Page 2 of Game On

She said nothing, continuing to stare at him, her full lips forming a brief, patronizing grin. Shifting in his chair, his gaze zeroed in on her smile, and he couldn’t help wondering what her mouth might taste like. Forcing his eyes up, he noticed the constellation of freckles crossing her nose. His perusal stopped as his eyes met hers, still incredibly blue, but with a slight twinkle that Shane hoped wasn’t a result of the bar lights. Other than a slight lift of her brow, her face revealed nothing.

“And you are?” he persisted, trying to remember if he’d heard her speaking English at any time this weekend.

“Allergic to jocks.” A hint of an accent wove through her crisp voice.

Shane bit back a grin, finally relaxing in his chair. So she knew who he was and decided to play hard to get. The game just got a lot more interesting. Maybe not as easy as he’d like, but he lived for a challenge. Besides, this was a lot more fun than waiting on his phone to ring back in his room. Why not stay and chat her up, seeing as how she’d shot him down all weekend.

“How ’bout I just call you Dorothy?”

Both eyebrows arched in question. Shane nodded toward the ever-present cell phone lying on the table. She laughed softly and he felt it all the way to his groin. Leaning forward, she rested her arms on the table, giving him an excellent view of a silver chain dangling between two pert breasts. A dusting of perspiration glistened on her skin, courtesy of the humid evening. Her breasts were no rival to the silicone boobs adorning the models circulating the bar, but he didn’t care. Suddenly, he wanted them in his hands. In his mouth. Whoa there, buddy! Just killing time, here. Harmless flirting and nothing more, he reminded himself.

“So, what is it you want tonight, Mr. Devlin?” She lifted her margarita glass to her mouth, flicking a piece of salt with her tongue. The simple action made him hard.

What did he want? Apparently, if he was listening to the plays his body was calling, he wanted her. But he’d be damned if he could figure out why. She was nothing like the women he normally found attractive. Nonetheless, she’d captivated his attention since he’d first laid eyes on her lounging beside the pool. Surrounded by a bevy of enhanced female perfection, she somehow stood out from the models. She was real.

Shane wasn’t sure how to handle real.

His entire life, people had been sucking up to him, first to meet his famous father, then to meet him. It was one of the reasons he kept to himself. He trusted no one. Sure, he could turn on the public persona when his contract called for it, but for the most part, Shane was a private man. The women he got involved with knew the rules up front. They used him for publicity and he used them for sex. Simple. Or at least it had been up until recently.

Perhaps Dorothy’s unpretentiousness attracted him. He couldn’t say. All he knew was he was enjoying himself for the first time in many weeks. Nothing could come of it. He had a score to settle, a team to pursue, and records to break. His game plan didn’t allow for the strong attraction he immediately felt for a strange woman in a bar.

“I just thought we could get to know each other better.” The line sounded corny even to him. He was definitely rusty in the flirtation department. And she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. In spite of that, Shane felt a slow smile spread across his face.

Rolling her eyes at his adolescent attempt, she fiddled with a strand of hair and leaned back against the chair.

“You jocks are all alike.” She fingered the chain around her neck. Shane took a slow breath. The gesture was more erotic than her licking the ice off her glass. “You think any woman will be flattered by your attention.”

“You could flatter me with a little of yours.”

His lines were bordering on pathetic, but at least she didn’t break out in hysterics. He thought he saw the beginnings of a real smile, but before she could say anything, the fashion designer and photographer returned to the table. The designer’s eyes went wide as she noticed him sitting there. The photographer recognized Shane immediately.

“Hey, you two do know each . . .” Before he could finish his sentence, Dorothy grabbed Shane’s arm, yanking him up from the table.

“Let’s dance.” Her warm fingers manacled his wrist as she dragged him to the other side of the bar.

She didn’t have to ask him twice. As luck would have it, the jazz trio was playing a cover of a John Mayer ballad, allowing Shane to gather her close. So close he detected the citrus scent of her shampoo. She smelled good enough to eat. Her soft, bare arms glowed beneath the twinkling patio lights. He stifled a groan as her hips swayed against his groin.

“Aren’t you afraid of an allergic reaction?” he teased. She shivered as his breath brushed her neck. He took it as an invitation to lean in closer and trace his lips along the shell of her ear.

