The Quarterback Sneak, Page 2

  “Eagle Scout.” He pulled up to the curb by Chancey’s awning and velvet rope. His gaze swept her body. “But that was a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, well, I was a Brownie for two seconds.” She flirted back, knowing he was harmless.

  “Two whole seconds?” he said with another glance her way.

  Harmless? She sucked in a breath as the full effect of Liam’s smile devastated her insides. Lucky for her, he was now busy with the guys. The players filed out of the back, ribbing him with vulgar comments.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Hondo said as the final jab.

  Liam shook his head. “You wouldn’t even know what to do.”

  She laughed, but the smile died on her lips as Liam turned back to her. “Where to, princess?”

  The way he said the last word made it sound more like a term of endearment than a dig at her pedigree. Maybe he’d dropped off the boys because he wanted to be alone with her?

  “Do you want me to drive you to your father’s place?”

  The mention of her father jolted her out of her misguided fantasies. “Good God, no. Take me to a hotel.”

  “I’m not leaving you at some random hotel. It’s not safe.”

  Hayden considered telling him that the Ritz was right down the street, but she sort of liked this side of him. Dare she admit she liked being rescued? Wrapped in the cocoon of the car, she watched his profile as he drove, feeling safe and protected from the world. Probably some primitive gene left over from the Paleolithic age, like storing fat. A gene she had in spades. Though Liam didn’t seem to have a problem with hefting her over his shoulder.

  “What about I take you to one of your friends’ places?” he asked.

  She checked her phone. Not one of them had answered her texts to see if they were all okay. Then again, they were probably in too much trouble with the cops to worry about her. Not that any of them ever seemed to worry about her. “You mean my fake friends?”

  “I know what that’s like.”

  Hayden bet he did. You didn’t find out who your real friends were until there was nothing left to take. Who’d been there for Liam when he reached rock bottom? She’d seen the reports on TMZ and ESPN. Las Vegas debauchery spiraling downward ending with those awful photos of him in a hotel room with an empty bottle of whiskey and supposedly nothing left except the clothes on his back. Six months of rehab followed, along with his rededication to his Christian faith.

  She wondered how dedicated, especially once she realized the Hummer was now in Tribeca. He had an apartment there, something she’d heard or read somewhere. It wasn’t as if she’d done any snooping about him since he’d pushed her onto the dance floor at Angel and Billy Burner’s wedding. Well, maybe a little. “Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  She scowled, disappointed that he wasn’t the saint he portrayed himself to be. Was he so easily led astray?

  “I have a second bedroom.”

  “Great.” Her scowl deepened. Now she was disappointed about him not being so easily led astray.

  At his apartment, Liam was all business. Unlike the utilitarian loft or man cave she expected, he led her through a cozily decorated space. He pointed out the second bedroom and adjacent bathroom—matched in autumn tones of warm brown and reds. He asked if she wanted something to eat from the pristine, Shaker-style kitchen. The perfect host. It annoyed her. So did his polite manner. “Well, aren’t you a regular Martha Stewart.”

  “Back to the old Hayden, I see.” He folded his arms, clearly frustrated with her. “That didn’t take long.”

  “Wait.” He had gone out of his way to keep her out of trouble. She said the second hardest thing for her to say. “Thank you.”

  “Wow, a thank you from Hayden Middleton.”

  “A ‘you’re welcome’ would have sufficed.” She tried to brush by him so she could head to the guest bedroom.

  “Hold on.” He stepped in her way. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  He looked so contrite that she felt bad for being bitchy. Surprising herself, she said the number-one hardest thing for her to say, never mind admit. “I’m sorry too.”

  “For what?” He stepped closer, his breath mingling with hers.

  “For calling you a loser.”

  “I’ve been called worse. I’ve been worse.”

  Did he really buy into the hype that he was to blame for the Cougars’ loss last winter? “It wasn’t your fault, you know?” She touched his arm. “The Championship?”

  His fingers brushed along her check. “Aw, Hayden, I could kiss you for that.”

