Playing to Win Page 2

  “The problem is that mate is Anson Cross, the celebrity chef known for his bad behavior on and off screen. The last time you two got together, Anson ended up with a black eye.”

  “I didn’t do it. He walked into a door.”

  “And I suppose a dog ate your homework too.”

  “Nah. I never even did my homework back in school.” He flashed his famous self-deprecating grin. “Guess that’s why I’m nothing more than a meathead footballer now.”

  A meathead with a ten-million-dollar contract. Stupidity paid stupidly well in this topsy-turvy world.

  “We’re not saying we don’t trust you, Sam,” Larry chipped in.

  Sam laughed. “Bullshit.”

  Larry merely smiled at the other man’s bluntness. “But I’d feel better knowing Abbi was with you at your buddy’s big opening tonight.”

  Abbi’s back went ramrod straight all of a sudden. “Pardon me?”

  “Damage control is a great idea, Abbi, but this time we need to be more proactive. All of Miami’s media is going to be at the opening of Anson’s new restaurant in South Beach, and they’re all going to be waiting for him to do something controversial, as is his style. Or for his equally famous friend to do something controversial.” Larry indicated Sam with a tilt of his head. “I want the most scandalous thing for them to report to be that the scallops were overcooked.”

  “Oi.” Sam objected. “Anson would never overcook his scallops.”

  “The firm’s reputation is riding on it,” Larry went on.

  “But surely you don’t think I can control this reprobate.” Abbi waved her hand in Sam’s direction. “I was just telling you how impossible he is to deal with—”

  “Nothing’s impossible, Abbi.” Larry’s firm tone made Abbi realize she’d crossed a line in contradicting his directions. She clamped her lips together.

  Larry continued. “Sam has that photo op with the sick kids tomorrow and having him turn up hungover or with a black eye are not options I’ll accept. You will go with him tonight and you will make sure he doesn’t do a single thing wrong.”

  Abbi swallowed, reading the subtext of her employer’s orders loud and clear. He liked her and appreciated her work ethic, Abbi knew that from her last employee evaluation. But he wouldn’t hesitate to fire her ass if she allowed anything Sam did to make a black mark against the firm’s good name. She didn’t have balls but he might even bronze something of hers and use it as a paperweight.

  Oh, heck. She really was stuck with Sam for the foreseeable future. She reminded herself to stock up on batteries for her vibrator, because it was the only thing keeping her tension levels in the manageable zone.

  Resigned to her fate, Abbi said, “I understand, sir.”

  “Good. I hear it’s a black-tie event. I assume you have a dress.”

  “I’m in the room, ya know,” Sam piped up. He was lazing in his chair, watching the exchange between superior and subordinate with an expression that might have been amused or annoyed. Probably amused, knowing Sam. Nothing ever seemed to faze him. “It’s really obnoxious when you talk about me like I’m not here. What if I wanted to take a hot date?”

  Sam had a date? Abbi’s stomach pitched at the prospect of spending the evening with Sam and one of his bimbos, being the proverbial third wheel. “You haven’t told me you’re dating anyone.”

  Sam cocked an eyebrow at her tone, which Abbi feared was a tad shrill. “You’re not with me twenty-four seven, ya know. I’ve got a private life.”

  Nice for some, Abbi thought. She didn’t have time for a private life, not since she’d been saddled with the task of babysitting the NFL’s biggest child. Last time she went on a date was…blech. She didn’t want to count back that many months.

  “Fine, take them both.” Larry waved a dismissive hand. “She and Abbi can talk about shoes or something.”

  Ugh. Sexist. The kind of throwaway comment Abbi was sick to death of hearing, but what could she do? Larry was already in a ball-bronzing mood. Now wasn’t the time to strike a blow for feminism, much as she might want to tell him where he could stick his job and his shoe comments. She liked her job, for the most part, and Prince PR had a stellar health care plan. In this day and age, that wasn’t the kind of thing you could throw away on a whim.

  “Well, if this is what it takes to make Gators management stop squirming in their seats, then okay.”

