Playing for Keeps (10 page)

Picking at the vegetable platter, she wondered if she dared talk to him about the game with the Surgeon. It was a perfectly legitimate topic, but it was a fine line between admiring his performance and raving about his powerful stance. And from there, another, finer line separating admiration from out-and-out lusting.

It would be a mistake. But what if they never spoke again? She had told him not to call, hadn’t she? And the only other get-togethers for Lager Storm would be the screening of the final cut, followed by the Super Bowl party. Steve had told her KC usually attended the screenings alone for a final glad-handing with the talent. And of course, Johnny would be elsewhere on Super Bowl Sunday, either playing the game himself or privately licking his wounds.

“You’ve been pretty quiet,” he told her from across the buffet table.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there.”

“Nice,” he drawled. “I thought you were
pretending
not to notice me.”

“Seriously,” she said with a sheepish smile. “You’re like an eclipse. I don’t dare look directly at you.”

“You look great.” He cleared his throat. “It went well, don’t you think?”

“I wish you weren’t going home tonight,” she blurted out.

“Huh?”

“I just wish . . .” She forced herself to exhale, then explained, still breathless. “I wish we could get away together for a few minutes.”

“Why can’t we?”

“They’d notice. And we’ve been doing so well.”

He grinned. “I’ve told you about Murf, right? Time to see him in action. Just go to your room, then leave the rest to him.”

“Johnny.” She bit back an aroused giggle. “We can’t. They’ll see what’s happening.”

“You’re such an amateur.” He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. Before she could protest, the Notre Dame fight song played in all its digital glory. “That’s Murf. He says, and I quote: Leave it to me.”

“Oh, God, do we dare?” She licked her lips, then nodded. “Okay, just give me a few minutes to make up some excuse.”

“You’re tired. Exhausted. You’ve had a huge day. A huge success.” His dark blue eyes twinkled. “Don’t overthink it.”

“Like we women always do?” she asked with a rueful smile. “Okay, Brando. I might not have your acting talent, but I’ll give it a try.”

Returning to the table, where a rousing disagreement about NFL rule changes had erupted, she feigned weariness, pushing at the carrots on her plate and trying for a convincingly nonchalant tone.

But Murf beat her to it.

His BlackBerry buzzed. He pulled it out. Then he scowled at the screen and muttered, “Just perfect.”

Johnny had returned and asked innocently, “Problems?”

“I’ve been begging them for an update all day, right? But they choose now?” He turned to Helmut. “Sorry to be a bad guest, but is there somewhere John and I can get some privacy? For fifteen minutes? Or twenty, tops? We’ve been asking for an update on a confidential matter, and they’re finally ready for a quick teleconference.”

“Of course,” Helmut said, his posture regal, like a king granting a favor. “Use my brother’s office on the second floor. It’s at the end of the hall, and it’s unlocked. Take all the time you need.”

Erica slid back her chair and smiled apologetically. “It sounds like the party’s breaking up anyway. And I’m beat. So maybe I’ll turn in. John? Mr. Murphy? Have a safe flight. And if I don’t see you again, thanks for everything. You’ve been great.” She turned to her boss and Steve. “I’ll see you guys in the morning for breakfast.” On impulse, she gave Helmut’s shoulders a squeeze. “This has been
perfect
thanks to you.”

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he murmured, visibly thrilled by the tribute.

She smiled at the director and his crew. “You’ve all been so patient with me. How can I thank you?”

“You can thank us by working with us again soon,” the director told her. “It’s been a real pleasure, Erica.”

“Well then.” She exhaled sharply. “Have a safe trip back to LA. Good night, everyone.”

• • •

She dashed up two flights of stairs, fumbled with her key, and finally managed to get into her two-room suite. Since he was undoubtedly right behind her, she ran to the bedroom, stripped everything off, and bundled herself in the thick velour robe provided by the Fish Gotta Fly Inn. Not the most romantic logo, but the soft, full-length garment—black with gold braid—might be almost as much fun as a raincoat for Johnny’s purposes.

She hurried to the mirror and fluffed her hair, but he was already knocking, and she was so excited, almost pre-orgasmic, she abandoned any thoughts of further touch-ups and ran to the door.

