Seduce Me

Should be easy, given that over the past year he’d become the master of fast and painless, at least as far as public appearances went. The trick was to be visible, but not approachable. Pleasant and professional, but not particularly nice. This talent had been hard-earned, costing him unknown amounts of heartache and grief, but it was a rule he assumed every celebrity eventually learned, one way or another.

All he had to do was arrive at the country club with a date in tow, and his sister would stop pestering him, at least for the evening. Maybe even by some miracle the press would stop hounding him, but he wouldn’t hold his breath on that one.

He’d never really been out of the media’s spotlight, but that went back to that Jack Scandal Knight thing. He’d have figured no one was interested now that he was no longer in the public eye, but just last week he’d gone to a Dodgers game with a group of friends, where for a few blissful hours he’d eaten hot dogs and had a few beers. After the game, he’d stopped to take a leak and a reporter had come up next to him at the urinal, shoved a camera in his face, blinding him with the flash, and, oh, by the way, could he sign an autograph as well? Jack had looked down at the offered pen, and then farther, to where his hands were busy, and had little choice but to laugh. Before or after I finish here, he’d wanted to ask. Five days later, it was splashed all over the rags that he’d been rude and refused to give out autographs.

That was the problem with being a basketball icon known for flying down the court, averaging thirty plus points a game. There was no privacy anywhere. It had been a year since his bum knee had taken him out of the NBA, and his San Diego Eels contract. A year.

The paparazzi had been all over him at first, following his every sneeze, apparently not noticing or caring that the difficult decision and subsequent announcement of his retirement had nearly destroyed him.

And still they stalked him, given a chance. He didn’t know if that was because the Eels hadn’t made the championships without him, or because reporters had caught Jack coaching some local kids and thought he might come out of retirement.

Not going to happen. His knee was shot to hell. Two surgeries had left it usable, but not NBA material. And quite honestly, he’d been put through so much by the press, the public and his coaches that he no longer missed playing enough to worry about it.

This charity event tonight, carefully and meticulously planned by his philanthropic sister, would be a nightmare for him. And yet he’d agreed to come because, as asinine as it seemed, just his presence would guarantee money for the kids Heather worked so hard to help. This year, she was raising money for a new rec center, and he wanted to do what he could because he was all for getting those kids into sports and after-school programs, where he’d been volunteering as a coach.

He glanced over at his date as he drove them down the Pacific Coast Highway, the cool air-conditioning blasting out at them. If his presence was going to earn Heather money, then Sam’s presence was going to earn him kudos from his sister. Heather would find no obvious flaws in Samantha O’Ryan. She had sparkling green eyes and glossy lips, with honey-blond hair piled prettily on top of her head. The long tendrils hanging down made him want to touch. The look was sophisticated and elegant, yet slightly messy at the same time, almost as if she wanted people to know she could lose the image at the drop of a hat and get down and dirty. Incredibly sexy, if you asked him. The rest of her slender body fit into her little black dress, which clung so perfectly to her curves—and very nice curves they were—that he decided he definitely had come out ahead on this deal tonight.

Thank you, Cole. “I appreciate you doing this,” he said.

She shrugged and leaned into the AC vent, letting the air blow over her face, which caused a sigh of pleasure to slip out of her that somehow reverberated through him. “A lovely drive and a free dinner. It’s no problem.”

“And yet you didn’t want to come.” He smiled, still a little bowled over by the fact she’d had no idea who he was and still didn’t. That might have disturbed another man so used to everyone being aware of him, but not Jack. He found it extremely amusing, and oddly refreshing. “You’ve already alluded to the fact you were worried I was going to be your worst nightmare.”

She shot him a wry look. “And what exactly would that be, in your opinion?”

“I don’t know…maybe an old guy, with a potbelly and a bad toupee.”

“I don’t discriminate against age or shape.”

She had her cute nose in the air, and he laughed. “Come on. You were worried about something. Bad breath? Someone too short? Be honest.”

“You could still have bad breath, for all I know.”

