Standing on his porch, Jones looks me over from head to toe with those intense blue eyes, and my stomach flips like a traitorous creature.

I set a hand on my belly, as if that will calm me down. But it’s ineffective, and I have to wonder if the guy does this on purpose—gives women those I’m-undressing-you eyes. Whether he knows the effect he has on us and he uses it for fun.

Then, I want to smack my forehead, because of course he does.

That’s why I’m doing the calendar with him. That’s why his agent asked me to help him out. Because he has an extraordinary effect on women, he’s a notorious flirt, and he’s too well-known for his antics. We need to make him known for other things.

Like how he rescued that dog.

Like how he loves his family.

Like how he looks out for his friends.

He raises an arm, resting his hand against the frame of his front door. “So,” he says, taking his time with the word, like he plans to play with it as a cat does an insect, “are you officially my PR person now?”

A nervous laugh bursts from my throat. “I thought I’d always been your PR contact for the team.”

He runs his hand through his hair, flashing a lopsided grin then a wink. “Sorry. I meant are you my personal PR person now?”

That word zips through me like an electric charge. A light gust of wind blows my hair across my cheeks, and I tuck the strands behind my ear, grateful for the temporary distraction courtesy of San Francisco’s windy morning. I shiver lightly from the chill. “Yes, that seems to be the case, and I’m happy to do it.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Are you like my babysitter?”

My jaw drops. “What? No. No. No. That’s ridiculous. I’m not a babysitter.”

He arches a brow. “A nanny?”

I smirk. “Jones, I would hope you’ve outgrown the need for a nanny.”

“That’s up for debate, it seems. But maybe you’re my governess?”

I roll my eyes and gesture to the car at the curb. “I’m not your nanny, I’m not your babysitter, and I’m definitely not your governess. I’m here to help you create the best image possible. I can market, publicize, and help you manage putting the best foot forward,” I say, my tone earnest, my meaning important. “I believe in what I do. I know you’re a great guy, and I want the world to see what I’ve seen in the last couple days.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s why I said yes when Ford asked for my help. I’m not interested in being anyone’s au pair. I am very interested, though, in showing this city what good things our team does on and off the field. Including you.” I take a breath and try to read him. To understand what’s beneath the teasing. I think I know what it is. He wants a choice. “But if you don’t want me to help out, I’ll step back and we can stick to just the calendar. I told Ford I’d do this for your new deal, because I want to be the one to help you if you need it, and it’s the kind of help I can give. Since you signed the contract yesterday, and the folks at Paleo Pet are local, they want to stop by the shoot later today. Take some pictures, chat, and so on. I’m happy to be there by your side the whole time, making sure you’re comfortable with everything, and you’re represented in the best way possible. But if those aren’t your wishes, and if it isn’t what you need, then I’ll be hands-off.” I hold up my palms as if I’m backing away.

In a heartbeat, he grabs my wrists. Possessively. A thrill rushes through me, like a drumbeat pulsing in my veins. I look away from him briefly. I can’t make eye contact when he does this, when he touches me. If I do, he’ll know. He’ll realize I’m just like all the other women who fling panties at him, who chase him down in bars, who line up at the players’ entrance to become his football floozy for the night. I won’t ever be someone’s football floozy, and I can’t let him see for a second that I want some of the same things those other women want from him. Him.

“Don’t be hands-off,” he says, his voice soft. He runs a thumb over my wrist. “You have very nice hands.”

I roll my eyes because it’s the only way I can hide that my stomach is flipping and flopping from that one gentle slide of his thumb on my skin.

“And you have nice eyes that you roll at me as if I can’t tell you’re rolling them.”

I turn my gaze back to him with a smirk that I quickly wipe away. “Do you want me to help you with your image? If you don’t, say the word, and I’ll respect it.”

With his hands around my wrists, he stares into my eyes, and it’s unnerving. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t look away. This must be how he is on the field, watching like a hawk, staring, studying, developing a plan in a split second. The man has such intensity behind those blue eyes.

They’re darker than usual, then they seem to glitter. Turn playful, even. “Nah. I’m just feeling you out.”

Feel me up instead.

I shut my eyes momentarily, willing away the thought. This is how the man reels them in. He’s charming and funny and sweet, and so good-looking it hurts my chest sometimes. It’s dangerous how handsome he is and how much that affects me. I can’t let the way my body reacts to him sway me. We’re coworkers, and I have a job to do.

