Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (12 page)

“That’s how I got my law degree,” she had
quipped, and he had chuckled, then ignored her again. Making
matters worse, she actually found the show informative since the
guest was a former coach of the Cowboys—the team where many of
PMA’s clients hung their hats. Or rather, helmets.

She knew now that she should stop the
bleeding, but still, when Wyatt kept the engine running at the curb
and said cheerfully, “Thanks again, Darcie. You’re the best,” she
decided to go for it.

So she arched an eyebrow and drawled,
“Seriously?”

“Huh?”

She glanced at her front door, then back at
him, biting back a smile.

“This again?” He grinned, killed the engine,
and came around to open the passenger door. He even offered his
hand for assistance, which she took as a good sign.

Physical contact. With this guy, it was a
compliment in its own right.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked as
they climbed the front steps.

“Better not. You need your beauty sleep if
you want to con Bannerman into signing with you.”

“Funny.” She caught him by the hand when she
was one step higher than him so that she could look him directly in
the eye. “Just for a few minutes, Wyatt. Please?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

“You don’t go on fake dates very often, do
you? There’s a protocol here.”

He gave her an aloof smile. “You’re the best
fake date I ever had. But it’s over. See you around, Darce.”

“Hey!” she called after him as he descended
the steps.

He turned back to her, his expression wary.
“What now?”

“You’re forgetting the football
lessons.”

“Oh, right.” He grimaced. “What are your
demands?”

“Three one-hour lessons.”

“And it has to be me? I know some guys—”

“I know some guys too,” she assured him.
“But no one calls
them
the Surgeon. Either you’re the best
or you aren’t. Which is it?” Dropping the teasing tone, she added,
“You don’t have to come to LA, you know. I could fly to New York.
Or we could meet in Dallas or Portland, since I’ll be spending a
lot of time there.”

“I don’t go to Portland during the
off-season,” he assured her. “But I’m expected in San Francisco
next Saturday night for a retirement party, so I can swing back
here in the afternoon first. How’s that?”

She nodded, admitting to herself it was
perfect. For one thing, there wouldn’t be any issue about him
spending the night. Not that he showed any interest in it anyway.
More likely it would be another dud date. But at least she could
spend the next week jotting down intelligent questions so she could
get something valuable out of all the humiliation.

So all she said was, “Sounds good.”

“One o’clock?”

To her relief, he wasn’t trying to squirm
out of it anymore, and she cautioned herself not to ruin it, so all
she said was, “Works for me.”

“Great, see you then.” His steely eyes
twinkled. “Stay out of trouble, Darcie.”

For some reason, those words sent a tingle
through her, and she sighed out loud as he hurried back to his car
and drove away. Even when he had disappeared from view, she stared
after him, mentally drooling.

Finally, she unlocked her front door,
assuring herself, “You’re pathetic.”

Luckily, she had a remedy for that
condition: she would change into something warm and cozy, pour
herself a glass of wine, and speed-dial Emily Jardin-Murphy for
advice. Or at least for a shoulder to cry on.

• • •

Wyatt gunned the engine of his rental car,
determined to put distance between himself and Darcie’s games. She
had gotten him all lathered up, but sleeping with a manipulative
female—no matter how hot she was—couldn’t possibly turn out
well.

He much preferred reasonable women who knew
the score. Case in point, his recent liaison with a CPA who had
walked him through a complicated tax issue then taken him to bed.
Her only needs? Sex and an occasional dinner out.

Just like Wyatt.

It had ended amicably, both agreeing that it
was time to move on. Still, if the CPA lived in Southern California
he’d be on the phone with her right now making plans. Something to
get Patrick Murphy’s scheming protégée out of his head.

Darcie did you a huge favor,
he
reminded himself sharply.
Why trash her now?

But he knew exactly why. Her whole persona
was a trap. The boob-job, the dazzling contact lenses, the
seemingly conservative but actually provocative outfits.

Worst of all? That story she told at the
party. She claimed it was true and he wanted to believe her for a
variety of reasons. A beautiful and seemingly fearless young woman
who was secretly afraid strangers were watching her while she
slept? But who felt safe with Wyatt by her side?

Except he knew the truth. She had been
pissed at him—probably justified—when she fell asleep and even
more
annoyed when he woke her up.

