His Seduction Game Plan

He might have gone to the Gainer house to see Coach and get answers, but tonight he was torn. Right now, his focus was on seeing Ferrin and a part of him—granted, a small part—didn’t even care if she let him see Coach’s boxes from his office.

She wore her thick, black curly hair down and it brushed the tops of her shoulders, which were left bare by her bohemian-style top. The blouse was a sea-blue color and she’d paired it with slim-fitting white jeans that made her legs seem even longer than they had earlier in those shorts. She had on heels, which made her only a few inches shorter than his six-two frame.

And as they walked from the parking lot to the restaurant, he was aware of people watching them. For a moment he forget he was Hunter Caruthers, famous for being accused of the Frat House Murder, and pretended people just noticed a good-looking couple.

But as soon as they got closer, people turned away and gave them a wide berth.

He cursed under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. I thought going out would put you at ease but I might have misjudged this. Everyone here knows me.”

She put her hand on his arm, her touch light and delicate. “That doesn’t matter. They don’t know the real you.”

“You don’t either,” he pointed out as he pulled her to one side before they entered the restaurant. “I wouldn’t blame you if you demanded I take you home.”

“You don’t know me either, Hunter. I’m not one to bug out on a date before it’s even started. I can handle a little gossip,” she said. “Are you one of those bad-boy players in the NFL?”

“Not really. I mean I do date pretty women and have a few rushing records, but I don’t see myself as a bad boy.” He wondered if she’d already Googled him and knew the scandal that followed him around like a dark cloud, driving him away from anything good. Damn, he was getting dramatic. It was just that ten years was too long to be on the run from the past. Even his dad, who made laconic seem chatty, had said maybe it was time to get answers, to find out what had really happened.

“Who would see himself as a bad boy?” she asked with a wink. “But you should know that no matter what else happens between us, I’m not someone for you to toy with.”

He reached around her to open the door. She entered the restaurant and walked over to the hostess.

He saw Coach’s inner steel in Ferrin. And she didn’t know who he was, which was reassuring and a bit worrying. He’d have to tell her. It had been a long time since he’d had to do that. In fact, most everyone he met already knew the stories if not the facts. He should come clean with her but from past experience, he knew once he told her about his connection to the Frat House Murder, she’d freeze up on him.

“Party of two?”

“I made a reservation,” he told the hostess. “Hunter Caruthers.”

The hostess nodded and led them to a table that overlooked the craggy cliffs that led down to the sandy beaches of Big Sur. He held Ferrin’s chair the way his mama had taught him to before sitting down himself.

They ordered drinks and dinner before Hunter remembered this wasn’t just a date. He had invited her tonight to soften her up and get her to give him a glimpse at Coach’s old files even though her old man wasn’t in an agreeable mood.

“So...”

“You want to see my dad’s old office stuff. I know. And I’m thinking about it. But my dad and I aren’t on the best of terms and doing something blatant to anger him without a good reason makes no sense to me.”

“Fair enough, ma’am. But what if I can convince you that he won’t mind?”

“I’d say you’re relying a little too heavily on that good old boy charm. I’m immune to that Texas ‘aw shucks’ attitude.”

He threw his head back and laughed. At Coach’s house, Ferrin had seemed...well, timid didn’t feel like the right word to describe this feisty woman. But she had been subdued earlier.

“What can I do to convince you?” he asked.

“Tell me something about Hunter that the world doesn’t know.”

“So nothing to do with football then,” he said.

“Yeah, nothing to do with football,” she said.

He couldn’t understand her attitude toward the sport. He’d always thought it would be great to grow up with a coach as a father. His own dad really only cared about the cattle, the land...their family legacy. But Hunter had never understood it.

“Why don’t you like football?” he asked.

She took a sip of her wine and glanced out toward the setting sun. He noticed the burnished copper in her dark hair and for the first time realized it was layered with different colors. The wind blew, stirring the strands against her face, and she put her glass down and looked over at him. Her blue eyes were serious and almost sad.

