TREVOR WAS CARRYING her out of the dugout, through the corridors of the stadium. His scent filled her awareness. Leather and spice, spiked with grass and something else, like the nose-prickling ozone smell that indicates an oncoming rainstorm. He was hauling her through the tunnel like a sack of potatoes. He kicked open the door of a room filled with exercise balls and other medical items and set her on an exam table covered with a white cloth. He kept both hands on her, his warmth penetrating through her clothes. For a player known for his icy control, he sure put out a lot of body heat.
“Do you hurt anywhere? Did any of those bats hit you?”
She tried to answer no, but it came out as a hiccup. Great, now she was making weird sounds on top of everything else. Mortified, she covered her face with both hands. Of all moments to revert to her awkward, gangly worst.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” murmured Trevor. “Those guys would be flipping out if they were in a magazine. They have no fucking feelings, that’s their problem. Now do you have any bruises? If you don’t answer, I’m going to have to put my hands all over you, and I know how you feel about the ‘pact of denial.’”
“Give me a minute,” she finally managed. The “putting my hands all over you” part sounded pretty appealing, but that would be big trouble, and they both knew it. Trevor stepped back, allowing her a little space. When he returned to her field of vision, he stuck a box of Kleenex under her nose. Gratefully, she took a handful of tissues and blotted the tears off her cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“Take a few breaths. You’re in the head trainer’s room, in case you’re wondering. I can go find Terry, if you want. She’s a little scary, but she might be nice to you since your father signs her paycheck.”
“No, don’t leave. I’m okay. I don’t think the bats hit me, they just surprised me.” She didn’t want to talk about the rest of it. The Nessa part.
“I apologize for those guys. I tried to get that tabloid trash away, but Dwight was being a dick. He’s probably going to want to buy you a Mercedes or something to make up for it.”
She sighed. So much for not talking about the article.
“Dwight didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a magazine, it’s meant to be read. Obviously Nessa and Hudson posed for it. They want people to see it.” Her gaze dropped to the tabloid stuffed haphazardly into the front pocket of his jeans. “Let me look at it.”
“No.” Trevor stepped back, but she snagged it right out of his pocket before he got too far. “Why do you want to look at that crap? It made you cry.”
“Everyone else is going to see it. Why not me?” She spread it open on her knees, smoothing out the wrinkles. Nessa, with her voluptuous dark beauty, and Hudson, with his height and sculpted muscles, looked stunning together posed at the TV show’s fake countertop. Hudson held a cupcake in one giant palm, while Nessa put a cherry on top, Betty Boop style, ass sticking out, one hand covering her mouth. She was looking at the camera, while Hudson gazed only at her. Love is easy with Nessa Brindisi, read the caption.
“Hudson doesn’t even like cherries,” she said wistfully. “Cherry anything. He’s really hard to buy cough medicine for, but I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
Trevor shifted uncomfortably. “I had no idea you were married to an NBA player.”
“I wasn’t. I married a shy guy from college who got signed by an Italian league.” She scanned the article, even though it felt like needles stabbing into her eyes. It included a quote from the owner of the Golden State Warriors, saying how happy he was that Hudson Notswego was going to be anchoring their defense. Nessa Brindisi, his fiancée, planned to move to California with him to explore her options in the entertainment industry.
Resentment washed over her. Everything was working out perfectly for Hudson and Nessa. No one seemed bothered by the fact that Hudson had a wife when he met Nessa.
“It looks like that ‘upgrade’ worked out well for him.”
“Shizuko didn’t mean that. He’s an ass. He doesn’t even speak English all that well.”
“Save it, Stark. It’s okay. She’s a celebrity cooking show host, and I’m a college dropout.”
“So? I’d take a thousand Paige Taylors over one egomaniacal Nessa Brindisi.”
Her breath caught. Crazy thoughts cartwheeled through her head. That maybe Trevor liked her. Wanted her. Appreciated her. Afraid to show him how much his statement affected her, she kept her gaze on the tabloid. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better.”
“I told you, I’m not that nice a guy. I mean it. Nessa is all about Nessa, it’s written all over her face.”
The garish photo spread blurred. “You were actually looking at her face? Dwight and Shizuko were pretty focused on other parts.”
