just thinking about, maybe, that redhead in the corner?” He cocked a look at Coyote. “Very cute. For you, I mean. The Monster Man, of course, ain’t looking.”
“You’d be a fool to. Kimmy’s a catch.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.” Spencer grinned, flashing a silver bicuspid. “She’s class, sass, and if I ever even thought about fooling around, she’d burn my…” He widened his eyes dramatically.
Coyote laughed. He’d always liked Kimberly, Spencer’s soon-to-be wife. Being a personal trainer, she well understood an athlete’s temperament. More important, she was the grounding force in Spencer’s life. Because what made him a stellar athlete—his willingness to push himself, go to the extreme—could also be his weakness. When that weakness had toppled him, Coyote and others had seen Spencer through the rough times and now he was back on top, at the top of his game.
“Anyway, I wasn’t checking out the redhead.”
“Oh?” Spencer waited.
“Do I have to tell you everything?”
“I tell you everything, dog.”
It was true. Back in Spencer’s days with the San Diego Chargers, he’d been Coyote’s mole, helping him get scoops no other writer in the NFL market could snag. In a way, it was Spencer who’d helped open the door to the promotion, which put Coyote in the prestigious position of being one of the youngest sports editors in the NFL market.
“Okay, I was checking out her friend.”
Spencer glanced back at the table. “The librarian?”
“Editor.”
“Same thing.”
“Hey, I’m an editor, too.”
“Yeah, but you write about sports. What kinda editor is she?”
“Book.”
Spencer snorted. “That’s what I’m talking ’bout. Librarian. All uptight and rule-freaky. Not your type.”
Coyote would have said the same thing a month ago. Hell, even two weeks ago. Uptight Kathryn in her coordinated suits, sensible shoes, all-business attitude. But just as the fate of a game could change in the blink of an eye, so could a guy’s take on a woman.
Or so he’d learned today.
“Word to the wise,” he said, putting an arm around Spencer. “Never judge a book by its cover.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Maxson?” interrupted a suit sitting on the far side of Spencer. “Can I get an autograph for my wife?”
While Spencer made small talk and signed, Coyote turned, seeking Kathryn.
She looked up and caught his gaze.
And in that moment, he swore the world shifted, changed, intensified. The distant bay sparkled brighter, the temperature spiked, and damn if her scent didn’t ride the salt-tinged air and wash over him, again and again, stoking his need, firing his imagination, taking him higher, hotter….
Blowing out a puff of breath, he massaged his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He was no stranger to a member of the opposite sex getting under his skin, but what was brewing between him and Kathryn made him feel out of control and more than a little crazy. He liked his life to be predictable, easy, comfortable. Which meant sidestepping romantic entanglements. Well, serious romantic entanglements. His life had been serious enough growing up. These were his fun, carousing, devil-may-care days, and he planned to keep it that way.
“Here’s your beer.” Eva set down two bottles.
“Thanks,” he said, sliding a ten at her. “Keep the change.”
“You’re welcome, Coyote.” She folded the bill, slipped it down her top and gave him one of those looks.
“I’m waiting for someone,” he lied.
She paused, the smile a tad slow in coming. “Guess I misread the weather report,” she said softly before heading down the bar to another customer.
Coyote took a pull on his brew, turned, and settled his gaze back on Kathryn.
Who was watching him with a funny half smile.
He smiled back, hoping she hadn’t caught that little Eva exchange.
She gave him an amused look.
Okay, she had. To change the subject, he held up his hand, fingers splayed wide. Five votes behind you, baby.
Was that a “you don’t say” smirk?
He held up four fingers. Three. Two. One. He waved bye-bye.
She made an O with her lips as though to say, Oh, that’s what you think.
He leaned back against the bar, liking this teasing game. Liking Kathryn revealing her playful side.
After a moment, she raised her forefinger.
He frowned. One?
With a mischievous grin, she slowly lowered her finger until it rested on the edge of her drink. After a pause, she circled her finger around the rim of her glass, staring at him with a look that made his prick wake up. She seemed too far away for him to see details, and yet it was crystal clear how she let her finger slide down the side of her glass. Down, up, her finger traced a deliberate path in the trickling moisture that made him ache for more. He could almost feel her warm hand cupping him, the teasing scratch of her nails, the increasing pressure, the searching, playing, squeezing…
A spasm of primal need ripped through him and for a hot, suspended moment, all he could think about was getting inside her and working her, hard, making her crazy the way she was making him.
Next to him, Spencer was wrapping up—“Dude, it’s always great to meet a fan”—and would soon be back in Coyote’s face with his damn “Now, what’re you thinking?” routine, meaning it was time to take a time-out.
Meeting her gaze, he flicked his tongue across the lip of his beer.
Her eyes widened.
After a just-you-wait smile, he turned away, resisting the urge to douse himself with his beer. Instead, he took a long, cold drink, although it would take a lot more to temper the fires raging in his body.
“COYOTE’S STARING at you,” murmured Zoe before taking a sip of her cosmopolitan.
“And I’m staring back,” whispered Kathryn. In spite of herself—the self who’d made a career these past few years practicing common sense and restraint—she was staring boldly at the man, her nerves electrified like a pile of iron filings streaming toward a magnet.
Sunlight seeped through the thatched roof over the bar, causing shimmering bands of yellow to fall across his black hair, which in the muted light had the color of varnished mahogany. The falling light emphasized the flat, angular planes of his face. He’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt—probably
