CHAPTER FOUR
Micki awoke, painfully aware she wanted to die, but not until after she killed Ricky Carter. The last thing she remembered about her night was Carter telling her he’d turned her iced teas into the more potent Long Island kind. The first thing she recalled this morning was a mouth full of cotton and a headache the likes of which she’d never felt before. Drums beat in her skull and she lay in bed unable to move, let alone rise and get a glass of water or Tylenol.
“Here. Take this.”
She forced her dry, heavy eyelids open and saw a glass of water and two pills in a large masculine hand. “Damian.”
Just like that, highlights of last night came back to her in mortifying, vivid detail. She’d stripped in the bar, been carried out in Damian’s arms and, as thanks, she’d attempted to seduce him in the cab.
Oh, my God. She would have rolled over and hid in embarrassment, except she needed that water desperately. When she sat up too quickly, dizziness hit her hard and she fell back against the pillow, each movement causing pain of a different kind.
“Easy.” He helped her to an upright position and she gratefully swallowed the pills, gulping the liquid fast.
“Thank you.” She kept her eyelids shut tight, more out of mortification than need. “I’m guessing you brought me back to…where are we, anyway?”
“We’re in your hotel room. I figured you wouldn’t mind me invading your privacy to find your key card if it meant you didn’t have to spend the night in my room. And you’re welcome.”
“You’re quite the gentleman,” she said wryly. “What time is it anyway?”
“A little after noon.”
The camp. Her job. Panic assaulted her. Her eyes shot open and she bolted up, or at least she tried to, but Damian had anticipated her reaction and placed his hands on her shoulders to hold her down.
Her eyes darted around the room. “I’m late for work, you’re late for the camp. We have to get moving.” But even as she argued, her pounding head and the waves of nausea clearly told her she wasn’t going anywhere at the moment.
“Sophie’s handling everything,” he said, as he loosened his grip on her shoulders.
Sophie had flown down to Florida? She eased back against the pillows and finally turned her heavy-lidded gaze to Damian.
Even in a rumpled, razor-stubbled state he was the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on, while she probably looked worse than roadkill. So much for all of Sophie’s lessons and hard work.
“How did Sophie get here in time?” Micki asked.
He rose and walked barefoot across the carpet to the window where he’d thoughtfully kept the shades drawn. “I called her late last night. And before you say another word, how much of last night do you remember?”
Micki narrowed her gaze. If she claimed not to remember the kiss, would he continue to pretend it had never happened? Could that be what he’d done the last time, when he’d been the one drunk and out of control? If so, she could definitely understand his perspective better now that she’d walked in his shoes. But she had no intention of handling the situation the same way. Denial wasn’t Micki’s style, but since it apparently was Damian’s, she wouldn’t rush into dealing with what had happened last night.
Besides, she needed some time to clear her own head as well. She carefully wiggled farther up in bed, keeping her pounding head braced against pillows. “I remember going downstairs to join the team for a bite to eat. I hadn’t had anything much all day and my stomach was pretty empty. I ordered iced tea and ate the spicy appetizers and guzzled my drink. I found out later Carter had them spiked and ordered two of them.”
A muscle ticked in Damian’s jaw, his anger barely concealed.
“There’s no love lost between you two, huh?” Micki asked.
“Forget me.” He slashed his hand through the air. “What I want to know is who the hell raised him to treat women that way?”
So much for a slow lead-in, Micki thought. Impossible when he’d just given her the perfect opening. “Such chivalry from a man who arrived with one woman on his arm and left with another?” She laced her words with teasing innuendo.
“It wasn’t intentional,” he said, his tone surprisingly serious.
She couldn’t argue with his comment and flushed hot, recalling exactly how she’d come on to him after he’d carried her out.
He tipped his head to one side, studying her with too much intense scrutiny for her comfort.
“You need to know that any woman I’ve ever been with knows the score and agrees to play by my rules.”
She swallowed hard and decided to face the consequences. “Is that why you didn’t close the deal last night? Because I was too drunk to agree to your rules, whatever they are?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped closer to the bed. “You remember it all, huh?”
She nodded. “Just like I’m now sure you remember New Year’s Eve.”
He exhaled hard and shut his eyes.
She was struck by the thick fringe of lashes, so sexy on a man. She also realized she was right. He did recall kissing her and had been avoiding and ignoring the fact ever since. Because he didn’t find her attractive and didn’t want to admit his mistake in the sobering light of day?
Whatever the reason, whatever his feelings toward her, she had to know and put this crazy attraction behind her once and for all.
