Fucking hell, if my cock gets any stiffer, I’m going to spend down the leg of my jeans. I’m going to have her in every position tonight. I’ll be lucky if I manage to tear myself off her long enough to sign the contract with LA tomorrow. Might have to bring her along to limit the amount of time we spend apart. Because Christ, this little green-eyed beauty is under my skin and I’m not getting her out. I already know it. How did this happen so fast? One minute I’m aching for solitude, the next I don’t want to be without her.
“Don’t move,” I tell her. “Wait right here for me.”
After a small hesitation, she nods. “Fine.”
Resenting the distance I have to put between us, I nonetheless gather the piece of garbage off the floor and drag him toward the security guard who is already approaching, walkie-talkie hovering in front of his mouth. His eyes go wide as silver dollars when he realizes who is escorting the scumbag and he nods solemnly through my explanation of what happened.
“We’ll take care of it right away, Mr. Bentley.” He takes the struggling man from me, securing his hands behind his back with a zip tie. “The cops are already on the way.”
“Lucky for him.” I look the perpetrator in the eye. “And extra lucky for him we’re surrounded by witnesses or you’d have to be carried out of here on a stretcher.”
Hearing the truth in my voice, he pales.
As soon as the guard hustles the man toward the door, I turn on a heel and stalk back through the shocked crowd, looking for my girl. I want her now. I want her standing in front of me, looking at me, smelling like crushed berries. From my vantage point, it’s not difficult to find her, though she’s not standing in the same spot I left her and it takes a few minutes, causing a cold sweat to break out at my hairline, panic to wrap around my vocal cords. Relief is a living thing when I get to the back of the club and she’s standing at the end of the neon bar, in one of the darker corners. I come up beside her in time to hear her request a glass of water from the bartender.
“You moved,” I point out, barely checking the urge to sink my fingers into her hair. Or pull her into my arms, kiss her. Jesus, I have no idea what I’d do first—only that I need to touch this girl. “I asked you to stay put.”
“I rarely do what I’m told.” She chews her lip a moment, considering me. “Listen, thank you for helping me out tonight, but the way you’re looking at me? Like you’re already picking out our china pattern? It’s not going to happen. I don’t date basketball players. It’s a personal rule and I never, ever break it.”
Chapter Two
Greta
Lord, he’s even more attractive in person.
Deep brown hair, finger brushed. Tan, muscled skin. Stubborn jawline.
Too bad I’ll never get closer than this. Fine, I let him get away with squeezing my hips a few minutes ago. Fine, I loved the hard contours of his chest against my back, how effortlessly he scooped me up off the ground. How he came to my assistance and didn’t ask for proof of my claim. He just stepped in, no questions asked, and joined my side of the battle. I already like way too many things about him and I wish I didn’t. If he was a jerk, that would make blowing him off a lot easier.
I don’t date basketball players. It’s a personal rule and I never, ever break it.
My statement lingers in the air between us, his eyebrows drawing together over shrewd baby blues. Do I know who he is? A pretty funny question, since my father has been dying to sign the Silent Assassin since he entered the league ten years ago. The point guard standing in front of me is already a legend at age twenty-nine, his court awareness unparalleled, his passing precision celebrated by sports journalists and commentators non-stop on ESPN. He’s the universal dude crush of every man in this club—and he doesn’t even seem to realize it. Or even be aware of the people snapping his image on their phones. He’s only looking at me.
“Are you here alone?”
Briefly, I glance past him, watching my friends find glory on the dance floor. “I’m here with some of my classmates. This is more their scene than mine.”
“I can relate. You’re a college student?”
I hum an affirmative response. “Too young for you?”
“I don’t have an age range for women I date, because I don’t. Date. Whatever age you are is the right one.” A muscle ticks in his cheek, his hand gripping the edge of the bar beside me, and shoot, I liked that response way too much. “What is your reason for not dating basketball players?” He leans in to ask the question, his breath stirring the hair resting on my neck. “Maybe it doesn’t apply to me.”
“It applies to all of you, I’m afraid,” I say, accepting my water from the bartender. “Professional athletes are given every little thing they want. Money, cars, women, influence. They get bored with a toy, they buy a new one. I’m not a toy and I never will be.”
Dang it, he’s actually listening to me. Patiently, quietly, like his nickname suggests he would. He’s not just waiting for his turn to speak, he’s taking what I say and processing it, that line of concentration deepening between his brows. “I don’t disagree with anything you’re saying, but—”
“But you’re not like that?” I take a long sip of the icy cold water, set it down. “A lot of women who’ve dated basketball players have heard that line before. I’m going to be smart and learn from them. I’m not going to make the same mistakes.”
For several seconds, he remains silent. Then, “What is your name?”
I hold my hand out for a shake. “Greta Welding. Nice to meet you.”
He slides our palms together, satisfaction making his eyes bluer when I gasp over the jolt of electricity. “Welding. You’re not related to…”
“Your new coach.” We’re still holding hands. I can’t seem to let go. “That’s right. I’m his daughter.”
“Unfortunately for me, huh?” he murmurs, running his thumb in a circle around the inside of my palm, his attention on me rapt. “You might be young, but you’ve been in this environment long enough to see some bad behavior from the players, is that right? Now you’ve lumped me in with everyone who came before.”
“That’s right,” I manage, with far less confidence than before.
Because he’s closer now and he smells like a fistful of mint sprigs, his eyes tracing down the neckline of my tank top with such ownership, my nipples stiffen and a wave of heat travels up the back of my neck.
“It’s not your f-fault, per-se…” Oh lord, I detect a ramble starting. “You’ve been handed everything a man could ever want. Why work for a woman when there are hundreds waiting in the wings?”
“They wouldn’t be you. And I work for everything, no matter how much I’m given.” He drops his mouth to my ear, brushing the sensitive shell with a hint of his lips. “I’d work my ass off for you. Because I’m not stupid enough to think a hundred men aren’t dying to take my place. In fact, it’s more like thousands.”
Despite the water I’m drinking, my mouth is suddenly dry. “I, um…I mean, that’s a really good answer.”