Playing for Hearts (91 page)

She sucked in her breath, and her dress slipped further down. “Oh?”

“I don't think I've seen you at one of the sponsored functions before. Are you a model?”

“No, not at all. I'm a professional athlete … triathlon.” She ducked her chin, peeked at her cleavage, and relaxed. Still covered. “Training is a year round sport and keeps me busy.”

“Really? How fascinating. You must be in great shape.” His fingers dug into the curve where her back ended and her butt started.

She inched back, trying to put some space between them. “Y-yes. That's the goal.”

“Darling!” Janelle materialized beside her, and before Crista could answer, she was whisked away from Brady.

Crista found herself twirled in a circle, no longer dancing, no longer beside Brady, no longer star-struck. She was pissed.

She pressed her hand to her chest and glared at Janelle. “What are you doing?”

“I came to see who this sexy man you're keeping to yourself is, silly.” Janelle held out her arm, wrist limp, breasts thrust out, and smiled at Brady. “Janelle Langdon. Supermodel.
Sports Illustrated
, page twenty-three. This year's edition.”

Brady gravitated toward Janelle, ignoring Crista. “It's a pleasure. I'm … ”

Crista walked away. Not interested in being the third wheel or competing with Janelle, she wanted to hunt down Bruce. He obviously wasn't with Janelle. She only hoped he hadn't abandoned her and gone home.

She found him holding two glasses of champagne by the doors open to the outside gardens. His brow pulled down and his mouth set in a firm line when he caught sight of her. She marched straight toward him, took one of the flutes out of his hand, and drank.

“Thanks for abandoning me.” She studied him, but his eyes followed Janelle on the dance floor. “This isn't working. She stole the guy who asked me to dance. You need to go break them up … feel free to trip Brady and put a shoe up his ass for ignoring me too, if you want.”

“I tried.” He raised his glass and shot the whole thing back in one swallow.

The visual of Bruce going after Brady tickled her bad mood. She grinned. “You tripped him?”

“Huh?” Bruce shook his head. “No, you're right. This isn't working. Janelle shot me down when I asked her to dance.”

“Well, Brady seemed to do nothing special to get her attention.” She sounded bitchy, even to her own ears.

Bruce's lip curled. “I hate dancing.”

“It's not my favorite thing to do either, especially in this dress,” she said.

He finally looked over at her. “You do look nice. I don't know what you're complaining about.”

“Not supermodel nice though. Janelle gave one look to Brady, and he was all over her; I wasn't even a memory,” she muttered. “I can't compete with someone who looks like her. I'm too much of a tomboy.”

“No. It's not that.” He picked a cracker of caviar off the server's tray as it passed. “You know what I think gets Janelle's juices flowing?”

“Ew.” She shuddered. “I'm afraid to find out.”

“She's jealous of you.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued. “She sees you as female competition, not so much as only wanting guys who are attached.”

She snorted. “How much have you drank? Have you looked at me?”

“I'm serious.” He stepped closer. “She saw you getting attention and didn't want to be outdone. You said she liked a challenge, so let's give her something to fight for. We need to do more than just pretend we're together. Janelle needs to witness us hot and heavy for each other. I need to touch you, whisper to you, connect with you, like I'm
hot
for only you. If she believes I can't control myself around you, she'll push her way between us. And then I got her.”

She watched Janelle leave Brady on the floor, looking poleaxed. “Hm. You may be right, but I have a feeling it's about outdoing any female, not just me. Although, I don't think she's picky about the men she goes after. She's just stupid.”

“Dammit, we're going to have to dance to make sure she sees us together.” He turned around and set his glass on the table, removed her drink from her hand, and got rid of it. “Come on.”

“Wait. The music is too fast.” She hurried after him, arm bent and pressed to her chest to keep her dress in position, but he wasn't listening.

He swung her around as if casting a line, and she boomeranged back and met his chest. She laughed with her hand permanently attached to the front of the dress. Somehow, she managed to move her body in what she hoped resembled dancing. He gazed at her waist and studiously copied her moves. Stiff and self-conscious, he danced awkwardly. It was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen.

