Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Hell.” He ran off the field to stand between Charlie and his sister and arrived a snap before Tammy did.
“What?” Charline gazed up at him with a sharp, questioning squint of her intense eyes.
Swiping his hair, he pulled her close and bent his head so that his mouth was close to one delicate ear. Breathing in her intoxicating scent automatically, he said on the exhale, “My sister Tammy. Let me do all the talking.”
Trent pulled Charlie into his side with a quick tight move, maybe as much to prevent her from bolting as to fortify himself for Tammy’s onslaught.
He watched his sister slow to a stop, her eyes lasered on his, not even glancing at the press, the players, or anyone else who approached her or said hello, not even glancing at Charlie.
This was not good. He knew her well enough to know that Tammy would assume Charlie was like all the rest. Not important.
He figured his sister planned to handpick his wife for him and had even made a couple of attempts lately since his family had been getting restless.
Tammy hadn’t minded his bachelorhood. She liked being his number-one lady—after his mother, of course.
He knew that was changing too since Tammy had found someone special herself—not that Tammy would ever admit it. The poor man. Trent liked him. Tammy lit up in the guy’s presence but kept him on a string. But Trent knew something would give soon. He’d have to use that knowledge in his favor now.
And right now, Tammy was all about her big brother. If Trent could look like a thunder storm, then Tammy could look like Armageddon. It was the look she had now—lightly glossed by a thin smile.
Standing directly in front of him and Charlie, Tammy reached out a hand and, instead of shaking Charlie’s hand like one would expect, she batted Trent on the shoulder—his bad shoulder.
“Hey, nice to see you,” he said.
“You old dog. You never said a word.” Her eyes drilled him.
Then she shifted her gaze to Charlie. Even if he hadn’t seen Tammy switch her gaze, he would have known from the flinch he felt from Charlie.
A flood of protective juices spread through him and he held her closer to the slot under his good shoulder and tensed to a straighter stand, ready to do battle.
“Tammy, this is my fiancée, Charlie. Dr. Charline Morneau.”
Charlie put out her hand and managed a smile.
Tammy stared in disbelief. He knew she’d been expecting an apology or explanation or something more.
He realized he probably owed her something more, but he had nothing else he could tell her.
The strange thing was, though, that Trent felt not one bit of compulsion to tell Tammy that it was all a pretense.
“I’m—it’s nice to meet you,” his sister said. “Forgive me if I’m flabbergasted, but I had no idea . . .I’m . . .Trent and I are close . . . were close, so I thought I would know.”
“I’m so sorry, Tammy. But the media ran away with the story before we had a chance to talk to you. Of course, you have every reason to be shocked. It’s been a sudden thing for us all.” Charlie looked up at him. “But a good thing.”
Her comment and smile had the effect of making his insides feel like melting butter. Trent truly believed his Charlie could be a world-class actress and was grateful, admiring and goddamn confused all at once at that moment.
Tammy’s face split into a smile and she flung out her arms and said, “Sister, welcome to the family.” Then she moved in for a hug, dislodging Charlie from his hold and swallowing her up.
His sister, as much as she was world class at many things, was no actress and he was not fooled by her warm welcome. He pulled Charlie back to his hold and said, “Enough. We’ll arrange for a dinner out to celebrate after the playoffs.”
“That’s another thing about this engagement that’s so surprising—the timing. You’re usually down to the basic life-sustaining activities at this point in the season when you’re shooting for the playoffs.” Tammy leveled another gaze at Charlie. “You must have some kind of magical spell, Charlie.”
“I do. I’ll tell you all about it. Someday when you’re ready to listen.”
The automatic smile popped onto his face and he wished he had a camera to snap Tammy’s open-yet-silent mouth at that. But she was his sister and his number-one supporter and her heart was in the right place. And the engagement was a fake.
So he reached out and pulled Tammy in for a hug with his other arm as she was about to turn away.
“Don’t worry, Tam. I’m good. We’re good, Charlie and me.
You’ll see.” He let go of Charlie and hugged his sister who was much taller and more sinewy than Charlie, even under her winter coat, until she finally relented and hugged him back.
