Chapter Six

 

I spent the next day lounging in my second-floor hotel room. I didn’t know what time Brick was heading off for his flight and I couldn’t risk running into him. I needed him hanging on to the memory of last night.

I rang for room service and watched old movies. But I couldn’t concentrate; my head was a swirl of erotic images from the evening before that kept playing over and over. I called Mom and told her I’d pick her up some Dean & DeLuca spices, her favorite. My coach, Sheila, called and sighed when I said I wasn’t riding at all for the next couple of days. “Only three months ’til it’s hard slog training again,” she said with a sternness in her voice I recognized only too well.

After a piping-hot bath I fell asleep early, then rose fresh for the long train ride down the East Coast.

Watching the blur of houses and place names soon sent me into a bored trance. I knew I should fly, really I should—a couple of hours and I’d be home. Because this was a mammoth train ride by anyone’s standards. Other people managed to climb those airplane steps, sit on those small seats and smile at the flight attendant. So why couldn’t I? I could do things most people couldn’t, but flying really stumped me. When I’d traveled to Beijing to the Olympics I’d had a tranquilizer prescribed and cleared by the official Olympic body. If I could have cruised there I would have. As it happened, I didn’t remember a thing. Dad propped me up in my sleepy, dazed state as I climbed aboard and then helped me off when we eventually arrived in China.

But I didn’t really mind the train. Sheila and my agent had gotten used to my phobia when planning travel to competitions and events. Often Sheila would fly with my bike and I would take the train with either Mom or Dad.

But today I was alone. I ate fruit then went for chocolate. Picked at a dry, flavorless hot dog and drank Mountain Dew. I finished the Booker Prize novel I was reading and reached for a discarded New York Standard on the opposite seat. I flicked through, read an article about a new exhibit at The Metropolitan and a piece on Madonna who was reading her latest kids’ book at Barnes and Noble. I was just about to toss the paper aside when I spotted a small picture of Brick on the third to last page. Next to him was a photo of me. It was the one from the Olympics and I stood holding flowers with my gold medal around my neck, beaming from ear to ear.

“Athletic Romance,” the headline read. My skin prickled as a wave of heat rose from my chest, up my neck and onto my cheeks.

Oh my God!

Suddenly I couldn’t focus. I rubbed my knuckles into my sockets then tossed back a mouthful of Mountain Dew.

With apprehension ballooning, I skimmed through the two-paragraph article beneath. It seemed someone at the Ray Lenon studio had squealed to the press about Brick’s microphone slip-up. Although his shocking words obviously weren’t repeated in the paper, they implied that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other and had left abruptly, together, for a night of steamy “athletic” sex back at The Waldorf.

I folded the paper into my bag and glanced nervously at the other passengers on the train. Everyone was absorbed in books or iPhones or fast asleep. My heart rate settled slightly. At least my parents wouldn’t see it, since it was a New York paper. But so many other people would, and that was how gossip started. I didn’t want gossip about “us” until we were established. Until I’d made Brick mine. Because if I failed to do that and everyone found out, I didn’t know how I would step out of the house again.

Sighing, I stared at the passing landscape. There was nothing I could do about it now but hope the hotel bellboy didn’t add his gossip to the mix. Because that would be mortifying, Brick sucking on my breasts in an elevator was not appropriate behavior even if it had been enormous fun.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, I arrived in Orlando. Stepped out with my bags and let the humidity wrap around me like an old friend.

Home.

My cab to Richmond Hill took twenty minutes and before I knew it I was showered and wearing my ratty old t-shirt. With fresh pasta in one hand, wine in the other, I sat and waited for the hockey game to start—Vipers versus Coyotes. I’d managed to push the newspaper article from my mind and was looking forward to an exciting playoff game.

I’d just finished my pasta when the Vipers shot from the tunnel onto the ice. I took a gulp of wine as number eight flew out with his stick held high. Brick. The crowd erupted. His helmet was off and the commentator jabbered excitedly about the points he’d scored over the season so far.

As I watched him move over the ice with speed and grace, my heart fluttered. A curl of delicious sensation shimmied up my spine and settled in my scalp. He skated up to the coach, spoke briefly then slammed on his helmet, sliced back to the center circle and banged his stick down, hard.