“I could never compete with football or the players in my dad’s eyes. So I didn’t even try. It’s not that I don’t like football it’s just—”

“You hate it,” he said.

“Hate is really a strong word.”

“Not for a passionate woman,” he said. “I get it. I feel that way about cattle. My family has a big spread in the Hill Country and my brothers all love the land. Or most of them do—one of my brothers is a surgeon. But damned if I didn’t hate ranching from...well, from birth, I imagine.”

“So you played football?”

“Well, ma’am, I am from Texas.”

“I could tell,” she said.

“What about you? I’m pretty sure I heard a bit of twang when you talk.”

“I teach at UT Austin.”

“Let me guess. Literature,” he said.

“Wrong. I’m a psychology lecturer.”

“Wrong? Good thing we didn’t wager on it,” he said.

She laughed. “Good thing. I bet you’re not used to losing.”

The mantle of the past fell heavy on his shoulders. He had only really lost once and he’d done it bigger than life when Stacia had been killed and he’d been blamed for her murder.

“No one gets used to losing,” he said.

She put her hand on his where it lay on the table and squeezed. She was very different from the coach, who’d always told them to shake it off. She was empathetic, and a part of him knew he could play on that. Get her to give him what he wanted. Another part wanted not to have to play games with her. But he was a player. He always had been.

“I’m sorry, Hunter. Tell me again why you need to see my father’s papers and effects.”

He turned his hand over in hers, rubbed his thumb over the back of her knuckles while he thought about it. If he went for the hard sell now she’d pull back. He needed...he needed her to feel important. As if he was here for her.

And he was, as long as she had access to the information he needed to clear up the past. But something didn’t feel right about that. Maybe this date was a mistake because getting to know Ferrin was making him feel as if using her was wrong.

“I’m here to finally solve the Frat House Murder case. And clear my name once and for all.”

* * *

She put her hands in her lap and linked them together tightly. A chill spread down her spine as she stared at the man whom she’d been dining with. Murderer. The word echoed in her head but a part of her had a hard time reconciling that with the man she’d come to know throughout the evening.

Her throat was dry and she knew she had to say something. He watched her carefully but she had no idea how to respond to what he’d just said.

“Um...”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a mood breaker,” he said. “At first I’d thought you might have recognized my name but then it became clear you didn’t.”

“No. I really don’t follow sports or my dad’s teams that closely,” she said. “So tell me what happened.”

“Okay, I don’t know where to start.”

“The beginning is probably a good idea,” she said. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he’d been accused of murder. He didn’t feel threatening to her at all. “Were you arrested?”

“Yes. But we were released on bond and charges were never brought,” he said. “That’s why it’s so important that I get a look at your dad’s files.”

“Do you think Coach had something to do with the murders?” she asked.

He shrugged. “No, I don’t. But we are missing the videotapes from the gym and that’s where the attack on Stacia took place. I think they might be in your dad’s files. He kept everything.”

“Yes, he did. He reviewed those tapes every night when I was with him. What makes you think he has tapes from the gym? I remember seeing practice footage,” she said. She was trying to understand what Hunter thought he’d find.

“And he gave me and the other players notes the next day. He’d tell me if I was slacking off on the middle reps on a specific weight machine. I know he reviewed the gym tapes too.”

“It’s a lot to think about,” she said at last. She wanted to help Hunter but if her father said no, she wasn’t going to rock the boat with him by going behind his back. That wasn’t her way.

“Want to take a walk?” Hunter asked. “Unless you don’t feel safe with me.”

She looked over at him, saw the uncertainty in his gaze and felt a tug at her heart. She’d been accused in middle school of cheating on a test; she hadn’t cheated and her mom had gotten the teacher to change her grade but the other students all believed she had cheated. Though it wasn’t the same as Hunter’s situation, she remembered what it had been like when she’d gone to the honor society meetings and people would stare at her as if she didn’t belong there.

“I feel safe with you,” she admitted.