To have him risk his manly reputation by looking klutzy on the dance floor had her respecting him even more. She grew daring, and let go of her dress. If he could push through the discomfort, so could she.

His gaze shifted to her face and he flashed her a smile. A smile she knew sent most women to panting after him. Janelle seriously needed to consult a therapist over her taste in men because her available man radar was off the mark. Bruce was too good for someone so shallow.

She moved in closer, grabbed his hips, and got them moving in the same direction as hers. He put his hands on the sides of her ribs, and she raised her hands, gyrating to the beat. He gave her dress a tug, keeping it in place.

She laughed, letting loose. “Don't let it slip.”

“I got your back … er, your front,” he said with a wink.

The music changed to a slower, more sedate song. She moved toward him naturally, laying her head on his chest. She sighed. “You're really not that bad of dancer. You only need to do it more often, so you loosen up.”

“Right. I'll start tomorrow.” He grunted, belying his words. “Tell you the truth. You're the only woman I've danced with that I can remember. Once at Grayson and Shauna's wedding when they asked us to start the dancing part of the reception, and now here.”

An alien pang of possessive feelings hit her. She liked the thought of being the only woman who danced with him. She longed to be someone's special something, and she had no memories of being someone's
only
anything until now. Even though the special moment was with Bruce, the intimacy of being a part of his memory pleased her.

He was a huge part of her life, and she couldn't imagine life without him by her side. Her chest warmed. He meant the world to her.

He'd asked her yesterday if she ever thought she'd get married. The question had surprised her because no one had ever asked her that before. Interview questions were always based on her stamina, training, and goals for the next Ironman.

The truth was she thought about marriage more than she wanted to admit. Intense training was hard on a woman's body. She was no exception, and she worried that competing too long at a level that might rob her of eventually being capable of having a family would push her dreams to the side. At twenty-seven years old, she secretly stressed about if marriage and having children were in her immediate future. Her desire to have two point five children and a husband who loved her more than anything called to her as much as winning the next Ironman.

“Crista, darling.” Janelle's voice came from behind her.

She groaned and lifted her head off Bruce's chest, finding her nemesis ready to pounce. “Yes?”

“Your boyfriend asked me earlier if I wanted to dance when you were otherwise unavailable, and I'm here to take him up on the offer.” She pushed Crista's arm gently. “You'll excuse us, won't you?”

She glanced at Bruce, who looked at Janelle. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

For a few minutes in Bruce's arms, she'd allowed herself to have a good time with him. Then Janelle splashed her with the dose of reality. She wasn't here with Bruce. Her job was to make Janelle jealous. It sucked to be a best friend.

On the dance floor, Janelle's hips went one way and her breasts went the other. Bruce locked his gaze on those hips, and tried to move in a manner where it looked like he was dancing. Unlike Crista who'd helped him look halfway cool and confident while dancing, Janelle wasn't helping him out.

Janelle moved around him, against him, and kept his body in one place as if he were her personal stripper pole, and she the star at a bachelor party. The curve of her ass rubbed against his thigh, and he inhaled sharply. He hooked her waist, bringing her tight against him. She was ready to go and he'd rather not waste time dancing.

“Why don't we go back to your apartment and continue this dance,” he said.

Janelle lips swelled in a perfectly formed pout. “What about your girlfriend?”

Bruce glanced over Janelle's shoulder at Crista. His chest tightened. Crista stood in the corner, her left brow raised as she looked at the stem of her glass.

He knew that look. She was either plotting someone's murder or having dirty thoughts. Energy swelled in his chest and he grew agitated. He wanted to know what she was thinking. Usually, he was the one egging her on—whether to go dirtier or to get in trouble—he didn't care because she was fun to hang out with, and the opportunity to egg her on was prime. Normally, she'd blame him when she got in trouble or blushed so her cheeks matched the pink stripe in her hair whenever he convinced her to tell him what naughty thought were going through her head.