He arched a brow and slanted her another glance. “Not going to admit it could have turned out worse?”

“Hey, the evening is young yet.”

“What could go wrong now?” Well, besides being grilled by his sister, and possibly being stalked by the paparazzi guaranteed to be waiting at the front door of the club….

“You could chew with your mouth open,” she said and lifted a shoulder. “Or have an extra toe.”

He shook his head. “An extra toe?”

“No ugly feet allowed.”

“You can’t date a guy with ugly feet?”

“Not once I find out about them.”

Inside his shoes, he wriggled his toes, thankful to have only ten, but not sure whether they were ugly. He’d never thought about it. “Tough cookie, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

He nodded. He could appreciate tough. He was rather tough himself.

But not with a woman. He’d never kicked a woman out of his bed for ugly feet, that was for damn sure.

“Why did you need a blind date anyway?” She shot him a curious look. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes, or an obvious raving lunatic.”

He laughed at the backhanded compliment. “Let’s just say I’ve been out of the dating pool this year, and if I don’t show up with a woman tonight, my sister is going to bring out the cavalry.”

“Cavalry?”

“Her friends. And their friends. And their friends, and so on.” He shuddered. “Trust me, it’s awful.”

“Ah.”

Her understanding smile stopped him in his tracks, and he nearly gaped because she had great eyes, and when she smiled like that, they could slay a man at ten miles. “So…” He struggled for something to say, something that would please her and keep that beautiful grin in place. “You own Wild Cherries?”

“Yep.”

“Must be nice to be cooked for every day.”

Now she laughed, the sound light and genuine. “The cook is moi. I serve, too, and we’ve been exceptionally busy, so I guess I should ask myself for a raise. My best friend, Lorissa, helps out, but still, we’re usually crazed.”

“I’m impressed,” he said, loving the sound of her laugh as much as he’d enjoyed her smile. “I usually dial out for my meals. How do you do it all?”

“The café is small, as you saw, and we’re only open for the midday and afternoon crowd, so it’s not that hard.”

“Which leaves you time to…”

“Oh, that’s enough about me, I’m not that exciting.” She cocked her head at him. “Let’s hear about you.”

It was a fact of life that women wanted to hear about him, but the thrill of the adoration had worn off years ago. He was the last thing he wanted to think about, much less discuss. “Trust me, I’m really not that exciting, either.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” She eyed the interior of his SUV. “You live well, you dress well. I’m guessing you also do something for a living pretty darn well.”

“Not lately.”

She took her eyes off the road and looked at him. “So you’re rich and you do nothing?”

“Yeah.”

She lifted a shoulder, unimpressed.

That was what he liked about her. Laid-back. Accepting. And for the first time in years, years, he found himself relaxing, just letting himself be, because with her there seemed to be no preconceived expectations. She wasn’t a groupie, she wasn’t trying to leech off his stardom, she wasn’t anything but a woman just trying to make the best of a blind date.

He loved that. “I’m retired,” he admitted. He waited for her to laugh, or drill him for more answers; in truth, she probably deserved them.

But she just nodded. “Must have been a good run before you called it quits.”

“Yeah.” A hell of a good run. His team had been infamous for being a tight-knit group and, of course, for their fondness of all things wicked. Sex scandals, gambling scandals, police scandals—name it, and his team had been there, done that. As team captain, Jack had taken the brunt of the fallout. The press had loved the Eels’ antics, and they’d loved that Jack had hated them. In fact, after several libel lawsuits that his attorneys had filed and won, they’d joyfully labeled Jack Scandal Knight a prima donna.

He could bike twenty miles a day, bench-press another player and held numerous NBA records. Yet what did everyone remember him for? A frigging prima donna.

It had gotten so bad that the owners and coaches had clamped down on the team, punishing the players with curfews and brutal practices for even a hint of trouble.

It had been a year since Jack retired, and three years since there’d been any so-called scandal.

And still, even now, after all the hiding out, the press loved to hang him.