I open my eyes, square my chest, and smile my best PR grin. “I’ll make sure it’s fun. I promise.”

“Anything with you is fun.” Then his tone turns more serious, more earnest. “And listen, Jillian . . .”

“Yes?”

“I really appreciate you wanting to work with me on this. I’m a lucky bastard to have someone like you helping me.”

I wink. “Wait till you get my bill.”

He flinches as if surprised by this news. “Yeah? So it’s a lot?”

Given how many times he toys with me—hello, towel ploy—I can’t resist a little payback. “Oh, Ford didn’t tell you how much I cost?”

“No, he didn’t mention it.”

I purse my lips as if he’s going to be shocked at the number. “You want to know? You think you can handle it?”

Parking his hands on his hips, he says, “I think I can handle it.” But I detect a few nerves still under his bravado, and they amuse me to no end.

I draw a deep breath as if this will be tough for him to stomach. Then, I borrow a page from his playbook, lean in a little closer, and whisper, “It’s free.”

He’s silent at first, then a smirk spreads across his face, and he shakes his head, amused. He slow claps. “Well played, Jillian. Well played, indeed.”

I toss my hair over my shoulder. “By the way, that was for the Sporting World shoot when you thought I would pick up your towel and stare at your ass.”

He pretends to peer at his butt. “It’s a nice ass.”

“Why don’t we get that ass in the car and get out of town for the day?”

“Let’s do it,” he says, and touches my shoulder. “But I did mean it. Thank you.”

I smile, a huge, genuine grin. “You’re welcome.”

As he shuts the door to his home and locks it, my phone beeps. “My father is calling,” I tell Jones, then say, “Hi, Dad,” into the phone.

“Hey, sweet pea.”

“What’s going on? I’m heading up your way right now,” I say as I walk down the steps.

“You are?”

“Yes, I have a photo shoot with one of the players in St. Helena later this afternoon, and then another one in the morning in Yountville, so I’ll be staying in wine country.”

“And you aren’t going to come by and visit? I’m devastated.”

“I just saw you last week for lunch. Sheesh, you’re demanding.”

“Can I help it if I like seeing my little girl?”

“Dad,” I chide as I reach the town car. “I’m not your little girl.”

Jones smirks and grabs the handle, opening the back door. Thank you, I mouth.

“You are, sweet pea, and always will be,” my dad says, as I settle into the black leather seat. “And for that, I suppose I’ll forgive you for not seeing me today.”

Buckling my seat belt, I laugh. “I’ll come up next weekend again. And when the season starts soon, you’re coming to all the home games.”

“Damn straight I am. I’m a Renegades fan for life.”

“That’s the only kind of football fan to be,” I say, and Jones winks at me, giving a thumbs-up as he buckles into the seat next to mine. “So what are you up to today?”

“I taught class this morning, and now I’m waiting for a new desk to be delivered. Do I know how to party or what?”

“A new desk is clearly the definition of a fiesta,” I say as the driver pulls away from the curb.

“When will you be in Napa? In case I feel a disturbance in the Force.”

“It’s about an hour and twenty minutes.”

“By my estimate, that gives you a full hour to snooze in the car.”

Briefly, I glance away from Jones. “Dad, I only did that in cars when I was younger.”

“I bet you fall asleep now,” he says, then his line goes quiet for a second. “Sweet pea, I need to go. That’s the delivery company. I’ll talk to you later.”

After I end the call, Jones gives me an I’m waiting look. “What?”

He gestures for me to keep talking. “Tell me about your dad.”

“You want to hear about my father?” I ask, my brow knitting in curiosity.

He crosses his arms. “Yes. Contrary to my party-boy reputation and the word on the street about the size of my hands, I have a big heart, too, and I want to know about Mr. Moore. You said he teaches?”

I can’t help but smile at the way he makes light of himself at the same time he earnestly seems to want to know about me. My heart warms like someone turned on a lamp and it’s glowing, brightening the room. “Yes, he’s an adjunct professor at a community college in Napa, teaching digital journalism to freshmen. He loves it. I think he was antsy being retired and needed something to do with all his energy.”

“That’s awesome. Good for him to find an outlet like that. Do his students love him?”

“I get the impression they do. They seem pretty engaged.”