Greeting him with a breathless “Hi,” she took him by the hand and yanked him into the room, then shut the door behind her and pulled him against her.

“So?” He grinned down at her, his mouth visibly watering. “We’re doing this again?”

“I’m afraid so.” Her arms slipped around his neck. “Just like the last time. And don’t leave anything out.”

“Can we use the bed?”

“What? Oh, sure. Come on.” She grabbed him by the hand, then stopped short and grimaced. “I don’t carry condoms with me.”

“I’ve got it covered.” Scooping her off the floor, he barreled toward the bedroom. “Man, I couldn’t have predicted this.”

“You were so inspiring,” she insisted. “In the game, I mean.”

“Yeah?” He deposited her on the bed, then stared down at her.

“Did you see the headlines?” she demanded.
“Spurling Gives Surgeon Ego-ectomy
.
”

He chuckled. “I wanted to impress you.” Then he joined her on the bed, kissing her passionately. “I could spend twenty minutes just doing this.”

“Me too. Maybe that’s all we should do.”

“You’re a tease,” he complained with a laugh. Then he pulled open her robe, arched a playful eyebrow at her naked breasts, and proceeded to devour them.

She closed her eyes, thrilled, then gasped as he kissed her mouth again while slipping his hand between her thighs.

“You’re hot,” he told her huskily. “I’m talking actual temperature down here.”

She moaned in loud appreciation as he thrust his way into her. “Johnny . . .”

A different, wrenching kind of pleasure wracked through her body and she gasped rhythmically. “Johnny, Johnny . . .”

“You drive me nuts,” he crooned. “All day, all night. You’re making me crazy.”

“Don’t stop, oh!” The world exploded inside her, and she dug her nails into his flesh, mindless with pleasure.

Growling cheerfully, he came with sure, quick pumps that echoed the rhythm of her climax. Then he collapsed on top of her and rested for a second before rolling to the side, taking her boneless body with him.

“Man, you’re such a screamer.”

“I’m just chatty.” She smiled shyly. “That was nice.”

“Yeah, you seemed to enjoy it. Are we back together again?”

“I wish.” She grimaced. “But no. This is just another exception to the rule. The last one, probably.”

“Probably?” He grinned. “I’ll keep carrying condoms then.”

She was about to agree when someone knocked on the door to the room.

“Expecting someone?”

“Maybe it’s your agent with a two-minute warning. But hush up just in case.” She grabbed the thick robe, then ran to the door and peered through the peephole.

It was Helmut Hunt, looking a little too cheery.

Ugh.

Bundling up, she took a deep breath and then opened the door, feigning a yawn. “Oh, hi. I was just dozing off.”

“The night is young,” he assured her, leaning down to pick up a tray with champagne and two glasses. “Can I come in?”

“Honestly, Mr. Hunt,” she murmured, but he pushed past her.

“We need to celebrate, Erica. We make quite a couple, don’t you think?”

“No.” She eyed him coolly. “Go away or I’ll call my boss.”

“
I’m
your boss. And your greatest admirer.”

She could see how drunk he was, but was still shocked by the un-churchgoing behavior. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

His countenance darkened. “Excuse me?”

“What if your wife saw you like this? Or those darling grandchildren? Are you trying to ruin their lives?”

He drew back, almost losing his balance. “They left for Disneyland this morning.”

“What’s your granddaughter’s name? The one with the golden hair and those big blue eyes? If she could see you now, it would ruin her life forever. Poor little girl.” She glared again. “Marta, right? Or Martha?”

It struck home. “I just figured it was part of the deal. Fancy ad agency, beautiful girl. You won’t tell them, will you?”

“I’m counting to five—”

“No!”

“Then get out. And leave the champagne.”

He seemed confused, and for a second, almost angry again. But he must have seen some grit in Erica’s stance, because he turned and skulked away.

Johnny was at her side in an instant. “Un-fucking-believable. Are you okay?”

“Another angel just lost its wings, but yeah, I’ll survive.”

“I was ready to come out if things got physical—”

“I’m so glad you didn’t.” She touched his cheek “It was just so . . . well, so gross. Right?”

“Is that how that scumbag Frank treated you?”