He almost smiled at that part, remembering
the quiet intimacy of leaning close and whispering her name. Of
course, her annoyed reaction had killed that tender moment.

She’s playing with your head,
he
decided as he turned onto the exit for the airport.
Trying to
make you feel protective of her. Invested in her career.

And the blatant attempt to stir things up
sexually?
That
was probably the real Darcie Kildare. Using
all the tools at her disposal—brains, imagination, and that
knockout body. Those eyes. That subtle moan in the back of her
throat when he kissed her in the garden.

“Nice try,” he congratulated her aloud,
chuckling.

Still, he was grateful to her for one simple
reason: the way Bea had reacted to her story. Bea’s opinion meant
so much, and so when she said, “He’s so much like our Matthew,” it
had touched him more deeply than he ever could have expected.

Matt Bourne—Wyatt’s hero and role model.

Too bad he wasn’t really Wyatt’s father.

• • •

Dressed in her coziest PJs and armed with a
glass of sparkling wine, Darcie called Emily, knowing it was almost
ten o’clock Dallas time, so the little boys were asleep. And with
Murf out of town, the two friends could chat for hours if they felt
so inclined.

“Hey, you,” Emily answered fondly. “Have you
been sleeping all day? Murf said you were a hit at the party. Was
it exhausting?”

“It was fun, thanks to Murf and my Lancer
boyfriends.”

“Hmm?”

Darcie laughed. “I need some advice. But
you’re double sworn to secrecy. Please, please don’t tell
Murf.”

“No problem.”

She laughed again. “You’re the worst wife
ever. Anyway . . .” Exhaling sharply, she spilled
the full story. Every erotic, embarrassing, confusing detail. It
sounded crazy even to her own ears, but the hot moments were hot,
weren’t they? Especially the kiss in the garden. Not to mention the
fact that he had contacted her for the fake date in the first
place. Didn’t that count for something?

When she had blurted out every possible
wrinkle, she took a sip of her wine then asked weakly, “So? What do
you think?”

“You met Wyatt Bourne? On a plane?”

“Seriously, Em? Try to keep up.”

Her friend laughed lightly. “His face was
plastered all over the TV, newspapers and Internet for months. And
you completely blanked? It’s hilarious.”

“Yes, I know,” she drawled. Then she
realized Emily was stalling, which made sense. As much as the
Murphys teased her about her love life, they were fiercely
protective. Not to mention that Wyatt Bourne was the sworn rival of
PMA’s most valuable client.

You should have thought this through,
she scolded herself.

So she tried for a light tone. “Did I
mention how gorgeous he is? I mean seriously, I’m sure the Surgeon
pictures didn’t do him justice.”

“He’s good-looking,” Emily agreed
primly.

“Just spit it out, Em. I can take it.”

She sighed. “Okay, here goes. He sounds like
he’s emotionally closed off. A
lot.”

“That’s a pretty accurate description,”
Darcie admitted. “And so much nicer than calling him a jackass,
which was my first reaction.”

“Oh, he’s definitely a jackass,” Emily
assured her. “But you seem to like that about him.”

“That’s not fair,” Darcie said, trying not
to laugh. “I recently crushed on a laid-back, adorable NFL kicker,
for example.”

“You’re talking about Sean Decker? We’ve
all
crushed on him, babe. So he doesn’t count. Hey,” she
added briskly. “Hold on a minute. I need to switch sides.”

“You’re nursing Nell?” Darcie demanded as
Wyatt’s face lost out to Nell Murphy’s cherubic two-month-old
features. “Put her on the phone, please?”

“Here you go.”

Darcie sighed happily. “Hey, smoochie
smoochie. It’s Aunt Darcie. Remember me? Num num num. I luuuv
you.”

“I heard that,” Emily complained. “We’re
teaching her English, not babble.”

“I can’t help it, she’s just so smoochie.
Anyway . . .” Darcie signed wistfully. “Back to
Sean.”

“No, back to Wyatt Bourne. You need to
cancel those football lessons. They’ll just lead to trouble.”

“Three one-hour lessons in the middle of the
afternoon? What could go wrong?”

Emily snorted. “You’re hoping you can break
down his defenses. But he already said no. And even if you guys end
up doing the monkey dance a couple of times, you’ll get your
feelings hurt. It’s unavoidable.”

