An After-Hours Affair

Four

Mitch watched from the sidelines at the Moberly Club, while out on the dance floor Jeffrey flirted with Jenny. Though he knew she was too smart to be taken in by Jeffrey’s smooth talk, he was tempted to warn her away from the man. Or maybe he should order Jeffrey to stay away from her. It might be his responsibility to make it clear, in no uncertain terms, that Jeffrey was to stay well away from his assistant.

He straightened away from bar, intending to do just that.

“Well, hello, stranger.” A tall, leggy blonde sidled up to him.

“Misha,” he greeted, recognizing the former wife of one of Houston’s many oil executives. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Back from Paris last week,” she purred, resting her elegant, manicured hand on the arm of his suit jacket. She was a former model, born and raised in Germany. She’d had a brief but profitable marriage in Houston. Word on the street was that he’d ended up with the sports cars, while she got the Tigers’ season tickets.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked dutifully, even though he’d prefer to spend his time confronting Jeffrey.

“But, of course.” She took his hand and moved to the dance floor.

Misha, it turned out, had spent the past few months traveling, perfecting her tan in Tahiti, visiting a game preserve in South Africa and dedicating a new museum wing in Prague. She offered to show him her all-over tan, but Mitch graciously declined.

His next dance partner was just back from St. Kitts. It seemed she’d bought a little bungalow beside the ocean. She’d taken up snorkeling. She throatily informed him there was a hot tub on the balcony of her hotel suite, and then hinted that she’d like to show him how long she could hold her breath.

Mitch honestly didn’t remember these parties being quite so crass. By midnight, all he wanted to do was head for the hotel, take an aspirin and crawl under the covers.

Alone.

But then his gaze caught Jenny.

She was in the corner talking to Emily, being handed another martini. A green one this time. She seemed to have developed a taste for exotic drinks. And he didn’t know what had gotten into her with the clothes lately.

That short skirt showed off her incredible legs, and their navy silhouette made a man’s mind go all kinds of places. She’d worn her contacts again, and her ornate earrings sparkled whenever she moved her head. His gaze rested on the shimmering peach tank top, making out the rounded curves of her breasts against the slinky fabric. It was obvious she’d forgone a bra.

He couldn’t remember ever seeing her braless. Then again, he supposed he hadn’t been looking. Why was he looking now? What the hell was the matter with him? What, exactly, would it take for him to learn his lesson?

He caught sight of Jeffrey. The man was heading in Jenny’s direction again, a predatory gleam in his eyes. This time, Mitch did make his move. And he didn’t let anyone stop him along the way.

“Jeffrey,” he greeted heartily, falling into step with the man.

“Hey, Mitch. Glad you could make it.”

Mitch would just bet Jeffrey was glad he’d shown up with Jenny. “I see you’ve met Jenny.”

Jeffrey frowned. “I’ve met her lots of times before.”

“You didn’t dance with her before.”

“Her hotness factor’s gone way up in my books.”

“You keep her out of your books.”

Jeffrey turned his head to look at Mitch. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“She’s my assistant, you moron. Keep your hands off her.”

“We were only dancing.”

Mitch shot Jeffrey a dark look. “You’re talking to me here, Jeff.”

Jeffrey gave a sheepish smile. “Point taken.”

“She’s a nice girl.”

“Then she’ll slap me across the face, won’t she?”

“You give her any reason to slap you across the face, and your face will be meeting up with my fist.”

Jeffrey sputtered out a laugh. “So says the cripple.”

“I’ve still got my left.”

In answer, Jeffrey looped an arm over Mitch’s shoulder. “Careful, buddy. You’re starting to sound territorial.”

“I told you, she’s my assistant.”

“And that’s all she is?”

“Absolutely.” If Mitch said it out loud often enough, maybe it would come true.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Probably because Mitch was lying. “Because your brain’s in the gutter.”

“Your brain and mine have been partying together down there for quite a few years.”

Mitch spoke slowly and deliberately. “Not with Jenny.”

“Hey, Jenny,” Jeffrey sang out as they approached. He did a few mock dance steps, making her smile. “Got time for one more spin around the floor?”

Jenny turned and stumbled ever so slightly on her high-heeled boots, bracing herself against the bar. Her green eyes were bright, her smile more dazzling than usual. Mitch had seen her with only the two, but how many drinks had she had?

“We have to head out,” Mitch interrupted before she could answer. If there was any chance her judgment was clouded, Jeffrey was the last guy she needed to be around.

“It’s barely midnight,” Jeffrey protested.

“We’ve planned an early flight in the morning,” Mitch lied again. They could take the jet back to Royal anytime they wanted. But he stepped up beside Jenny, threading her arm through his.

“Cole around?” he asked Emily.

