Page 29 of Roughing the Player
“Of course, I was listening. This is my place.” Not technically, it isn’t. But he doesn’t have to know that.
“Fine. Three doors. What does it matter? It’s not like I’m going to borrow a cup of sugar from him.” I push at his chest to get him out of the way, but he doesn’t budge.
Instead, he brackets my body with his huge arms and cages me in. “What is he talking about when he said he saw some of my things?”
Focus, Ellie, focus. “The movers, err, dropped a box in the lobby, and some of the contentsmayhave spilled out.”
His eyes narrow. “What box?”
“The ones that contained your . . . toys. They also paraded your bedposts with some of those . . . things still attached.”
He snorts. “Fine movers you picked.”
Taking umbrage, I hitch up my chin. “I’ll have you know they came highly recommended.”
“Well, obviously somebody lied.”
The nearness of him makes me breathless. I can’t stand being this close to him. It’s like I’m in a forest surrounded by trees. Big, gorgeous trees that move in strange, mysterious ways. I want to lie down on a soft canopy of leaves, and—God, not again. What is it about this man that makes me forget everything but him?
His gaze slides to the closed door. For a couple of seconds he doesn’t say a thing, but then his glance bounces back to me. “Why are you here, Ellie?”
“I—I told you. I wanted to unpack your things.”
“Why would you want to do that? Last Saturday, you stormed out of my hotel room, angry at me. And now you want to do me a favor? That makes no sense. Besides, you wouldn’t do such a thing. Not without my approval. What the hell’s going on?”
He’s so intoxicatingly close I can feel the heat, the sheer masculinity of him in every part of my being, and it’s driving me insane. “I, err—”
Leaning down so his eyes are level with mine, he stares right into me. “Did Marty put you up to this?”
“He may have.”
“Why?”
The scent of pine is all around me, and I can’t breathe without taking him in. My imagination runs wild. I’m lying in a secluded forest, naked as the day I was born while he whispers wicked words to me. Oh, God, please let it stop. Brushing a trembling hand across my face, I fight to recall what’s going on. Boxes. Toys. What Warren Sheffield saw. And how much trouble I’m in.
“Okay. Fine.” It’s best if he knows the truth, anyway. “You’re not supposed to get embroiled in a scandal, right? Unfortunately, the evidence of your lifestyle would do just that. Somebody saw your things. Warren Sheffield for one, obviously. There were others, as well. At least one of them took pictures. So there’s proof. Proof that somebody would be more than glad to sell to one of those gossip rags. If anybody figures out it’s you living here, it’ll be all over the internet faster than I can say Bob’s your uncle.” I don’t have to tell him how the Outlaws would react. He knows.
He strides away, anger evident in every step. “Damn it. Just as things were starting to look up.”
His scent’s still in the air, but not as strong. I take a long, deep breath to regain my equilibrium. “It sucks. I know.” He may be a horndog. He may have lied at the hotel, but I don’t want to see him suffer. “You can get through this without anybody finding out.”
He swivels back to me. “How?”
“You have one more day of training camp, right?”
“Yes.”
“And when camp ends, you’ll be living here.”
He nods.
I take a deep breath. “I’ll be living here too.”
“Why would you do that, Eleanor?” His brow knits, but his question emerges in a soft, low tone.
“To stop anyone from finding out you’re the tenant.” Before he has a chance to say something, I rush through my next words. “If anybody gets nosy about who’s renting the place, they’ll find my name on the lease, not yours. And it was me they saw in the lobby. Everything points to me. I’m nobody famous, so if it gets out about the furniture and stuff, it’ll be no biggie.” That’s right. Play it off like it’s not that important.
During my explanation, his expression clears up. “So.” He grins. “We’d be sharing the place?”