“Look,” he said, sitting down by her side.
She ignored the rocking movement his big body caused and forced a steady gaze.
“You and I couldn’t be more different,” he explained.
She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “And you have so much in common with the other women in your life.”
To her shock, he burst out laughing. “Touché.” Reaching out, he tenderly stroked her cheek. “You’re better than the rest of them,” he said gruffly. “You deserve more than I could ever give. Especially while I’m still focused on keeping this career of mine alive.”
The intimate gesture and honest words took her off guard and her heart did a funny leap in her chest. And she finally understood. When it came to women, Damian lived by what he considered a gentleman’s code. Get involved with easy women and don’t worry about the damage left behind.
She didn’t consider herself better than anyone else, but he was right about one thing. She wasn’t the kind of woman up for a no-strings affair. Especially not when the dynamic was already complicated by emotion, the way it was for her.
“I understand,” she said, letting him off the hook.
He shook his head. “I don’t think you do. I have three sisters. If anyone spiked their drink intending to take advantage of them, I’d string them up by their—” He cut himself off. “Well, you get the picture. I wasn’t about to take advantage of you.”
But had he wanted to? They had broached sensitive topics this morning. She wasn’t ready to touch that one. “I appreciate you looking out for me. You didn’t just take care of me last night, but you protected my business by calling Sophie.”
“It was the right thing to do.” He shifted on the bed, obviously uncomfortable with her gratitude.
For Damian, chivalry was inbred. Just because he’d come to her aid when she needed him, it didn’t mean his views on women, relationships or her had changed, and she cautioned herself against softening her heart.
An awkward silence surrounded them and Micki struggled for something to say when a loud banging on the door sounded.
Damian was startled by the interruption, but grateful, too. He hadn’t expected such a private, intimate conversation between them. He also hadn’t anticipated the warm feelings as he’d watched over her last night, then had seen her struggle to face her actions—and call him on his.
The knocking on the door continued and Damian glanced at Micki. “Any idea who it could be?”
She shook her head, then shut her eyes tight against what must still be pain. “I have no idea,” she said.
The banging grew louder. “Micki Jordan, open the door or I’ll kick it open myself!” a familiar voice yelled.
“Oh God, it’s Uncle Yank.” Micki groaned and wiggled back under the covers, pulling the blankets over her head. “He’s going to kill me,” she said in a muffled voice.
Damian cursed. More like Yank was going to murder the man in Micki’s room.
He headed for the door, drew a deep breath and let her uncle inside. “Hi, Yank.”
“What the hell are you doing in here? Never mind, I don’t want to know. I do want an answer to who’s responsible for this.” He shoved a newspaper beneath Damian’s nose.
The press. Damian had pushed Micki past the flashing bulbs last night without pausing or stopping. For her sake he’d hoped they hadn’t gotten a good shot of her face and he thought the two of them had made a semi-decent getaway.
Obviously not. And though they were both used to the media, he as an athlete, she as a publicist, Micki certainly wouldn’t have ever expected to be photographed in such a compromising position. And she didn’t deserve to be. Or to have her hard-earned reputation in the business world trashed.
Damian recognized the New York daily and pulled the paper out of the older man’s hand. On opening the page, he groaned at the full-color shot of himself carrying a half-dressed Micki out of Lacie’s Lounge, Tampa’s most notorious strip joint.
“Shit.”
Yank slammed the door shut behind him. “Now what do you have to say for yourself, big shot?”
“Hey, keep it down,” Micki said from across the room.
“Get up, young lady, and explain this. What the devil are you doing with your dress hiked down, the twins on display and this clown carrying you out of a strip club?”
Micki pulled the covers off her head and faced her uncle. “Damian saved me from being even more of an idiot,” she said, defending him at her own expense.
Everything this woman said or did surprised him. She’d been blindsided, given alcohol she hadn’t asked for, and Damian never should have let her set foot in Lacie’s in the first place.
“Let me see the paper,” Micki demanded.
He didn’t see any point in arguing. Reluctantly, Damian walked over and held out the news.
She took in the picture and her skin turned paler, if such a thing were possible. “Those are my twins.”
Yank let out a disgusted sound. “Since you’re obviously hungover now and you normally don’t drink, what gives?”
She pushed her curls off her face. “A lot of it’s still fuzzy, but Carter spiked my drinks and I couldn’t taste the added alcohol because of the spicy food.” She shut her eyes, obviously trying to remember more.
Damian found himself touched by her fragile vulnerability, making him want to protect her even more.
