She felt the heat of his body behind her as they made their way down to the underground garage. He opened the passenger door of his sports car for her, then got behind the wheel. She was struck by how much space he took up... and the sheer bliss of sharing such an intimate space with the star of her late-night fantasies. At six-foot-three and 230, Dominic wasn't the tallest or biggest Outlaw, but as the star receiver he was the quickest and most agile. Still, he was the most beautiful man she'd ever been near, the most incredible man who'd ever held her close.
"Congratulations on earning your MBA," he said unexpectedly as he pulled into traffic. "I'm not surprised your father has tapped you to be the next agent."
"Thank you," she said, pride in her voice. The late nights of studying, followed by ten-hour days working for her father, had been grueling. She hadn't had a clue that Dominic knew about her degree. The fact that he did was incredibly flattering.
He pulled up in front of the McKnight Agency, one corner of his rugged mouth curving up, and her breath hitched. Fumbling with her seat belt, she picked up her bag and jumped out.
"Melissa?"
Her heart pounding, she leaned down to the open window.
"Good luck," he said. "You're going to be a terrific agent."
Dominic sat in his car for several minutes as traffic whizzed by. What the fuck had he been doing flirting with Melissa? She was completely off-limits. Not only was she his agent's daughter, but she deserved so much more than he could ever give her. She deserved a normal guy with a normal life, not a public figure who was carrying around a secret that could blow everything he'd worked for to pieces.
Which hadn't stopped him from watching her all afternoon from across the photographer's studio. Watching and wanting her.
All day long, he'd wanted to touch her. To run his tongue down the crevice between her lush breasts. To feel her nipples pebble against his palms and rub his face against her soft, creamy skin. To lay her down, slide his hands beneath her ass, and stare at her beautiful, naked body. To lick inside her, then swirl his tongue over her clit. To move over her naked body, slide his cock into her heat, and consume her inch by inch. To watch her face as she came, watch her eyes widen in surprise as her climax ripped through her.
For years he'd been haunted by her scent, by the way she licked the corner of her lips when she was concentrating, by the smooth skin on her throat as she swallowed a sip of coffee. He'd wanted her for so long that he could practically taste her; knew she'd be the sweetest thing he'd ever had on his tongue.
And then Benjamin had called her over, and it was all he could do to keep his hard-on at bay in front of the camera. He'd fantasized about touching her for so long that his brain could barely wrap itself around the reality of her soft hips in his hands. Again and again he replayed that moment when she stripped off her sweater--how hard and tight her nipples were, the full, round curves of her breasts. Ecstasy and torture had warred when he pulled her hard against him, harder than he should have, closer than she needed to be. This had been his one chance to touch her, to hold her, and he'd taken as much as he could get. But a sham kiss on her neck didn't even begin to quench his thirst for her.
Now that he'd had a taste of her sweetness, he wanted her more than he ever had.
Chapter Two
Still reeling from her five minutes in Dominic's arms, Melissa locked herself in the ladies' room until she succeeded in wiping all the arousal and excitement from her eyes and face. Then she unlocked the door and headed over to Angie's desk. She'd known her father's executive assistant, a no-nonsense, borderline-scary, type-A woman, practically all her life. And even though she wasn't a little kid anymore, she was still a little afraid of the woman.
"Perfect timing. Tom's ready to have a word with you."
Taking a deep breath, Melissa turned her father's gold-plated doorknob and went in.
Her father didn't look up as she closed the door. "I just spoke with Dominic."
Melissa's heart thumped as she waited to hear what he'd said about her.
"He made it a point to tell me what a pleasure it was working with you today. Said you saved the day."
Masking her delight at the compliment, Melissa said, "He did great at the shoot, as always. Dominic is a real asset to the company."
Her father shrugged. "He was, but he's getting older."
She dropped her bag to the floor and advanced toward her father. "Are you kidding? Dominic is one of the most recognizable faces of football. No speeding tickets, no bar brawls, no hidden babies. He's a playmaker and a moneymaker. Companies are pounding down our door to get him to advertise their products."
Her father clicked on his email, listening with half an ear. "Times have changed. People want to see their favorite stars screw up, then repent. No one's interested in angels anymore."
Melissa's mouth opened, then closed. How could her father speak about him like this? What ever happened to loyalty? What's more, her father was dead wrong about Dominic's appeal.
"Look at Ty Calhoun," her father pointed out. "Fans are even crazier for him now that he screwed his image consultant, then saw the light and married her. Nothing's better than a bad boy turned good."
Melissa had met Ty a few times and found him to be a very charming lady-killer, but not at all her type. She preferred someone who didn't have anything to prove, who didn't use his sexuality to win over the world, who simply owned it as an integral part of who he was.
But now wasn't the time for her to bite her father's head off. She sat on the chair directly across from him. "What did you want to see me about?"
"Your mother called. Don't forget to bring potato salad to the barbecue this Sunday, or she'll be all over me for not telling you."