Hunter paid the bill and led the way down to the beach. For a man who had once been accused of murder, Hunter was charming in a self-deprecating way, Ferrin noted as they walked along the beach. The breeze blew her hair and the only sound that accompanied them was the waves crashing on the shore. He wanted her dad’s information, and given how little she cared about it, she was tempted to just give it to him. But this was the Gainer legacy. It was all that her father had left—and there was something in those boxes of practice tapes, game-day films and old files that her father was afraid of.

She doubted there was anything in the files that would help Hunter. What could her father have possibly known about a coed’s death and not shared with the cops? But at the same time...she liked Hunter. There was something about him that was different from all the other men she’d met.

He was a jock but not like the others. He was one of her father’s favored honorary sons but he didn’t look through her. Didn’t make her feel as if she was too bookish to warrant his attention. And maybe it was just that he was good-looking and paying attention to her. That couldn’t be ruled out. She might be serious and pretend to be sophisticated but she wasn’t dead.

“What are you thinking? You’ve been glancing at me from the corner of your eye for the last few minutes,” Hunter said, drawing her to a stop near a rocky outcropping.

“Nothing,” she said. Right! As if she was going to tell him that she was contemplating his attractiveness.

“Sweetheart, I know you think I’m a dumb jock—”

“Never. There is nothing dumb about you, Hunter,” she said, glancing out at the endless cycling of the waves and realizing that was the problem. If he’d been like every other player on her dad’s team, then she’d have said thanks for dinner, I’m outta here. But he wasn’t.

“Aw, shucks, ma’am.”

“Can it, Caruthers. You know you’re charming. You play that card when you think it will work to your advantage.”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet,” she said.

He turned so that his body was closer to hers. He wasn’t touching her but it wasn’t that hard to imagine his hands on her shoulders, pulling her closer... Ugh. She needed—him. She needed for once to be in her dad’s world and in control. And Hunter wanted something from her. Why shouldn’t she take something from him?

She lifted her hand, skimmed her fingers along the neat beard on his jaw. His facial hair was soft and smooth to her touch. Cool from the breeze that was wrapping around them. The heat of his skin radiated upward, making her fingers tingle.

“What is going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. She closed her eyes so she could try to make a “wise decision” but her hormones and her gut said too late. That ship had sailed as soon as he’d tried to back out of the date because of what strangers might think of her for eating with him.

She opened her eyes and was unnerved to see he was watching her. That his green-eyed stare was fixed on her. Just waiting.

He’d been judged many times in his life. She understood that from the stillness in his body and in his gaze. He was waiting for her to reject him, walk away. But he wasn’t cowering.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Live with it. Live with the attention and not go nuts.”

“It’s been hard. But the truth is, I’m innocent. That’s what gets me through. That and Kingsley. He and I both know the truth of that night.”

She nodded.

“I’m not sure about letting you have carte blanche with Dad’s videos and files,” she said. “But I don’t want you to walk out of my life. Not yet.”

The side of his mouth lifted in a slight grin. “I’m listening.”

“I want...that sounds so selfish, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all. I told you what I wanted. Why shouldn’t you have what you want?” he asked.

His voice was silky smooth, much the way she imagined the devil must sound when he was leading some poor sinner to her doom. But this didn’t feel like doom. The excitement in her stomach felt more like anticipation. As if she was alive for the first time in a really long time. As though she was living instead of just existing.

And it was too tempting to pass up.

“I want a chance to get to know the man. But if you are just here because of Dad, then tell me now. I think there is a spark between us. I want to explore it but I don’t want to bribe you into dating me by holding Dad’s files out as a carrot.” Instant attraction, falling in love at first sight; she was too practical to believe in those things, but in this moment with the half-moon hanging above them, it felt as though there was magic in the air.

He cupped her face in his hands. They were large and surprisingly smooth against her skin. He tipped her head back slightly so that their eyes met and he looked into hers with an intensity that made her shiver. What was he looking for?

“No bribe needed,” he said, lowering his head and kissing her.