For being a prima donna.

That just killed him, truly killed him.

Retired life was definitely simpler than being in the NBA. He could avoid most things media-related—except when his sister needed his name to raise money. And since he’d gotten over the initial shock and letdown of not playing professionally, he’d been happier. Content.

And maybe just a tiny bit bored, he admitted.

He pulled off the Pacific Coast Highway and onto the plush grounds of the country club where tonight’s event was taking place. Palm trees lined the half-mile-long driveway which skated past acres of perfectly groomed rolling grass hills overlooking the ocean. The sun was setting on the horizon like a half ball.

His date took one look at the country club as it came into view—the sprawling southwestern-style building set in an impressively lavish garden—and let out a sound that could have been either annoyance or amusement.

“Problem?” he asked, coasting into a parking space and turning to look at her.

“Are you kidding? It’s gorgeous. Pompous, but gorgeous.” She sounded the same, but her glow was gone, her voice quiet. “I’m sure the food’s great.” She smiled then, a self-deprecating grin. “Let’s just say I’d feel more comfortable in the kitchen than the dining room.”

Not expecting such a comment from the woman he’d thought confident and strong-willed, he felt taken aback, and oddly…protective.

But before he could say a word, Sam got out of the car into the warm evening, shutting the door and leaving him to hurry after her. Not easy to do with his knee aching like a son of a bitch—he’d overdone it this week playing with a bunch of hot-headed tenth graders. He came around the car, reaching for her hand to slow her down. “I was thinking maybe we could arrive together,” he suggested with a smile.

“Yeah. Okay.” She shot him a small smile back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” God, those eyes of hers. They leveled him. “Look…” He turned her to face him. “You seem uncomfortable. How can I change that?”

She stared at him for a second, then smiled. “I think you just did.”

He touched her cheek, just one light stroke over her soft skin, a little startled to find himself feeling so…happy. “Good.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Knight, could I get an autograph and picture?”

The man with the large camera and press badge had come from nowhere, and Jack steeled himself. “No problem on the autograph,” he replied. “But if we could skip the picture—”

A bright flash went off in their faces. Nice. When Jack could see again, the guy was gone. “Sorry,” he said to Sam who stood there blinking, and took her hand.

“Who was that?”

“A pest. Come on.” A white-carpeted porch led into the club, while the deck above was covered with white awnings, from which hung planters dripping with colorful flowers. At the top of the carpet milled a group of paparazzi, no doubt waiting for the “celebrity” listed on the roster.

Him.

His skin began to itch, an old reaction to bad experiences. He knew he’d have to give them a sound bite once he got inside if he wanted any peace at all. “Stick with me in there.”

“What’s going on, Jack?”

“In a sec.” He pulled her off the walk into the thick grass. Sam gasped and wobbled as her heels sank right in. She lifted a startled gaze to his.

“Piggyback, or in my arms?” he asked.

“What?”

“We’re going around the back.”

Any woman in the history of his dating life would have stopped cold, stared at him as if he were crazy, and quite possibly even pitched a fit. At the very least, she’d have attracted attention by complaining about the ruining of her heels.

Not this woman.

She pulled the long strap of her little black purse over her head and one shoulder, settling it against her back. Then she tugged up the hem of her dress from mid-thigh to high-thigh. “Piggyback.”

He could have kissed her. Instead, he turned his back and bent down a little.

She hopped on. He felt her reach behind, probably checking to make sure she wasn’t flashing anyone. “Okay,” she said.

He gripped her legs at his sides, adjusting her slightly, and now his hands were each filled with a smooth, tanned thigh. They were firm and lean, and so were her arms, which encircled his neck. “Hold on,” he said, enjoying the feel of her toned body plastered to his and the loose tendrils of blond hair clinging to his neck and jaw.

“All set,” she said in his ear, her mouth brushing his skin.