“I’m going to rip his nuts off,” her uncle growled, breaking any tender moment Damian had been experiencing.
“Get in line,” Damian muttered.
“If Atkins represented him, Carter would be dog shit. Unfortunately, he’s a Cambias client,” he said, referring to one of the newer, younger, money-hungry agents.
Damian knew both Yank and Atkins Associates were losing clients to men like Cambias. The older players possessed agent loyalty, but the younger ones, like Carter, only cared about contracts, perks and cold, hard cash.
“Eventually he’ll bury himself.” Micki rose from her bed, glanced down at her T-shirt and shot Damian a questioning glance.
He wasn’t about to explain how he’d undressed her and changed her clothes. A smart girl would figure it out on her own.
Her cheeks stained red in embarrassment. Nothing wrong with her intelligence, he thought wryly. Her modesty was another unique aspect to her personality, since most women he’d been with willingly bared their assets.
Ignoring him, Micki turned to her uncle. “How’s this story playing in New York? Because we’ve got to spin it somehow.”
“Well, the AP’s got ahold of it. With Fuller’s injury just a month shy of the postseason, his carrying you out of there has the reporters speculatin’ that he’ll be back on the field in no time. He’s being portrayed as a hero.”
“That’s just great,” she said, frustrated.
Damian said nothing, knowing it wasn’t the best time to pat himself on the back for gaining positive media exposure at her expense.
“I need to issue a statement.” She paced the floor, mentally planning her next move.
“The hell you do. You need to lay low!” Yank countered.
She strode up to her uncle, no longer the fragile, defenseless woman Damian had protected last night. “I’m an adult and I’m responsible for my actions. I made this mess, I’ll get myself out of it.” Micki paused in thought. “Though for the sake of the agency, I do agree I should keep my face—and twins—out of the papers.”
“Attagirl,” Yank said.
“After I issue some sort of explanation.”
Damian admired her guts. Not many men he knew would willingly get into the old man’s face. Their family dynamic obviously consisted of love and respect, both things Damian had grown up with and appreciated.
“I hate to take sides—” Damian began.
“Then don’t,” Micki said.
“Unless it’s mine,” Yank added.
Damian suppressed a grin. “I think your uncle’s got a point. You ought to take time off before going back to New York or issuing any kind of statement. By then the media will have found other bait.”
She pursed those lips he wanted to kiss again.
“I don’t run away from problems,” she insisted.
“But like you said, it’s in the best interest of the agency.” Yank was obviously hitting on the one thing he thought would change her mind. “And Sophie said to remind you that anything you say will only come out sounding defensive, so take a breath and suck this one up.”
Micki shook her head, her displeasure apparent. “I want everyone to know that the Hot Zone publicists don’t run away. That’ll kill our business for sure.” Shoulders back, chin at a determined tilt, she stomped away from her uncle. She headed for the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.
Yank turned toward Damian. The lines around his eyes seemed more pronounced, his expression more concerned than he’d let on in front of his niece. “She’ll calm down. Now tell me how the press knew where the team was hanging out.”
The same question had been lingering in the back of Damian’s mind since he’d seen the photograph. “The paparazzi knows which clubs the Renegades frequent. Lacie’s isn’t one of them. I have no idea how they found out.”
But Damian’s mind was already working all the angles and possibilities. Who, besides his teammates, knew about their spur-of-the-moment decision to hit Lacie’s? There were the cab drivers and any waiters and waitresses from the hotel bar who’d heard them talking, but a trip to Lacie’s wasn’t much of a scoop, so Damian couldn’t fathom anyone having any interest in calling the press. There was no money to be made in a story about where the team was going clubbing.
Unless the person who’d leaked the information hadn’t want the money but rather the possibility of an ugly exposé—but still, there had been no guarantee they would even have a story to tell.
Damian shook his head. Who had an agenda? There was Carter, who’d spiked Micki’s drink and hated Damian’s guts, and Carole, who was probably pissed off enough at Damian to want to cause trouble. But those two had been together and had probably been keeping each other too busy to think about Damian, at least until this morning. He didn’t discount them completely, but he didn’t want to give Yank an unfounded target for his anger.
Damian glanced at the older man and shrugged. “I can’t imagine who’d snitch.”
Yank snorted. “Micki needs to get away until this blows over,” he said, his mind shifting gears.
On this Damian agreed. “Got any ideas?”
