The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) (10 page)

Chapter 8

On Tuesday morning, Miranda waited by Luke Archer’s private elevator, listening for the hum that would signal its descent. She tapped her toe against the granite floor and mentally reviewed their itinerary one more time, debating whether she should swap out the Frick for the Museum of Natural History. But he’d said he wanted culture, so she was going to give him culture. If he got bored, she could adjust.

She’d changed her outfit three times before she’d decided on a peach silk top that hugged her hips, slim-legged taupe trousers, and taupe leather wedges that were comfortable for walking. Over it, she had added a cashmere tweed blazer in soft beiges and grays, one of those splurge purchases she’d never regretted. She had tried to strike a balance between her professional service persona, which required blending into the background, and her desire to look pretty while spending the day with a gorgeous man. After all, she was only human.

The elevator kicked into action, and nervousness tightened her throat. What would Luke expect of her? Did he want information or conversation? Would he like the restaurants she’d chosen? The biggest question of all: Would he think she’d lost her mind when he heard what she’d booked as the conclusion to his day of high culture?

When the elevator doors opened, she had to swallow her gasp. The waves of his hair caught the lighting of the elevator in a way that made them glow gold. Dressed in worn jeans, a maroon T-shirt, and a black leather jacket, he looked more like a model than a football player. His cool blue eyes warmed slightly when he caught sight of her, and that slow smile brought out his single dimple.

Speech deserted Miranda as every nerve ending in her body yearned for the man in front of her.

“Mornin’,” he said, pulling a Yankees baseball cap out of his pocket and fitting it over the gleaming hair.

“Is that—” Her voice was a croak, so she stopped to clear her throat. “Is that your disguise?”

His dimple deepened. “I have Ray-Bans, too.”

She let her gaze roam over the height and breadth of him. “It’s going to take a lot more than sunglasses to make you incognito.”

He grunted. “I gave up on anonymity a long time ago.”

She understood. That’s why he lived at an exclusive place like the Pinnacle, used a helicopter or limo to travel around the city, and had a full-time assistant. It was impossible for him to lead a normal life here, so he used his money to buy some privacy.

“Well, people won’t expect to see you at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, so maybe they’ll leave you alone.”

His smile disappeared, and she saw a muscle tighten in his jaw. What was it about her innocuous comment that bothered him?

He put on his sunglasses, making his expression even harder to interpret. “So that’s our first stop?”

She started toward the door. “Yes, we’re doing a whirlwind tour that includes Van Gogh, Degas, Henry the Eighth’s armor, the Temple of Dendur, the Chinese Garden Court, Tiffany windows, and the Frank Lloyd Wright living room.” As he held the door, she smiled up at him, hoping to coax his dimple back. “Because those are my favorite things at the museum.” And she thought he would like the variety.

The corners of his lips turned up slightly, but all she could really see was her reflection in the lenses of his dark glasses. “Is that going to take an hour or all day?” he asked.

“However long you want it to,” she said, nodding to the limo’s chauffeur, who had opened the car door for her. She’d already given the driver their itinerary. She started to slide across the backseat, then swiveled to sit on the seat facing the rear of the limo. It seemed more conversational and businesslike that way.

Until Luke bent to enter the limo, his shoulders filling the doorway and blocking out the autumn sunlight. He slid onto the seat carefully, reminding her that he was injured. Settling with a creak of leather against leather, he stretched out his legs so they slanted diagonally across the space between her seat and his. It was the only way he could fit comfortably, but it emphasized the physical presence of the man. The interior of the limo suddenly felt very intimate.

He removed his sunglasses and baseball cap and massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Would you rather postpone the tour?” Miranda asked, noticing circles under his eyes.

“No.” His reply was sharp. He gave her an apologetic look. “Trevor and I knocked off a bottle of tequila last night.”

She debated whether to bring up the public speculation about the possibility that a secret injury was keeping him out of the next game.

He stared out the window and answered her question for her. “Being benched doesn’t sit well with me, so I decided to deal with it the wrong way.”

She’d wondered how Luke felt about not playing. “I hope Dr. Cavill didn’t do anything he shouldn’t have.”

He turned back to her with a rueful grimace. “No, I brought it on myself.” He shrugged and winced. “My backup needs some seasoning, and this is a good time to give it to him.”

Miranda was relieved that she hadn’t contributed to Luke’s unhappiness. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“No, it’s just—” He stopped and shook his head. “Yeah, even though it’s just bruised, it hurts like a gore from a steer’s horn when I move in certain ways. I couldn’t give my best when I feel like this, so the coach isn’t wrong.” He looked her in the eye. “This is all just between you and me.”

