Chapter One
Eric
I can name a hundred places I would rather be right now than a nightclub.
Most of the time, I can get away with an excuse or flat out tell my teammates to fuck off, but this is different. These are new teammates, a new city, and I’m signing a contract tomorrow that will make me their point guard. I have to put in the time with them, show my face, earn the kind of trust that will translate to the basketball court. Unfortunately, a lot of that faith is earned off the hardwood.
If my skill spoke for itself, I would be home right now instead of this dark, noisy establishment, a row of untouched drinks in front of me. I massage the bridge of my nose, attempting to get rid of the pounding in my head, the overwhelming mixture of cologne and perfume making me nauseous. These places are exactly the same, no matter what the city. Dallas, New York, Minnesota, Los Angeles.
It’s all become a blur.
“Bentley!” One of my new teammates falls onto the leather banquet of the VIP section beside me, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Welcome to LA, man.”
I force a quick smile onto my face for the team’s power forward, Rashid. “Thanks. Looking forward to putting ink to paper tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is a hundred years away, my dude. We’ve got the whole night ahead.” With a hand the size of a pizza pan, he gestures to the writhing mass of bodies on the nightclub floor, one section below us. “You’re Eric “The Silent Assassin” Bentley. Take your pick of these women. Let’s get you a celebrity welcome to LA.”
I start to say no thank you. For a lot of reasons.
The last time I slept with a woman, my freshman year of college, the unthinkable happened. Now? I don’t let loose anymore. I don’t take my eye off the ball. Don’t drink or party or bring home strange women, no matter how badly I need relief. Whenever I get the urge to be self-destructive or forget my scruples for the night, I remember what happened that night and the impulse goes away.
“I’ll pass this time…”
That’s what I start to say, but then I see her.
This cute little blonde who looks like she wants to murder someone.
Her nose is screwed up, fists balled at her sides and she’s staring up at a man twice her size, ready to throw a punch. My stomach trades places with my heart. Who is that? Why do I have a hard time breathing when I look at her? Before I even know I’m moving, I’m standing up and demanding to be let through the red velvet rope of the VIP section to the main club floor below. Behind me, my future teammates high five, assuming I’ve spotted the female I want to take home.
“Bentley!” one of them shouts behind me. “Just crook your finger at her. She comes to you. Not the other way around.”
Something tells me this girl doesn’t come when a finger is crooked at her.
Just a hunch.
It might have something to do with the right cross she just delivered to the man’s jaw. A sound halfway between amusement and worry leaves me, swallowed up by the pumping club music. The crowd is parting around me, people taking selfies and asking for autographs, but I plow ahead, determined to reach the pissed off angel, because God forbid the man she just punched decides to retaliate. If he lays a finger on her, I’ll be in prison for murder instead of LA’s new starting point guard.
The closer I get to her, the more everything starts to move in slow motion.
She’s…goddamn. She’s something else.
Not dolled up or dressed to entice. Just subtle in a black tank top tucked into tight, little shorts. Sneakers. Hair all windblown, cheeks flushed. No jewelry, except for an oversized watch on her wrist. God, I’ve never seen a fiercer expression on anyone. She can’t be taller than five foot two, yet there’s no denying she’s a warrior. What is she doing to my chest? I can’t seem to slow my heart rate or pull in enough oxygen. The music distorts around me and all I can hear is pounding in my temples.
Everything shoots back into sharp focus, however, when the man she punched grabs her by the shoulder. She winces—and I see red. The club goes into fast motion around me and I lunge the remaining distance, pushing my way between them and dislodging his hand in the process, knocking the bastard back several paces. That’s when it hits me that I’ve just intervened in a situation I know nothing about. For all I know, this man is her boyfriend. Or husband.
I’m surprised to find I don’t care.
I’m taking her home either way.
If this prick is her boyfriend, they just broke up.
If they’re married, we’ll get those papers signed.
I’m not going anywhere without her. And that certainty…is insane. I hear my thoughts and know they’re crazy, completely unlike me, but as soon as I saw her, it was like a shot of adrenaline and possessiveness, all at once. A Molotov cocktail of lust and guardianship. Mine. Fate has whispered in my ear for the first time in my life. I don’t get it, but that’s the end of the story.
The man I’ve just pushed starts to charge me, until he realizes who I am and he holds up his hands, stammering over the music. “Hey man. I was just being friendly. She’s overreacting.”
“Friendly?” repeats the blonde. “I saw you put that powder in my drink.”
She tries to charge past me, but I catch her around the waist at the last second, holding her several inches off the ground. I bite off a groan when she tries to get free, her butt wiggling around in my lap. God help me, my dick is rock hard in an instant and an animal inside me gnashes its teeth, wanting to throw her facedown over the closest table and claim her in front of everyone. Mark her as mine. And I should be ashamed of myself for even thinking it, considering the accusation she just made. One I believe, one hundred percent.
“Listen up a second, angel?” I manage through my closing throat. “I’m going to make sure this asshole goes to jail, all right? Trust me on that? But if you punch him again and he retaliates, I’ll be the one in an orange jumpsuit. Understand?”
She twists in my arms, trying to pry my hold open. “I can fight my own battles. I don’t need you to do it for me.”
“That’s pretty obvious. You’ve got a mean right hook.” Some of the struggle goes out of her and she cranes her neck to look up at me curiously, frown still intact, and Jesus Christ, she’s the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen in my life. Can she feel my heart slamming against her back? “But if he’s the kind of man who’ll dose a girl’s drink, I don’t trust him not to hit back. If that happens, I’ll tear down the fucking ceiling of this place with my bare hands.”
“That doesn’t sound very ‘silent,’” she says, briefly dropping her head back against my pec. “So much for your nickname.”
Amusement tickles my throat. “You know who I am.”
She finds something about that amusing, green eyes twinkling. “Maybe.” A beat passes. “Get him out of here before he does it to someone else.”
Nodding, I set her down, my hands lingering on her hips, unable to resist giving them a squeeze, listening to her quick intake of breath. For a basketball player, I’m on the shorter end of the spectrum, but I’m still six foot four, meaning she has to tip her head back to meet my eyes, her lips parted slightly, her medium-length blonde hair falling down her back.