Page 25 of Game On

“Molls,” Carly said, stopping in front of her chair. Her niece looked up with a sheepish grin. “Your dad is looking for you. They’re going to start the program in a little bit and he wants you back at the table.”

Molly sighed as she turned off her game. “Do I have to? It’s so loud in there!” But she was already standing, carefully tucking the game in her small purse. Carly smiled and brushed the girl’s hair back over one shoulder.

“Sorry, pumpkin, but you’ve got to be a team player. Tonight’s important to your mom.” Carly tweaked her under the chin. “I’ve got to use the restroom. You go back to the table and make sure they leave me a big piece of cheesecake, okay?”

Molly suddenly reached forward and grabbed Carly in a fierce hug.

“Aunt Carly,” she mumbled, her face buried against Carly’s stomach. “Thanks for making my mom better.”

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she leaned down to kiss the top of Molly’s head.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered. “Now, get back in there!”

Her niece released her and, with a quicksilver grin, hopped back into the ballroom.

It took great effort to keep the tears at bay. Carly hurried to the restroom before anyone noticed. Glancing at herself in the mirror as she passed through the ladies room, she was surprised by her reflection. The woman looking back at her was poised and beautiful. Not exactly how Carly felt.

The dress Julianne designed for her was exquisite. Dressed like this, she looked like one of the portraits of her English ancestors hanging in her late grandmother’s estate. She wondered if her mother had felt the same way. By all accounts, Veronica had been quite the rebel, turning her back on her place in English society—on her family—to work as a foreign news correspondent. Carly’s recollections of her mother were from the standpoint of a young girl. At times, Carly wished she could have known her as an adult. Perhaps she would have understood her better.

Really, what was she doing thinking of her mother? Molly’s thank-you was turning her into a sap. She needed to pee and get back to the ballroom.

A few minutes later, she finished touching up the damage her unshed tears had caused to her eye makeup, then snapped her evening bag shut authoritatively.

“Get ahold of yourself,” she whispered to her reflection in the mirror. “No more wine. Just coffee and cheesecake.” She couldn’t afford to be tipsy around Shane. He’d been playing Prince Charming all night; the safe date. But Carly was getting tired of constantly denying the attraction between them. She needed to get this night over with before she did something stupid. Something that might make her happy for tonight. But that type of happiness would only be temporary, she was sure of it.

Charging out of the ladies room into the now empty hallway, she suddenly collided with a man standing directly outside the door. Two hands grabbed her bare forearms a little too tightly. Startled, Carly looked up into the eyes of Joel Tompkins. A very high Joel Tompkins. Quickly glancing around for someone to help her, Carly tried to yank her arms free, but Joel held her tighter. He smiled, his big white teeth a little too close for comfort.

“Well, well. Look who we have here.” His breath reeked of alcohol. The sickly, sweet smell caused bile to rise up in the back of her throat. She had no idea what he was doing at the gala. He certainly wasn’t an invited guest. Especially dressed as he was in a Grateful Dead T-shirt, black cargo pants, and flip-flops.

“Damn, Carly. You look hot,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “It’s just you and me. Alone. Finally.” Leaning in, he began to kiss her neck. Pressing her hands on his chest, she tried to push him away. Her breath came in quick staccato beats and she couldn’t get enough air to speak. She barely managed a squeak when he bit her along the collarbone.

“Joel, let me go! You’re hurting me!” She forced the words out. But he didn’t seem to hear her. Panic spread through her body. Her heart was beating too quickly and her skin felt clammy. She opened her mouth to scream and he closed in. She gagged as his tongue swept through her mouth. Her struggle against him proved futile. So she resorted to the only option left to her: She bit his tongue. Hard.

“Oww,” he cried, pulling away from her, wiping at his mouth. “What did you do that for?”

Carly wiped at her own mouth. “Joel,” she said, her voice raspy and a bit unsteady. “Get away from me.”

“But Carly, you want this. You want me.” He moved toward her as she pressed her back to the wall. Clearly, this guy was delusional. Looking around quickly, she weighed her options as he reached out for her again.

Suddenly, Joel was no longer holding her and she slid down the wall. The sounds of fist meeting bone filled the air as a huge shape wrestled with Joel. She tried to stand, but she was afraid of getting caught in the melee. A low growl escaped one of the men as a head hit the wall. She wasn’t sure if it was Joel or her rescuer.

“Shane!” Donovan grabbed at the huge body standing over Joel. “What the hell are you doing?”

She wasn’t surprised by who had come to rescue her. Shane Devlin certainly lived up to his name in a fist fight.

“You okay, sweetie?” Asia was sliding down the wall next to Carly.

Donovan turned at the sound of Asia’s voice. He obviously hadn’t seen Carly until that moment. His hands were in fists as he turned back to Joel’s body slumped on the floor.

And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the bright flicker of a camera flash went off in Carly’s face.

“Let me see if I can get this straight,” Hank Osbourne said. Carly was sitting in the office of the hotel’s general manager. Lisa and Shane were crowded on either side of the sofa with her. The jacket of Shane’s tuxedo was draped around her shoulders, but Carly still couldn’t seem to stop shivering. Lisa gently rubbed a hand over Carly’s back. Matt stood in the doorway like a sentry, his arms crossed over his chest. Hank paced the room, pinching his nose between his fingers.

“The quarterback whom we’ve paraded around Baltimore these past two weeks to dispel his reputation as a hotheaded, rebellious smartass just pummeled some guy unconscious in a downtown hotel,” Hank said, his normally taciturn composure threatening to explode.

Shane shifted beside her. “It was one punch,” he mumbled. “I swear I only hit him once and the jerk crumpled.”

“That jerk, Devlin, is the grandson of a very powerful man in this city. His grandfather was sitting in the dining room with the rest of us. Now he’s threatening to press charges,” Hank yelled.

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