Page 40 of Game On

Spying the rose, Asia reached for the phone. “I’m calling Don,” she said.

“No!” Carly said. Something was different. Forcing her feet to move forward, she picked up the delicate blossom with shaky hands. A note lay beneath it. When she saw her key chain lying beside it, her body relaxed and she allowed a smile to spread over her face. “It’s okay, Asia. This isn’t from Joel.”

“You have multiple stalkers?”

Laughing now, she read through the note.

Dinner tonight. My place. S.

He’d signed it with a big S similar to the way she’d signed her note to him this morning.

“Nope, just a friend.” She lifted the rose to her nose and sniffed, hoping to restore her equilibrium.

Asia crossed her arms across her chest. “Spill it, girlfriend.”

“Sure, when you tell me everything that’s going on between you and Donovan,” Carly said, aiming a smug smile at her friend.

Asia turned on her heel and left as quickly as her cane could carry her.

“That’s what I thought!” Carly called after her with a laugh. She couldn’t wipe the smile from her face now if she tried. Shane’s note had resurrected the happy afterglow brought on by a great night of sex. Her day at the courthouse was pushed to the back of her mind as her body hummed with thoughts of Shane.

She shouldn’t see him again. They’d agreed to one night—and what a night! There was no harm in a little dinner, though, Carly rationalized. A girl had to eat.

Two hours later, Carly pulled into Shane’s garage and parked her car next to his. She’d called him earlier and they’d agreed not to advertise her presence at his house. Too many Blaze employees lived in the neighborhood and could recognize her car. She knocked on the mudroom door.

“It’s open! Come on in,” he called from inside the house.

Beckett greeted her with a slobbery tennis ball as she emerged into the kitchen. Something was sizzling on the industrial-sized stove. Butter and garlic, from the smell of it. She brushed her fingers over Beckett’s head as Shane turned from the pot he was stirring.

He looked delicious, dressed in a pair of ancient Levi’s, worn out in all the right places. A T-shirt advertising a San Diego microbrewery stretched perfectly over his broad, sculpted chest. His feet were bare and his hair damp as if he were fresh from the shower. Turning from the massive cooktop, he tossed a dish towel over his shoulder, greeting her with his now-familiar wolfish grin. Tingling began in the pit of her belly.

“Hey there,” he said, his voice husky as his eyes took in her dark blue suit like a man who knew exactly what she wore underneath it—which he did. “I hope you’re hungry.”

It was all she could do not to lick her lips. She stepped out of her high heels and slowly strolled across the kitchen, stopping inches from him. She could feel the heat of his body—or was it hers? A little sigh of satisfaction escaped her mouth at his indrawn breath when her hands came in contact with his taut abs. Slowly, she slid her hands up his chest before wrapping them around his neck. The look in his eyes told her everything she wanted to know.

“I’m starving,” she whispered before pulling his lips down to meet hers. Her resolve to keep tonight dinner-only evaporated as quickly as the steam escaping the pot on the stove behind them. She lost control of the kiss instantly as Shane devoured her mouth, his tongue pressing in and exploring all of her. It was a heady sensation, his kiss. One her body couldn’t seem to get enough of. Somehow his hands had already found their way beneath her skirt, but he stopped kneading her bottom long enough to reach behind him to turn off the gas.

“I planned on eating right away, but I guess we can enjoy some appetizers first,” he said, kissing the side of her mouth. Then he lifted her and she wrapped her legs around him, her skirt riding up to her waist as his hands continued to caress her backside while he carried her to his bedroom.

“So, where did you learn to cook?” Shane looked across the table at Carly. She’d pulled on one of the dress shirts he’d left by his bed when he unpacked earlier that day. The wrinkles in the shirt and her rumpled hair made her look as if she’d just tumbled out of bed—which she had. Her skin still held a trace of pink and her blue eyes sparkled against the blue of the shirt. Spearing another bite of sea bass with her fork, she waited for him to answer.

“The Food Network.” He fiddled with the stem of his wineglass as he watched her enjoy the grilled fish and pasta.

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Rachael Ray, Sandra Lee, and food. What’s not to love? Besides, a guy’s gotta eat. If you can read and follow a recipe, you can cook.” He took a sip of his wine.

She laughed. “It figures. I’ll bet you love Giada, too.”

“Hey, I’ve been told my linguini in clam sauce is to die for.” He watched as she speared another piece of fish. She closed her eyes as she chewed and swallowed, a look of bliss on her face.

He could watch her eat all night.

Shane was glad she enjoyed the food he’d prepared. Thankfully, she wasn’t one of those women who counted every calorie, analyzing every morsel before putting it in her mouth. And her body was none the worse for wear in spite of it. His hands and mouth had covered every inch of her over the past twenty-four hours and he could testify to the fact that she was luscious and firm in all the right places. He’d frequently seen her working out in the gym at the training facility, so he knew she wasn’t careless about her body image, just not obsessed with it. It was one of the things he liked about her.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present. Crossing her forearms on the table, she leaned her breasts on top of them, giving him a great view down the front of her—his—shirt.

He smiled. “I was just thinking that it’s nice to eat with a woman who actually enjoys food. No whining about a special diet or stressing over the ingredients.”

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