Would she mind if he took off with Janelle? He didn't want to leave her alone at the party.

A man in a suit approached Crista. She smiled and moved away, leaving the guy watching her. Bruce grimaced for the poor guy. Crista never played games and always came off as stuck up instead of simply clueless about how normal females were supposed to respond.

She had no idea half the men in the room were watching her. He stepped to the side to keep Crista in sight, but Janelle stopped him.

“Well?” Janelle trailed her finger along the collar of his shirt.

He turned his attention back to Janelle. “What?”

“Crista? Is she going to start trouble if you go home with me instead of her?” Janelle asked.

“Ah … ” He glanced back to where Crista was standing, but she was gone. “No. I'll talk to her so she understands. Don't worry.”

Where the hell did she go?

“Excellent.” Janelle wound her arm around his waist. “Let's make it an early night and go back to my apartment.”

“Sure, baby.” He removed her arm. “Let me get things squared away with Crista and find her a way home, since we came together. Then I'll take care of you.”

Janelle folded her arms, which accented her breasts even more. He moistened his lips. Damn, those babies were about ready to burst. As fast as lust hit him below the belt, disappointment swept through him. He'd had all kinds of breasts. Flat, overflowing, firm, soft, and saline. Fake boobs always came in on the bottom of his sexual totem pole.

“Hang on. I'll go tell Crista I'm leaving.” He dragged his gaze away and went to find his “date.” In a couple of hours, he'd have Janelle hooked and bagged. His vacation would be fulfilled, and he'd go back home more relaxed.

Three men stood by the refreshment bar where he'd last seen Crista. He approached them. “Have you seen a woman, about this high—” he held his hand up to his chest “—dark hair with a pink stripe, wearing a white dress?”

The man with a buzz cut and a tattoo peeking out of the collar of his tux grinned. “Seen her? Oh yeah. Hot chick.”

“She had a tight ass.” The dark-haired guy whistled. “Must be a model because she was smokin'.”

“She's not a model.” Bruce lowered his voice. “If she comes back here, can you let her know I'm … never mind.”

He scanned the room again, and not finding her, he pushed through the double doors to the patio. Couples lounged around in the wrought iron chairs and stood beside the over-the-top fountain with a naked woman spraying water out her mouth. He thought the statue looked a lot like Crista. He shook his head and looked away. Nah, the damn thing was a mermaid.

Familiar feminine laughter came from the other side of the fountain. Bruce walked around the perimeter, keeping his gaze off Cri—the mermaid statue's voluptuous breasts.

He found Crista sitting on the raised cement seat at the edge of the water. Two men were standing in front of her, hands in pockets, and rocking back on the heels of their leather shoes in amusement. He stopped a few feet away. Something wasn't right.

Crista almost sounded as if she were flirting with the two men. Her laugh was higher than normal, yet softer, too. His muscles tensed. She'd never made that sound with him before.

She kept pressing her slim fingers to her collarbone. He glanced at the men. Yep, they were following her hand and getting their fill of her breasts. He clenched his teeth when it finally dawned on him she was drunk.

She rarely drank, and when she did, she wasn't one of those women who giggled and entertained men. Irritated that he could be with Janelle back at her apartment right now, settled between her long, lean legs, he was babysitting Crista instead. Realizing he couldn't leave her here in her condition, he moved forward.

Crista leaned back and removed her hand from her
bare
chest as she laughed, kicking her
bare
leg out in front of her, where her high heel tottered on the end of her
bare
foot. He clamped his teeth together because he'd bought her the dress that barely covered her. Hell, she was practically naked! He hadn't noticed that earlier when she'd complained about the dress not being right for her.

He strode in front of her and looked at the two men. No, he
glared
at the two men. He wasn't going to let them take advantage of her carefree spirit and her lack of judgment. Following an unspoken universal sign that meant
back the fuck off
, the two men said their goodbyes and strolled away.