* * *

She smelled of some sweet flowery perfume and the sea. Dinner had been interesting. It had changed something that he didn’t think could ever be changed and now she was being so sweet. Telling him everything he needed to do to get what he wanted.

Just be smooth, he thought. But then he heard his assistant Asia’s voice in his head. Don’t be a douche.

He rubbed his thumb over Ferrin’s bottom lip. Her breath came out in a rush. Tiny trembles coursed through her body, and if he weren’t touching her, standing this close to her, he wouldn’t have known it.

There she was again, the shy woman he’d met at the coach’s house. Not the feisty woman who had boldly gone to dinner with an infamous football player. It was the contradictions that drew him. He knew that.

He hated things that were easy to pigeonhole.

“Are you kissing me or not?” she said.

He laughed.

“I am... I just don’t want to make the wrong move. My conscience—”

“I thought you were a player. I bet you blow through women like they are disposable tissues.”

“You’re not disposable, are you?” he asked. He knew she wasn’t. “You just changed the dynamic between us. You don’t want to bribe me into a relationship and I need to make damned sure I don’t take the easy path. That’s what got me into trouble the last time.”

She took a few steps away from him and began walking back toward the restaurant and her car. He knew he’d screwed up. He had a gift for it.

He took two steps toward her and caught her in his arms, softly, gently, the way he would a pass that was just out of reach. He cradled her softly and spun her, lifting her off her feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing a mistake,” he said.

He had to stop thinking.

Hadn’t Coach been the one to say that the only way to improve his game was to listen to his instincts?

He brought his mouth down on hers, not hard, because he had some self-control left. But softly. He rubbed her lips with his and tasted the coffee she’d drunk after dinner as she opened her mouth.

She twined her arms around his neck and tilted her head to the side, and suddenly he wasn’t worrying about the mistakes he’d made or the reasons why he was kissing her.

He couldn’t not kiss Ferrin. She was everything that he wanted and nothing that he felt he could allow himself to have. For the first time since Stacia...he felt something for a woman. Maybe it was the fact that Kingsley had settled down with Gabi de la Cruz or maybe—God, please—it was that he was close to finding out what had really happened to Stacia.

Maybe it was his usual need to conquer or maybe it was something more. Only time would tell.

Right now he didn’t need to know anything other than how soft and cold Ferrin’s fingers felt against the side of his face. How the way she kept running her fingertip over his light beard sent tingles down his neck and chest and straight to his groin.

How she softened against him and let him take all of her weight as the kiss deepened. He pulled his head back and looked down at her. Her lips were parted, her eyes half-closed, and there was a slight flush on her creamy skin.

He could push a little more right now. It wouldn’t take much for either of them to fall into bed together, but he wanted more than one night. He knew games were won by plays and downs. Ten yards at a time.

Sometimes faking out the other team was the way to gain more yards.

He set her on her feet. Tangled his hands in that thick gorgeous hair of hers and kissed her again even though he had decided not to. But really, what man could resist her, with her swollen lips and her sweet face looking up at him as if she wanted...well, what he wanted.

Damn.

Things just got complicated.

He couldn’t control himself around her.

When the hell had that happened? He’d always been a man of control. But with Ferrin...

He stepped away from her, turned his back to her and stared out at the sea with his hands on his hips. It had been a long six months since he’d had a lover...maybe that was it.

Please let that be it. The reason why he was having a hard time resisting her. A hard time not going back to her and scooping her up in his arms, carrying her someplace semiprivate and making damned sure that she didn’t lose that look in her eyes.

But he couldn’t.

Ten yards at a time.

Damn.

These ten yards hurt.

“Hunter?”

“I just don’t want to be that guy.”

“What guy?” she asked, walking over to him.

He noticed the strand of her hair that brushed over her swollen lips and wanted to touch it. Maybe wrap it around his fingers. But he knew if he touched her again he wouldn’t stop.