  Then why don’t you? Hayden could melt into his smoldering eyes. Swim in them. Drown in them. She closed her eyes and willed a kiss out of him.

  Instead cold air replaced his warm breath. A chill settled in her bones, and she opened her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself. “But—”

  “That dress looks uncomfortable for sleeping. I’ll get you a shirt to borrow.” A gaze full of indecision lingered for a moment, and then he headed to his bedroom.

  She didn’t want his shirt. She wanted to be naked. Skin to skin. If the bulge in his pants was any indication of his interest, he did too.

  So what the hell just happened? What did she do wrong? She was nice to him. Nice.

  But it seemed even reformed bad guys wanted a bad girl. And Hayden knew how to be bad. Real bad. And real naughty. As soon as he came back she’d kiss him until he threw her over his shoulder and tossed her onto his bed. Only she never got the chance.

  “Catch.” From the hallway he tossed her his clean practice jersey.

  Unprepared, it landed on her head. “Chicken,” she called out.

  “Jezebel,” he shouted back then shut his door.

  She stamped her foot and headed for the bathroom.

  Chapter 3

  Instead of craving a drink to start his day, Liam hungered for Hayden’s pouty lips. He contemplated the closed door to his guest bedroom. Was she still in there, snuggled under the covers? Or had she snuck out at some point? With his morning hard-on poking through his boxer briefs, straight toward her door, like a compass pointing north, he dared not check.

  A knock sounded at the front door. Liam grabbed a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on. He silently cursed at the badge being waved in front of the peephole. Effective as a dousing of cold water, it cured him of his erection.

  He opened the door to a pair of plainclothes cops. “What can I do for you, officers?” He had the feeling they weren’t collecting for a police charity drive.

  “Mr. McQueen, we’d like to ask some questions about last night.” They introduced themselves as detectives Ortiz and Addison. “We understand you were at the club—Martini Madness?”

  “Sure.” Scratching his day-old beard, he led them to the living room.

  “Shots were fired,” explained Addison.

  The detectives declined a seat and began rattling off questions. They seemed mollified by his answers. Perhaps this was a formality. After all, Liam didn’t even know the names of the guys involved. And no one was hurt. Thank God.

  “What about Hayden Middleton? She was there too?” Ortiz asked.

  “Yeah, but she left with me.” Not exactly voluntarily, but the less Liam said the better. Was lying by omission a sin?

  Ortiz nodded. “Do you know where we can find Ms. Middleton now?”

  Both detectives surveyed the living room. Were they looking for evidence of her presence? A $5000 purse? A stray high-heeled designer shoe? A lacey push-up bra tossed over a lampshade?

  “Mr. McQueen?”

  “Uh…”

  “Here I am, officers.” Hayden swept into the living room, wearing only his jersey.

  The fabric fell loosely about her shoulders, breasts, and waist. Fortunately the hem reached mid-thigh, big and long enough to cover her world-famous hips and ass. His hand burned from the memory of slapping those sweet cheeks. Sweat broke across his brow. Please, God, let her
be wearing panties. And please, God, erase these sinful thoughts from my mind.

  God, was no help. So Liam recited his other bible, the team’s playbook, in his head while Hayden charmed the detectives and answered their questions like Entertainment Tonight was interviewing her.

  “Liam, did you offer these gentlemen coffee?”

  Now, she was acting liked she lived here. Stunned, he stuttered, “Ah, no… I can go make some.”

  “No, thank you,” Ortiz said. “We’re done here, for now.”

  “Could I get an autograph for my son?” Addison asked sheepishly. “He’s twelve.”

  The detective wanted a sexpot’s signature for his pre-teen son? For a second, Liam was stunned. Then he realized the officer was looking at him. Liam happily scrawled out a note and signature while Addison explained the boy’s dreams of someday making it to the pros.

  Hayden smiled and chatted with Ortiz as if she entertained police officers everyday.

  “Ms. Middleton, take good care of our quarterback.”

