Page 4 of Quarterback Sneak

Dark and void of life.

Shit. He pulled back and raised his hand to rap on the door but halted in mid-motion. Had she stood him up? He hadn’t asked for her phone number nor had she offered one. At this point, he had no way of getting in touch with her.

If she had stood him up, pounding on the door would reflect his mood at the moment, desperate. It had been a long time since he’d met someone he was this enthused about.

Movement from the other side of the glass sent a shot of relief through him. A petite blond rushed up, keys in hand. She turned the lock with a noticeable click and let him inside.

“Sorry, I had to run to the back. I’m Beth.” She grinned, red lips parted. Her smile grew as recognition crossed her face. “Son of a bitch, you are the Sam that Ivy was talking about. She never told me.”

“I don’t think she knows. I’m not officially in town, and things are complicated.” He brought his hand to the back of his neck. Were he a normal guy, the deception wouldn’t have been necessary. Except he wasn’t normal and hadn’t been for a long time.

Beth tilted her head to the side and studied him, her dark eyes probing. He resisted the urge to squirm under her overt inspection. For a little thing, she had a stare that could flatten a linebacker.

After a tense moment, she nodded. “I’ll keep this between the three of us…for an autographed football.”

“You’re blackmailing me?” he asked, entertained by her bold demand.

“Damn straight,” Beth said, unabashed. She steered him behind the bar and into the long, narrow serving area. “Ivy’s in the kitchen.”

He followed Beth into the kitchen proper, through a set of double doors, and into a stainless- steel galley prep station with well-oiled, butcher-block counters. He glanced about, anxious to lay eyes on Ivy.

The space proved empty.

“Let me check the walk-in.” Beth opened the large, metal door of the refrigerator and ducked through the plastic strips keeping the cool air in. No sooner had Beth disappeared from sight than the low murmur of voices reached him.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were seeing?” Beth said.

Sam leaned against the wall, shamelessly eavesdropping. He was curious to find out if Ivy had figured out where she’d run into him before or if she had searched the web for him. Part of him hoped she’d refrained. There were plenty of stories about him online, some true, most of them false. The last thing he wanted was for her to have a preconceived notion of him.

“I told you his name was Sam, and I’m not seeing him. It’s just dinner,” Ivy said.

And more, if I have anything to say about it.

“With Sam ‘Knute’ Rockney, two-time Super Bowl champion for the Seattle Pioneers, not to mention one of People magazine’s sexiest men.”

He stifled a groan. Being on the list still embarrassed the hell out of him. That wasn’t who he was, yet his agent, Howler, had pushed the issue, claiming the publicity would help with his charitable causes. Sam hated to admit it, but the bastard had been right.

“Damn, that’s why he looked familiar,” Ivy said. “I just assumed he was a gorgeous guy I met somewhere. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

A word of protest nearly spilled forth from Sam. Fortunately, Beth came to his aid.

“Yes, it is. Underneath the hype, he’s simply a guy. It’s not like he flashed his Heisman Trophy when he met you. Now, he’s waiting, so hurry.”

He moved away from the door and pretended to study the pots and pans hanging along the prep area wall.

“Is he in the bar?” Ivy shot out of the refrigerator, her head turned from him as she stripped off her chef’s jacket.

Underneath, a white tank top hugged her small, pert breasts and highlighted the warm olive skin over her well-toned bared shoulders. She was close enough that he could see the baby-fine wisps of hair at the base of her neck and inhale the savory scents of the kitchen clinging to her. He curled his fingers, suppressing the urge to reach out and run a fingertip along her sleek flesh.

“No, he’s right behind you,” Beth said with a cheeky grin.

Ivy spun around, full lips parted in surprise. “Hi,” she said, her smoky voice as sexy as he recalled.

Her face, devoid of makeup, had a healthy glow from the heat of the kitchen, and he pictured her wearing the same look in the bedroom. Slow down, Sparky. They hadn’t even had their first date yet. “Hi.”

“And that’d be my cue to leave,” Beth said. “Have fun, you two.”

Ivy’s pulse pounded at the sight of Sam looking yummy in worn jeans and a casual button-down brown shirt, the cuffs rolled to expose his powerful forearms. He was an intimidating figure with his sinewy build, but more than his physical presence dwarfed the space around him. She wished Beth hadn’t reminded her who he was, at least not yet. A first date was disconcerting enough without the added pressure of dating a professional athlete.