My eyes roamed his body as the camera panned over him in a close-up. Thick pads protected his legs and shoulders, making him look even more colossal than I knew he was. His hands were hidden behind dense gloves. I looked at his groin, the shape of a cup could just be made out. I licked my lips and swallowed. I knew what lay beneath that cup. I knew what his cock looked like, tasted like. I knew about the silver ring through the end. The ring that he loved to have tickled and tugged, sucked and swallowed down my throat.

A breath shivered through my chest at the delicious memory.

No one else in the arena knew about the ring. Well, apart from his teammates if he showered with them in the locker room. But Brick’s cock and I were on more than glancing terms, we were intimate, and hopefully after the charity dance on Friday, we’d get considerably more intimate. I was so looking forward to it.

The camera swung around a couple of the other players—Ramrod, Wolf, Phoenix— and then panned up to the press booth and across to the players’ wives, kids and girlfriends.

Suddenly my world stopped.

I felt as though I’d been punched in the stomach. My breathing froze and a wrench of nausea fisted my guts.

Mae French.

What the hell was she doing there, looking all glamorous in a soft pink hat and a pristine cream coat? Her bee-stung lips smiled at something Phoenix’s wife said and her false lashes fluttered toward the camera.

I stood and paced to the window. Rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes, which stung with the image I’d just seen. That should be me up there with the other players’ wives and girlfriends.

Not her.

I’d only been out of touch for a couple of days and she’d walked back into his life. How the hell had she done it? I thought they were over, finito.

The sick feeling doubled.

Had my plan backfired? Had I left him wanting a woman, any woman, and he’d reached out for her? Maybe she was still in love with him and jumped at the chance to satisfy the need I’d planted and deliberately left him with.

Oh God, no.

A gaping hole of hopelessness tore through me as the starter whistle shrilled from the screen. I reached for my mobile and brought up his number. I had to speak to him. Ask him about Mae. I needed to know.

Suddenly I realized how stupid I was being. Of course he wouldn’t answer it, he was on the ice, playing. I grabbed my wine and knocked back the whole glass in one go. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Instead I kicked the sofa and created a big dent in the cream leather. What had I done? How could I not have anticipated this? How could I have anticipated this? I’d thought, hell, everyone thought, Brick’s affair with the chart-topping country singer was over.

I grabbed the remote. I couldn’t watch the game. Not with her there. Not when there was a possibility she’d put her hands and her mouth on that ring since I had. The feeling of possessiveness was overwhelming, as was the anger. I couldn’t think straight, the image of them in bed together filled my mind and pushed away all coherent thoughts.

My vision blurred and red rage seeped into the periphery. She was no doubt smiling because she knew she was going to get alone time with Brick’s cock when the game was over. Back at his place, with a bottle of champagne and candles flickering as they sprawled on a four-poster bed.

“And it was always going to get personal,” shouted the commentator, startling me out of my inner raging. “The Coyotes just have a way of winding their opponents up.”

My finger hovered over the off switch.

“And it looks like Phoenix has had enough of being hooked.” There was a roar from the crowd. The camera zoomed in on a huddle of players. The Coyotes were in russet brown and gold, the Vipers in red and white. The scuffle going on was a mix of all four colors whirling and rolling, blending and bouncing. Phoenix was at the center. “And gloves are off,” shouted the commentator. Though he didn’t need to. Gloves and sticks were hitting the Plexiglas and ice, so were helmets.

The ref’s whistle rang out but no one took any notice. Still the fight continued. More players whizzed up and joined in. Fists flew, jerseys were tugged and dragged, players were brutally shoved and fell to the ice. I spotted Brick yanking at a Coyote who’d wrapped an elbow around Wolf’s neck. The camera moved in close. Brick looked furious, his teeth gritted, his eyes narrowed and his cheeks red. Wolf threw a punch upward, made contact and the guy slackened his grip, leaving Wolf free to block the fist aimed for his solar plexus by another Coyote.

I gasped.

Before it happened I knew it was going to. Though the TV roared, in my head, everything went quiet. It was happening fast, but time dropped to slow motion. The Coyote Brick had grabbed drew back his arm and pummeled forward. The heavy blow struck Brick in the right eye socket.

“No,” I cried, stepping up to the TV.

Brick reeled backward with the force of the punch. But he paused for only a second, then he was raining down blows on his attacker. His balled fists flew at the Coyote’s face, he missed so grabbed his jersey, buried his head into his opponent’s chest like a charging bull and sent them both reeling, skidding and tumbling on the ice.

