Page 42 of Love Game

Slowly, reality came seeping back into his consciousness. Danny roused himself enough to peel his weight off her chest. He peered down at her, unable to repress his smile when their eyes met. “Know what else would be nice?”

Her stomach rumbled, and it vibrated through him, pressed as close together as they were. Kate laughed, and making Kate laugh was suddenly number two on his list of favorite things to do to her.

“Pizza?” she asked, eyes sparkling.

Chapter 11

It should have felt weird, having him there. First off, he was a man, and it had been a very long time since she’d had a man in her bed. Second, she barely knew the guy. She had no clue what his favorite color might be or what television shows he watched. Did he read anything other than playbooks? Could he make her come that hard again? And all those questions aside, he was Danny McMillan. This was the cocky fuckup who’d blown into town demanding half the attention and twice her salary. She was supposed to hate him.

Too bad she didn’t.

He didn’t feel like a rival. He felt mind-blowingly good. And comfortable. Their conversation flowed. Yeah, it was peppered with jabs and jokes, but there was no longer much heat behind them.

Unlike their kisses.

He should have looked ridiculous in her bed, but he didn’t. His thick, muscular thighs looked so good tangled up in rosebud-printed sheets. When she slipped out from under the cover he’d pulled over them, he simply lay there with his hand behind his head, staring at her as if she were a supermodel/centerfold combo and he was trying to figure out how to get the magazine staples out of her stomach. With his teeth.

And Lord, she wanted him too. Boy, was Avery going to be pissed. Her friend had spent the last few weeks researching salary inequities based on gender and preparing her attack on the patriarchal establishment. And here Kate was, sleeping with the enemy.

Self-conscious, she reached for the robe she kept hanging on the back of her closet door. “Don’t you think you should do something with…”

She waved her hand toward his crotch but trailed off when he rolled up and off the bed in one fluid motion. She stood frozen, mesmerized by the sight of him as he crossed to her. Despite her helpful reminder, the condom still clung to his semierect penis. She couldn’t help but stare. Even when not shown to its best advantage, every damn inch of the man was impressive.

She slipped one arm into the robe, but he caught her free hand in both of his and squeezed.

“Please don’t.”

A spurt of indignation shot through her when he gently slid the robe down her arm. She opened her mouth to protest, but he shut her down fast.

“You don’t need this. Not with me.” He shot a pointed glance at his own battle-scarred leg, then stared straight into her eyes. The short terry cloth robe dangled from his fingers in the no-man’s-land between them, hers for the taking if she truly wanted it. “You can pretend this is a locker room, if that makes it easier, but I like looking at you naked.”

A hot flush of pleasure prickled the back of her neck. Her nipples tightened in instinctive response to his roving gaze. She took the robe from him and placed it back on the hook, casting a glance over her shoulder. “Okay, but for your information, women don’t strut around naked in locker rooms like men do.”

He pulled her against his hair-roughened chest and kissed her hard. Stalking toward the bathroom, he grumbled, “Another fantasy shot to hell.”

Kate laughed, appreciating the view of his tight, white buttocks as he disappeared into the room. “I’ll heat the oven.”

And that’s how she came to be standing stark naked in her kitchen, tapping her foot impatiently as the oven heated and wondering if she should be worried about the six-pack of beer he’d set next to the pizza box.

“I’m okay with cold pizza.”

She jumped. The blush that warmed her cheeks burned faster and hotter than the glowing red coil in her oven. He held the carrier of beer out to her, silently offering a bottle. She must have hesitated a second too long, because he huffed an impatient sigh and plunked the six-pack down on the counter.

“Let’s clear this up right now.”

The steel in his deep voice made her quiver, but not with fear or intimidation. That firm, terse tone turned her on like nobody’s business. Arousal flooded her, making her head swim and her knees wobbly. Embarrassed, she ducked her head to peer into the empty oven. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tapped the cool, unaffected tone she once used to trade insults with other players on the court. “Clear what up?”

“My past sins. For the record, I don’t have a drinking problem or an anger problem, and I’m not a sex addict.” His hand closed around her arm, compelling her to turn and face him. When she did, she found his blue eyes dark with frustration, but his gaze was steady. “Yes, I’d had a couple of beers the night all the crap came out about the recruiting violations, and yes, I exchanged some words with that reporter, but I never touched—”

“You don’t have to—”

His fingers tightened on her arm, but it was the brisk shake of his head that cut off her arguments. “I wasn’t drunk. I was angry. A completely justified anger.” He bit off the words. “You know how it is. When you’re the head coach, you’re the head coach. Everything stops at you.”

“I do know that.”

“And you know as well as I do that the violations they supposedly nabbed us on were things every D-one school does—”

“Not every school.”

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