TWENTY-NINE
His body still covered hers, and she had no idea how much time had passed. The period would be over soon, the players on their way back. Sensing this, they quietly parted. He kissed her forehead and fixed her clothing before attending to himself.
“If you can work it out, I’d prefer Philly,” he said.
Not your typical postcoital sweet nothings, but nothing about this was typical. An affair with an expiration date, a built-in self-destruct button, and all she had to do was push it.
That’s all she had to do.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. They have at least two players who would work out for a trade.” They’d made a pact. She’d promised his mother, for heaven’s sake. She loved him and she would do anything to ensure he got to hold that hardware high above his head come June. If her own heart shattered in the process, then them’s the breaks.
With his nod and ready acceptance of her acquiescence to his request, a small part of her died that he would leave without hesitation.
“That’s step one,” he said.
“Of what?”
“Of the plan. Once I’m off the Rebels, we move to step two.”
What was he talking about? “Step two?”
“We go public.”
“Go public?” She sounded like a mad parrot.
“You and me. We give this”—he waved between them, because not even Mr. Verbal, Remy DuPre, had words to describe adequately what this was—“a chance.”
He wanted to give them a chance.
He thought there was something worth nurturing here, and while this should have been a dream come true, why had her heart stopped cold?
You know why. Sure, they were consenting adults, but she paid his salary, and just because he was no longer on the team, the dynamics were no different. Questions would be raised about roster choices and contract decisions, all under the influence of her vagina. “Conflict of interest” and “workplace fling” would be the main thrust of every headline for the rest of the season.
Details, Harper. Stupid little details. You know why this won’t work.
“This isn’t what either of us had in mind, Remy.”
His mouth curved slightly. “Sure wasn’t. I was supposed to serve my jail time, make myself invaluable, and head for glory. Do not pass go. Do not collect a hot, gorgeous woman who happens to be my boss. Do not second-guess every decision that’s brought me to this point.”
“That’s all good advice. You should listen to it.” She put a trembling hand on the door, her ear straining to hear movement outside, which was incredibly difficult when your heart was pounding like a jet engine.
“Harper, I love you.”
Oh. That pounding heart cannoned out of her chest, plopped unceremoniously to the floor, and flapped about on the dirty linoleum.
He loved—he couldn’t, and even if he did, he shouldn’t. She ignored that dumb flapping heart. She had to.
“I’m sure your behavior in tonight’s game won’t have any impact on your trade. Maybe a two-game suspension, but you’ve been playing well and you’re positioned perfectly for the next part of the season. For a run at the Cup.”
She knew she sounded hard-hearted, but it was necessary. Inside, she was a hot mess, but outside she was Clifford Chase’s daughter, team owner, and acting GM of the Rebels. Her heart would take no part in this decision.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Heard it, enshrined it, am already making Remy ♥ Harper T-shirts and picking out china patterns.
She spoke to the door. “I’m not what you want, Remy. I’m not this nurturing-mom type who can change diapers while she makes million-dollar deals. You have a plan: the Cup. A family. A happily ever after. I can’t give that to you.”
I’m broken. No good. I can’t trust you’ll stay.
“Yes, you can, Harper. You can do anything you put your mind to, baby.”
“The championship,” she coughed out. “That’s what you want.”
“And I still intend to get it. But there are greater goals, Harper. There are greater prizes.”
That did it, turned her into a little girl again. She had never been a prize before, only the consolation. She heard him shuffle forward, and then his body covered hers from behind, this wall of strength and solace. His lips brushed her temple. Never had she wanted to sink into someone so badly.
“You’re sure not what I expected, Harper. You’re so much more. You’re the woman who keeps me on my toes, who excites me in every moment. You’re the person I want to turn to with a dumb joke, when my day’s sucked, to get my ass whupped at video games. We can take care of the cookie-bakin’ and baby-makin’ later. For now, let’s just take care of us.”
Us. How long had she craved to be a part of something bigger instead of that lonely girl abandoned in the tower? But those were a child’s dreams. She’d worked her ass off to become strong, self-sufficient Harper Fucking Chase, and letting her go would undo everything.