“Get him,” I heard myself shout, my own fists clenching as I hopped from foot to foot. “Hit the bastard.”

The fans were wild, their frenzied shouts almost drowning out the commentator.

Eventually the refs separated the offenders.

The head ref, a small man with a thin black moustache, sent four players to the sin bin and two went off the ice for game misconducts. One Coyote and two Vipers went to the medic, including Brick.

I strained to see Brick’s face as he skated off the ice. He’d taken one hell of a whack to his eye. He’d have a shiner tomorrow. I just hoped it wasn’t more serious. The thought of something happening to his perfect green eyes with their sparkling gold flecks was horrifying.

I sat heavily on the sofa, my pasta supper lurching in my stomach. My hands were shaking and my heart pounding. I’d gone from the excitement of seeing Brick, to the sickening fury of Mae’s presence, to the horror of watching him attacked, all in a matter of minutes.

I reached for the wine bottle. Topped myself up, hugged a cushion to my chest and set about watching the game. But, I didn’t really watch. Although the players scored points and indulged in brutal checks, my gaze kept searching for Brick coming back onto the ice.

Imagining him behind the scenes, head tipped back and medics hovering over him, made me all the more nauseous. The first period break came and went. He still wasn’t back on the ice. I couldn’t see him anywhere. Oh god. He was really hurt. His eye really damaged. I reached for my cell, pulling up his number again. Should I call him?

No.

I couldn’t. Not now she was there. Heat rose on my cheeks. She was probably in the locker room with him. Holding his hand and fussing over him as the medics dressed his wounds or worse, waited for the ambulance to arrive.

The match ended with the Vipers winning by one point. Another scuffle broke out as they headed to the tunnel and the linesmen had to drag two rookie players apart.

Resting back on the sofa, I blew out a long breath. I had to think calmly. I couldn’t fall to pieces. Trouble was, rational thinking was slipping away rapidly and there was no fooling myself any longer. This had gone way beyond lusting after Brick and admiring him from afar.

I was in love with him. One-hundred-damn-percent!

He had taken my heart as swiftly as he could race over the ice. Stolen my thoughts and dreams before he’d ever even spent a night in my bed.

I rubbed my palms over my cheeks. I knew I had it bad—seeing him injured had felt like a physical injury to my own body and my arms ached to hold him.

My fingers twitched to dial his number again. I just wanted to speak to him. Make sure he was okay.

Until I did that I didn’t know if I could even breathe.

 

*****

 

The next two days dragged as if they were two years. I did extra miles on my bike to kill the time. Swam afterward for over an hour and tried on my satin dress for the charity ball a total of six times. It was a beautiful shade of shimmering peacock blue and hugged my figure from its modest neckline right down to my ankles. Skimming my slim hips and flat stomach, it showed the hint of shape my chest held. It had thin spaghetti straps and, although stunning from the front, its true appeal was the back.

The straps fell over my shoulders then just kept on falling. Because I didn’t need to wear a bra, it hung open until it reached the very top of my buttocks, showing off my long, lean, suntanned back. It was risky—the way the material scooped at the base right near my bottom meant that just a hand into it would reveal I wasn’t wearing panties. But panties would totally ruin the lines, so I would be wearing just the dress. The dress, matching peep-toe heels and two longs strands of gold from my ears that my parents bought me after winning the U.S. endurance title several years previously.

When the time finally came to put the dress on for real, I could hardly contain the mixed emotions bouncing around my stomach. I felt excited about seeing Brick but terrified that he’d be at the ball with her. I’d tried to call him twice, but each time his cell had flipped straight to voice mail and I hadn’t left a message. I couldn’t find the right words to express my feelings. I wanted to tell him how I felt. That I was mad that Mae had been there but I was beside myself with worry about his eye. It was a tsunami of anxiety and need that I knew would come out all wrong in a message and do more harm than good. My emotions were overwhelming me, I’d never felt so in need of another person at my side. Well, not since Tim had left, but that was something I didn’t think about anymore. That was something I just couldn’t cope with on top of this new layer of hurt. So each time I called Brick I’d clicked the phone shut in frustration and hoped he’d call me back.

He hadn’t.

 

*****

 

In the early evening, I alighted from a limo onto a red carpet outside The Winston Hotel. I had my hair pinned into an elaborate updo and the hot Florida air on my skin from my nape right down to my butt felt light and breezy.

“Carly, Carly Flannigan.”