The other man rubbed his hand over his wiry beard. “She won’t go willingly, which means she’ll need someone to take her away in secret.” He pinned Damian with a determined gaze. “And you can’t play ball anyway.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“Yeah, well, it’s true. That wrist needs some rest.”
“I still need to be with the team,” Damian countered.
“Under ordinary circumstances, you would. But this ain’t ordinary. You need to take care of Micki. You also need to have that wrist looked at by the best. So I covered your ass at the camp today. I had Sophie tell Gordon and Coach Donovan you were seeing a rehab specialist privately so you could return sooner than anticipated. That’s true, by the way. I found some hotshot who’ll fly in tomorrow and take a look. I already put your test results in his hands.”
Damian wasn’t sure whether to thank Yank for the help and the positive spin with the team, or to strangle him for interfering and dragging him further into Micki’s life.
“No thanks necessary,” Yank said. “I was just doing my job. Now you’re going to do yours. You got that big resort off the Florida Keys courtesy of that twenty-million-dollar contract I negotiated for you. I suggest you use it to help my niece get some R & R.”
Take Micki to his island retreat? “Give me a break.”
“The guys told me how you goaded Micki, telling her you couldn’t see her hanging out at a strip club.”
“I still can’t.” But he knew Yank was baiting him, and as Damian waited for the old man to reel him in, he stiffened, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Yank cleared his throat. “Well, any idiot would know my Micki’s pride would push her to do exactly what you insinuated she couldn’t do. Add to that you played on her weakness.” Yank poked him in the chest accusingly.
Damian frowned at that accusation. “What weakness? What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.
But even as he spoke, Micki’s self-deprecating words came back to him. Good old Micki, one of the guys, she’d said. And how had he replied? If you say so.
“Holy hell.” How had his life gotten so complicated in less than twenty-four hours?
“I see you get it now.” Yank nodded, pleased.
And Damian resigned himself to the inevitable. “I have a full staff on the island. They’ll take good care of her.”
“You’ll take good care of her. No way will you dump her on the island and take off. You understand?”
Damian understood all right. Him, Micki, a luxurious house, a staff, a beach and time alone. He was so screwed.
“I’ll tell her you arranged for your private plane to take her back to New York. You can deal with her from there.” Yank let out a laugh. “I don’t envy you when she realizes she’s been had, but I’m sure it’ll build you some character.”
“I didn’t know I needed any.” Damian shoved his hands into his jeans pocket.
Just then, Micki walked out of the bathroom, her face freshly washed and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She’d put on sweats in addition to the large shirt he’d chosen last night, but her eyes were still glassy and red.
“I want to go home,” she said. “I promise to lay low once I’m there. There’s a difference between running away and being cautious about the agency’s reputation.”
“We were just discussing that,” Damian said.
“I’m not in any shape to argue with you two—”
“And we’re not going to fight you. You obviously know what’s best.” Damian hated lying to her, especially when he’d be the one to face her anger later, but Yank counted on him to get her away from emotional harm. He only hoped she’d thank him and not throttle him when they reached his island retreat.
He sighed. He’d bought the place for himself and had never before taken a woman there. He didn’t have a good feeling about doing so now.
* * *
Yank glanced around the hotel room he’d booked for the night. Sophie would be staying next door, probably so she could keep an ear out for him. But he couldn’t be pissed. Sophie was a good girl. When she’d gotten the call about her sister being in trouble, she’d contacted him and they’d hightailed it to Florida pronto. Yank was proud of the girls and how they stuck together.
At this point he was proud of himself, too. He couldn’t have planned a better way to get Micki and Damian together. Micki had tried to fight it, of course. She’d wanted Damian to attend the autism event, but under Yank’s glare, Damian had insisted on accompanying her on her flight home instead.
If Yank had had any qualms about Damian, they’d been erased last night when he’d taken care of Micki. Yes, those two would be a dang good fit—as long as Damian could handle her when she found out they’d lied and shipped her off to a remote island.
With Micki settled, hopefully soon, he could turn his sights to Sophie. His sights. Now that was a good joke.
If you listen to Sophie, you might have a chance to save your eyesight. There was that voice again.
Yank cursed aloud. “Yeah, well, and then what’ll I have? My eyesight and a lonely life.” Though he had no trouble fixing up his nieces, when it came to himself, Yank had concluded he was more afraid of commitment than he was of his condition. If he avoided fixing his eyesight, he had an excuse not to fix his relationship with Lola.
He smacked his hand against the wall and an electronic voice said, “Twelve fifty-five p.m.” He’d lied when he’d told the girls he didn’t need the watch. It was so much easier than squinting into the fog to try and read the numbers on the tiny face.
