CHAPTER FOUR
Gracie was one fine looking woman. Their shoulders brushed as they walked toward the revolving glass doors. She was almost his height which was something new. Normally the women he dated were shorter, much shorter. But none had sparked every part of his being like this raven-haired beauty. She took his breath away and he didn’t mind the sensation one bit.
Using a remote, the suited doorman set the doors in a slow revolve, allowing them to maneuver her luggage inside. Webb’s gaze followed the sway of her firm ass as she strutted to the front desk. His cock hardened. One month. One fucking dry month.
He leaned an elbow on the marble counter while Gracie Luera checked in. She’d been afraid to give him her full name earlier. He could see it in her eyes. The hesitance. The wariness. She was only being careful, protecting her safe zone. He could understand after just being mugged. But she’d given it and her address to the policeman during her statement. Although he couldn’t recall her complete address, Webb had hung onto her name and that she was from Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.
“Webb, I’ll be in room twenty-two nineteen. Can you remember that?”
He made note of it on his phone. “Got it. I’ll be at your door at seven. Give me your number, so I can text you in case of emergency.” He saved her number when she rattled it off.
“Gracie? Coach Gracie Luera?” A reporter with a camera hurried their way. Webb couldn’t recall his name, just that he wrote for the Times of New York City.
She shooed Webb to the side so those in line behind them could register. “No matter what I say, go with it. Okay?”
What the hell?
Gracie extended her hand. “Skip Townsend, my favorite sports correspondent. I wasn’t expecting to see royalty on my short visit to the Big Apple. You’re certainly looking well.”
The barrel-chested man with a graying fringe of hair preened for Gracie. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re here for the romance writers’ gig.” He made a face like he’d just kissed a chicken’s ass. He nodded at Webb. “How’s it going, Webb?” Skip’s attention was back on Gracie before Webb had a chance to reply to his greeting.
“I’m here to do some recruiting, Skip.”
Webb’s head swiveled in her direction. Recruiting? For what? Just who had he rescued? Skip had called her a coach, but of what sport?
If Webb didn’t know better, radar antennae rose from the man’s balding head, causing the fringe of hair to undulate a little. “Oh? And who is the talented female coach of a men’s collegiate team sniffing after?” Skip sniggered. “Everyone’s watching you, Gracie, and how you handle your players.
“Experts say a woman coach can’t mold college-aged men into the players and adults they need to be to succeed in life. There’ve been less than four women who’ve taken the challenge. In my opinion, you’ve been the most successful. You’ve taken a nothing basketball team and made them an up and coming force.”
She coaches men’s basketball? What the fuck?
“Better than Teresa Phillips at Tennessee State University? No way. She broke that glass ceiling for us and did an awesome job. Still, thanks for the huge compliment, Skip. You’re totally epic in my book. I’ve got two players here in the city, who have my attention, and one in Baltimore. I plan on talking to all three of them while I’m on the east coast.”
Skip leaned toward her. “Can you give me any names?”
“Not yet, but if you’ll give me your email, I’ll shoot you some information once I get back to Mount Vista and make some decisions. You’ll be the only person I’ll inform. After all, you took up for me when fault finders said I couldn’t do the job. I’m a loyal person. I don’t forget a kindness.”
He handed her a business card. “Lady Coach, you’ve got a deal. Let me get a picture of you before you go.” He adjusted the lens on his camera while Webb wrapped his arm around Gracie’s waist. Skip glanced at him and jerked his head sideways. “Excuse me, Webb, but this one was an All American in college and part of the Olympic team. Plus, she’s on her way to being a world-class coach.”
Webb edged away from Gracie to step out of the frame. Yeah, sure. I’m just the pile of dog shit who rushed twenty-two-hundred yards last year.
Gracie set her briefcase on the floor and handed Webb her purse to hold, which didn’t help his wounded ego any. She struck a pose with her arms folded and a “don’t mess with me expression” embedded in her facial features.
“How did you get that bruise on your face?” Skip scowled at Webb, the words woman beater no doubt going through his mind. “Webb Mohanty, Miami Thunder’s bad boy, right?”
“Call him ‘hero.’ He saved me from a mugger.” Gracie jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Right out front. Can you believe it? That’s how I got this mark on my cheek. The purse snatcher smacked me. Webb chased him down and retrieved my bag. Listen, why don’t you two talk while I go up to my room and put some ice on this.” She waved a hand in the direction of the knot on her cheekbone.
She kissed Webb’s cheek as she took back her purse. “Thanks, hero.” She turned to the sports reporter and leaned down to kiss his cheek, too. “Take care, Skip. Keep an eye out for my email.” With her luggage in hand, she strode for the wall of elevators.
Skip spun to watch her. “That woman’s a class act. You ever watch her coach a game?”
“No. I just met her today.”
“The guys on her team all but bow at her feet. Pundits claimed she couldn’t keep them under control. But let me tell ya, it would break those players’ hearts if they ever let her down.” Skip shook his head. “It’s the damndest thing I ever saw. Well, I’ve got to go. Good seeing you.”
Webb was almost to the elevators a tad pissed because Skip didn’t want him included in the picture. Suddenly an arm snaked out and pulled him behind a large marble pillar. “Is he gone?” Gracie whispered as she peered around the column.
“Yeah. Why?” Webb leaned his body against hers. God, she smelled so good.
“I need to pick up my packet for RWA.” She turned to go.
Both of his forearms bracketed her against the large column. “You teach accounting at this college?”
“No!” She slapped his chest. “RWA stands for Romance Writers of America. Once basketball season is over, I fill my free time writing books. It keeps my evenings from getting lonely.” Her dark brown eyes with golden striations bore into his and he nearly fell into their depths.
“To protect my coaching job, I write under a pen name. Believe me, Mount Vista College wouldn’t approve. I mean, think about it. The female coach of the men’s basketball team writing romance? Administration would have a collective heart attack.” She glanced away for a few beats.
“Whether you like hearing this, it’s the truth. Most female collegiate coaches don’t get paid on the same scale as male coaches. We often have to take on additional jobs to make ends meet. That’s why I also teach two online creative writing courses for them. And I write books.”
He tapped his fingertip against her plump bottom lip. “Hell, what kind of books do you write, sweetheart?”
One of her finely plucked eyebrow rose as her hand wrapped around his wrist, drawing it away from her mouth. “Spicy. Erotic.” Her voice was husky when she spoke.
“Online teaching, coaching and writing sex. You sure know how to multi-task.”Just what kind of sex did she write about that she wanted to keep hidden from the college? It was almost ironic. His employer didn’t want him to have any and hers didn’t want her to write about it. Who had put the moratorium on sex anyhow?