“The one you think I am,” he said. “The bad boy NFL player who has a different woman every week. I want to be more.”

“Well, that guy, the player, probably wouldn’t be here with me. Already things are different,” she said. “It must be hard for you to let your guard down.”

“It is. And I want something from you, Ferrin. Despite the money and the silver spoon upbringing, I’m the kind of person who isn’t above using whatever means I have to get what I want. I want to be better than that with you. But I’m not sure that I can resist the temptation of you.”

“I’m a temptation?”

“Dammit, woman.”

“Sorry, I’m not going to apologize for that. I’ve never been the type of woman to tempt a man or to make him want to be better.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said.

“I’m invisible, Hunter.”

Never.

Three

In the clear light of day, waking up alone in his bed, Hunter wished he’d just brought Ferrin home with him last night. He rolled over, punching the pillow next to him, and then forced himself up and out of bed.

He was working a plan. He dropped to the floor and did fifty push-ups. His dad had said that staying focused was the only way to move past the tragedy. That’s what his family referred to Stacia’s death as. He knew they meant well.

They thought he and King should leave the matter in the past, but both of them knew they couldn’t. He finished his push-ups, got dressed for running and dialed King’s number as he went down the stairs.

“Dude, it’s early.”

“But I know Conner had you up early.” Kingsley’s son was two so he didn’t sleep late. There had even been times when Hunter had been woken by the kid, who also happened to be his godson. They were close and since Kingsley traveled so much, Conner had learned to use his iPad to FaceTime Hunter. Conner felt he could call at all hours to tell Hunter things such as when he read a new book at bedtime or saw something cool in the night sky.

“He did. That’s why I’m complaining. Just got him off to his playdate and Gabi and I are finally alone.”

Hunter laughed. “Sorry, dude. I’ll keep this short. Coach has had two strokes and a heart attack. He wouldn’t really talk to me or give me permission to go through his stuff. I’m working another angle.”

“What angle?”

“Coach’s daughter.”

“Coach has a daughter?”

“Yeah. She’s...smart and funny.”

“Pretty?”

Pretty? “She’s got eyes the color of the water around Aruba—remember that old wreck we went scuba diving in?”

“Yes.”

“Well, her eyes are that color.”

“Dang, Hunter, you sound—”

“Like an idiot,” he said. “I know. But she’s different, King. Not what I expected.”

“So you’re working her to get to the files?”

Was he? He had a plan. Seduce her and get what he wanted. Last night the plan had been screwed up by the wine and her defiant attitude in eating with him while gossips looked on. But this morning he was back on track.

“Yeah. It’s complicated, though.”

“Women always are. You want me to talk to her. That way you don’t have—”

“No. I’ll do this. When have I ever asked you to do anything for me?”

“Never. We each carry our own weight but we’re teammates. We’re like brothers, Hunter. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, King. Same. I got this,” he said. “I’m going for a run and then...how do you feel about hosting Ferrin and me for dinner?”

“Why?”

“I want her to know you and me. To understand that we’re not asking for the files for any reason other than to clear our names.”

“Okay. I’ll check with Gabi and let you know when we can do it.”

He hung up with King and went for his run. The mountain paths he ran on out here in California were very different from the “hills” near where he’d grown up in Texas. Back home, they had gently rolling slopes; he never used to strain when he went uphill the way he did here.

He rounded the last bend and ran up to his front door past a car he didn’t recognize. He stopped short on the bottom step that led to his porch. His interior designer had furnished the patio with two large California cedar deck chairs.

Ferrin sat in one of them. She had a foam cup in one hand, her sunglasses were pushed up on her head and she had her legs delicately crossed. She wore a pair of faded jeans—they looked soft. She had on a pair of flip-flops and her painted toenails were a deep red color.

“Hello.”

“Morning,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind but I thought maybe we could spend the day together.”

He ran through his schedule in his head. He had a meeting with his assistant this morning and a fundraising briefing in the afternoon with a local small-town peewee football league that he was sponsoring. They needed gear for the league.