all. Then she grabbed her own hair and forgot about Jaime Dalton altogether.

* * * *

Dear God, who would have thought that Cass Pendleton, dressed in nothing but a pair of cheeky panties, would have that kind of effect on him? Her skin was so soft, her body sleek and trim, with no tan lines that he could see. Either Cass was naturally a golden honey color, or she tanned in the nude. He stifled a groan when the image of her small but incredibly well-formed breasts taunted him.

He did not want Cassandra Pendleton! Emphatically, without a doubt the last thing on his mind was getting inside Cass Pendleton’s panties. His dick had somehow missed that memo. He knew the moment she lost the sheet he was a dead man. Following her into the bathroom had been his first mistake; his second was touching her and letting her touch him.

His thigh tingled where she’d rested her head, and he couldn’t even think about the sensation in his calf when her nipple had grazed him. Oh Lord, he couldn’t think about this. He couldn’t stay in the house knowing she was naked, helpless, and not nearly as mean as she used to be.

He stepped out into the spring air, and disregarding the storm clouds brewing on the horizon, he dove into the pool still dressed in his workout clothes. The water wasn’t frigid like it would be back home. But it wasn’t warm either, and through the shock of cold coupled with trying to break the Olympic record for number of laps, Jaime finally found some relief from his own stupidity.

Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe putting Cass on a plane back home would be for the best. She was clearly miserable here. And she hated him. He’d call Mitch up and have him void the contract, give her three months’ severance pay, and send her home. That would be the guilt-free way to go, a win-win scenario for them both.

On his fifteenth lap, he somehow talked himself out of that. Last night had been fun. More fun than he’d had in a long time. At dinner, she’d ordered a huge steak and a salad and devoured every last bite. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a meal with a woman when he didn’t feel like the poster boy for one or all of the seven deadly sins. After Mitch had left, he’d somehow convinced her to dance with him. Of course, that was after the wine, and two martinis. Cass could move with a grace he’d never imagined. Somehow, he remembered her always dressed in tutus and ballet shoes as a kid. Their paths crossed at McDonalds on the way home from after school activities on many occasions. Maybe that was why she seemed weightless against him.

Maybe she was just drunk and without her usual inhibitions, and he’d taken advantage of that. Goading her to be someone she wasn’t by pouring alcohol into her. Finally, he knew she’d had enough when she fell against him, her body slick with sweat. Her eyes were alive with a sexuality that, frankly, scared him. She would sleep with him; he knew that even before they left the club. Lord help them both if he took her up on her offer. He brought her home and left her standing in her room. He was proud of himself for his self-control. But this was Cass, not some groupie; if he’d stooped that low, well—he hadn’t stooped so low as to seduce Cass; his conscience was clear on that point at least. Of that he could be proud.

Right up until this morning when she didn’t come down for breakfast, and still wasn’t down after his run. He began to get scared. What if she’d hurt herself? Somehow, fallen out of the window, or drowned in the tub? Or alcohol poisoning? Had she had enough to drink to poison her system? How much alcohol did that even take?

He stood outside her door and started pounding on it, calling her name, making threats for nearly five whole minutes, before she shouted back. He’d been so relieved that he’d opened the door just to make sure. Thinking back, that had been his first mistake of the day, walking into her room while she laid supine, half covered by a sheet, which did little to conceal her curves.

Damn! Jaime plunged back into the water for one last lap.
Stop thinking about her, stop it, fool. Cass Pendleton is evil. She is the most hateful woman in the world. And ugly. Damn but she is hideous. She isn’t blonde or tall or model thin. And Meathead, she is smarter than you are. How about them apples?

Jaime climbed out of the pool, his inner voice apparently satisfied, his body purged of indecent thoughts of Miss Pendleton. Unfortunately, his stomach took up where his conscience left off.

“Shit,” he swore out loud. He’d somehow managed to forget that he’d fired his cook yesterday. No wonder Alicia wasn’t in the kitchen singing some catchy Cuban song. Double damn, he was supposed to send her out a check today or at least get Cass to send her one.

On top of that, he’d forgotten to call his agent, Sam, to postpone their meeting until this evening. Now it was probably too late.

He stripped out of his wet clothes and padded to the back door naked and dripping. Inside, he checked the clock—after twelve already—Sam would already be halfway here from the airport. He picked up the towel he’d left on the back of a kitchen chair, wrapped it around his nudity, and flung open the refrigerator to see if there was anything he could handle with his limited cooking skills.

There were bottles and bags of things he couldn’t identify, but the flank steak wrapped in butcher paper he could handle. Enough vegetables to make a salad filled the drawers, and with any luck, he would find potatoes in the pantry; if not, then he would just have to wing it. After three years, he was finally going to fire up the grill outside and burn something.

Maybe not having a cook was a good thing.

* * * *

“Not having a cook sucks,” Jamie told her the second she stepped into the kitchen. “Why did I fire Alicia?”

“I believe it was because she threw a sugar bowl at your head.” Cass sniffed the air, something smelled delicious, and she was amazed that after emptying her stomach, she could even stand the aroma of food. But after standing under the steam jets in the guest shower for nearly an hour, she felt great. “I’m starving. What’s to eat?”

“Don’t give me that look.” Jaime pointed the chopping knife he was using to mutilate tomatoes at her for emphasis. “That look. That one you’re giving me now, the one where you think I’m an idiot.”

“I have never thought you were an idiot, Jaime, just a jerk; there’s a big difference.” She stepped around the island and took the knife from him. “Here, those poor tomatoes are dying horrible deaths; let me take over.”

