Dare to Tempt - Carly Phillips Page 0,7
tanned chest to meet his amused expression, heat rising to her face. But as he took in her carefully made-up face and chosen outfit, his indigo eyes darkened with definite approval, making her glad she’d chosen the white low V-neck lace camisole tank that revealed a good amount of cleavage, her beloved leather jacket that covered her scar, a pair of tight designer jeans, and a pair of high wedge shoes that showed off her coral-colored toenails.
He met her stare and grinned.
She forced a smile at the damned good-looking man. His hair appeared as if he’d run his hand through it … or had just gotten out of bed, and she wished she’d been there with him. The errant thought rushed through her and she stifled a groan. She was here for business. Even if that kiss last night and that hot body now had rocked her world.
“Did I wake you?” she asked, hoping she sounded composed.
“It’s fine. I just need some coffee.” He turned and walked away, apparently expecting her to follow him.
“I take it you’re not a morning person,” she said to herself and shut the door.
She found him in the kitchen with a K-cup in hand. “Want one?” he asked before popping it into the machine.
“No, thank you.” She’d had her caffeine earlier at home. “Are you up to talking?” she asked.
“Yeah. Just dealing with the remnants of this head injury. It’s annoying as fuck. I’m not used to the constant spinning, throbbing, and general dizziness. And if I win the appeal, they’re not going to let me play until I can pass concussion protocol.”
“I’ve read up on that.” She nodded understandingly.
He gestured for her to take a seat at the table, and she chose a chair and lowered herself into it.
His coffee finished dripping into a large mug, and he sat down, obviously taking it black. “So, what do you want to know?” he asked as he took a sip.
She pulled a notepad from her purse, foregoing her phone app or taping. “I want your daily schedule, what you do, who you see, what supplements, if any, you take, things like that. Who likes you, who’s jealous of you, who tolerates you? And after we discuss your weekdays and friends, I want to know your weekend schedule for the last month including the women you’ve been with. So, take out your calendar and get to it.”
“That’s pretty thorough,” he said, sounding impressed.
She nodded. “It’s going to help us figure out who’s setting you up.”
He placed the mug on the table, picked up his phone, and leaned back in his chair, scrolling through his apps, she assumed.
“Okay, on a normal day, when I’m not suspended, I wake up around five a.m., drink a smoothie—”
“Where do you get the protein powder?” she asked.
“From my trainer, recommended by him and my backup quarterback. When I’m at the stadium, the puppy dog brings me one every morning.”
She jerked her head up at the nickname. “Puppy dog?”
Damon smirked. “Gregory Emerson’s a lick-my-balls—” He cleared his throat. “I mean a lick-my-ass kind of kid. Not great at throwing the ball, which is an issue, but he wouldn’t hurt me.”
She narrowed her gaze, not as sure as he was, and wrote down the name on her notepad. “Go on. What’s next on your schedule?”
“I get dressed, head to the gym at the stadium. I work out with Jimmy O’Roarke, the head trainer.”
She added to the list. “Who else do you train with?”
For the next thirty minutes, she wrote down the names of other team trainers, doctors, and players who were usually around at the same time as him. Knowing they’d revisit each person, she let him talk.
“How about jealousy? Anyone you have issues with?”
He treated her to his most winning smile. “Everyone loves me.”
She frowned despite being drawn to that grin. “Be serious.”
He sobered, his expression somber. “I’m damned serious. I don’t know anyone who dislikes me enough to sabotage my entire career.” He put his mug down and shoved it away.
She felt bad for him and understood how much was on the line. “Okay, who would benefit with you out? Any other player?” she asked.
He drummed his fingers on the table, then met her gaze. “No.”
“Let’s move on to women. The paparazzi like photographing you with the various females on your arm. Did you dump any of them and piss them off?” She’d already done a quick internet search and knew he wasn’t the long-term dating type.
“I hate to sound like a