I turned to a row of photographers held back by a gold rope.

“Carly, smile for the Orlando Enquirer,” a bearded guy called, aiming an enormous camera my way.

I placed a hand on my waist, cocked my hip and smiled demurely. His bulb flashed, twice.

“Carly, you look great. Over here for It’s Happening Now.” I turned slightly, still in the same pose, and smiled again.

“And here, over here, Carly, Carly.”

I looked left and saw a young guy in a green baseball cap with a smaller digital camera.

“No magazine, just for me,” he said with a shrug and a cheeky grin.

I turned my back and looked over my left shoulder at him. Gave him my best sexy smile as my spine twisted beneath the satin, which gaped ever so slightly, letting a hint of the hot evening air slip down my butt cheeks. He clicked away several times, as did the other reporters.

“Cool, thanks,” he said, smiling. “And hey, is it true about you and Brick at The Waldorf?”

My heart sank. So the gossip had spread to Florida, and now that Mae was on the scene it would be even more excruciating to answer questions about something that had finished before it had even started. “I think that’s my business, don’t you?” I replied with as sweet a smile as I could muster.

Stepping forward, I strutted toward the hotel’s door which was opened by a doorman.

The reporter from the Orlando Enquirer shouted, “We could offer you a great deal on an exclusive, Miss Flannigan. Give us your version of events.”

I ignored him. It was a relief to step into the cool air-conditioning and search out my seat on the table arrangement board. I was at table six, which was in the center of the room. Brick, along with his teammates, was at table eight, slightly to the left of mine. There were several blank spaces at his table for their guests. I’d already made the decision not to look for him. At least not obviously. I didn’t want him to know I was jealous if he was there with Mae. I would be, but him knowing that would be excruciating. So I’d prepared myself for the fact he would be there with her. I’d feel like shit but I would have to put on a brave face and cope.

As I stepped through the grand doorway, the thought of Brick being in the same room as me made my breath catch in my throat. I tilted my chin and set down my shoulders, determined to hold it together.

I found table six, sat on a plush chair and took the champagne offered by a waiter.

“Hi, it’s Carly, right?”

“Yes.” I turned to my neighbor. It was the swimmer. The one who’d stood behind me at the photo shoot just before Phoenix, Ramrod and Brick had hoisted me into the air and scared me half to death. “And you’re Stephen.” I managed a smile. “Stephen Cairns.”

“Steve, please, it’s great to see you again.” He held up his champagne and clinked the rim of my glass. “This is a great turnout, don’t you think?”

I nodded. “Yes, let’s hope it makes a stack of money.”

“I’m sure it will. There’s some really cool stuff up for auction. It’s out in the next room. There’s a basketball signed by the entire Magic team, my son’s favorite, and Harry Anderson’s engraved dog tag necklace. That would be cool, wouldn’t it? A bit of jewelry from the late, great master bowler himself.”

“Mmm,” I said, sipping my champagne as an image of my favorite sportsman’s secret bit of jewelry hovered before me. Golden bubbles fizzed on my tongue, then I let them slide down my throat like popping candy.

“And they’re doing phone bids, too, you know, for all the rich people that can’t make it.” Steve grinned and several gold fillings in the back of his mouth winked at me.

“Hi, hi, this is my seat, can I sit down, do you mind?”

“No, please, go ahead.” I turned to see who was tapping me on the shoulder.

It was a mousy lady in a flowery print dress with a matching pink rose in her hair. A string of pearls sat around her neck.

“I won,” she said, beaming.

“You won what?” I asked, still smiling politely.

“I won my ticket.” She sat, pulled her seat in harder than she needed to and wobbled the table. Crockery and cutlery, glasses and an overstuffed vase of flowers jiggled noisily. “Oops, sorry.” She smiled apologetically around the table then turned back to me. “I won my ticket on the Ray Lenon Show. You know, the one you were on with that hockey player, The Brick. I won, I rang in, gave the answer, Wolf, and the next day the ticket arrived and—” She took a glass of champagne from the waiter, gulped thirstily and carried on, “And, they’ve given me a hotel room here. Can you believe it? Mary Rogers from Cincinnati here with all these famous people and with a big fancy room upstairs.”

“Congratulations, Mary,” I said. “I hope you have a lovely time.”

“Oh, I already am,” she said, draining the champagne and holding the empty glass up to the waiter. “One of the lovely soccer boys has promised me a dance later. I can’t wait.” She glanced over my shoulder and waggled her fingers by her ear.