“Paige, listen to me.” Trevor cupped her chin in his hand and forced her gaze away from the tabloid. “I’ve been with . . . let’s just say, I’ve seen many women in my time. Bodies are bodies. I’m not knocking them, I appreciate a beautiful woman. Nessa’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. But you have something else, something she doesn’t have.”
He’d called her beautiful. Her blood sang in her ears. Trevor Stark thought she was beautiful. Then he ruined everything with the next word out of his mouth.
“Kindness.”
Kindness. The word might as well have been a wrecking ball demolishing her confidence like a house of cards. “That’s my selling point? Kindness? No wonder he wanted Nessa instead.”
“Yeah? Well, he’s got his head up his ass. If I had the choice, I’d rather have a girl who’d drive to the rescue of a total stranger, who cares about people, who wants to help people. Why were you at the Boys and Girls Club?”
She didn’t answer. Kindness. That’s what Trevor saw in her. Kindness wasn’t sexy. Kindness wasn’t fascinating. Kindness could never compare to Nessa’s allure.
Trevor was still talking. “You were there to help out, right? To volunteer, see how you could contribute?”
She jumped off the massage table, making him take a step back in surprise.
“You’re so full of shit, Trevor. When you see a hot girl at the bar, do you ask her about her volunteer work? No, you check out her boobs or her ass or how willing she is to sleep with you. All those . . . groupies who want your number. Do you make sure they’re ‘kind’ before you screw them?”
“No, but that’s just sex. I’m talking about—”
“What, Trevor? Talking about what?”
She must have stumped him, because he just stared at her with a confused frown.
“Since you brought up sex, Hudson and I never had a problem in that area until the last year. We had plenty of sex, and it seemed okay to me. But maybe I was wrong and there’s a lot more to it, and Nessa has some magic sex formula I just can’t compete with, and if she does, I really think as a public service she should share it on her show. Like a recipe. Nessa’s recipe for outstanding sex that will keep your man from ever leaving you. She could make millions from that. I’d buy it. But I wouldn’t waste it on Hudson, because screw him anyway. We were friends before we got married, and you don’t treat a . . . a friend like—” The words stuck in her throat like a chicken bone. She tried, but nothing came out, just a sob. Then another one.
Was it just last night that she’d announced to Crush that she’d marry Hudson again, double? She was an idiot, clueless, naïve. She shouldn’t be allowed near men. Crush should have locked her in the basement for the past twenty-four years.
Trevor’s arms came around her, surrounding her with his rock solid weight. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
“No. I . . . I thought I was okay . . . but I just realized . . .” Trembling, she pushed the words out between sobs. “I lost my friend. We . . . we . . . probably should have stayed friends instead of getting married. Now we’ll never be friends again. Sorry, my emotions are just all over the place, I guess.”
Her grief engulfed her like a tidal wave, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Anchored to Trevor’s strong frame, she let it flow over her, around her, through her. With one big hand gently cradling her head and the other stroking her back, he murmured an occasional “It’s okay,” or “Go ahead and cry,” but other than that said nothing.
As her tears slowed, and the emotion passed, a new feeling came over her. It felt as if the core of her body had been replaced with a well of fresh honey. Warmth and sweetness spread through her veins, until her entire body felt boneless.
“I want you,” she whispered to Trevor.
His arms tightened around her. “Don’t say that. You’re upset. You just had a shock. We agreed. Pact of denial.”
“I know all that. It doesn’t change anything. I want you. You said you think I’m beautiful.” She lifted her head from his chest and tilted it to meet his gaze. His was blazing with heat.
“You are.”
“You said you’d take a thousand Paige Taylors. Well, there’s one standing right next to you.”
“You’re not playing fair. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Because I’m ‘kind’?”
His eyes narrowed, glittering at the scorn in her voice.
“Just a kiss, that’s all. Short. Brief. Right here.” She pointed to her lips, and watched his gaze follow her finger, then stall. Oh, the way he looked at her, like he wanted to plunge inside her and turn her inside out.
“You’re killing me,” he whispered. Her lower belly clenched, hard, with an electric jolt of lust.