He knew this didn’t mean acceptance and he had more theatrics coming, but they only needed a couple of months to dodge the issue.
Then the season would be over and he’d either be a legend or a pariah.
Either he’d add another spectacular Super Bowl win and a ring to his collection, coming back at the twilight of his career like no other to be the best of the best—with the Hall of Fame in his future, or he’d be thrown out of the league and possibly into jail.
There would be no in between. And it all depended on Charlie and her miracle serum.
As Tammy left them, the media types watched from a few feet away and jotted and snapped pictures and spoke amongst themselves.
Charline felt all eyes on her as if she were marching naked down Main Street leading a parade.
When a camera—one of those chunky long-barreled lens types—aimed and flashed at her, she jumped from Trent’s hold as if he were contagious.
He was contagious. His notoriety was contagious and she hadn’t figured on the relentlessness of it all.
She’d thought after the initial onslaught this morning the media circus would be over except maybe a press conference later and an interview or two.
For a very bright woman, her figuring these days was lapsing.
“What’s the matter, Charlie?” he said.
“Nothing.”
“Get used to the cameras. They’re a constant.” Even his voice had that careless-smile quality and right now she wanted to slap it out of him. Then he added, “I’m sorry.”
She sighed and darted a look up at his dimpled cheek and sincere eyes. He looked more like the gentleman farmer she’d read that his dad was than a big-deal football star.
“Can we leave now?”
He laughed. “You sound like you’re about twelve.”
“I sound like I’m a busy professional who doesn’t have time to play arm candy for you and your press entourage.
” She realized she sounded more like a bitch now than a petulant child.
Then she realized she didn’t need his permission to leave.
She was no child and she wasn’t his—not for real.
This had to end. There was no way she could let this get out of hand and take over her life. She leaned in for a goodbye kiss.
The second her lips grazed his cheek, he took hold, took control and drew her into a real kiss.
The kind a lover gives to a woman when they’re parting in the morning after a long night of lovemaking.
Tender and hot and simmering with promise.
She felt the heat of his promise all the way down her spine to the sweet spot between her thighs and squeezed her eyes tight as she pressed her palms against his chest to free herself.
Not that he held her there, unless you counted the sexual lure and mystifying charisma. She fought mostly with herself and that was strange. She’d never had one of these mad-about-a-man crushes before and, from all accounts, she feared this was one of those.
“I’m leaving.” Pushing away, she avoided his eyes and stepped from his grasp even when his hand trailed along her spine to remind her she was his, at least in some measure. She didn’t need any reminders at that moment. She needed escape.
“I’ll see you later, darlin’.” His words were meant only for her to hear. Knowing that sent a tingle through her and she hurried her steps even as she glanced back at him, smiling for the crowd, not for him. For him, she felt terrified excitement and she tried desperately not to show it.
He sat on his couch with the thick folder Charlie had given him about the drug and the trials.
It was time he read more closely what he was getting himself into.
He’d listened closely to all her explanations, but now that it was real and not some pipe dream, he needed to face up to the potential consequences.
As he was about to open the section on side effects, his cell phone buzzed.
He figured it must be his agent. Another reality he needed to face.
He picked up the phone without checking the number.
“‘Lo.”
“This is Charlie.”
He sat up straight as if she were in the room with him, every cell on alert and stimulated to go.
Would he feel like this every time he saw her or thought of her or heard her compelling siren voice?
He remembered how she tasted, how she smelled.
Then he remembered that she was making it possible—with her miracle drug—for him to put his career on the line, his legacy.
He was going against everything he’d ever done in a desperate attempt at one last hurrah.
Maybe he ought to be going to a head doctor. Maybe they both ought to. Dr. Charline Morneau was possibly more desperate than he was. He had no idea what made her so desperate, but he knew she was. They were a pair, all right.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Is it a problem?”
“Yes. It always will be. Forever.”
“Are you drinking or are you normally given to philosophical episodes?”
He rumbled a laugh and then sighed. “Maybe some of both.” He glanced at the untouched beer on his coffee table.
“Are you still willing to accompany me to the soiree Saturday night?”