me. What a tease. “I promised you the full Jack Carson experience. We ate dinner. We’re dancing. Now there’s only one thing left to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“My favorite part of the evening.”
“Dream on, loverboy.”
“Oh, believe me, Kiss. After tonight, that’s all I’ll be dreaming about.”
She would too. The little hitch in her breath gave her away. She wanted to know what it’d be like too. She could find out. I’d drag her from the restaurant, toss her in my car, and deliver her to my bed. I doubted she ever spent a night with her legs in the air and her inhibitions tossed on the floor beside her panties. I’d have her screaming my name and praising my cock before we were done.
And then I’d do it again in the morning.
Just how Jack Carson pleased the women lucky enough to attract him.
Fuck the music. I lifted her chin, staring at her full, parting lips. I only had to convince her.
I took another kiss. Not like the one at the practice facility. This wasn’t some juvenile posturing—overwhelming her just to crack that holier-than-thou façade. This was a kiss meant to promise everything she never planned to experience.
Passion.
Lust.
Excitement.
Raw, carnal fucking.
Her lips tasted sweet like wine. I never kissed a girl with lips as soft as hers. Then again, I hardly ever kissed women. Usually their puffy lips wrapped over my cock.
Just the thought of Leah on her knees, opening her mouth, worshiping me between the silky caress of her lips nearly had me explode.
Fuck.
Who the hell gave this woman such power over me?
And why hadn’t I tried to fuck it out of her before?
Her tongue darted over mine. I pulled her tighter, harder.
Then…a flash.
A quick, intrusive camera flash.
I knew the type. Heard the shutter before. I ripped away from Leah as the jackass with the camera stormed the dance floor.
A waiter and server pulled him back, but not before the asshole grinned at Leah.
“How ‘bout a picture for the Ironfield Almanac, baby? Jack Carson’s newest slut? Were you one of the whores from the accident?”
I saw red. Rage. The kind of aggression I only felt when the game clock ticked the seconds down after the championship game and my opponents celebrated in the end zone off my intercepted pass.
The bastard insulted Leah.
She shouted as I lunged for him, but I wasn’t aiming for his neck. That was the only reason he survived.
I grabbed the camera and spiked it onto the dance floor. The lenses shattered, but the equipment didn’t smash until I drove my foot into it. The photographer swore. I took Leah’s arm and hauled her away as the man broke down in ragged profanity.
“What the hell are you doing?” She hissed.
“Getting you out of here.” I nodded to the maître d'. He’d know where to send the bill for dinner. “No one talks to you like that.”
And no one would again.
Even if it was a fake relationship. Even if we were pretending.
Leah Williams was a goddamned lady who deserved better than a label of a slut.
She deserved better than me.
5
Leah
Jack was pissed.
More than pissed. Furious. The kind of rage that made my job as his publicist exceedingly difficult.
Usually his worst scandals were sexual in nature. Occasionally he had a minor issue on the field. Fortunately, he had only one physical altercation since signing with the Rivets, and even that was settled quickly and quietly.
Lucky for anyone who crossed him.
Jack was a huge, imposing, utterly dominating beast of pure animalistic strength. Had he wanted to hurt that tabloid journalist, Jack would have reduced that bastard to a pile of broken bones.
It was the sort of problem the league expected, and exactly the type of crisis he hired me to handle.
Unfortunately, his reaction to the journalist would get us both fired. I waited for the call that’d summon us to the police station.
My heart thudded in my chest. That was good. I thought I left it at dinner, puddling on the ground at Jack’s feet while he delivered the single greatest kiss of my life. Jack slammed his car door. The Porsche was too expensive to mistreat, but we were damn lucky he kept the vehicle on the road and under one hundred miles an hour as we launched from the restaurant.
“What are you doing?” I reached for his arm, but I didn’t have the courage to touch him. “Jack, please calm down.”
Rage strained his voice. “I’m getting you out of there.”
“Why?”
“So that cocksucker can’t harass you anymore.”
I couldn’t take a deep