Never thought you were a coward. He didn’t know if the voice was referring to his eyesight or letting Lola go. Either way, that voice was right. But at least as far as his eyes went, he’d made a big decision, one all three girls would agree with.
He decided he’d been acting like a pansy. Sophie had made him a doctor’s appointment first thing Monday morning. He intended to keep it. It was time for him to deal with his health because he couldn’t make any decisions about his personal life until that issue had been resolved.
No woman will wait around that long.
Maybe, Yank thought, but that was a risk he’d have to take.
* * *
Micki tapped her fingers against the armrest and stared out the window of Damian’s private jet, waiting for takeoff. He brought her a drink, Coke with lots of ice, and settled in beside her.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful because I really do appreciate you getting me home quickly, but why didn’t you go over to the camp and salvage what was left of the day? I could have gotten home myself.”
He tipped his head to the side and met her gaze. “You said yourself, I’m a gentleman.”
“And my uncle’s playing on that particular quality to get you to look out for me.” She let out a huff of breath. “I’m perfectly capable of taking myself home, you know. I certainly won’t make the same mistake twice.” Especially since most of last night was coming back to her—piece by humiliating piece.
“Nobody blames you for what happened,” he assured her. “Now shut your eyes and get some sleep.” He patted her hand and the warmth caused her heart to skip a beat.
She still wasn’t operating at one hundred percent and decided a nap was a good idea. When she woke, they were landing, the jarring noise of the engines and the atmospheric shift rousing her from sleep.
Her head still ached as did her muscles. She stretched and glanced at Damian. “I feel like I’ve only been out about an hour.” She looked down at her watch. “I have only been sleeping for an hour. Why are we landing?” She gripped the armrests and her stomach flipped in sheer panic. “What’s wrong with the plane?”
“Nothing,” he said in a soothing voice that would have worked—if she believed him.
Micki glanced out the window at the landscape below. “There are palm trees down there, so either we’re making an emergency landing or we turned back to Florida or—”
“We’re landing on a semi-private island,” he said, obviously telling her the truth.
Micki stared first at the blue sky and southern landscape and then into Damian’s deep eyes. “I’m going to kill you and my uncle.” But right now, Damian was the only one within spitting distance. “How could you?”
She shot him a scathing glare, not seeing the sexy man or the guy who’d been her savior. Instead she saw the man who’d betrayed her trust and discounted her ability to decide what was best for herself.
“Micki—”
“Turn the plane around,” she ordered.
“I can’t. I promised your uncle I’d get you away for a while.”
“What about what I want?”
He shook his head. In his eyes, she saw true regret, but in the set of his jaw she read a determination to stay the course.
“Then I’ll just leave on the next flight.” The plane, which had been taxiing, slowed to a stop.
“There is no next flight unless I schedule one.” He rose from his seat and extended his arm toward her. “Come on. Let’s make the best of this.”
She smacked his hand away and strode ahead of him, furious beyond words.
“Welcome to paradise,” he said as he followed her out of the small plane.
She ignored him and planned to do so for the foreseeable future.
Once on the ground, Damian steered her directly to the hunter-green Jeep Wrangler waiting for them on the runway. He excused himself to see about the luggage, but returned five minutes later with an annoyed scowl on his face and no bags in his hands.
“Where’s our luggage?” she asked.
“Apparently, it’s still in Florida. Someone claiming to be me called and told the people at the terminal to hold on to it there.”
Now Micki frowned. “And they didn’t find it odd that you didn’t want your suitcase on board along with you?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes I bring a bag, other times I don’t since I have clothing down here. It was a misunderstanding and there’s nothing we can do about it until the bags are flown in tomorrow.”
“I don’t plan on being here long enough for that. As soon as you can arrange it, I want to go back to New York.”
He ran a hand through his hair, obviously at his wits’ end. “How about we go back to my place and you can call your uncle and sister from there? Then you can figure out what you want to do. If it makes you happy, you can leave first thing tomorrow. You must be wiped out, so as long as you’re already here, use the time to get some rest.”
She tapped her foot against the blacktop, the desire to head home warring with the temptation he offered. She might be furious, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t exhausted, too. Besides, she had to admit she was curious about this gorgeous retreat.
“Okay, that’s fine,” she said, trying to sound grateful when all she really wanted was to strangle him and her uncle for manipulating her this way. “But I want you to arrange a flight out tomorrow.”
“We’ll see.”
As she climbed into his Jeep Wrangler she growled.