The woman sniffed her delicate nose. “How would I know?”

“You were dancing with him.”

“Only till I could get rid of him.”

Jenny pointed. “Over there. Behind the pillar.” She started to move, but Mitch held on, causing her to trip again.

“How many martinis did you drink?” he asked.

She looked up at him, blinking her long lashes as if to bring him into focus. “I ordered two. But I barely sipped either of them. Why?”

“Because you’re a lightweight,” he murmured.

“Thank you.” She nodded sarcastically. “I just lost three pounds.”

He couldn’t stop a grin at her joke as he ushered her forward to where they could meet up with Cole. “Time for bed, princess.”

As they passed Jeffrey, the man shook his head, chuckling darkly at Mitch. “Assistant. Right.”

Mitch threw a surreptitious elbow into Jeffrey’s rib cage.

“I’m starving,” said Jenny from the third-row seat in the chauffeur-driven Escalade as they sped along the shore of Galveston Bay.

Mitch twisted his head to look at her. “That’s probably a good idea. A little food in your stomach along with the liquor.”

“Will you stop,” Jenny huffed. “I sipped on two teeny little martinis. I’m just hungry because it’s late. Look.” She pointed out the tinted window, turning her head as they cruised past the red neon sign. “Cara Mia Trattoria. And it’s open.”

Cole spoke up from the bucket seat next to Mitch’s in the middle row. “If she can read Italian, she can’t be that bad off.”

Jenny smacked the back of Cole’s bucket seat. “I’m perfectly sober, people.”

Cole grinned, while Emily gave a shrug. “I could eat.”

Mitch turned forward to address the driver. “Can you take us back to Cara Mia?”

“Of course, sir,” the uniformed man responded. He checked the rearview mirror, then pulled a U-turn in advance of an upcoming red light, taking up the right-hand lane, before signaling to pull up to Cara Mia’s front door.

As the SUV came to a smooth halt, Mitch handed the man a twenty-dollar tip.

“Thank you, sir. You have the service’s number?”

“I do,” Mitch confirmed, yawning the door open.

“We’re on duty for the team until three.”

Mitch nodded his thanks and stepped out of the vehicle. He turned to offer his hand to Emily, who’d been sitting behind him, but his gaze moved reflexively to Jenny’s flirty skirt as she exited from Cole’s side.

“They have a deck,” she announced as she rounded the back of the SUV. Wisps of hair had worked loose from her knot and curled enchantingly around her bright face. “Do you think we can sit out there?”

Mitch curled her arm around his own, steadying her across the cobblestone drive. “I’m sure they’ll let us sit wherever we want.”

She inhaled. “I love the ocean.”

Wind bent the palm leaves, and rolling waves sounded rhythmically in the distance.

“Fresh air’s probably good for you,” he observed while she disentangled her arm from his and stepped toward the restaurant stairs.

The hostess wove her way in front of them through the crowded tables on the restaurant’s deck. She showed them to a view table, overlooking lighted gardens, an expansive lawn and stone walkways that led down to a sandy beach. The tide was in, and the surf was up. Propane heaters warmed the air, and a floral centerpiece anchored the billowing white cloth on the round table.

Jenny plunked into a padded wicker chair and snagged a leather-bound menu.

A waiter filled their water glasses and offered cocktails, but they all opted for iced tea.

“Isn’t that gorgeous?” Jenny’s attention was distracted by the tiny pink lights decorating the flower gardens. In an instant, she was on her feet, crossing to the rail of the sundeck for a better look.

“Chicken marsala pizza?” suggested Cole. “With avocado and eggplant.”

Emily peered over her menu at him. “What is that? Like, nerd pizza?”

“Are you calling me a nerd?”

She smirked. “Just commenting on your taste in pizza.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“Sausage, ham, peppers, mushrooms, onions, pepperoni.”

“What are you, pledging a fraternity?”

“It’s a classic.”

“You want me to order a pitcher of draft to go with it?” asked Cole. “We could have a chugging contest.”

Emily stuck out her tongue at him.

Mitch chuckled low at the pair’s antics, glancing to check out Jenny at the rail of the deck.

She was gone.

He straightened in his chair, gaze darting from table to table. Had she gone to the ladies’ room?

He stood.

“What?” Emily asked.

“Where’s Jenny?”

Emily and Cole peered around the busy deck.

Mitch’s gaze snagged on her boots, discarded beneath her chair at the table. He instantly shifted his attention to the lighted gardens. There she was, halfway down the stone path, meandering her way toward the ocean.

“Got her.” He pointed, tossing his napkin onto the table. “I’ll be right back.”

He trotted down the stairs and strode his way through the quiet gardens toward the beach. The salt tang grew stronger, and the roar of the waves filled his ears as he caught up to Jenny.

