Page 27 of False Start, Real Passion

“You can read, can’t you? I sigh. “The Anderson Foundation Gala. This weekend. Black tie, red carpet, the works. Every big name in sports will be there schmoozing sponsors.”

“Another gala?” He picks up the invite and groans. “Do I have to go?” He looks at me with those devastatingly blue puppy-dog eyes.

I roll my own in response. “Yes, you have to go. It’s a major event and a perfect opportunity to show everyone you’re more than just a pretty face.”

“You think I’m pretty?” He grins.

“I think you’re impossible.” I snatch the invite back. “I’m serious. Best behavior at this thing, okay? Charm the sponsors, make small talk, and for the love of God, keep it in your pants.”

He mimes zipping his lips. “Scout’s honor.”

I arch a disbelieving brow. “Were you even a Boy Scout?”

“Nah, but I look damn good in a uniform.”

“Just be ready at eight. And wear a tux that fits.” I pause, remembering the way his pants stretched across his perfect ass at the last event. “On second thought, make it a slightly baggy tux.”

He continues to smirk. “Anything for you, babe.”

“I’m not your babe.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Michaels.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and I slump into my chair with a groan. This man will be the death of me, I swear.

***

That night, he arrives early; fashionably early, just as I finish the final touches on my makeup.

I smooth my hands over my dress before I open the door.

And there he is, in a perfect tailored tuxedo; broad shoulders and hypnotic eyes. They rake over me and lock onto the slit in my gown.

“Damn.” A low whistle escapes his lips. He steps closer and blocks the doorway. “You look damn good, as always.” His fingers touch my hip, sending sparks across my skin and for one moment, I think about taking him inside by force and saying to hell with the gala. I want to rip off his tux just to see his unbelievably cut body again…

Instead, I clear my throat. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late.”

His lips curve slowly into a smile. “Lead the way. I’m all yours.”

The ride to the Gala felt like another form of torture. He decides to sit next to me in the limo, even though there is enough room. His heat seeps through the fabric of my dress and he drapes his arm along the seat behind me.

“I like the fabric,” he comments while his fingers play with the hem of my dress. “I bet it feels good against your skin.”

I slap his hand away. “There’s enough room in here. Why do you have to sit so close?”

“Why not?”

The limo arrives and before we make out exit, I take a deep breath. “Remember, this is for show,” I tell him.

All he does is smile.

Cameras flash as we step out of the limo and onto the red carpet. I should be used to this by now. I feel his hand on the small of my back as he leans in close. “For show,” he whispers. “Smile.”

We make our way inside and every eye in the room is on us.

He shifts into celebrity mode. He shakes hands, all the while flashing that beautiful smile. He chats with donors and they laugh and nod to his stories.

He leaves my side and I stand and watch him as he works the room, realizing that he is a natural at this. There is so much more to him than the bad boy image I’m trying to save. Our eyes meet and he shoots me a wink. I shake my head and force a smile in return.

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