Chapter 3 #2
We went up in the elevator to the top floor and I managed not to react to her telling me all about the wonders of the unit, the amenities, and the management until the doors opened and I stepped out ahead of her like an asshole, because I couldn’t stand not being able to look at her or touch her or charm her when she was right there, so delicious in every way. Like the apple in the garden of Eden.
And I was no saint. I walked ahead down the hall, guessing which direction to go.
“Hey, wait up. Stop, it’s right here.”
I’d walked one unit too far, but I was slow to return to her.
Her smile invited me inside when she opened the door and I felt like I was being led into a trap.
Shaking it off, I stiffened my spine. It was time I toughened up and resigned myself to the fact that she was forbidden fruit and I couldn’t have her.
Not even a little. So what? There were plenty of other women out there.
Tell my dick that.
She walked straight through the ultramodern apartment to the windows overlooking the water.
I hadn’t been in Boston long, but I knew the Charles River, had studied the area on the plane.
Prepared myself. Like a regular Boy Scout, always prepared.
What a joke. There was no preparing for Cat Marini, coach’s daughter.
No preparing for the way my body reacted to her as if she were the only woman on earth.
Spinning around with her hands spread, she looked like a TV commercial. Only amped up a thousand times on the sex appeal scale.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said. Like you, I didn’t say.
“I’m surprised to hear you admit that. You’ve been so stingy with your thoughts.” She came back to where I stood not too far into the entryway of the big open space. The place was furnished to look like a magazine. Pristine, but not necessarily comfortable or inviting. It was all moot. I shrugged.
“How much?”
“What?”
“You heard me. How much does it cost?”
She cocked her head, her smile fading. The chicklet didn’t want to tell me because she knew I wouldn’t like it.
“It’s in your budget, don’t worry. Don’t forget, I know how much you make.”
“But you don’t know my budget.” Shaking my head, I wondered why the hell I was bothering. I didn’t owe her an explanation.
But when uncertainty flicked across her face, I thought maybe it was better to give her the full story.
I didn’t want to like her and I sure as hell didn’t want to be her friend.
But I didn’t want to be her enemy either.
It was draining, killing me. There was no middle ground.
I needed to keep up my defenses against her. Even if it did kill me.
“Do you have money problems? The fines were steep but—”
“No.” I swiped a hand through my hair, kept my eyes anywhere but on her. “I have better things to spend my money on than a place like this. It’s a waste.”
“What’s going on? Tell me.” Her demand was soft, not pleading, not caustic. Genuine. The kind of words that got under my skin.
“None of your business.” I spat the words, forced the animosity.
It cost me. But damn, I needed the money more than I needed to like myself.
She was nothing to me. My family was everything and they needed me a hell of a lot more than she needed me.
Even if she lost her job. It would be a blip in her life compared to the consequences of me losing this shot at salvaging my NFL career.
And the money. Keep your eyes on the prize, Quintanna.
“Fine. Have it your way. We’ll find you a less expensive option.”
“Not less expensive. The cheapest apartment possible.”
I couldn’t help looking at her then. Whatever frustration she had was hidden under a veneer of confidence that should have been shaken by now.
But not Cat. She whipped her phone from her purse, punched in a number, and spoke while she paced in a tight circle.
I didn’t hear what she said, but I didn’t try either, focusing on the Charles River outside the window.
But I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“You’re in luck. I have a low-budget apartment in Chelsea to show you.
Conveniently located, if not as picturesque.
No amenities, small, unfurnished. But then you’re a guy on a budget, so you can get yourself an air mattress and a sleeping bag, a lawn chair for the living room, and you’ll be set.
” She breezed past me, heading for the door, all business.
“A lawn chair? Seriously?” I followed her, relieved to be out of there.
“You’ve impressed upon me your need to be thrifty. Just trying to make a helpful suggestion.” She gave me a saucy, you-don’t-bother-me look over her shoulder and I thought my heart would bang through my rib cage.
“You like to be challenged.” I shouldn’t have said that aloud.
She stopped in her tracks and I ended up close, almost touching, but not. Her scent trapped me, her sensual energy, that pull between us like a magnetic field had been breached. Now I had to exert the kind of strength I wasn’t sure I had to back away from her.
Looking up at me with those eyes, part sex kitten, part innocent, she made me heat up, made my dick twitch. I didn’t say a word, didn’t know what might come out of my mouth.
“You? I love the challenge of you, of getting you the respect you deserve, getting your career back on track, the success you deserve.” She abruptly stopped talking.
It might have been the look on my face that got to her, steadier and steadier moving to the wolf seeing Red Riding Hood. I wanted to eat her for dinner. Badly.
“The way you talk—” I couldn’t let her go. She turned away, backed up a step. I put my hand on her chin, scalding us both, making her face me.
“Never mind. You get the picture. I love a challenge and you’re a big one.
Professionally.” She licked her lips, undoing the all-business tone of her words.
She was so near, her skin soft and hot under my touch, her breathing shallow and quick.
If I slid my hand lower to feel the pulse in her delicate neck, I knew it would be racing. Like mine.
How self-destructive was I? Enough to make the move. There was a spark of willingness in her eyes, in her stillness, in the fact that she hadn’t pulled away from my hand, hadn’t called me out on touching her. Not yet.
But she could any second and I wanted to live to have my chance at getting my career back on track the way she’d envisioned, wanted to let her do her job. Letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, I dropped my hand from her face and stepped back.
“If you say so.” I wanted to tell her I was counting on her to do her job, but I shouldn’t be counting on anyone but myself.
Because the number-one thing that would get my career back on track, that would get me the money I needed, was playing the game like my life depended on it.
Because it did. This was go-for-broke time.
I would practice my ass off, get to bed early, do everything right. No drinking, no pizza, no candy bars. The candy would be the toughest to give up of the three. Hell, I’d even try to make nice with the media.
“I do say so.” She smiled then, a little wavery smile, and backed out of the door. “All you need to do is whatever I say.”
I followed at a respectable distance—respecting my need to keep a distance.
I said nothing to this. We both knew it was unlikely, but I vowed to try and make it work, to try to establish a working relationship.
I wondered if she’d take it the wrong way if I asked her to dress like a nun, maybe wear a burka to cover her face.
Foolish notions. If I could see her eyes, feel her presence, even hear her voice, all my senses would be activated and on alert with need, attuned to whatever sexual chemical she had that my body needed.
I’d never experienced any draw so strong, any reaction so automatic, and it was damn disconcerting.
Humbling. She was a test I didn’t need right now, a distraction from hell, and I’d damn well better find a way to deal with her and quick.
She sashayed down the hall and I was wishing for the burka as I watched her ass, when she stopped after a dozen steps. She surprised me when she reached out and unlocked the door.
Facing me where I stood frozen, not wanting to think what I was thinking, she said, “I have an idea to solve all our problems. Follow me.” She quirked a nervous smile and walked inside the apartment.
My heart pounded as my mind warred with my libido, but my legs moved and I followed her inside. The apartment was identical to the one we’d just seen except that it was nicer, warmer, homier. It had some kind of genuine life to it and damn if I didn’t like it.
“What do you think?” she asked, hesitation gone from her grin.
“It’s an improvement, but—”
“No buts, it’s not expensive. You would have your own room, your own bath, and it would be cheaper than any dive you could find in Chelsea.”
“You want me to room with someone? Who lives here? Who would my roommate be?” Surprise was quickly followed by interest. The idea had possibilities. Depending on who—
“Me.”