“Going somewhere?” he asked as her feet hit the sand.

“Just breathing the night air,” she responded, and turned in a circle.

“Only two drinks?” he confirmed.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“I was afraid you’d decided to take a swim,” he admitted.

“It’ll take more than a few sips of a martini to get me into the ocean in September.” She plunked down on the soft sand.

Once again, he was struck by how different she seemed from the regular Jenny who masterminded his financial spreadsheets, deftly handled demanding club members and wrote concise, informative month-end reports. The transformation was more than a little disconcerting.

He eased down beside her, taking in her little skirt spread out in the sand. The shimmering top left most of her tanned back bare, while her breasts pressed teasingly against the thin fabric, nipples pebbled in the cool air.

“Interesting outfits you’ve been choosing lately,” he heard himself observe, dragging his gaze away from her sexiness.

“I needed a new look,” she told him, nodding out to sea. “If I want to snag a man.”

Something hitched in Mitch’s stomach. “You want to find a man?”

“Of course I want to find a man. All women want to find a man.” She turned back to him and pointed her index finger for emphasis. “And if they tell you they don’t, well… Well, maybe they don’t. But most of them do. And I do.”

Her eyes were round and soft in the glow from the gardens. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were pursed in a determined little moue that he wanted so badly to kiss. He gritted his teeth against the unruly urge, his stomach tightening.

“You had them lining up at the Moberly Club,” he pointed out. “You must have danced with Jeffrey five times.”

“Jeffrey’s nice,” she sighed.

Mitch felt his gut clench tighter. He needed to nip this Jeffrey fixation in the bud. “Jeffrey’s not a good guy for you.”

“I’m not that crazy about his ponytail.”

“Well. Good.” Not that the ponytail was the biggest worry by any stretch of the imagination.

“Jeffrey likes you a lot.” She smoothed out a patch of sand with her palm, then traced her fingertips in a pattern through it.

At the moment, Mitch couldn’t say he was exactly returning the favor. What if Jeffrey decided to cut his ponytail? Mitch would cut off a ponytail. For the right woman.

Wait a minute. What was he saying? There was no right woman. There were only women. Plural. Sophisticated and uncomplicated, and in keeping with his pro-football lifestyle.

Jenny smoothed out the sandy patch again, then drew a big heart with her index finger.

Mitch found himself waiting for her to draw initials.

“Jeffrey says you’re psychic,” she put in instead.

Mitch glanced up. “He what?”

“He told me you were psychic.” She pushed the sand off her hand and held it out to him, palm up. “Go ahead. Read my future.” She came to her knees looking decidedly earnest. “Tell me about the tall, dark, handsome dream man I’m going to marry. I’d like two kids, a white picket fence. And throw in a dog, will you?”

He took her hand, realizing it was just an excuse to touch her, but not particularly caring.

She looked so sweet in the dappled light.

“What kind of dog?” he asked, pretending to take her seriously.

“A Dalmatian.”

“Isn’t that a little big?”

She gazed up at him. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. You tell me what kind of dog.”

“Oh. All right.” He obediently looked down at her outspread hand.

He gave in to the temptation to run the pad of his thumb over her palm, tracing the faint lines on her soft skin. “I predict a long and happy life.”

“That’s lame.”

“I thought everybody wanted a long and happy life.”

“You need to be more specific.”

“Okay.” He squinted. “Here we go. Next Tuesday.” He paused. “You’re going to buy a purple dress.”

She tipped her head, peering closer. “Will it help me snag a man?”

“Tall, dark and handsome,” he put in, ignoring the jolt of emotion at the thought of her on a honeymoon with some random stranger. It was bad enough watching her dance with Jeffrey.

A serene smile grew on her face. “That sounds nice.”

Mitch found he didn’t like her reaction, not one little bit. “Wait a minute,” he elaborated. “He cheats on you and you kick him to the curb.”

“What? No. No way.”

Mitch shrugged. “Afraid so.”

“You’re lying.”

“I calls ’em as I sees ’em.”

She tugged her hand away and gazed out across the bay. “You’re a terrible fortune-teller.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her outrage. To make amends, he held out his own hand. “Here, you predict mine.”

She didn’t even bother to look at it. “You’re going to die alone and lonely.”

“What did I do to deserve that?” Not that he was denying it. It was most likely true.

“You’re a heartbreaker, Mitch.”

“Not on purpose.” There had been a few women who’d expressed disappointment that he didn’t want to get into a serious relationship. He’d always chalked it up to the fame and money factors. He knew he wasn’t enough of a prize that a woman might actually miss him for himself.

“Result’s the same,” she told him. And she looked so dejected, that he found himself desperate to put the smile back on her face.