“I’ll risk it.” Dorothy breathed against his chest.

Carly March looked behind the gorgeous hunk of athlete she’d dragged to the dance floor to where her friend Julianne Marchione was waving frantically at her.

What are you doing? Julianne mouthed.

Good question, Carly thought to herself as she stepped into Shane Devlin’s arms. What was she doing? She knew she shouldn’t be touching him, much less dancing with him. But Marco had almost blown it back at the table and could have let it slip who she was. She didn’t think about the consequences before rushing off with Shane. Clearly, the testosterone oozing out of his pores was wreaking havoc on her normally solid common sense. That and a weekend spent Googling everything ever written about him. Carly had stared at his photo so many times in the last few days, she dreamt about him at night. Now her dreams had become reality. And the real thing was oh so much better. She shivered as his mouth grazed her ear. Oh God, she needed to keep a hold of her senses and remember who she worked for.

Shane Devlin was no random stranger at a resort. Anyone who followed sports knew he was an out-of-work NFL quarterback looking for a team to play for. Up until a day or two ago, his prospects had looked bleak. But then, Gabe Harrelson, the record-breaking young quarterback for the Baltimore Blaze, broke a hip and a femur hang-gliding in Australia. As assistant to the team’s general manager, Carly knew Shane occupied a spot on the team’s short list for replacing Harrelson.

The search for a replacement quarterback had encroached on her getaway since the day she arrived at the beach resort. She’d tagged along with her best friend, Julianne, to rest and relax for a few days during the team’s off-season. Instead, the only surfing she’d done was on the Internet. The dossier she’d compiled about Shane Devlin could fill a tabloid magazine. In fact, that’s where she’d gotten most of her background on him. His play off the field was as notorious as his play on the field. Despite the fact that most of the reports about his behavior outside of football looked to her to be rumor and innuendo, she didn’t think Blaze management would see it that way. Hank Osbourne, the team’s general manager, was a stickler about his players being role models for the fans. If you played for the Blaze, you must be above reproach. The same could be said for those who worked for the team.

Earlier in the day, Carly made a strong case to management via a conference call that the exploits reported by the media of Shane’s “extracurricular behavior” had been greatly exaggerated. One woman’s claim that he was the father of her child had been easily refuted a few weeks later with DNA testing, but the stigma of his playboy reputation still lingered. A more recent claim by a San Diego Charger’s employee that Shane had sexually intimidated her was never substantiated. However, the stink associated with both incidents was a red flag for Blaze management.

The tabloid press was notorious for blowing things out of proportion—Carly knew this firsthand. They even turn on their own. She felt a kinship for anyone crucified by the paparazzi, and it was one of the reasons Carly felt she needed to defend Shane against the sensational articles. Heck, she’d stuck her neck out for Shane this morning. The same neck his lips were skimming over right now. Oh, this was not good. It’s just a dance, she told herself as he moved her slowly around the patio. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t listening to what her brain was saying as she pressed dangerously closer.

The photos on the Internet didn’t do him justice. He wasn’t glamour-boy gorgeous, but his dark, intense looks definitely drew the attention of most of the women at the resort. And when he’d smiled at her a few minutes earlier, she’d been lucky to be sitting because she was sure her legs had turned to jelly. Unlike most of the men at the bar, he had eschewed the resort uniform of khaki shorts and a golf shirt. Instead, he was dressed in a pair of well-worn jean shorts, flip-flops, and a white linen shirt unbuttoned to reveal enough skin for her to know he spent a lot of time outdoors. Sun-kissed brown hair curled around his collar, one stray lock hanging in front of eyes so dark, she couldn’t make out their color. A hint of stubble along his jaw gave just the right amount of danger to his look. His presence was . . . intoxicating, to say the least. And, he was focusing all that dark, brooding intensity on her.

Strong arms held her against his tall, athletic frame and she sighed softly as his chest came in contact with her breasts. His lips brushed her hairline; the beginnings of his beard gently rubbing against her skin sent shock waves to the pit of her belly and below. He smelled of shea butter and soap. Clean and sweet. Definitely not the words most people would use to describe Shane Devlin, the Devil of the NFL. He shifted her against him again and she felt the heat and strength of his arousal.

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