  “Oh, I will,” she promised as she walked the detectives to the door.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to explain that this wasn’t what it looked like. Only he couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “Please, tell me you’re wearing panties,” he said as soon she closed the door. He had to know.

  Hayden twirled, arms out to display his jersey, and then she faced him, her blue eyes full of mischief and mayhem. Hands on her hips, she asked, “Why don’t you come and find out?”

  Her saucy grin heated his blood. He should have known better than to ask. Been a better man than to objectify a woman’s body, let alone the boss’s daughter. “Don’t tempt me, Hayden.”

  “I wasn’t much of a temptation last night,” she pouted.

  “Oh, you were a temptation alright. I’m a Christian, not a saint.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Well, then, as far as you know, I’m wearing panties. In fact, big, loose granny panties.”

  His laughter bellowed out. ‘Thanks, that helps. A lot.”

  “Good.” But as she passed by him, she looked up at him with that seductive Jessica Rabbit come-hither glance. Oh, he wanted to hither all right. He turned his head, unable to look away. When she tugged up the jersey, giving him a view of a full moon, the beast inside him howled.

  In Sodom and Gomorrah he’d be a pillar of salt right now. Instead he turned to stone—or at least one body part did.

  When Liam arrived at practice, a selection of newspaper front pages and tabloid-site copies plastered the locker room walls. One headline read: The Saint Saves the Sinner. Another one read: McQueen Rescues the Socialite.

  Various photos caught different angles of them coming out of the club. One, he noted, proved that she did have panties on at some point. Not that it mattered—the thong did little to hide her luscious booty cheeks.

  Jake Miller, the running back, said in a falsetto voice, “Oh, Liam, you’re my hero.”

  Liam laughed it off, ready for more digs.

  Digs that were good-natured, that is. “I didn’t know you were that desperate for the starting position,” blasted Romer, the rookie quarterback.

  The kid seemed to forget that Liam had won the spot days ago. Silence filled the locker room as his teammates waited for his reaction.

  Liam almost felt sorry for Romer. The kid probably thought he’d walk right onto the field and be the star. He’d thought wrong, and now the rookie had a chip on his shoulder. In the past, Liam would’ve knocked it off. Now, trying to be a better man—a man of God and a man of peace—he let it go. Holding up two fingers he said, “Peace be with you, my brother.”

  “Fuck that,” said Miller. He pushed Romer into his stall full of cleats and equipment.

  Afterward, the rookie suffered through a brutal practice as Liam’s teammates made it clear who the Cougars’ leader was. Liam felt pretty good about that as they headed to the showers.

  Until the coach yelled over to him, “The old man wants to see you, McQueen. At his corporate office. Get moving. Traffic’s likely to be brutal, and Middleton hates to be kept waiting.”

  Crap.

  Would he get a bonus for rescuing Hayden or a pink slip for taking her back to his apartment?

  Chapter 4

  Liam hesitated by the open door. With an ear to the phone, Marcus Middleton waved him into his stately office at the Wall Street headquarters of Middleton Nuts. Like many tycoons, the owner of the New York Cougars had his tentacles in multiple companies. Some made him richer, others, like the football franchise, were for his pure amusement. Everyone knew the billionaire toyed with his team like a kid playing Stratego.

  While Liam stood off to the side admiring a display case of antique guns, terms like margins, options, and IPO flew over his head. He knew farming, football, and the Bible. And women. Rephrase that, he knew his way around a woman’s body. No man could claim to know how a woman’s mind worked. And Hayden’s brain was in a class all by herself. It didn’t matter that she was trouble, Liam still desired her.

  “Just do it.” Hayden’s father slammed down the phone and looked up. His expression softened from a stone-cold businessman to a good ole’ boy. “Hello, son, take a seat.”

  Son? Liam slid into the leather wingback chair in front of the imposing oak desk.

  “I’ll get right to the point.” Middleton turned the computer screen toward Liam. “My daughter spent the night at your place.”