I turned and looked at the table behind me, which held several of the Florida pro soccer team. One of them, older than the others, waved back at Mary, his smile genuine and warm.

“That’s nice,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, glugging on a fresh glass of bubbly. She leaned in close. “His name is Philip, he used to play but now he’s a coach. His divorce just came through.” She dropped her voice. “His wife ran off with a political writer from Washington apparently. Said Philip was too left wing for her and she didn’t know how she’d been married to him for all these years when their political views were clearly so different. But I don’t believe that for a minute.” Mary shook her head. “She was obviously taken with someone and just had to come up with an excuse other than she wanted a good fuck.”

I rose my eyebrows. Mary looked the sort to bake pecan pie, darn socks and run the local gardening club. The word fuck spilling from her thin pink lips just didn’t seem right.

“You know,” she said, giving me an exaggerated wink, “a good seeing to in the bedroom, a bit of cock—”

“Yes, yes,” I interrupted. “I know what you mean.”

“Sorry.” She pulled her mouth down, took a sip from her just-filled wine, then smiled at a waiter as he set down a fresh lobster salad starter. “I get a bit excited when I’m let out. I have five kids at home, three of them are teenagers now, a help and a hindrance around the house. Timmy and Suzy are twins, they’re six, a bit of a surprise to tell the truth, thought I was done with all that nonsense.”

“You have twins?” Steve asked, leaning right across me.

“Yes, they’re six, always on the go,” Mary said, clicking open a gaudy black sequined purse. “Here they are.” She passed over a small photo of two smiling kids, both with mousy hair curled like hers and dressed in neat school uniforms with a gold anchor logo.

Steve took the photo. “They look like a lot of fun,” he said. “We just found out last week we’re expecting twins.” He handed the photo back with a smile bursting with male pride, as though twins proved his sperm were of extra special strength—two for one.

“Oh congratulations,” Mary said, her eyes sparkling. “Truly they are a blessing, once, you know, you get over the hard bit, but then again it’s not you having to carry them, is it?”

Steve rubbed a hand over the complaining buttons on his suit jacket. “No, thank goodness, but Ness is coping brilliantly.”

I speared a thick flake of lobster and popped it in my mouth. It was good, meltingly soft and flavored with a hint of paprika.

“And where is she tonight?” Mary was asking over my plate. “Your wife, Ness?”

“Oh, she’s with her mom. They’re having a craft night. Making blankets, sipping iced tea and talking about babies and childbirth.” He raised his beer and took a slurp.

Mary filled her mouth with lobster and lettuce. Chewed madly. “And have you started the nursery yet?”

I sat back in my chair as Steve described the trauma of painting vertical stripes using masking tape. A plate of grilled chicken and asparagus was set before me. As I tucked in and listened to decorating tips, my mind wandered. It wandered to table eight even though I’d told it not to. Before I knew it I was studying the back of Phoenix’s head. His thick curls licked over his white shirt collar and just touched the tuxedo jacket he wore. Next to him sat his wife, Brooke. I could see her in profile— pretty and smiley in a black velvet number that showed off her voluptuous cleavage. A single diamond sat just below the hollow of her throat and her hair, like mine, was piled high on her head. I watched as Phoenix slipped a hand from her shoulder to the base of her back. He leaned across and said something into her ear then touched his lips to the side of her neck. She turned to him and her eyes melted when she smiled. It was as though time stood still when he was touching her, whispering into her ear. I wanted that. I wanted that heart-stopping, time-stopping moment with Brick. Suddenly it seemed so unfair that my time with him was over before it had really begun.

My heart lurched and my eyes stung. I blinked, took a deep breath and bit off the end of an asparagus tip. Next to Brooke sat Ramrod. Huge and handsome and eating as though it was his last chance to fill up. Beyond him was Wolf, the new guy, though he didn’t look it. His wide shoulders were relaxed and easy. His face, though sharp and angled, was stress free. He raised a toast to the table then knocked back a bottle of beer.

I caught my breath as a wave of intense irritation washed over me. Mae French, stunning as always, in salmon pink and a collection of casual but no doubt extortionately expensive jewelry. Hair tousled and messy, but not so much that it didn’t look as if those long blonde locks hadn’t had some kind of expert attention. She had the kind of look no one else could go for and get away with. Cool yet stunning, individual yet effortless. I hated it. I crossed my knife and fork, meal barely eaten, appetite gone.

