I spent the next morning looking over my notes, searching for any chink in their armor. If my feminine charms failed, could I find another pressure point to hit?

“An entire notebook full of what-ifs,” I said in disgust, tossing it on the desk. “Nothing but a hunch and a rumor.”

I curled my knees up under my chin and glared at the offending pages. I had written more dramatic articles with less information, but those had been for gossip sites. While The Portland Crier did occasionally indulge in a speculative story or two, it prided itself on journalistic integrity. Any hint of conclusion jumping would end my career in its tracks.

“So will this empty story,” I grumbled, pushing a hand through my hair. “I need more. Come on guys, take the bait.”

As if on cue, my phone rang. I snatched it up and looked at the number—local area code, no known name.

My heart thundered. It had to be one of them; I was certain of it. I let it ring once more.

“Livia Ramos,” I answered in my most professional tone.

“Ms. Ramos, good morning.”

I would recognize his smooth lazy drawl anywhere. My belly clenched with desire as a grin spread across my face.

“Mr. Drake, so kind of you to call.”

He chuckled softly, a sound which sent delicious chills over my arms.

“Well, you seemed like you needed a real story. My coach would lose his shit if he knew I was talking to you again.”

“Ah,” I said, my eyes gleaming as I caught sight of my prey. “So there is something to hide.”

“You could put it that way,” he replied casually. “I don’t have time to tell you about it now. Let me take you to dinner tonight.”

Yes!

“I suppose I could fit you in,” I told him evenly. “How does seven sound?”

“Sort of like heaven, but with more of a hiss.”

I didn’t even try to keep my eyes from rolling. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” I said, my amusement filtering into my voice.

I gave him my address and he promised to see me at seven to tell me the whole story. I kept my cool until the instant the call ended.

“Yes!” I cried, pumping my fists in the air. “Yes, yes, yes!”

My excitement was too much for my chair, and I toppled. In spite of my aching hip, I laughed as I lay on the floor. Hot dates and hot rumors were the best comforts on a cold autumn day, and I had managed to snag both at once.

“Got him,” I told the ceiling with a grin.

* * *

Dante Drake did not disappoint. The clean lines of his classic, steel-blue coupe accentuated the clean lines of his semi-casual suit. His light blue sport coat contrasted perfectly with his nutmeg skin and brought out his jewel-like eyes, which he flashed at me mercilessly.

Every bit the gentleman, he opened doors and offered his elbow, gently but oh-so-firmly taking control. I wondered if he behaved the same way in bed.

“You like Thai?” Dante asked.

“I like good Thai,” I emphasized.

“Looks like it’s your lucky day,” Dante said with that slow grin. “I know the best Thai place in the state.”

His glossy black curls glistened in the city lights, and I noticed that single curl which fell over his forehead. He looked every bit as good tonight as he had ten years before; most of the pictures I’d found had been from that period. The peak of his heartthrob days, back when he was the young whippersnapper on the team. Which finally reminded me why I was really there.

“So, you were going to tell me…”

He grinned at me as he turned the radio up. My mouth fell open, caught somewhere between offense and amusement. I settled for a simmering pout, but let it pass quickly. If he wanted to talk at the restaurant, we would. If not…well, I might still get something out of it.

“Here we are.” He sounded deeply satisfied, but I couldn’t quite figure out why.

The restaurant—if you could call it that—was a tiny hole-in-the-wall in a run-down strip mall. The sign was only half-lit, making “Thai Palace” become simply “ha Place”—fitting, I thought. The ashtray outside had been kicked over, and there appeared to be a person sleeping under the window sill. I raised an eyebrow at Dante.

“Just give it a chance,” he said, flashing his grin at me. “See how full the parking lot is?”

“Yeah, they’re probably here for the twenty-four hour tattoos,” I replied wryly.

“All right, all right. I’ll make you a bet,” he said, his eyes dancing. “If this place does not serve the best damn Thai food you have ever tasted, I owe you a thousand dollars.”

“Man, I could use that right now,” I laughed. “But if it somehow, miraculously happens to be the best Thai food…?”

“Then you owe me a kiss,” he said, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling.

“A kiss is equitable to a thousand dollars?” I asked, incredulous.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he said, suddenly serious. The moment passed quickly, and he stuck out his hand with his playful grin back in place. “Deal?”

“Deal,” I replied as I slipped my hand into his.

Warm, dry, and strong. His fingers fully enveloped my hand, making me feel like the daintiest little thing in the world. It was a feeling I was rarely entitled to, courtesy of my useful yet cumbersome curves, and I sort of adored him for it. Or, at the very least, I adored his hand.

The restaurant was crowded, but somehow managed to feel cozy and private. Short glass walls topped deep booths, trailing plants obscured tables from view, and the lighting was low and rosy. I relaxed immediately.

“Mr. Drake!” A short Asian man dressed in an apron greeted Dante with a warm handshake and an almost ecstatic grin. He repeated the gestures with me, to my amusement. “Come, come!” he said, waving for us to follow him. “Your table is ready, Mr. Drake.”

Dante placed his hand on the small of my back to guide me through the restaurant. Part of my brain was annoyed at the gesture—as if I couldn’t figure out how to follow the man while dodging patrons? But the rest of my mind was distracted by the violently erotic tingle of electricity which shot over my skin when he touched me.

I allowed Dante to guide me, and wasn’t surprised when he pulled out my chair for me.

The man who’d greeted us was apparently the owner, as well as being Dante’s biggest fan. The table he brought us to was surrounded by walls on three sides, each of which was decorated with signed photographs of Dante and the team. He left quickly, promising that drinks would come shortly, leaving me alone with Dante.

I looked around at the signed photos pointedly.

“I’m not sure the food’s going to taste as good to me as it does to you,” I said with a small chuckle. “Ego-stroking tends to add spice.”

“Then maybe I should stroke yours,” he said in a low rumble.

He reached across the table and caressed my hand, an overly corny expression on his face. I laughed, which made him smile, which made me want to jump across the table and straddle him.

Clearing my throat, I turned my attention to the menu. The staff were on top of every little thing; wine and water soon appeared at the table along with a bowl of appetizers, compliments of the chef.

“They must absolutely love you here,” I remarked, watching the waiter hurry away. “Did you save his only child from a burning building or something?”

“Pretty much,” Dante admitted, shrugging his broad shoulders.

“What does that mean?”

“It means…once upon a time, a desperate man bet everything he owned on another man making a record-breaking shot. I made the shot; he won back twenty times what he put up and got his life together. Jack’s a good guy; he just needed that one lucky break.”

He didn’t seem to be bragging, simply stating facts.

“Did you ever—oh, hold on. I need to tell you that I am officially recording now. Just for my own notes.” I rifled through my bag and took out the sleek, subtle tape recorder.

“Dinner on the record?” he asked, eying the recorder suspiciously. “Is that absolutely necessary?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “Otherwise I won’t remember everything.” Because I’ll be too busy imagining you lifting me up and pinning me against that wall…

The food came, then, and I slipped the recorder into the service tray of sweeteners. I wasn’t going to waste unnecessary time arguing about the privacy concerns of tape recorders. If I didn’t say anything, maybe he would forget about it.

I nearly forgot about it myself. The aroma of the dish before me was enough to get my mouth watering, and my first bite had my eyes practically rolling back in my head.

“So?” he asked with a cocky little smile.

“Too early to say,” I lied. “There are plenty of good Thai places around here.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, lightly sarcastic. “Whatever you say, Ms. Ramos. But when we leave, I’m gonna need a real answer.”

“Deal,” I said between bites.