Darcie groaned. “Stop calling it the monkey
dance. It doesn’t even make sense.”

“When you’ve taken toddlers to the zoo as
many times as I have, and you have to shield their poor little eyes
from the erotica, you’ll get it.” Dropping the joke, she spoke
again, this time in her all-knowing, super-Emily voice. “Cancel the
lessons. If you want a dangerous guy, try Alexi Romanov, because
let’s face it, he looks like a whole new kind of fun.”

“That’s so true,” Darcie admitted with a
playful sigh. “Yum.”

“But not Wyatt Bourne. He pays women to go
to parties with him. He gives his ninety-year-old grandma gift
cards, for crying out loud. No, Darcie. Just no.”

“Fine, I’ll think about canceling.”

“You know I’m right.”

“You’re
always
right.”

“Exactly.” There was a moment of silent
satisfaction, then Emily murmured, “Hey, Darce?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you like him so much?”

“I’m not sure I do,” Darcie admitted. “But
there’s something there. A different kind of chemistry. I can’t put
my finger on it, but I think he feels it too.”

“If he felt it too he would have kissed you
good night.”

“Except like you said, he’s closed off. But
he’s also funny and charming when he wants to be. And so sweet to
his great-aunt and -uncle.”

“He’s not interested, Darce. But if you keep
throwing yourself at him, we both know he’ll crack. He may be the
Surgeon, but he’s a guy. So unless he’s gay, he’ll go for it, then
you’ll get hurt. And I’ll be forced to say I told you so, and you
know how much I hate doing that.”

“You’re practically a saint,” Darcie agreed.
“So I promise I’ll think about canceling the lessons for your sake.
How’s that?”

After a short, telling silence, Emily
switched gears. “Okay, tell me about the party.”

“Well, like I said, they have these cool
traditions—”

“Not
that
party. Sheesh, I mean the
one with all the football hunks and movie stars.”

“And Patrick Murphy in a tux?” Darcie
teased.

“Mmm . . .” Emily sighed. “He
cleans up
sooooo
good.”

“Hey, not in front of my smoochie,” Darcie
complained. “Let me talk to her again while you have your pervy
little fantasy.”

Emily giggled. “Come for a visit, please? I
miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Thanks for not being too
judge-y about Wyatt.”

“I still can’t believe you called him
‘Doctor,’” she said happily. “Tell me that part again. And
don’t
leave anything out.”

• • •

Darcie thought her first week as an agent
would be divided between learning the ropes and obsessing over
Wyatt. But from the moment Murf picked her up at the Portland
airport early Monday morning, there was no room for romantic
daydreams. Instead, her new boss immersed her in a barrage of
information, and while she had heard most of it before, it now felt
so real. So crucial. Not to mention fascinating.

First there were details about Bam
Bannerman’s situation. He still had a year left on the old
contract, but now he wanted more. According to Murf, Bam had been
content just to play football. Now that he was in love, he wanted
to amass enough wealth to provide well for Rachel and their
eventual family, knowing that a single severe injury could end his
career.

“It’s all about Rachel,” Murf summarized as
he unlocked the door to the luxurious suite he booked year-round at
the Ashton Hotel in downtown Portland.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at her,” Darcie
agreed. “Considering all his rowdy talk, it’s especially
touching.”

“The touching part is,
she
doesn’t
care about money or the trappings of wealth. But he’s determined to
shower her in it, and she’s being a good sport.”

“I wish she could be here for this,” Darcie
murmured.

Murf grinned. “It’s a school day and he says
she’s too goodie-goodie to play hooky.”

As they stepped into the suite, she was
momentarily distracted by her surroundings, especially the ornately
patterned rugs over highly polished hardwood floors, majestic
wilderness paintings on every wall, and customized lighting. In
addition to a full kitchen, a full bar, and a panoramic view, it
had a welcoming fireplace in the living room and an alcove with a
conference table that looked like a dream spot for conducting
business. She knew from Murf’s prior briefing that there were two
bedrooms, and that she should stay there as often as possible so as
to bond with their Triple Threat clients. And if she ended up
liking Portland? They would find her a nice apartment or her own
suite at the Ashton to use as her base of operations. Maybe even a
house if she wanted to commit at that level.