Her heart sank. She'd been so certain that he was going to bring up her promotion. Well, since she had his undivided attention, she'd take the direct approach and ask for exactly what she wanted--and make sure she got it.
"Actually, Father, I'm glad you asked to meet with me. I've been wanting to get on your calendar."
He briefly looked up from his computer screen. "Is there a problem?"
"No. My work has been going very smoothly, and I was extremely pleased by the endorsement deal I negotiated for Wilson last Friday." If ever there was a time to toot her own horn, it was now.
"I'll email you some notes on the Martin trade. You can take that over, as well."
She beamed. "Fantastic."
More work and responsibility without "Agent" on her business card. She was making a difference in players' lives and she was well paid for an associate, but she wanted to be recognized for her achievements rather than for being Tom McKnight's daughter.
He looked up at her, impatience on his deeply lined face. "Was there anything else you needed?"
She straightened her spine. "Yes, there is."
He finally took his hands from the keyboard and sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers across his stomach.
"I've been working here for five years," she began. "During that time I've taken on more and more responsibility, I've earned my MBA, and I've negotiated several big endorsement deals for key clients."
Her father nodded, and hope bloomed deep in her chest.
"I deserve to be promoted to agent."
She laid her damp palms on her lap and waited for her father to speak. As the silence stretched on, a knot formed in her stomach.
Her father threw his head back and laughed. "Honey, I thought you already knew this--no one in this business will ever take a female football agent seriously. Especially not a cream puff like you."
Melissa shot to her feet as he turned back to his computer. "What about all the deals I've worked?" she demanded. "I've done great things for our clients. I've made them--and you--a lot of money."
He waved a hand, dismissing her completely true claims. "They took you seriously because you work for me. Ultimately, everyone knows I'm the one backing the deals. Besides, you aren't tough enough for this business. Age
nts can't cry when they don't get their way."
He wasn't joking. Not in the least. And Melissa finally realized the truth: Her father had never, ever, not for one second, planned on her becoming an agent. If he had his way, she'd work as an associate for him until the day he retired.
Seeming to notice her dismay, he said, "Don't get me wrong, honey, you've been doing a great job. You're a top-notch associate. All the guys think so."
He was talking to her as if she were a little girl, which, she now understood, was exactly how he viewed her. They all did: his players, the other agents, his secretary.
"Thank you for your time," she said coldly, then walked across the room and closed the door behind her with a soft click. She held her head high as she walked past Angie's desk.
As she quickly navigated the hallway, Melissa's brain spun with plans. She wasn't going to waste a single minute sitting in her cubicle feeling sorry for herself. She wanted to be an agent, and if she couldn't be a McKnight agent, she'd do it someplace else. And she knew exactly where to start.
Barnum's. The secret bar for San Francisco Bay Area professional athletes. It was the only place where the very rich, very sought-after men could shoot some pool without groupies hanging all over them. Rumor had it not one single female fan had crossed the threshold in thirty years.
But she had no doubt she'd get inside. She'd made a whole lot of guys a whole lot of money. They owed her.
Ignoring the forty new emails in her in-box, she picked up her bag and headed for the elevator. On the street, she hailed a cab and gave the driver her best guess at Barnum's address. It was a widely guarded secret, but she'd been privy to enough drunken conversations to pick up a couple of clues to its location.
On a street corner a block from the water in a rather seedy part of town, Melissa paid the driver and stepped into the fading sunlight. She was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea, just as the sound of laughter drew her attention to a door opening halfway down a dark alley. A rookie defensive lineman stepped out into the daylight.
Bingo! Now all she had to do was figure out a way to get inside.
She strode to the door and pounded on it with both fists. It was rather cathartic to beat the crap out of a metal door, even if the edges of her hands were starting to throb.
A man opened the door just wide enough for her to see his gold tooth. "Members only."
He closed the door in her face, but rage made her strong. She shoved it open an inch. "These guys know me. Let me in."
He opened the door a foot this time and checked her out from head to toe. He grinned lecherously. "I'm sure they do, babe. Go home. Find a nice boy to marry and make babies with."
She peered over his shoulder into the dark room. Jones Wilson was leaning over the pool table. She'd just made him a bucket of money, more than double the original offer he'd been made to hock tennis shoes. He owed her.
"Jones!" she shrieked over the throbbing rap music.
The bouncer recoiled and covered his ears, giving her the chance to push the door open and lunge past him. She was halfway inside by the time he grabbed her.
"Not so fast," he growled, and she had a feeling she was moments away from being literally tossed out on her ass.
Just in time, Wilson laid down his pool stick. "Melissa McKnight? What are you doing here, girl?"
The bouncer said, "Sorry, man. I told her 'no groupies.' I'll get her out of here."
"She's no groupie, man. She's my agent's kid. Let her go."
"What's up?" Wilson asked when the bouncer headed back behind the bar. "Some problem with the new contract?"
She shook her head. "No, your contract is fine. Let me get a drink and then you can introduce me to your friends."
He frowned. "Seriously? You're staying?"
