Page 66 of Love Game

Danny watched his friend walk away without another word. Down on the court, the assistant coaches were herding the campers into lines for layup drills. Kate huddled with her two famous volunteers on the sideline. The lights above the court striped her dark hair with streamers of gold. The green-and-gold lanyard around her neck clashed with the neon-pink Nike shirt she wore with black track pants. He caught the Y-shaped outline of a sports bra beneath the high-tech fabric. The shirt clung to the slope of her breasts and flowed smooth over the curve of her hip. The urge to yank them both up to her armpits made his fingers curl.

The squeak of a seat rising alerted him that he wasn’t alone with his X-rated thoughts. A pair of decidedly low-tech sneakers appeared in his peripheral vision. At least the damn things had laces and not Velcro closures. He didn’t need to look to know his inherited assistant would have completed the look with polyester coach’s shorts and a polo.

Keeping his gaze on Kate, he asked, “You got something to add, Mack?”

Mack didn’t scuff his shoes or clear his throat. He didn’t bother with anything as obvious as a tap on the shoulder or whistle blast in his ear. Danny had seen the old coot do it to players on occasion. The tactic was undoubtedly effective but not as potent as stillness and silence.

At last, Danny gave in and looked up. “Well?”

Mack gave him the single nod that Danny was starting to think the man had trademarked, then gestured to the court. “Just glad to hear you finally got your head in the game.”

Kate walked her guests to the ramp that led to the locker rooms. Her thanks were effusive. Handshakes turned into hugs and kisses. The guy from the Knicks held her a little too long for Danny’s liking, but she simply laughed and punched the future Hall of Fame candidate in the arm as she pulled away. Poor Mack had to resort to a light slap upside his head to regain Danny’s attention.

Shocked, Danny turned to glare into crystalline-blue eyes, for the first time noticing that the shade was startlingly similar to the reflection that greeted him in the mirror each morning. But this man was nothing like dodgy Dan McMillan. This man knew who he was, where he belonged, and exactly what the next play needed to be.

“Yeah, Coach?” Danny asked, his voice hoarse with anticipation.

“Just make sure you play every minute of every quarter. Right to the last down.” He glanced at Kate and then back again. “Every second counts, kid. Hell, these basketball players, they’ll even take it down to the tenths and hundredths of a second. Play hard if you mean to win.”

“Gotcha.”

The old man thumped his back, then rose. “We’ve been spotted.” He jerked his chin toward the court. Kate stood in the center circle once more, a ball tucked under her arm and a gaggle of preteen girls gathered close. She raised a hand and waved him down. Of course, Mack was off like a shot. “Looks like you’re about to get drilled, and not in the good way,” he said with a chuckle.

Unable to resist her smile, Danny rose like a man in a trance. The soles of his athletic shoes were silent as he jogged down the steps, but the second he stepped onto the polished hardwood, they sang out his surrender.

Smiling at the chorus of giggles that greeted him, he trotted out to meet the group, his shoes squeaking like someone had stashed a pair of rubber mice in the insoles. “You beckoned, Coach?”

“Think fast,” she blurted, then winged the ball she’d been holding directly at his chest.

He caught it just before it knocked the wind out of him. Palms stinging, he shot her an arch look. “Fast enough for you?”

Kate simply smiled that saccharine smile he’d come to know and love and pointed to the far goal. “Hit it.”

Without breaking eye contact with her, he dropped the ball into an easy dribble. “Hitting it, Coach,” he replied with a smirk.

She let him have two steps before she unleashed her gaggle of flying monkeys with nothing more than a simple, “Get him.”

* * *

Kate drew up short when she spotted Danny lounging against the trophy case outside her office door. “Oh. Hi.”

He didn’t straighten or return her burgeoning smile. In fact, he didn’t look happy to see her at all. He looked…determined. She’d become fluent in Danny McMillan’s body language over the past few weeks. The tightening of his abs when her fingers bumped over his ribs marked him as ticklish but unwilling to admit it. A quick downward tug at the corners of his mouth signaled amusement he was reluctant to show. The sharp, jerky nod he gave her told her he was holding himself on a tight rein. His fingers were curled into his palms, not quite fists.

“You and your minions have fun making me look like a slug out there?”

Her ears burned, and her nipples went on high alert. That old saying about someone being beautiful when they’re angry came to life. He stood there, pissed off and gorgeous in all his high-definition glory, and, Lord, she wanted him. It had been less than six hours since he’d rolled out of her bed, but that didn’t make her any less eager to have him in it—and in her—again. Judging by the heat flaming in his blue eyes, he felt exactly the same way.

“You looked like you wanted to play.” She brushed against him as she aimed her key at the lock on her office door. He stiffened just the slightest bit, and she shot him a sidelong glance as the door swung open wide. “I would have introduced you to Alec and Shaundra, but they couldn’t stick around for the slaughter.”

“Your friend Alec can shoot, but he plays golf for crap.” The words sounded like a typical jock jibe, but Danny wasn’t wearing the requisite smirk to go with them. Instead, he kicked the door shut, twisted the lock, and started toward her, blue eyes locked on her like laser beams. “And given how I did against a bunch of twelve-year-olds today, I’d say I’ve got more than enough trouble trying to handle one Amazon woman. Two would probably kill me.”

“I wasn’t offering to set you up.” She leaned back to perch on the edge of her desk, bracing her feet wide and tipping her chin up to hold his gaze. Invitation or challenge, he could read it either way he wished. “Besides, you’re not her type.”

That cocky smirk she loved so much finally made its appearance. Danny stepped between her legs. Her eyelashes fluttered when he ran his big, rough hand over her hair. But when he wound a hank of it around his fist and tugged not so gently, her eyes snapped open, and her head tipped back.

“Haven’t you heard?” he asked. “I’m every woman’s type.”

“I hate to break this to you, lover boy, but I can tell you for a fact that I’m more her type.”

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