“No.” Her shoulders slumped at the suggestion. It almost would have been better if Frank had done something like that. Champagne, slurred words, overt agenda. Then she would have had proof of harassment to everyone’s satisfaction.

“Hey, I only asked because you handled it so well. So I figured maybe you went through it before. You were pretty tough.”

“Was I?” She walked into his arms. “I don’t feel tough, Johnny.”

“Me either.” He kissed the top of her head. “I actually feel like a loser. Like I didn’t protect my own woman.”

She smiled up at him. “That’s sweet. But protect me from what? I was never afraid.”

“You should have been. He’s bigger than you. If he had decided to overpower you, well, obviously, I would have stopped him. But you can’t let guys into your room at night.”

She almost laughed. “Like you?”

His jaw visibly relaxed. “I’m the exception to the rule, remember? Just promise you’ll be more careful.”

“I promise.”

“Man . . .” He clenched, then unclenched, his fists.

“Settle down, big guy. We’ll find another way to channel all that energy.”

He relaxed, almost smiling. “You were something, you know that? You threatened to count to five, like he was a bad little boy.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I’m not sure where that came from. Maybe my mom did that when we were kids.”

“You sell yourself short,” he assured her. “You told me you might have overreacted to Frank. But obviously, you don’t overreact to this kind of shit.” His jaw tightened again. “Tell me what he did.”

“Murf said twenty minutes, and it’s been longer than that,” she reminded him. “I don’t want Steve getting suspicious. You need to go.”

“Erica . . .” He cleared his throat. “Maybe we should just go public with this. We know the shoot was a success, so your bosses can’t object anymore.”

“It’s not just my bosses. It’s my coworkers. And my future coworkers. This is my first account. It needs to be spotless.” She caressed his cheek sadly. “I shouldn’t have suggested this. You were so great about staying away—”

“I’m glad I was here.”

“So am I.”

He exhaled sharply, then pulled her against his chest. “That was so fucked up.”

“Well, it’s over now.”

“You need to report it to Caldwell and Adler. Tell them they can’t leave you alone with that a-hole anymore.”

“He was tipsy—”

“I mean it, Erica.” He used his finger to raise her chin toward his. “Promise me you’ll report it.”

“I promise,” she murmured, but she knew it was a lie. She had already reported one incident, and Caldwell had been a sport about it.

She just couldn’t afford another one.

• • •

Since she hadn’t told Jenna and May about the first sex-capade with Johnny, she couldn’t really tell them about the second and final one. So she kept her head down at work for the rest of the week, spending long hours in her cubicle, knowing she would get a break soon since it was her birthday weekend and her younger brother, Connor, was driving in to celebrate with her.

She half expected to hear from Johnny, but he was good again.

Too
good.

And then before she knew it, Connor was there. She took him shopping on Saturday, ignoring the irony that it was
her
birthday but she was buying
him
clothes for their Christmas in Greece. She was just so very, very thankful he was making the trip with her. Sure, he was only joining them for the last two weeks since he had final exams until mid-December, but by that time she would officially run out of mundane topics to discuss with her parents, and the influx of new blood—not to mention a fresh victim—would be appreciated.

Her actual birthday was on Sunday, and she knew it would be a success for two reasons: the Lancers were playing and Connor was a huge football fan; and Jenna and May were coming over to celebrate, bake a cake, and flirt with Connor, even though he was four years younger than Jenna and another full year younger than May.

She had sworn them both to secrecy about her relationship with Johnny Spurling. Not that they knew the half of it. To May and Jenna, the potential affair had died when Sherry Johannsen cast her evil eye on it. They knew Erica had flown to Portland to end it. And they knew it had ended.

What they didn’t know was that she had had the three-way with Johnny and a door, and then another quick fix at the Fish Gotta Fly, before it was really, really over.

Jenna in her innocence had begged Erica to tell Connor the truth. He was such a football fan, he’d appreciate knowing that his big sister had met Johnny “the Player” Spurling. Since nothing had actually happened, it was an innocent story, wasn’t it? Why not let little brother in on the secret?

Erica had nixed that emphatically, not just because Connor might guess the truth, but because May almost certainly would if Erica made a single misstep in the retelling. And then what?