A delicious shiver slid down his spine, reminding him that it had been a while since he’d indulged in what was too often thrown at him. In any case, the evening was definitely looking up. Despite the warm night, he began to move through the grass at a fast clip, ignoring the occasional twinge in his knee, concentrating instead on the athletic yet somehow perfectly soft body snugged so intimately to his.

They made it to the line of palm trees undetected, and slipped between them. Now they were far enough off the path so that if people glanced over, they’d merely see a couple walking, but would have no idea of their identity.

Perfect. “You okay back there?”

“Mm-hmm.”

The sound vibrated from her chest through his back, and his hands involuntarily tightened on her bare legs. What had started out so innocent had turned unexpectedly and pleasantly…hot.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her mouth close to his ear, causing more shivers down his spine.

Was he? He was melting, that’s what he was, and it had nothing to do with the weather. “Believe me, I’ve got the good end of the stick on this one,” he assured her, extremely aware of his fingers on her smooth, warm flesh.

They reached the building, and Jack moved alongside it. He headed around to the kitchen entrance. Finally he stepped out of the grass and onto concrete. He slowly—reluctantly—let go of her legs so that she could slide to the ground.

And slide she did. He felt every single inch of her, and when he heard her heels hit the deck, he turned. Before he could say a word, the door flung open and Heather stood there in a floor-length sheath of shimmery gold, her long dark auburn hair twisted in some complicated up-do. “You made it,” she said with relief. “Quick, inside.”

“You leaked this to the press,” he accused.

Guilt flashed quickly. “Yes, but only because this time the stalking little bastards are actually going to get the charity’s name out there and do some good, so screw them. Plus I made sure they paid the thousand-dollar price tag for the evening. Each.” Heather pulled them both into a large, bustling kitchen. There were servers rushing around, filling their trays from bins on the counters.

Heather shut the door behind them and hugged him tight. “You’re a sweetie for doing this.”

“Just remember that the next time you’re pissed off at me for something.” Jack pulled free and reached for Sam’s hand. “Sam, this is Heather Knight, my sister. Heather, meet Samantha O’Ryan.”

“The date I begged you to find.” Heather looked Sam over.

His tough, versatile, intriguing, beautiful beach girl looked right back.

“So. Are you real?” Heather asked.

“Excuse me?” Sam blinked. “Real?”

“Did he hire you, or are you his real date?”

“Hey,” Jack said. “Play nice.”

“Hire me?” Sam glanced from one to the other, and then laughed at Jack. “Tell me you are not that hard up.”

“I am not that hard up.” He shot Heather a glare, wanting to strangle her. “She’s just insanely bossy. You know, the much older sister routine—”

Heather growled at that. “I’m only eleven months older than you, you big lug.”

“So you’re admitting to being insanely bossy?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Okay, yes. That part is true.”

“You’re both crazy,” Sam decided.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Heather actually even looked it. “I’m just a little protective.”

“I guess I can understand that.” Sam’s gaze hooked and held Jack’s. “Just as you should understand, I am your brother’s date. Real date.”

Servers continued to hurry past them, but all Jack saw was Sam—the adventurous woman with the contagious smile and amazing eyes in the sexy little black dress. “Definitely a real date,” he said, not taking his eyes off her.

Sam’s grin spread.

And Heather sighed with relief. “Finally, then.”

“Just make your money for the kids tonight,” Jack said before she could plan their wedding. “Make enough that I don’t need the monkey suit again for a while.”

“Thanks to a great lineup of auction items, I will. Oh, and I got your donation, by the way. You didn’t have to do that, not on top of all the money you’ve already—”

“Just tell me you have food in there, lots of it, because I’m starving.”

“Oh, there’s food. Amazing piles of it,” Heather assured him. “It’s going to get every person in there in a check-writing mood, I hope.”

“Good.” But Jack’s smile suddenly felt a little weak thinking about the evening still ahead, and he braced himself to keep smiling until lockjaw set in.

Sam shot him a curious glance, but didn’t say a word. She just reached out for his hand, which he found himself grabbing on to like a lifeline.

At the moment, it was all he had.

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