"You bet I am." He looked shell-shocked, so she decided to give him a few minutes to get used to the idea of her being in the top-secret players' haunt. "Go back to your pool game. I'll let you know when I'm ready for your help."
He looked over his shoulder at the rest of the players in the club, then shook his head. "I don't think this is such a great idea, you being here."
She shrugged and looked around the joint. "Not much of a vibe, but I suppose it grows on you."
Waving him back toward the pool table, she headed over to the empty bar. At least a dozen pairs of eyes were on her. Football, hockey, and baseball players relaxed with beers and video games and pool. There were even a few pro golfers in the mix. She knew their names and teams, but apart from Wilson she didn't know any of them personally. Yet.
There wasn't another bar in the city where she would have felt as at home. She'd grown up around professional athletes, traveled with them, watched games with them, hung out with their families. Football meant family to her.
"Gin and tonic, please," she said to the beefy bouncer/bartender. "Make it a double."
Looking none too happy about serving her, he grabbed a tall glass.
She took a sip, which immediately turned into a gulp. "God, this is good," she murmured.
Even better than the drink was the instant buzz that worked its way from her head to her toes. She hadn't eaten since 6 a.m. It wasn't going to take long for the drink to work its magic.
"Honestly," she said to the large bartender, "I understand why you wouldn't let me come inside."
"You do, huh?"
She nodded. "These guys need somewhere to get away from everything. The press, the groupies, the big-money pressure. I think it's great that you turned this joint into a refuge." She crossed her fingers over her heart. "I'll never tell. Cross my heart and hope to die."
They'd gotten off to a rocky start, but another drink later proved that the bartender--his name was Ellis--was a very nice man. He was happy to listen to her plans to become the next great football agent. The next thing she knew, her second drink was empty and he was sliding another one across the bar.
When Ellis flipped the channel to ESPN, they were doing a profile on the greatest wide receivers of all time. Dominic was their top pick, and something warm and heady bloomed in Melissa's chest. She'd chat up the players in the bar later. For the next hour, she was going to nurse her drink along with her pointless crush on the most beautiful man in the world.
Chapter Three
Dominic sprinted the last hundred yards on the track, beating Ty Calhoun by an inch. They fell down on the grass inside the track and sucked in air. "I never thought I'd see the day when an old man like you would beat me," Ty said, panting.
Dominic laughed through the stitch in his side and the throbbing in his knee. "Marriage has made you slow," he ribbed, even though they both knew it was his job as wide receiver to be the fastest guy on the field.
"What can I say? I've got better things on my mind than a leather ball." Ty grinned. "Nothing beats an insatiable new wife waiting at home."
Dominic was happy for his friend, who was one of the best quarterbacks in the country. Things had been iffy there for a while. Fortunately, everything had ended up working out for Ty. Playboy no more, he was a happily married man.
"What about you?" Ty asked as he started a set of sit-ups. "Got marriage and kids in your future anytime soon?"
An image of Melissa popped into Dominic's head, all luscious curves and plump red lips and an almost accidental sensuality. Blood rushed to his groin.
His agent's daughter was as off-limits as they came. Even if she had looked better than ever this morning at the ad shoot, even if her lush curves had been a perfect fit in his hands, even if she had the softest skin he'd ever touched. He wondered for the thousandth time what she'd look like without her clothes on; if the skin on her breasts, her stomach-- between her legs--would be as creamy and tempting as her beautiful face.
Shit. He needed to force the picture of Melissa naked and flushed in his bed from his brain. He rolled over and propped himself on his palms for a punishing set of push-ups. "The last girl I dated kept confusing baseball with football."
<
br /> "Hey, I think I dated her, too," Ty said, laughing. "At least she was hot, right?"
Dominic held his final push-up an inch from the grass for twenty seconds to push himself to the limit. Letting his weight down slowly, he said, "I guess."
The girl had been too skinny and synthetic-looking, with the same overplumped lips and sili coned breasts and skinny ass as every other good-looking blonde that guys like him dated.
The sun was starting to set as they headed into the showers. Dominic stood under the hot spray for several minutes. An integral part of his job with the Outlaws was turning on the charm. Not just on the field, but at charity events and after-hours parties for the media. But he'd always kept a firm check on himself around Tom McKnight's daughter--regardless of the fact that he wanted to fuck her senseless. She might have been the best-looking woman for miles, but she was meant for some other lucky bastard. Not only would Tom never forgive him for touching his little girl, but Dominic was too old for her, too experienced.
He'd grappled with the darkness within himself one too many times, and come up on the losing end. She deserved better than him.
He stepped off the slick tile to dry off, then pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt. He didn't spend much time in bars anymore, having burned through that kind of behavior in high school, but tonight he felt like having a beer. Someplace out of the public eye where he could hang with the guys, shoot some pool, and stop thinking about the beautiful woman that he couldn't have.
The sun was sinking halfway into the Bay as he drove along the Embarcadero toward Barnum's. Every once in a while, a guy needed a place to get away from the fans. Heck, some of the guys went to get away from their wives and girlfriends.