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“Which he’d never have landed.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“I hired you to watch the staff, not me.”
They were so close she could smell the laundry detergent from his sweater. “You do understand this is a conversation we wouldn’t be having if I was one of the men on your staff.”
“You’re not. And don’t you try to pull the sexist card on me!”
“When the card fits, play it.” The way he was looming over her made it nearly impossible to hold her temper. “If one of your bouncers had pulled the guy off you—highly unlikely, since they’re way too busy trying to hook up with the female guests—you wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”
His eyes narrowed—wary—and she thought she had him, but he wasn’t giving up so easily. Instead, he moved even closer, so she could feel his body heat right through her torn mulberry dress. “I don’t need to be rescued by anybody.”
Her professionalism dropped away. Now she was as angry as he. “Really? What if it’s two on one? What are you going to do then?”
“Especially then,” he said, with something approaching a sneer.
They were nose-to-nose now. Or they would have been if she were a head taller. “How about three to one?”
“I take care of myself.”
She refused to back off. “What if somebody has a gun? What are you going to do then?” She expanded her chest, which, unfortunately, brushed the tips of her breasts against him.
He reared even higher, more of him pressing against her. “Better question—what would you do?”
“I’m trained! You’re not.”
“What you are”—he growled—“is a pain in the ass.” And without warning, he crushed her to him, his head descending, and his mouth clamping over hers.
She was so shocked she gasped, parting her lips, which gave him an access he immediately claimed.
His kiss invaded. Took over. Hard and demanding. His hand went to the rip at the side of her dress. He touched the bare skin of her hip, and his fingers were like flames. Every cell in her body came alive. Wide-awake. Cock-of-the-morning, crowing from the roof of the henhouse, sun blazing high in the sky . . . that wide-awake.
She bit back a moan. He felt so good. Tasted so good. He reached farther into the slit of her dress. His knee pressed between her legs. She wanted this. Wanted it enough to forget everything and give in. Wanted it—
“No!” She shoved hard against his chest. “Back off!”
She was furious with him, more furious with herself. “You try that again, and you’ll end up on the floor . . . like your drunken friend.” She spun away and rushed upstairs.
***
He was sweating as if he’d just finished a full day of speed drills. What the hell had happened? Was he turning into one more thug who thought playing football gave him the right to assault women? He sagged against the wall, sick inside, trying to pull it back together. Women kissed him, not the other way around. They rose up on their toes, looped their perfumed arms around his neck, opened their mouths, and dove right in. He was going crazy. That was the only explanation. People had told him he’d have adjustment issues with retirement, but he’d never expected anything like this. He was twice her size, and no matter how mighty She-ra, Princess of Power, thought she was, he could crush her.
God, she was pissed. She should have given him a hard knee to the nuts.
But she hadn’t.
Because she’d been pissed, but not afraid of him. If she’d felt threatened, even the smallest bit, he’d be doubled over right now clutching his crotch.
Or maybe he was looking for an excuse for bad behavior. A way to feel okay about what he’d done. But there was nothing okay about going after a defenseless woman.
Who wasn’t defenseless. Not even close. But still . . .
Shit.
He liked having her around. Hated having her around. She was messing with his focus. But she was also doing a great job, and he’d be a total sleaze to fire her over what had just happened, since he was the one at fault.
He’d have to find another way to deal with her—a way that wouldn’t get him ejected from the game.