“How ’bout I make up for being such a cad,” he teased. “I could get you a Dalmatian puppy. Or a kitten. Kittens are a lot less work.”

She gave him a look of exasperation. “I don’t want a pet.”

She wanted a man. He got it. He hated it, but he got it. She wanted the kind of man Mitch would never be. He knew what he should say, knew what he had to say and what he had to do.

His tone was decisive. “I’ll help you find one.”

“A pet?”

“A man.”

Jenny’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want.” His voice grew stronger. “I’m here for you, Jenny. I know a lot of men. Jeffrey’s a bad choice, but-”

She jumped to her feet, swiping the sand off the back of her denim skirt. “Have you lost your mind?”

He watched the strokes of her palms for a moment, but then quickly checked his wandering imagination. “I’m happy to help out,” he lied, rising with her.

“You are not going to fix me up with your friends.”

It certainly wasn’t his first choice, but it was a perfectly practical approach to her problem. And to his. Since mooning after her like a lovesick adolescent wasn’t getting him anywhere. “I don’t see why not.”

“Because it’s insulting, for one.”

“How is that insulting? I have nice friends. Most of them are physically fit. Most have money. Many of them are considered handsome.”

“Read my lips.” She stared up at him in the dim light.

His gaze went obediently to her mouth.

“No,” she enunciated.

“Wow. Such a coherent and cohesive argument.”

Her eyes crackled emerald. “Hell, no.”

He couldn’t help but grin.

“Mr. Hayward?” came a stranger’s voice.

Mitch swiftly cut his attention to a cluster of teenage boys tentatively approaching across the sand.

“Is that you?”

Mitch inwardly sighed but mustered up a hearty professional smile for the teenagers. “It sure is.”

There were five in all, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. Barefoot, they wore knee-length, brightly colored shorts topped with an assortment of team T-shirts.

“Wow,” one breathed, while a couple of the boys elbowed each other playfully.

“We play varsity for Gulfport Collegiate.”

“Took State last year.”

“I’m a quarterback, just like you.”

Mitch widened his smile. “Congratulations,” he offered to them collectively.

“Man, I wish we had something he could sign.”

“I wish we had a ball.”

The tallest jumped up and made a mock catch. “Mitch Hayward, right on the money.”

His friends chuckled at their own cleverness.

“Except for Davey, here,” one spoke up, taking the smallest of the group in a headlock.

The short boy struggled to get out.

“Davey doesn’t play,” said the tall one.

“Too puny,” voiced another.

“One of my best friends is your size, Davey,” Mitch offered, and the larger boy immediately let him go.

“He played baseball in high school.” Mitch folded his arms across his chest. “But he spent most of his time in the computer lab. His software company now owns twenty percent of the Texas Tigers.” Mitch’s gaze took in the rest of the group. “You’ll want to treat Davey with a little respect. One day, he might be signing your paychecks.”

Davey grinned, while the rest of the boys sobered, obviously absorbing the information.

“Tell you what,” said Mitch. “I think I can do a little better than an autograph. Davey, you drop me an email through the Tigers’ website, and I’ll hook us up with some tickets to the next Houston game.”

Five sets of eyes went wide. “Seriously, man?”

“You bet.” He draped an arm across Jenny’s shoulders. “But right now I’ve got some pizza getting cold.”

“Oh, man!”

“That’s awesome!”

“Thank you, sir!”

The boys’ calls of appreciation followed them as he steered Jenny along the path to the restaurant veranda.

“Were you serious about that?” she asked.

“The tickets?”

“No. Well, you better have been serious about the tickets.”

“I was.”

“I meant about Cole. I assume Cole was the baseball player in your story.”

“He was.”

She twisted her head to stare up at him. “Cole owns part of the Texas Tigers?”

“He owns a company that owns part of the Texas Tigers.”

“Why hasn’t he ever said anything?”

“To who? I knew. I expect plenty of other people did, too.”

“I never knew.”

He gave her shoulder a reflexive squeeze. “You’re smart, Jenny. But nobody knows everything.”

She harrumphed. “Well, now I know this.”

“Does that put him on your husband list?”

Jenny immediately jerked away from Mitch’s arm, glaring at him, putting a few feet of distance between them while her voice ramped up an octave. “How dare you?”

He wasn’t really sure how he’d dared. The question had just popped out.

“Have I ever done anything to make you think I’d marry a man for his money?”

“I only just found out you wanted to get married at all.” Though he supposed he’d long since suspected. Jenny was exactly the kind of girl who should settle down with a family. She’d be a great mother, an amazing wife.

He swallowed against a dry throat.

“And I am exceedingly sorry I ever told you that.” She put her nose in the air and flounced toward the veranda, ending the conversation.