He leaned down, those crystal eyes pure green flame. His lips brushed hers, just the barest, slightest touch, but enough to make everything stop.
Then, with his body tense as steel, his lips moved against hers. “You are a very dangerous girl, you know that?” It was more of a growl than a question.
“Why?” A breath more than a word.
“Because you make me forget things I shouldn’t forget.”
Tension arced between them. Everything vanished but this strong, enigmatic man meeting her lips so tenderly, so gently, as if she was something to treasure. As if he wanted her to know she was something to treasure. In that moment, she felt as if she saw into his soul, to the wounded, beautiful, caring man within.
With a visible effort, he straightened and snapped the connection. The loss made her shiver. She hugged her arms to her body, searching for her composure.
“Do you mean our pact of denial?” she asked.
“Among other things.” She could practically see him retreat from the intimate space they’d just shared. “Are you going to be okay?”
Was she going to be okay? She did a quick survey, inside and out. Physically, she noticed only one twinge in her elbow, where a falling bat must have bruised her. Emotionally . . . actually, she felt pretty good. As if a new part of her had been brought to life. She looked back at the photo spread, still open on the massage table. “It looks so staged, doesn’t it? Kind of embarrassing, really.”
“Absolutely. Just imagine the shit the Warriors are going to give him. Bet they’ll smear cupcake frosting all over his locker or something.”
“That shouldn’t make me feel better, but it kind of does.” She laughed up at him. His gaze dropped to her lips. Desire surged between them again, hot and volatile.
“What the hell is going on in here?” The deep voice of her father made her spin around. Great, just what she needed, her father misunderstanding the situation and taking it out on Trevor.
“Nothing. Trevor was comforting me because of this.” She grabbed the tabloid off the table and waved it at him. “Did you know about it?”
Crush transferred his angry glare to Trevor. “Yes, and I was trying to keep you from ever having to see it.”
Trevor did his best Greek statue imitation, face like marble, arms crossed over his chest.
“It wasn’t Trevor’s fault. He didn’t write the article, he didn’t pose for those photos, and he didn’t cheat with Nessa. And actually, I’m glad I saw it. It makes it easier for me to move on.”
Crush still held Trevor in his sights. “She’s been crying. What’d you do?”
“Don’t blame Trevor for that, Dad. And I’m right here. Look at me.” She waited until he’d unlocked his gaze from Trevor’s. She kept it simple, stating each sentence with careful enunciation. “Trevor was being nice. Thanks to him, I feel better. He was comforting me. We now have to do this photo shoot. Okay?”
A muscle in Crush’s jaw jumped. “Fine. Just . . . take it easy with the ‘nice’ shit.”
No more touching Paige, anywhere, anytime. It wasn’t just that she was sexy and appealing and someone he could look at all day long and not get bored. It wasn’t just that he wanted her in his bed. The problem was that when she looked at him, something happened. He felt . . . seen. Appreciated for something other than good looks or baseball.
What she saw, he had no idea. But he couldn’t get enough of being with her, talking to her.
And that was bad, bad, very bad news. Could not happen again. Not because of Crush Taylor, of course. He couldn’t care less what Crush thought of him. Actually, he appreciated how protective the baseball legend was of his daughter. Someone had to be, after what Notswego had done.
After Paige left the room, he ripped the tabloid into little shreds and buried it in the trash. When he reached the dugout, Marcia had arrived and was arranging Dwight and Shizuko for the shot. The marketing head was in her element, though it was funny watching such a tiny woman prodding two big baseball players where she wanted them.
As the center fielder, Dwight took the middle spot, posing with both hands resting on a bat. Shizuko casually rested one arm on Dwight’s shoulder and held his glove to his heart. Marcia pointed Trevor to Dwight’s other side.
“Turn your body sideways, toward Dwight,” she directed. “Fold your arms across your chest and look at the camera.”
Just to get this crap over with so he could go murder some baseballs, Trevor did as he was told. He was in no mood to smile for the camera. He kept thinking about the article in the tabloid. The only mention of Paige had come when the reporter referred to Hudson’s first wife, the “daughter of sports legend Crush Taylor.” It didn’t even say her name. As if she’d been whitewashed out of the storybook basketball romance.
