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He got up from the machine. "I'm trying to concentrate is all, and you're sitting there showing off your legs!"
Her skirt had ridden up until it was a scandalous three inches below her knee. "You're kidding. This is bothering you?"
"That's what I said, isn't it?"
He stood in front of her with his hands on his hips and that mulish expression on his face that told her he didn't intend to back down even though he must know he was well on the way to making a fool out of himself.
She forced herself not to smile, but a small bubble of happiness was expanding inside her. "I'm really sorry." Looking contrite, she stood. "I had no idea you were so sensitive."
"I'm not sensitive exactly."
She stepped a little nearer to him. "Of course you're not."
He looked wary. "Maybe you'd better not come any closer. I'm pretty sweaty."
"Gosh, I hardly notice anymore. I guess that's what comes from spending so much time around a football team."
"Yeah, well…"
With the courage of the desperate, she placed the palm of her hand on his damp T-shirt, directly over his heart. "You've been working hard."
He didn't move. She could feel the solid, fast thump of his heart and hoped it wasn't just a reaction to the workout. Their eyes locked, and she experienced a yearning so intense that she knew it must show in her face.
"This isn't a good idea." His words had a tight, choked sound, but he made no attempt to back away.
She found her courage. "You didn't mind my touching you the night we were flying home from the Meadow-lands."
"I wasn't thinking straight that night."
"Then don't think straight again." Closing her eyes, she wrapped her fingers around his upper arms and kissed him. When he didn't kiss her back, she brushed her lips over his, praying he would respond before she lost her courage.
With a groan, his lips parted and he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He splayed one of his hands over her bottom and caught the back of her head with the other, pulling her hard against him. Their mouths ground together, tongues probing. Her hands were all over him, she wanted him so badly. She felt him hard, throbbing. Maybe now.
He grasped her shoulders and gently set her away from him. She could see him struggling for control. "We shouldn't do this, Phoebe."
"Why not?" Numbly, she tried to absorb his rejection.
"There you are."
She whirled toward the door as Reed walked in. His black wool topcoat was unbuttoned and a white cashmere scarf showed inside his collar. How much had he seen?
As the Stars had begun to pile up victories, Reed's friendliness had developed cracks. He had never expected it to take so long for him to gain control of the team. Although he was still careful how he spoke to her when others were around, when they were alone, she caught glimpses of the young bully who had torn up her mother's picture.
He pulled off a pair of black leather gloves. "I'm glad I caught you, Dan. I want to get together soon to talk about the draft. I have a few ideas we need to discuss."
"It'd be real nice to chat with you, Reed," Dan said pleasantly. "But until we lose, I'm afraid I can only listen to Phoebe's ideas."
She could see that Reed didn't like being brushed off, but he was too smart to let Dan know it. Instead, he gave her that patronizing smile that made her want to claw his eyes out. "Phoebe doesn't know anything about the draft."
"Now you might be surprised what Phoebe knows. As a matter of fact, she was just now giving me her opinion about Rich Ferguson at Michigan State. Weren't you, Phoebe?"
"The kid's really something," she replied with remarkable confidence, considering the fact that she'd never heard of Rich Ferguson.
"It's amazing how much a smart woman can learn in just a few months. That doesn't mean I agree with you about that Jenkins kid, though."
"You may be right. I'll think it over." Lord, don't strike me down for lying. She appreciated Dan's defense of her, but it couldn't compensate for the undeniable fact that she had practically thrown herself at him, and he had rejected her.
Reed sensed an alliance and didn't like it. "You'll have to deal with me sooner or later," he said tightly. "And I'm afraid my management style is going to be more direct than Phoebe's."