She turned in his arms and eased him away before thrusting out her hand. “Thanks for all you’ve done for the Rebels.”
He stared at it for so long she felt foolish and dropped it. “This isn’t Would You Rather, Harper. It doesn’t have to be an either-or choice, a fulfilling career or a happy personal life.” He cupped her face with both hands, searching for Lord knew what. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t find it. “I’m asking you to be a little bit brave here. Lean on me. Let me love you. We both get what we want.”
“You think that’s what I want? Someone to take care of me? I know you’re upset about Stroger, but I’m okay. I’ve had years to become okay. I don’t need you to protect me.”
“Jesus, Harper, this isn’t about Stroger. This is about you and me. This is about wanting more out of life than late nights at the office, poring over game tapes and spreadsheets. It’s about wanting more than just okay.”
She bristled and withdrew. “You think the team, my career, and this job aren’t enough for me because, what? I’m a woman and I’m supposed to want a husband and a family?”
“I think it doesn’t have to be one or the other. You’re strong enough to do it all because you’re the strongest woman I know. Your father tried to break you, and you survived, but you’re holding on by your fingernails to this half life, pretending it’s the best possible scenario. I’m here to tell you that you can lean on someone. I want to be that someone, Harper. I want to be your person and I want you to be my person.”
Oh fuck. That was . . . so perfect. And perfectly impossible.
“We can’t—”
He cut her words off with a kiss. A take-no-prisoners, you-are-mine kiss that she’d hold inside her heart as long as she lived. He’d already burrowed his way into each bleeding fissure. Now every kiss was salt, every word a piece of grit.
“We can,” he murmured against her mouth, his breath a hot puff of longing. “We can do anything we want. I’ve never met anyone who needs to be held and loved as much as you do, Harper. Well, it so happens that you’ve got a man here with strong arms made to keep you safe. With so much love inside him that it’s just busting to get out. It’s all for you, minou. No one else I’d rather give it to.”
In an ideal world where she wasn’t afraid, she would say to hell with it and let him love her. But this wasn’t an ideal world. It was one where women were held to a higher standard. Where a female team owner and general manager had to be devoid of emotion, sexuality, and weakness.
“Everyone would know I had a fling with one of my players.”
His eyebrows slammed together. “It could have started after I left.”
She gave that the derisive look it deserved. His cockeyed optimism was starting to piss her off. “No one would buy that. You tell me how outing this—whatever this is—is good for me.”
Hurt flashed over his face. “We get to be together.”
But at what price? At the cost of everything she’d worked to achieve.
“It’s not worth it.”
She backtracked, realizing that sounded harsher on her lips than in her head. “I’d look like a lust-crazed idiot who makes decisions with my vagina. I’ve traded out a lover because either I want to date him or because he persuaded me to go against my better judgment and give him up to a better team even though we need him here.”
He stared, and she knew he wasn’t hearing those cobbled-together excuses. He’d already stopped listening at her first snapped reply.
It’s not worth it.
They weren’t worth the humiliation she would feel after news of their fling got out. Every day the media cracked wise about the Chase daughters and how women didn’t have the temperament for high-powered sports franchise management. Too emotional, too sentimental, too weak.
She might feel those things some of the time, but she refused to project that image in her professional life. They’d only just stopped calling her Incompetent Spice; with this news, she’d be relabeled as Hormonal Spice. Last time, she’d made the wrong decision. History would not be repeated.
“Remy, I’m—I’m sorry. In time you’ll recognize you had a lucky escape.” She backed up, feeling blindly for the doorknob behind her.
“A lucky escape.” He stepped into her orbit, overwhelming with pure maleness and, amazingly still, his love. She could feel his hurt, because it was hers, as well. “I’m jinxed, remember?”
“You don’t need luck when you work as hard as you do. This is your year.” She placed a hand on his chest. Needing to feel the vital thump of his big, giving heart one last time before her own stopped beating.
“Thought it was,” he said. “Thought I was the luckiest guy on the planet for a while.”