“And it sounds like he’s chosen wisely when it comes to sports. Did I catch on correctly that he’s a Renegades fan?”

“He goes to every home game.”

“I love him already. You’re pretty close to him? You see and talk to him regularly?”

“Yes, I try to visit him at least every other weekend. We’ve always been close. He’s the person I’ve turned to for career advice over the years. He’s never led me astray.”

A huge smile crosses Jones’s face. “Love that. Just love it. That’s how it should be, you know? Being able to lean on and depend on your parents, your brothers, your sister.” He tilts his head and scratches his chin. “But I’m curious about something. What did he think you’d do on the drive up?”

I grumble, “Sleep in the car.”

“You managed the ride to Stinson the other day without napping. But that was a much shorter drive.”

I wave a hand and fix on a grin, giving my best perky face. “I won’t fall asleep. I’m wide awake.”

But in thirty minutes, I’m yawning as we pass the San Rafael exit. As we cross to Novato, my eyes flutter shut.

True to form, I wake up forty-five minutes later in wine country with my head in Jones’s lap.

My head is in his lap.

I don’t move. This might be a dream. I blink. The world is sideways, and Jones’s hand is in my hair. He’s actually running his hand across my hair. Gently. Casually. Sweetly.

It feels better than it should.

It feels so incredibly good. Like comfort I didn’t know I needed. Like friendship I wasn’t sure we had.

I close my eyes, and pretend to sleep until the car pulls into the lot at the winery. This is all I will ever get of him, and I want to savor these last few minutes with his hands on me.

* * *

A curious orange kitten scampers over a wine barrel then climbs to the next one above it, balancing beautifully. He’s like the king of the jungle—or the king of the winery where we’ll shoot today’s picture for the month of March. The winery is attached to a hotel, and we’ll be spending the night here.

As the humane society rep watches the furry-faced creature, my phone beeps with a text message. I slide it open to see a note from Liam McHenry, the guy who owns Paleo Pet and is overseeing the new deal. He’s arriving any minute, he says. I excuse myself to wait for him out front.

When a pickup truck pulls up, and a tall, trim, and surprisingly handsome sandy-haired man steps out, I’m surprised he’s Liam. But the license plate—MEOW ARF—is a big tip-off.

I’m surprised because I expected Liam to have a driver. That’s what I’m accustomed to when guys from big sponsors show up. I figured he’d be sporting a tailored suit, too, rather than jeans and a crisp button-down.

His smile shows off straight white teeth. “You must be Jillian. Ford Grayson raves about you.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Liam.” We shake hands. “And a little bird told me Cletus raved about your dog food.”

Running a hand through his hair, Liam laughs. “Man, we are thrilled about Jones. Love that guy. Love his commitment to excellence. To healthy eating. To being the best in every single game. He just delivers on the field, doesn’t he?”

“You can’t argue with fifteen hundred and two yards for the season and fourteen yards on average per pass,” I say, sharing Jones’s stats from last year. “Not to mention his love of animals. He’ll be a great face for your brand.”

“I’m stoked, Jillian. When I found out about him and Cletus, I knew he was the guy I needed to take us to the next level.” Liam rubs his hands together. “He’s such a fan favorite already, and we really want to make sure the moms who buy our dog food love him the way we love him.”

That sparks my curiosity. “Your consumers are mostly moms?”

“That’s what our research has shown. They’re the ones who seek out the specialty pet food, since they’re usually already into organic food for their kids, and so many dogs and cats these days are just like family.”

I make a mental note to remind Jones that Paleo Pet sees itself as a family-centric brand. “You need to come see Jones’s co-star today, then. This little kitten will melt your heart, and we can also take a shot of just you and Jones to post on social—something to show you’re now in business with him.” A picture like that can help spread the word about the sponsorship and continue to present Jones in a new light. A true win-win. The calendar teaser shots, though? Those I keep for the team feed.

I gesture to the door of the winery. Liam quickly strides ahead, holding it open for me. “I’m glad we’re working together, Jillian.”

“Me, too,” I say, not because Liam is handsome, but because he’s straightforward, confident, and laid-back.

And fine, it doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes.

When we reach the room with the barrels, Jones glances over then does a double take when he sees Liam with me.

As if he’s surprised for some reason.

But then the look on his face turns to a scowl.

I have no idea why he’d be upset with a sponsor, but I’ll have to remind him later to keep on a happy face.