  “Huh?” Abbi swung her head to stare at Sam. “What are you saying?”

  Sam showed Abbi that annoying, oh-so-sexy grin. “I’ll take you to the ball, Cinderella.”

  Chapter 2

  Concealing his triumph was a hard task for Sam. Hiding his amusement at the adorable way Abbi narrowed her eyes at him was even harder.

  “You’re agreeing to this?” she asked. “Just like that?”

  He lifted a shoulder, and Abbi’s attention snagged for a fleeting moment on his biceps. Those little sidelong glances she’d been giving him, the ones she thought he couldn’t see, had been driving him wild for over a month. Ever since he’d woken up and realized the cute brunette the Gators had sent to annoy him wasn’t so much cute as ferociously hot. And she wasn’t so much annoying as intensely desirable.

  What had been wrong with his eyes for the first couple of months of their association? Time he’d spent aggravating her on purpose because he was pissed off his team had felt the need to get him a minder to watch his step during the off season. He could lift the woman with one arm without breaking a sweat and she was meant to keep him in line? He’d thought it fucking ridiculous.

  He’d made no secret of his opinion with team management, and had spent the first two months of his surveillance, as he’d thought of it, making sure Abbi ran around in circles like a little terrier in an attempt to keep up with him. Speeding tickets, parties, dates with thoroughly unsuitable women. Not that it hadn’t been fun but it had been for Abbi’s benefit more than his.

  That brawl in south Florida hadn’t been planned, but he couldn’t sit by and let that scumbag manhandle his ex like that. He’d deserved a taste of his own medicine and Sam hadn’t minded dishing it out. The extra benefit was that it had contributed to his campaign to piss Abbi off. She’d been livid. Sam wondered if she was going to quit on the spot, which was what he’d wanted—or so he’d thought.

  But watching her ream him out for the trouble he was causing her had done something to him he hadn’t expected. For the first time he’d looked beyond the woman’s uptight exterior and saw the frustrated, stressed out human being beneath. She was just trying to do her job, a job she obviously cared about and wanted to keep. And here he was with his ten-million-dollar contract making her wage earning ass miserable.

  In short, he’d suddenly realized what an asshole he was being. So he’d stopped. Or tried to. But Abbi’s first impression of him was sticking like glue, not that he could blame her. She hated his guts, which was too bad because the second he’d stopped annoying her he’d started to notice other things about her that were too appealing for his peace of mind. She was smart as a whip, passionate about her job. She couldn’t go by an ice-cream shop without staring longingly at the array of flavors on offer. He’d never seen her treat herself, though. Abbi was used to denying herself pleasure and joy, which seemed a damn shame to him.

  He wanted her to experience pleasure, wanted to see her smile and go warm and soft and…

  Ah, there were those pesky thoughts again. No doubt about it, he liked Abbi Lehman, one of the few women he’d known who wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot barge pole.

  That was some kind of karmic irony.

  “You never go along this easily with anything.”

  Abbi’s words, uttered in a tone heavy with suspicion, brought Sam back to the present. “First time for everything.”

  Like for them. There could be a first time for them, if Sam could just get her to change her mind about him. Larry forcing Abbi to go along to the restaurant opening tonight was like a sign from fate. It was a
work thing, yes, but a date-like work thing. That had possibilities. She might see him differently, if he put his best foot forward. Turned on the charm. So far she appeared to be immune but maybe he could wear her down with time and proximity.

  He had to try. Because dating thoroughly unsuitable women had lost its appeal now that the only female he wanted was his sexy little publicist.

  “I’ll even send you a dress to wear. My treat,” Sam offered, immediately picturing Abbi in something skin tight and red that would offset her dark brown hair. Or maybe something green to match her eyes. His groin stirred in ways it should definitely not do while he was sitting in Larry Prince’s office.

  “I have my own, thank you.”

  She pursed her lips. It made Sam want to kiss them until they melted apart. Oh, he was getting her a dress, otherwise she was likely to wear something black and boring, something like the skirt suits she wore while she was working.

