Page 28 of Most Likely to Score
JILLIAN
Standing on his porch, Jones looks me over from head to toe with those intense blue eyes, and my stomach flips like a traitorous creature.
I set a hand on my belly, as if that will calm me down. But it’s ineffective, and I have to wonder if the guy does this on purpose—gives women those I’m-undressing-you eyes. Whether heknowsthe effect he has on us and he uses it for fun.
Then, I want to smack my forehead, because of course he does.
That’s why I’m doing the calendar with him. That’s why his agent asked me to help him out. Because hehasan extraordinary effect on women, he’s a notorious flirt, and he’s too well-known for his antics. We need to make him known for other things.
Like how he rescued that dog.
Like how he loves his family.
Like how he looks out for his friends.
He raises an arm, resting his hand against the frameof his front door. “So,” he says, taking his time with the word, like he plans to play with it as a cat does an insect, “are you officially my PR person now?”
A nervous laugh bursts from my throat. “I thought I’d always been your PR contact for the team.”
He runs his hand through his hair, flashing a lopsided grin then a wink. “Sorry. I meant are you mypersonalPR person now?”
That word zips through me like an electric charge. A light gust of wind blows my hair across my cheeks, and I tuck the strands behind my ear, grateful for the temporary distraction courtesy of San Francisco’s windy morning. I shiver lightly from the chill. “Yes, that seems to be the case, and I’m happy to do it.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Are you like my babysitter?”
My jaw drops. “What? No. No. No. That’s ridiculous. I’m not a babysitter.”
He arches a brow. “A nanny?”
I smirk. “Jones, I would hope you’ve outgrown the need for a nanny.”
“That’s up for debate, it seems. But maybe you’re my governess?”
I roll my eyes and gesture to the car at the curb. “I’m not your nanny, I’m not your babysitter, and I’m definitely not your governess. I’m here to help you create the best image possible. I can market, publicize, and help you manage putting the best foot forward,” I say, my tone earnest, my meaning important. “I believe in what I do. I know you’re a great guy, and I want the world to see what I’ve seen in the last couple days.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s why I said yes when Ford asked for my help. I’m not interested in being anyone’s au pair. I am very interested, though, in showing this city what good things our team does on and off the field. Including you.” I take a breath and try to read him. To understand what’s beneath the teasing. I think I know what it is. He wants a choice. “But if you don’t want me to help out, I’ll step back and we can stick to just the calendar. I told Ford I’d do this for your new deal, because I want to be the one to help you if you need it, and it’s the kind of help I can give. Since you signed the contract yesterday, and the folks at Paleo Pet are local, they want to stop by the shoot later today. Take some pictures, chat, and so on. I’m happy to be there by your side the whole time, making sure you’re comfortable with everything, and you’re represented in the best way possible. But if those aren’t your wishes, and if it isn’t what you need, then I’ll be hands-off.” I hold up my palms as if I’m backing away.
In a heartbeat, he grabs my wrists. Possessively. A thrill rushes through me, like a drumbeat pulsing in my veins. I look away from him briefly. I can’t make eye contact when he does this, when he touches me. If I do, he’ll know I want him.
“Don’t be hands-off,” he says, his voice soft. He runs a thumb over my wrist. “You have very nice hands.”
I roll my eyes because it’s the only way I can hide that my stomach is flipping and flopping from that one gentle slide of his thumb on my skin.
“And you have nice eyes that you roll at me as if I can’t tell you’re rolling them.”
I turn my gaze back to him with a smirk that I quickly wipe away. “Do you want me to help you with your image? If you don’t, say the word, and I’ll respect it.”
With his hands around my wrists, he stares into my eyes, and it’s unnerving. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t look away. This must be how he is on the field, watching like a hawk, staring, studying, developing a plan in a split second. The man has such intensity behind those blue eyes.
They’re darker than usual, then they seem to glitter. Turn playful, even. “Nah. I’m just feeling you out.”
Feel me up instead.
I shut my eyes momentarily, willing away the thought. He’s charming and funny and sweet, and so good-looking it hurts my chest sometimes. It’s dangerous how handsome he is and how much that affects me. I can’t let the way my body reacts to him sway me. We’re coworkers, and I have a job to do.
I open my eyes, square my chest, and smile my best PR grin. “I’ll make sure it’s fun. I promise.”