More than anything, I hated the fact that next to her sat Brick. His head was tipped to the chandeliers and he was draining a beer. I clasped my fingers in my lap. Watched as he placed the bottle on the starched tablecloth, licked a drip from his top lip and turned to me.

My breathing stopped. He looked devastatingly handsome in his tux but his right eye was terrible. Bruised and swollen, the lids puffed tight. Beneath the lower lid sat a perfect curve of black and purple. It looked painful and sickening on his beautiful face. I’d been right to be so worried.

Dragging in a deep, juddering breath, I knew I should look away, turn from his heavy gaze.

He was with Mae, so why the hell was he staring at me?

Thank goodness he is.

I held his stare, reached for my champagne, took a sip and replaced it without taking my gaze from his. I didn’t smile. I wanted to make him feel uncomfortable about the fact that he’d brought his ex to the event. I wanted him to squirm because he hadn’t called after I’d given him an amazing blowjob and left him tied to a bed. I didn’t look away because it was the first time I’d looked at him since admitting to myself that I’d fallen in love with him.

But he didn’t squirm and he didn’t look uncomfortable. He just carried on staring at me, watching me. Phoenix said something to him and he nodded briskly, his gaze not leaving mine.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and suddenly I wanted to squirm, his scrutiny of me was so intense. It was as if he could see right into my soul, see how desperate I was feeling.

Straightening my spine, I scolded myself. I had to play it cool. I clearly still interested him even if he had brought her. She reached over him for a water pitcher all the time talking animatedly to Wolf. Brick didn’t even glance her way. It was strange, he didn’t seem bothered if she saw him studying me.

“Miss.” A waiter stretched his hand over my shoulder. “Have you finished?”

I pulled my gaze from Brick, enormously grateful for the waiter’s sudden appearance. It gave me a chance to break our connection without looking as though I’d weakened. “Yes, thanks.”

The waiter lifted the plate away.

“So, Carly,” Steve said. “Are you in training for anything at the moment?”

“No, just keeping up fitness levels until the U.S. nationals come around.” My mouth was moving, words were coming out, but my mind was on Brick.

“What does that involve? Keeping up fitness?”

A chocolate torte was set before me. “Just stamina stuff, thirty or fifty miles several times a week out on the roads, swimming, I run sometimes, too, on the treadmill.”

“Where do you swim?”

“At the Cory Center near Richmond Hills.” I wondered if Brick was still staring at me.

“Yeah, I know that place.” He paused as he scooped in a large mouthful of chocolate torte. “It has an Olympic pool, doesn’t it?”

“Yes and diving boards.”

“You like to dive?” he asked.

“No, not really my thing.”

“Mmm, I did it for a while, but it turned out I was much better at swimming. I might be lean and agile but I’m incredibly strong, too.” He nodded to my dessert. “You want that?”

“No, I’m not hungry.” How could I be expected to eat when the man I was in love with sat only a few tables away with another woman?

“Can I have it? I’m starved. A tiny bit of lobster and chicken does not fill me up.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Oh, oh, look,” Mary said. She was jiggling in the chair next to me. “The auction is about to start.”

Steve swapped my full plate for his empty one and I sat back as the auctioneer took to the stage. I was desperate to swing my attention to Brick to see if he was still looking my way. It felt as if he was. I’d become used to his gaze on my body, aware of the tingling sensations that swept over me whenever he looked at me. I could feel it now, all over. Inside and out.

The hammer banged down and the room fell silent. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Promises and Dreams Sport Star Auction.”

There was a round of applause and a couple of whoops from the hockey and soccer tables.

“As you all know, we’re raising money for the children of Florida. We want to give the sick and underprivileged the same delightful experiences of childhood other children take for granted. So if you can all dig deep, including our most welcome telephone bidders at the back, it would be very much appreciated.” He banged his hammer down and grinned. “First lot, please.”

A serious-looking guy in a brown suit walked onto the stage holding up a hockey shirt in a heavy wooden frame.

“Lot number one is a shirt signed by every single one of the Orlando Vipers. I’m going to start the bidding at two thousand dollars.”

Straightaway two hands went up.

