Dare to Tempt - Carly Phillips Page 0,22

was now dead in the water.

Of course, there were still times they might run into people, and he knew Evie would look and play the part to the hilt. But as far as reality was concerned, he was relying on her private investigator skills to dig deep and help him find out who had set him up.

And he believed she’d do just that.

He pulled his McLaren into his garage, put the car in park, and shut the engine. As he disarmed the alarm and walked inside, his mind was back on his career. Damon didn’t know whether to be relieved his trainer hadn’t tried to dose his pain patch or pissed he still didn’t know who had it in for him.

He just wanted a fucking answer.

* * *

After another day of rest and losing his mind, Damon eyed the weights in his basement longingly but knew better than to test his concussion by working out. Not when he was slowly getting better, his head hurting less, the dizziness decreasing. Evie had checked in, assuring him she was working, but hadn’t been specific as to how she was handling her investigation into who had framed him.

Considering what she now had to deal with personally, he admired her focus on her cases, because he assumed he wasn’t the only client she had. He’d asked her if she’d had any further issues or contact with her ex, and she’d assured him she hadn’t, which didn’t stop him from thinking or worrying about her.

He wasn’t used to being concerned about a woman he was involved with. Had never been emotionally attached to anyone he’d dated in his past. Hell, he hadn’t thought about anything but excelling on the field, and that had taken a lot of work in the gym and out, studying tapes, talking to coaches, and running plays. But he’d never expected to find a woman who understood his life and he hadn’t cared. Because nobody had gotten under his skin.

Until Evie.

Despite this being a disastrous time in his career, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her light brown gaze, lit up with smart-ass laughter or opened in panic, stayed with him. He wished all he could think about was her sexy body or the taste of her lips. That would tell him it was a casual thing. Instead he kept wondering how she was feeling, if she was frightened, or whether she was okay after the resurgence of her ex.

Although he’d never admit it, Damon had looked up Evie’s ex, Googling for information, a search that revealed John’s arrest. No mention of stalking afterwards. Damon’s stomach churned at the details that Evie hadn’t mentioned, including a knife wound. As for John, he’d been arrested but had cut a deal, not serving time. He had, however, lost his law license and his job as, ironically, a defense attorney.

Damon tucked the information away. The only way he wanted to know more was if he heard it from Evie herself. He refused to admit he’d dug into things and violated her privacy. Despite the fact that her assault was public record, she deserved to have the dignity of telling him herself.

The photo of John Coltrane showed a clean-cut lawyer. He didn’t strike Damon as Evie’s type. Then again, having seen Evie dressed up and dressed down, he couldn’t imagine what her type was, though he was beginning to hope it was him.

He shut the lights off in his home gym and walked back to the kitchen, pulling out a premade smoothie and taking a drink. He found comfort in routine, something he’d learned as a kid. He’d had to considering his father had been a grade-A asshole when Damon hadn’t measured up to Austin. The physicality of football hadn’t come naturally to Damon as it had to his oldest brother, but the mental aspect of quarterbacking clicked for him.

But the mind hadn’t interested Jesse Prescott. Only the ability to take a hit on the field had. Over time, Damon learned to merge the two, and his dad, an almost-NFL player who had lost his chance due to injury in college, wanted to live through his sons. If Damon couldn’t make a play, Jesse forced him to pay for it. As punishment, he’d walked home in more blazing Florida heat, cooler weather, and rainstorms than he cared to remember. He’d hated the bastard.

And last year he’d learned Jesse wasn’t his biological father. He was none of the Prescott kids’ biological father. In an unbelievable revelation,