The problem was, Hudson didn’t know what it felt to be alone in the world. If he did, he wouldn’t toss away a wonderful girl like Paige. He would worship the ground she walked on, he’d shower her with love, give her anything she needed. That’s what he would—
No. Trevor stopped that thought before it could fully form. The best thing he could do for Paige was keep away from her. If the Detroit guys came for him, if they knew Paige existed, that he’d held her, kissed her . . .
No. No more Paige.
“Uh, Trevor Stark, do you think you could give us more of a smile?” Marcia was saying. “You’re going to scare off the little kids.”
He spread his mouth wide in a mirthless grimace.
“Maybe we’re better off staying in his comfort zone,” Paige said to Marcia. “The stare of death.”
“The ladies love it,” Dwight agreed. “Doesn’t have to say a word, just lets his cheekbones do the talking.”
Trevor ignored their teasing. “Smile or no smile? I’m here to please.”
“How about some sunglasses?” Marcia suggested. “That way it won’t matter so much.”
Trevor grabbed onto that idea like a lifeline. If he wore sunglasses in the photo, he’d be less recognizable. He’d changed a lot since Detroit, but his eyes were the same. The ballplayers relaxed their pose while he dug in his pocket for the sepia brown shades he often wore against the Texas sun. Once he had them on, he was able to relax.
His new look had the added benefit of allowing him to watch Paige without Crush or anyone else noticing. He wanted to keep an eye on her. After all, she’d been crying her heart out half an hour ago. Now she was back at work, trying to act normal. She might fool everyone else, but he could see how shaky she still was.
Right now she was saying something to Shizuko that made the right fielder smile. Trevor tightened his hands into fists. That Brazilian bastard didn’t deserve her kindness. He’d hurt Paige. Trevor muttered something to that effect under his breath.
“Get a grip, man,” Dwight said, just as low. “You know you shouldn’t be messing with her.”
“Keep out of it.” Did every damn guy within a thirty mile radius have to be involved in this thing?
“Thought I was your friend.”
“Shut up and smile.”
They all gathered together for the pose one more time. Dwight grinned, Shizuko looked soulful, and Trevor did the badass thing he did so well. Click.
Paige and Marcia high-fived each other, and the ballplayers were set free. Crush gave them all a curt nod as they filed onto the field. “Nice work, guys. Prepare to be viral.”
Out on the field, Dwight did a few hamstring stretches, while Trevor launched into the light jog that always kicked off his workouts. They each did their own thing for a few moments, then Dwight said, “I was out of line, bro. Paige is a sweet girl and I shouldn’t have been looking at those photos. I apologized to her too. She’s a cool chick.”
Trevor shrugged as if it made no difference to him. “That’s between you and her.”
“Yeah, and you don’t give a shit, do you? No, because you’re ice man Trevor Stark and feelings are for pussies.”
Trevor shot him an annoyed look but didn’t rise to the bait.
“You know, I met Hudson once.” Dwight dropped that little nugget of info, then stopped, waiting for Trevor to react. Don’t fall for it. Don’t do it.
But Trevor couldn’t help it. “Yeah? What’s the asshole like?”
“You do like her!” Dwight moved into a lunge, raising his arms over his head in a gesture of triumph. “The mighty Trevor Stark has a crush.”
A crush? Trevor scrambled to cover his tracks, to bring back the badass Trevor Stark no one would ever accuse of having a crush. “What are you, in third grade? I’m curious about the guy who’s fucking Nessa Brindisi, that’s all. I want the 411. What I want to know, is cocksucking easy with Nessa Brindisi?”
Dwight didn’t laugh, and that’s because it wasn’t funny, not even a little. Trevor flashed on the memory of Paige staring at that cupcake photo, tears swimming in her big blue eyes. He felt like a total piece of shit in that moment.
“You know something, T? You’re a liar. And a coward. I’ve seen how Paige looks at you. You should go for it. Ask her out. Act like a human being for once. It’s not like your life could get any emptier than it is right now. And you know something else?”
Trevor kept jogging in place, letting Dwight’s words bounce off him as if they were hitting a wall of ice.
“Stop saying you’re my friend if you’re going to act like a stranger.”