  Hell, it wouldn’t matter if she did, he’d still want to strip every modest layer of fabric from her delectable body. But those suits were starting to look like cover, like a way Abbi had of hiding her innate color and spark. He didn’t know if he had that right but damn, he wanted to see her in something bright and shimmery and spectacular. Because she was spectacular.

  A spectacular woman he’d made hate him. Fool that he was.

  “How about I pick you up around six?” Sam suggested. “Does that suit?”

  Optimism, Cormack. You didn’t get from small town Australia to the big leagues of the NFL by not believing in yourself. You can turn this around.

  “Well…” Abbi looked between him and Larry, who was watching their exchange with eagle eyes. She eventually let out a sound of resignation. “Fine. I’ll give you my address.”

  Sam grinned, feeling buoyant as she grabbed a notepad from her boss’s desk and wrote down the details in her neat cursive. He took the piece of paper and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Don’t look so distressed. You might even have fun.”

  “I’ll be there to work, not have a good time.”

  “No reason you can’t do both.”

  She looked at him as though he was mad, but it didn’t dull Sam’s optimism. Abbi only saw tonight as work because she felt she had to watch every move he made. If he was on his best behavior, eventually she’d see she could trust him and she’d relax. Then they might finally start getting to know each other properly. She’d view him as a man and not a disaster she had to avert.

  When that happened, he might just be in with a shot.

  * * * *

  As usual, Sam completely ignored Abbi’s instructions.

  When she arrived home from work, her neighbor Ginny brought over a package she’d signed for. Ginny was a graphic artist who worked mostly from home, so she occasionally signed for things on Abbi’s behalf if they arrived while she was out.

  It wasn’t her birthday, so Abbi knew the package wasn’t from her parents, who still lived in Nebraska in the house where Abbi had grown up. And she didn’t have a sugar daddy, so only one person could have sent her the box from a well-known Miami boutique.

  Damn the man. He’d sent her a dress.

  She considered simply ignoring the box, but what girl could do that? She had to at least take peek.

  It was the most unique shade of blue-green Abbi had ever seen, almost turquoise but not quite. The material was so soft and luxurious that she sighed as she stroked it. It was also backless with a halter neck and a deep split down the front. Basically, it was a dress for a woman who knew what she had and enjoyed showing it off.

  That did not describe her. No way was she going to wear it.

  There was a note in the bottom of the box.

  In case you change your mind. It was signed with a smiley face.

  Abbi was not smiling as she headed for the shower. She was still fuming that not only had her plea to be reassigned gone unanswered, but that she’d somehow been roped into spending even more time with the very man she’d sought to avoid. The man who thought he could dress her up to his liking and had somehow guessed her size. To do that he must have really been looking at her body, perhaps measuring it with his hands in his mind…

  The thought made Abbi a little breathless. The warmth of the shower water sluicing over her took on a sensuous quality as she imagined Sam’s big hands tracing over her curves, circling her waist, rising to cup her breasts and tease her budding nipples.

  “Damn it.” Now she was imagining him in the shower with her, taking her up against the tiled wall and…and just taking her, like some masterful lover in an erotic novel.

  With a huff of frustration, Abbi turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. The problem was that reading erotic novels was the closest she’d come to having a masterful lover—or any lover—in going on five months. Not that she would have described her last boyfriend, Trey, as masterful. He’d been too equivocal about everything, deferring all the decision making to her. It was as though he hadn’t known his own mind, and it had gotten tiring trying to help him work out what he wanted.

  Sam Cormack knew what he wanted. You didn’t get to be a topnotch athlete for nearly a decade unless you set goals and worked hard to achieve them. Despite what often came across as a lackadaisical attitude, Abbi knew Sam was a competitive animal who was dedicated to being the best at his sport. When it came to football, Sam was all in.

  What would it be like to have that focus and dedication turned on her? If he put the same kind of effort into seducing her that he put into winning? Abbi’s knees went weak at the thought.

  “Stop it, Abbi,” she chastised herself. An affair with Sam Cormack would be career suicide, so she shouldn’t even allow herself the fantasy. Besides, Sam treated her like an annoying gnat rather than a potential bed partner.