“What happened to Lord Ironman?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” She took a fresh tomato and sliced the stem end off. She vaguely remembered calling him something along those lines, just before she puked her guts up, but he didn’t need to know that. “What am I making?”

“Salad. I have steaks on the grill and potatoes in the oven. There’s a loaf of some kind of bread in the pantry, I thought we could slather butter on it or something. It’s all I know how to cook.”

“So either we muddle through, or I should hire a new cook?”

“Something like that. And after Sam leaves, I need to get Alicia a check sent out. I’m thinking three months’ salary ought to make her happy.”

“She’ll probably sell all of your secrets to the tabloids anyway.”

“She doesn’t know any of my secrets. She didn’t live here, and I didn’t bring people over. She just came in, cleaned the house, and prepared a meal or two every day.”

“Oh, she knows something, I’m sure. She most likely went through all of your stuff while you were out. She read your mail at the very least.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because that’s what I would have done; that’s what everyone does when they’re left alone in someone else’s house. Go through their stuff. Alicia knows where you’ve buried at least one body, you can bet the farm on that.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Are you still drunk?”

“Oh come on, Jaime, you are not a Pollyanna. People are people. Of course, she knows something about you that you would rather your fans didn’t find out about. That you’re gay and in love with a country music star maybe, or worse, that you’re secretly married to three different women, none of whom know the others exist, that you cheated on your taxes last year, or that you pick your nose and eat the boogers.”

“I did not cheat on my taxes.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried that you might be hiding something terrible.”

“Pepper, you talk too much. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“It’s why I went into teaching in the first place. I like the sound of my own voice. Well that, and I am addicted to the smell of chalk and white-board markers. The combination is nirvana.”

“I’m glad you cleared that up. When the cops ask why, I’ll be sure to tell them it was self-defense due to you being a chalk junkie.”

“Don’t forget those markers. They are the meth of the teaching profession.”

Thunder rumbled outside, matching the noise in her stomach. Jaime cussed under his breath and ran out to pull the grill under shelter just before the heavens opened up.

The air coming in from the screened-in patio was damp, sweet, and cool. Raindrops fell fat and heavy into the pool; palm fronds swayed in the wind just past the patio. Contentment washed over her, through her, nearly overwhelming her with its punch.

“No, no, this is not right.” The knife in her hand felt suddenly heavy, the walls began to close in. “This is only temporary. Jaime Dalton is still a jerk and is just waiting to pull your hair again, you stupid, silly woman. Tomorrow he’ll fire you, and that will be the end of that.”

The stern talking to did little to stop the surge of … of, whatever that feeling was, when she watched him battle the flames and the elements. Jaime Dalton could pose for the Ironman poster after all.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing coming from somewhere in the front of the house. It continued, becoming more insistent.

“Jaime!” she shouted from the doorway, “I think there is some sort of alarm going off. Jaime do you hear me?”

“What kind of alarm? Oh shit, it’s the front gate, Sam is here.” He raced past her and into the foyer where he spoke into a monitor on the wall near the door. A few moments later, a man dressed in khaki shorts and a rain jacket tumbled in through the front door.

“Sorry about the weather, Sam, but as they say in Miami, wait a minute and it’ll change.”

Sam wasn’t what she pictured. Of course, her only image of an intrepid sports agent was, unfortunately, Tom Cruise. Sam Copeland was, by far, no Tom Cruise.

He was more of a Tom Hanks, though, with wavy dark hair, laughing eyes, and a bit of a paunch and crow's feet. His handshake was strong when Jaime introduced her. His eyes took in every detail before he smiled.

“So this is the new assistant. No offense, Miss Pendleton, but knowing Jaime as well as I do, I expected a tall leggy blonde. Not a petite—what did you say she did?—oh yeah, kindergarten teacher.”

“Third grade, Mr. Copeland. I taught third grade.” She narrowed her eyes, aware that her hackles were raised. Beyond the fact that he didn’t listen very well, something about him was not quite right. Probably his too easy smile that said more used-car salesman than trusted businessman. “Third grade is a tricky year—multiplication, division, and cursive writing come into play.”

“Yes, but what do you know about the sports world? Cursive writing isn’t half as tricky as negotiating multimillion-dollar endorsement deals and wrangling prima donna athletes.”

“Well, Mr. Copeland, if more of your sports heroes would learn cursive writing in the first place, or any writing for that matter, then your job might not be so tricky.”

“Pepper! Down, girl. Let Sam enjoy his lunch, and then we’ll all sit down and work out how the two of you are going to work together to make my life easier.” Jaime stepped beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, easing her back into the kitchen. “Come on out to the patio, Sam, we’ll talk man things while the woman does the kitchen stuff.”

When Sam was safely on the patio, Cass found a soft spot on the underside of Jaime’s arm, and with a pinch and a twist, she walked away satisfied with his yelp of pain.

Chapter Seven

Over the course of the next few weeks, Cass fell into a routine that she grew to enjoy. Up in the morning early, to sync up with Sam and work Jaime’s publicity and endorsement schedule in with his day-job schedule.

As the summer slowly slid toward July and the imminent start of football season, he was gone more and more, leaving her alone with not as much to do as he had thought. He made good on the promise of a car. A nice, sensible Mercedes wagon. And she found the shopping area closest to the house for groceries and such. Then she found the bookstore, and her world suddenly became right again. There was so much to do that didn’t fit into Jaime’s job description to keep her busy. Such as learning to cook and filling the empty rooms in Jaime’s house with furniture.