  Liam eyed the photo that a gossip website had posted of Hayden leaving his building. How had the paparazzi known where to find her? He’d never been bothered outside his place in Tribeca before. Wearing last-night’s dress, Hayden’s cat-ate-the-canary grin suggested they’d done all the things he’d wanted to do and more.

  Shifting in his seat, he said, “Sir, I was only trying to help her out. She needed a place to stay.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.” Liam’s palms began to sweat.

  “Then explain this.” Middleton double clicked and another picture of Hayden opened on his screen. “She tweeted this to her followers. Millions of them.”

  Suppressing a smile, Liam examined the selfie tweeted from his guest bathroom. She looked so darn cute in nothing but his jersey that he couldn’t be pissed. Instead an unexpected wave of possessiveness hit him in the gut, as if the jersey marked her as his.

  The picture’s setting wasn’t incriminating—but the included text was.

  Spending the night at McQueen’s #hottie #epicnight

  No wonder the paparazzi had buzzed around his building this morning.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Middleton’s fierce gaze settled on Liam.

  The hashtags didn’t help his cause, especially the last one. Liam scrambled for the words to explain. He tugged on his collar for some breathing room. “Sir, I know it looks bad, but I swear, she slept in my guest bedroom.”

  Middleton leaned forward in his throne-like chair. “What is wrong with you, son? Don’t you find Hayden attractive?”

  Stunned, Liam took a moment to answer. What man wouldn’t think she was hot? He remembered a year ago when her spread in Maxim’s 100 Hottest was plastered around the locker room. He’d been torn between staring at her and wanting to rip down the pictures, then Middleton walked in and nearly stroked out yelling at his players. Sure she’d gained a couple of pounds since, but in all the right places. Places Liam wanted to explore with his hands. His mouth. His—

  Not the kind of thing a father wants to hear. “She’s beautiful,” he said simply.

  “I’m relieved you think so. That will make this less awkward.”

  Where was this conversation going? “Make what less awkward?”

  “Your engagement to my daughter.”

  Liam shook his head, sure that he heard wrong. “What?”

  “You heard me. The judge in Hayden’s case wasn’t happy that she was at the scene of a shooting last night.”

/>   “But she didn’t do anything. She wasn’t even drinking, and no one was hurt.” Had he just defended Hayden Middleton?

  “Regardless, this morning Judge Mayer was preparing the paperwork to revoke her probation. He intended to send her straight to jail for violating her court agreement.”

  “Intended?” Past tense? Liam felt relieved and uneasy at the same time.

  “After I spoke with Judge Mayer, he had a change of heart. That’s where you come in, son. He expressed worry about the Cougars’ season and Hayden’s possible bad influence on my quarterback.”

  Liam might as well have abandoned her at the bar. He hadn’t saved her from anything. He’d made things worse. So why was Hayden’s father now smiling at him?

  “I’m not sure which the judge loves more,” Middleton continued, “football or his church. He backpedaled when I explained what a good influence you are on her. He was delighted to hear that she was out celebrating her engagement to her born-again boyfriend last night.”

  “But that’s not true.”

  Middleton shrugged. “A technicality. We’ll make the announcement later today. You’re the perfect solution to Hayden’s problems.”

  How could he decline without insulting his boss? He eyed the gun collection. “Sir, with all due respect, arranged marriages are not part of God’s plan.”

  “Adam and Eve were an arranged marriage.”

  He knew the billionaire had a God complex, but, wow, did he just say that?

  “You’d be lucky to marry my daughter.” Middleton gave him a hard stare as if waiting for him to disagree. “But I’m not expecting that. It’s a temporary engagement, just long enough to satisfy the judge until Hayden’s probation is over.”

  How would he explain it to his mother? To God? “I can’t agree to that either, sir.”

  “You can and you will.” Middleton pointed a finger at his star quarterback. “You owe me. I gave you a shot when no other team would even look at you again.”

  Liam stood up. “I paid you back on the field. I got us to the Championship.”

  “Bullshit! That’s why you get a paycheck, McQueen.”