  For pity’s sake, he was bringing a date with him to pick her up. Abbi imagined the humiliation of sitting in the back of a limo with Sam and the faceless woman she kept picturing, staring awkwardly out the window while the two of them made out.

  That settled it. She was wearing the sexy dress. If she was going to play third wheel tonight, the least she could do was look dynamite while she did it, and nothing she owned could compare to the designer gown Sam had sent. Who knew? Maybe she’d meet someone at the restaurant opening who could replace the erotic novel heroes in her bed.

  She did her make-up, blow dried her hair into a smooth dark curtain and was just doing up the snap of the dress when there was a knock on her door. Her apartment complex had a security gate but she’d given Sam the passcode. He must have passed it on to his driver rather than text her to meet him out front.

  Despite the vehement talking to she’d given it, Abbi’s heart leapt at the prospect of seeing Sam. The dress was definitely sexy, and though she could get away without wearing a bra anytime, she rarely went sans support. She felt more than a little exposed in the backless halter neck garment.

  “You can do this, Abbi,” she encouraged herself. “You’re a big girl, so put on your big-girl shoes and get out there.”

  She slipped into her silver sling-back heels and went to answer the door. Expecting to be greeting a limo driver, her words died on her tongue when it was Sam himself standing there, dressed in a tux and looking far too delicious for her peace of mind.

  She stood there staring at him like a deaf mute for several heartbeats while she took in the breadth of his shoulders and the chiseled lines of his face. Careless stubble so often graced Sam’s jaw, so seeing him clean shaven made him seem somehow naked.

  Oh dear Lord, I so want to see him naked.

  “Abs.” Her name was little more than an exhale on his lips as his gaze raked over her. “Holy snappin’ duck shit.”

  Abbi blinked. “Er…what?”

  “Sorry.” Looking sheepish, Sam ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. It made Abbi want to touch it. “It’s a weird Aussie saying. That was supposed to be a compliment. You look incredible.”

  �
�Oh. Thanks.” Pleasure made her blood run fast and hot through her veins. Stupid girly blood. Abbi straightened her spine and reminded herself she was supposed to be working, not swooning over her client. “I’m ready when you are. We might as well get this over with.”

  “Wow. Is that how you speak to all your dates?” Sam asked, amused. “If so, maybe that’s why you don’t have a boyfriend.”

  He added something further in a mutter Abbi wasn’t sure she understood correctly. It sounded like, “Because I can’t think of any other reason.”

  What was he trying to say? Abbi wondered as she grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her. “Sorry, I just meant… Wait a minute, I’m not your date. Where is your lovely companion, by the way?”

  Sam gestured for her to proceed him down the stairs that led to the central courtyard. “My what?”

  Her two-story townhouse was in a complex with a pool that they passed as they headed to the car parking area out front. “Your date. Are we picking her up on the way?”

  “We’re not picking anyone else up.” He looked at her quizzically. “It’s just you and me, sport.”

  “But you said—”

  “I said what if I had a hot date. I never said I actually had one.”

  The truth didn’t quite penetrate until they got to the parking area. Abbi froze, recognizing the audacious red Maserati as Sam’s. “Where’s the limo?” She looked around, but there was no limousine to be seen. “I thought…I thought there’d be a limo. And a bimbo.”

  And a hat for your cat, Dr. Suess.

  Sam regarded her with a tilt of his head. “Are you disappointed you’re the only woman I want to spend the evening with?”

  Abbi’s heart raced at the suddenly soft rasp of his voice, at the only-woman-he-wanted-to-spend-the-evening-with bit. It was so cheesy it had to be a line, but she responded to it anyway, like some mindless rat in a pheromone experiment. Her voice came out threadbare. “It’s really just you and me?”

  His attention wandered over her face, resting for a heartbeat longer than cursory on her lips. He lifted his hand and touched her chin with two fingers, and for a frantic moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. He was close, so close she could feel his breath on her jaw. Her heart pounded so loud Sam had to be able to hear it.