“Two thousand five.” The auctioneer pointed his hammer at a lady in a red dress at the front. “Do I have three?” He scanned the room. “Three thousand, gentleman to the right. Do I have three and a half?” The lady at the front nodded. “Three and a half. Four, anyone?” His hammer swung in my direction and I turned. Someone on a phone had lifted their hand. “Four, telephone bidder. Do I have four and a half?” The gentleman lifted his hand. “Four and a half. Anyone for five, come on, it’s a great cause.” The woman shook her head. “Think of the kids,” he said. “Can anyone give me five?” His hammer swung again. “Five at the back.” He looked down at his other bidder. “Can you offer me five and a half?” The guy shook his head. “Five thousand dollars for the Orlando Vipers signed shirt. Going once, going twice, any other bidders?” His gaze scanned the glittering tables. Finally his hammer banged down. “Gone, lot number one, to the telephone bidder at the back.”

My head spun. He’d made five thousand dollars for the charity in thirty seconds. What an amazing achievement. I watched the shirt being carried off as the basketball signed by the Magic was brought on. The same whirlwind of bidding ensued and it finally went for eight thousand dollars. Harry Anderson’s dog tag was next. Steve made an attempt at bidding, but he stopped at three thousand and it eventually went for four. Still I didn’t look at Brick, and when the auction came to an end and I hadn’t so much as glanced back at table eight, I congratulated myself on my self-control. It had nearly killed me but I’d done it.

The chairman of the Promises Foundation stepped behind the auctioneer’s box and praised the generosity of the public. He went on to commend the athletes’ generosity of spirit and time and mapped out how the money would be spent. Then he pushed his hands through his graying hair and beamed at the audience. “And can we please welcome, all the way from the UK, tonight’s very special surprise guests.” He paused and tugged at his bow tie. “Taking a detour on their U.S. tour just to entertain you. Please, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together, put your hands together loud and clear and let’s hear it for Manic Machines.”

It was as if there’d been an explosion in the room. Hands clapped, whoops of delight shook the chandeliers and people scraped back chairs to run to the dance floor. The lights dipped low and the stage curtains swished back revealing a drummer, two guitarists and a singer.

“Good evening, Orlando,” shouted the impossibly gorgeous singer, waving his hands in the air. “I hope you’re all having a great time.”

A chorus of cheers rose.

“So what are we waiting for? Let’s get dancing,” he shouted into his microphone. “I hope you like this one, it’s just hit number one in the UK.”

A tall guitarist with floppy dark hair shoved down on his strings. The intro of a tune I’d been humming earlier swirled around me and the dance floor was suddenly swamped. People pushed and jigged and swung one another about as the singer blasted out the first lines.

I pushed back my chair. “Excuse me,” I said above the noise to Steve. Mary was already in the center of the floor, wriggling her hips and swaying her arms with Philip in a wild rock-chick kind of way.

I headed to the ladies’, pushed heavily through the swinging door and stood with my head in my hands in a cubicle for several long minutes. I didn’t think I could cope seeing Brick dance with Mae. I wished I’d had the chance to talk to him in private, without my emotions threatening to bubble in front of her. But it was too late for that. I’d have to go back out there. I couldn’t just walk out of the hotel.

Or maybe I could. Who would notice?

No. I couldn’t give in. That wasn’t me. I’d never given up on anything in my entire life. I would stay. I would have a good time, or at least give the illusion of having a good time.

Quickly, I powdered my nose and reapplied my now favorite raspberry red lipstick. Tucked in a stray strand of hair and smoothed down my dress. I looked good, even if I said so myself. Mae looked good, sure. But underneath my dress I was a professional athlete. I took a deep breath and forced my shoulders down, dragged my confidence back up to an acceptable level. I might not be about to launch a fabulous singing career, but I had other skills to my name, including Olympic skills.

I stepped back into the ballroom, the flashing lights and loud music a jolt to my senses after the relatively quiet bathroom. But the song had slowed and with it so had the excited crowd. Couples swayed and shoulders brushed as the singer crooned a haunting love song about destined souls that sent a shiver up my spine.

I’d just placed my purse on the table when a thick forearm circled my waist. In a tight, snapping motion my bare back was pressed against a hot, concrete chest.

“I thought you’d slipped away,” drawled a deep voice in my ear, “without dancing with me.”

Breathlessly, I turned within the circle of the viselike grip. Grinning down at me was Ramrod. His brown eyes twinkled and his mouth tipped in a confident grin.

“Why would I slip away?” I asked, placing my hands on his chest as he pulled me closer still.

