Page 20 of Game On

He’s definitely good at kissing, Cindy.

As if he’d read her thoughts, Shane looked up past the TV camera to where Carly stood and shot her a quicksilver grin. Carly felt her blush to her toes. She stepped back farther into the wings so as not to distract Shane. Or, more likely so she wouldn’t run on camera, douse him with whipped cream, and lap him up.

Moving away from the glare of the bright television lights, Carly was forced to close her eyes momentarily, allowing them to adjust. When she opened them, she slapped a hand over her mouth to avoid interrupting the show with her shriek. Joel Tompkins was standing in the shadows, blocking her path.

“Hey there, Carly,” he said quietly.

Carly tried to take a step back, but she was pinned in by a huge teleprompter. The only way to escape Joel was back across the live set where Shane’s cooking segment was being filmed.

“Joel.” She straightened her spine. Joel was a pest, but so far he’d been basically harmless. It wouldn’t hurt to be nice for a few minutes. There was no need to panic.

Joel closed the space and reached over to push a piece of Carly’s hair behind her ear. Carly flinched. “Please don’t touch me,” she said, trying not to let her voice betray her now quivering nerves.

“The Blaze’s badass security dude isn’t around to interrupt us. Maybe we can take a ride and grab some breakfast. Or something.”

No way were they grabbing anything. Carly looked around for reinforcements, but everyone was still fascinated with Shane’s cooking skills, their backs to her and Joel. She would not panic. They were in a crowded studio. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Carly figured she could stall Joel until the commercial break. One look into his eyes, though, and she realized reasoning with him might not be easy. He was high as a kite. She was sure of it. Years spent at a prestigious boarding school for the rich and unwanted had exposed her to all kinds of addicts. Joel was exhibiting all the classic signs of the stoned.

Now, it was time to panic.

Just as she was about to speak, the alarm bell sounded, indicating the show was no longer live. People started to mill around and, not wasting an opportunity, Carly made for the set. Joel reached out and wrapped his fingers around her arm, but before he could do or say anything, a voice rang out.

“Tompkins! Get that teleprompter moved over to Studio B now!”

Joel hesitated, seemingly weighing his options. Carly pulled her arm from his grip. With a menacing smile, Joel grabbed the handle of the teleprompter. “Don’t worry. We’ll get our time, you and me. You’ll see.” And with that he left the studio.

Carly’s stomach was no longer growling. It was rolling with waves of nausea.

The hot, tungsten studio lights right along with Shane’s megawatt smile. He’d outdone himself this morning. No one in the Blaze organization had better dare complain he wasn’t giving the media blitzkrieg his best. Christ, they ought to give me a freaking Academy Award.

Tossing the hand towel onto the countertop, he looked around the set for Carly. The show’s host—Candy, Cindy or whatever the hell her name was—rubbed her hip next to his, leaning across him to drag her finger through the bowl of whipped cream. A seductive smile on her face, she stuck her whipped-cream-laden finger into her mouth and sucked on it dramatically, her bright red collagen lips bulging.

Seriously, lady? Shane looked around the studio in disgust. He hated these television segments. Why did anyone care what he was like off the field? Wasn’t his job to win football games? And where the hell was Carly? It was her job to run interference with the overly made-up television hostess. Usually, Carly jumped right in at the end of each interview, graciously but effectively untangling him from fans and interviewers and herding him out the door to his next gig. Right now, Candy-Cindy was being a bit too playful as she shoved her business card in the back pocket of his jeans, her hand lingering on his ass just a little too long.

“Call me if you want someone to show you around Baltimore, Shane,” she said, tossing her hair for effect.

He gave her a noncommittal smile before quickly heading off the set to find Carly. She’d be hard to miss. Dressed for the spring weather, she’d arrived at the studio in a clingy blue dress, showing off toned, bare arms and legs. Normally, Carly wore her hair done up in some conservative style, but today she’d left it cascading down her shoulders. Every man with a pulse stopped to stare as she wandered about the set offering a cheery hello to the show’s staff.

Shane wasn’t immune, either. His pulse had been racing since he’d laid eyes on her earlier; the effort to keep their relationship strictly business was making him testy. In fact, these last few weeks as “friendly coworkers” had been torturous for Shane. As much as they both tried to will it away, the sexual tension still burned between them. By sheer will, Shane kept it professional. He couldn’t afford any distractions. He had records to break.

Despite the daily punishment of looking but not touching, Shane was grateful for Carly’s help “working” the media. In fact, he was a little in awe of her skill. Putting aside her tenuous relationship with the reporters, Carly managed to carry out Asia’s media plan without any glitches, always remaining poised and professional. Her tactic seemed to be to kill them with kindness, ingratiating herself with everyone she met. Shane found himself looking forward to his scheduled interviews—if it meant he could spend time with Carly. The “no touching” rule was still in place, but he discovered that on the occasions when she gifted him with a smile, it was almost as good as a touch. Almost.

Searching the studio, he finally found her standing alone back against one of the movable set walls, her arms wrapped around her midsection.

“Hey, the Hostess with the Mostest was coming on to me with the whipped cream. You wanna go take her down? You know, take one for the team?” Shane teased.

Carly looked up at him then, her blue eyes wide and frightened.

“Whoa, Dorothy, that was a joke,” he said, bending down so he could peer into her face more closely. She was trembling. Jesus! Gently taking her by the elbow, Shane steered her off the set and out into a blessedly empty hallway.

“What gives?” he asked, reluctantly releasing her elbow. As soon as he did, she turned and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her without conscious thought.

They stood there for a few moments, her taking deep breaths against his instantly aroused body, him slowly rubbing her back as he breathed in the distinctly sunshiny scent of Carly. His lips itched to brush over the top of her head, but he knew not to go there.

What the hell had happened to her in there? Had someone said something about her past? Her ex-fiancé? Whatever had happened, Shane was going to kill the offending sonofabitch with his bare hands.

Releasing a breath, Carly took a step back. She patted her hands against his chest—almost as if to assure herself he was real—before slowly raising her eyes to meet his. Instead of being wide with fear, they were now tinged with the same smoky passion he was sure was reflected in his own eyes.

God, he wanted to kiss her. Right there in the hallway of the Channel Three studios. At that moment, he didn’t care about his career with the Blaze. Or about breaking Bruce Devlin’s remaining records. All Shane cared about was sinking into her luscious mouth. Carly gnawed on her bottom lip and Shane would have kissed her had she not taken another step away from him. He fisted his hands at his sides to keep from dragging her back into his arms.

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