Page 23 of Playing Rucking Hard

Only, my eyes keep betraying me. They keep finding him and almost each time, he’s watching me.

“Divide and avoid?” Skye asks, nodding to the left-hand side of the room. “I can see a group of McMillan executives over there I can hide out with.”

“Leaving me with what?” I huff, knowing without looking that Cooper Bradley is with the McMillan executives and Dylan is to my right. He’s seen the incoming sleaze and is making his way through doting female fans. Skye is my shield, but I can’t hide with her forever.

“Don’t tell me that you haven’t noticed the Maverick’s fullback noticing you?” Skye bumps my shoulder.Is she clueless? Or should I look at an acting career once the Mavericks kick me out for fraternization?

“What Inoticeis the contract clause that says I can look but not touch.“ I keep a fake smile plastered, saying all the right words. I follow up with, “I can look at the dessert bar even if I’m not willing to sample the goods.”

“What’snotin the contract is the clause that saysdo what you want, but don’t get caught.“ Skye fluffs her hair and smooths down her gown, sucking in her non-existent stomach. “While you are deciding whether to break yourdessert diet, wish me luck—I’m off to impress the executive so much they will double our salary next year.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I laugh after her. But it’s a moment’s reprieve until Dylan moves into my line of sight, again.

Women hover around him, laughing too hard at his jokes, brushing their hands against his arm. But he barely notices them. His attention is on me. Me.

Why is he looking at me instead of the women he doesn’t have to work for—or work with?

And if he’s such a womanizer, why isn’t he soaking up their adoration? And if he’s such a womanizer, why does his stare keep coming back to me?And why do I care?

I can’t do this. I can’t keep remembering his eyes gazing into mine in the dark club as I talked and he listened. I can’t keep remembering the softness of his lips on my skin, the way his hipsworked me into a frenzy until I screamed into his shoulder as orgasm after orgasm shredded my self-control.

I turn to find a waitress with a tray of champagne. One can’t hurt. Can it? It’s not as if I haven’t already committed a sackable offense—or keep dreaming about doing it again.

Before I summon the nearest waitress or avoid the incoming Creepy Guy In Suit, Dylan has swapped his water glass for another water tumbler and champagne flute. Brushing away people with an apologetic sexy smile, he arrives in front of me just as Creepy Guy extends his hand.

“Stuart. Marketing and research at Biocan Laboratories.”

“Emma. I work for the Southern Mavericks,” I say politely. “What does Biocan do?”

Dylan waits patiently and unacknowledged while Stuart rambles on about field testing and changing parameters. I listen politely and back away a full step for each half step Stuart encroaches.

“I’m sorry, Stuart, but can I steal Emma for a few moments?” Dylan finally interrupts, and I could kiss him—except for the part that kissing him would equal unemployment.

“And who are you?” Stuart asks, and I can’t help it. The giggle starts at my throat and works into a full-body laugh that has people all around me stopping to stare. Poor Stuart looks to Dylan, back to me, and then to Dylan. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m so sorry for laughing,” I manage to gasp. “But this man is the infamous Dylan Fleski. The instigator of on-field fights and notorious Australia’s Favorite …”

“Dylan Fleski, fullback for the Southern Mavericks. Lloyd McMillan asked I attend tonight’s festivities on his behalf.” Dylan interrupts and extends his hand, carefully positioning his body on an angle between Stuart and I. “Mr. McMillan has given me two tasks for tonight—to present a sizeable personal donation, and to ensure no item remains unbid at the auction.”

“And you want to talk to Emma about?”

I should be impressed with how Stuart isn’t intimidated by Dylan’s bulk, resume, or the obvious name-dropping. But men like Stuart think their money can outbid anyone. Unfortunately, for Stuart, I’m not for sale.

“Emma is one of the Mavericks’ public relations assets.” Dylan smoothly explains, all the while using his body to shield me from Stuart. “I need to discuss the auction.”

It takes a full moment for Stuart to read the room, promise to catch up with me later, and walk away with his pride intact.

Then there is just Dylan and me. Chemistry burns brighter than any flame, and from the way his eyes dip and soften, he feels it too.

“Emma,” he says, his voice low and intimate, canceling out all other noise.

“Dylan,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. I’ve perfected this act—polite, professional, and detached. The exact opposite of how I feel.

“Can we talk?” he asks, his eyes locked onto mine. “And not about the auction. Yes, I’ll make the winning bid on anything that doesn’t attract interest, but we need to talk.”

“We’re talking now,” I say, tilting my head in what I hope is an uninterested way. Where’s Skye when I need her to run interference? Where is the emcee who should be announcing something.

“Alone,” he clarifies, his voice softer as he moves closer. OMG, his scent hasn’t changed since that night. What if I spent one more night with him and stole the bottle? That way, I could drown my sheets in his scent and wouldn’t need the real thing … right? “Emma?”

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