“Perhaps you don’t like dancing.”


I tugged at my bottom lip with my teeth. “I like lots of things.” I glanced over at table eight. It was empty.

Oh God, he’s dancing with her.

No doubt all smoochy and lovey, gazing into each other’s eyes and wondering why they’d broken up. “One of the things I like best is dancing,” I said, forcing myself to smile up at Ramrod.

“Excellent.” He stepped toward the dance floor, tugging me with him.

I braced my heart and tilted my chin. Refused to look for them. Refused to search Brick out. He could see me. He could see me dancing with Ramrod, being held by the handsome captain of the team.

Once we were on the dance floor, Ramrod pulled me into his arms. He was taller than Brick and a little wider, too. I felt tiny in his embrace and, despite my heels, my eye-line was only at his bow tie.

“You like this band?” I asked.

“Yeah, their tunes are real catchy.” He grinned, settling his hands on the bare flesh of my back. They were big and firm as they smoothed over my skin and dipped into the column of my spine until one sat in the hollow of my back and one between my shoulder blades. “I love your dress,” he said, bending his head to my ear.

I breathed in his hot scent, woodsy but at the same time sweet like berries, it reminded me of a walk through the woods in autumn. He pressed his body against mine as he guided me gently around the floor. From my chest to my knees, we were connected. His suit was of the finest material and silky soft on my exposed flesh.

He brushed his lips against my ear. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “There’s no ring on your finger and there’s no man on your arm, Carly. So I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes by dancing with you, am I?”

I swallowed. “No, no toes and can we keep it that way? I think you’d break mine if you stood on them and I’m rather attached to my feet, can’t pedal so well without them.”

He gave a huff of amusement and pulled back to look at my face. “There must be someone.”

I was silent.

“Brick likes you,” he said. “I saw the way he looked at you at the photo shoot and the way you were together on the Ray Lenon Show. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

I shrugged and curled my fingers into the shoulders of his tux jacket. Prayed that Ramrod hadn’t heard the rumors from New York about our adventures in The Waldorf. “He took me to lunch.”

“Just lunch?”

“Yes.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Why not?” Because it had been just lunch that time we were together. Well, lunch and a kiss that made me want to rip his clothes from his body with my bare teeth.

“Brick wouldn’t do just lunch. Not with a gorgeous woman like you.” His eyes narrowed and a teasing smile played on his lips. “I know how his filthy mind works.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to believe me on this one, Ramrod―”

“Please, call me Rick. My friends, family, and gorgeous women dancing in my arms usually call me by my real name.”

“Rick,” I said, looking him in the eye. “Brick took me to lunch and then dropped me back at my condo. Nothing more.” My heart thudded at the thought of Ramrod now mentioning the newspaper gossip. I would look such a fool.

But his face broke into a grin and his eyes sparkled naughtily. “Hey, it wouldn’t matter if it was more.” His hand sank from the dip in my back until it tucked beneath the material of my dress. His fingers brushed the first swell of my right buttock.

“What do you mean?” His touch made my skin hungry for more connection. Connection with a man. But it wasn’t this one. This wasn’t the man I wanted. Despite his obvious interest and his undeniable good looks, I craved another. “What do you mean it wouldn’t matter if it was more?” I asked again.

“Can you keep a secret?” he whispered, his hot breath flooding my ear.

“Sure.”

“When he was with Mae, one night we all drank too much. Vipers had just wiped the floor with the Gamblers and she’d just gone platinum. We were all on a total high in a Vegas hotel.”

“What are you saying?”

He gave a decidedly carnal smile. “We all got it on together in the bedroom. She was a very happy lady that night, I can tell you. And we were two very obliging guys.”

My mouth opened but no words came out.

His eyes twinkled. “A threesome, Carly. You ever done a threesome?” His head dropped until his lips hovered just a millimeter away from mine. “You ever had two guys at the same time loving you, adoring you, exploring you?”

My heart pounded and my body weakened with a mixture of jealousy and excitement. Mae had gone to bed with Brick and Ramrod at the same time. How greedy could a girl get? I’d be happy, more than happy, I’d be in heaven with just Brick. An answer formed in my mouth, an answer that would have been no. I’d never indulged in a threesome. I’d done many things with Tim but not that.

Suddenly a shadow loomed beside us.

I looked up.

“This song’s over,” Brick said, glowering out of his one good eye at Ramrod.