“Of course.” He’d decided to trust her with sensitive information. That sent warmth seeping through her. “Is there anything you can do to help it heal?”

“Go on a cultural tour.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

So the subject was closed. She pulled her tablet out of her gray Kate Spade knockoff tote. “You have some choices about what museums to go to. I wasn’t sure what kind of culture you were interested in. Would you prefer the Museum of Natural History or the Frick Collection? The Frick is as interesting for its building as its art, since it was originally Mr. Frick’s Fifth Avenue mansion.”

“Let’s go for art all the way.”

“Okay.” Miranda blew out a breath and considered the schedule. She didn’t know how long he would want to look at each work of art, so she’d booked lunch reservations at three different locations. Now she could cancel the one near the Museum of Natural History. She swiped around on her tablet’s screen to take care of that.

When she looked up, he was watching her with a faint smile. He said, “You look as nervous as a rookie the morning of his first NFL game.”

“I’m more a behind-the-scenes kind of person. I’ve never taken someone like you on a guided tour before.”

“Someone like me?” He raised his eyebrows.

“You know—” She waved her hand vaguely.

“You mean a jock who doesn’t know anything about culture?”

Surprise zinged through her. Was that how he saw himself? “No, that’s not at all what I meant.”

He waited.

She wasn’t going to explain that he was so spectacular it was hard to draw in enough oxygen when shut into an enclosed space with him. “I meant that you are practically a national treasure, so it’s a little intimidating to be responsible for your entertainment for an entire day.”

A shadow crossed his face. “I was born with a certain talent for throwing a ball and taking a hit. I’m not curing cancer. I’m not feeding third world nations. I’m just an entertainer.”

That word didn’t fit him. “Frank Sinatra was an entertainer. You’re more like a gladiator.”

That made his eyes glint with amusement. “Okay, a gladiator, but they were just there to entertain the Romans.”

“And you give a lot of money to people who cure cancer and feed third world nations,” Miranda said. She’d spent far too much of her limited free time googling Luke Archer.

“I have enough money to
buy
a couple of third world nations, so that’s no skin off my back.” He leaned forward so she could see the scruff of blond beard he hadn’t shaved that morning and the tiny squint lines at the corners of his eyes. “I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.”

“Yes, but you probably don’t lose your balance,” Miranda murmured.

Luke gave her a raised eyebrow, but she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. However, he didn’t let her stop him from making his point. “I’m just another client, and you’re just doing your usual excellent job.”

She heard the compliment through a haze created by the scent of his lemony aftershave, the nearness of his sharply sculpted lips, and the breadth of his shoulders filling her entire field of vision. She wanted to shift forward just two inches so she could brush back the gilded lock of hair that fell onto his forehead. It would feel like silk, she was sure.

Instead, she hugged her tablet to her chest. It would be blasphemy to touch a legend without his permission. “Thank you. I hope you’ll enjoy today,” she said. Clichés were always useful when your brain refused to function.

He also settled back in his seat and crossed his arms, making the muscles in his chest shift under the fabric of his T-shirt. Now she wanted to flatten her palms against that wall of pure power, as he said, “Since my life is on the Internet for anyone to read, tell me something about you. Where are you from?”

Miranda felt a slight flush climb her cheeks as he mentioned the Internet, but his question was innocuous enough. “I was raised on a dairy farm in upstate New York.”

“You?” His gaze skimmed over her body. She felt it almost as a touch. “On a farm?”

“Yup, I can milk a cow in nine minutes flat.” But she knew why he was skeptical. She’d worked hard to fashion a veneer of city sophistication over her rural upbringing.

He looked at her neatly manicured hands. “When was the last time you milked a cow?”

“Last year. I like to keep in practice, just in case.” Theo had challenged her to a milking contest since he also didn’t believe his fancy aunt Miranda had ever milked a cow. Even she was surprised at how quickly she’d found the rhythm of it again. She’d let Theo win, of course.

“Just in case what?” His dimple was starting to show.

“Oh, I don’t know, an apocalyptic failure of the power grid or something. I could survive on milk and cream.”

“Or trade it for eggs.”

She nodded, glad he was entertained by her whimsy. “So what would your survival skill be in an apocalypse?”

“Huh,” he said, dropping his chin to his chest as he considered her question. “I could probably throw a spear to bring down game.”

She had a vision of him dressed in a wolf skin, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing and rippling as he sent a spear streaking through the air toward his unsuspecting prey. “Okay, with that talent, you’re invited to join my postapocalyptic enclave.”

He huffed out a chuckle. “Does your brother still live on the family farm?”

She nodded. “It’s not an easy life, but Dennis and Patty like it. I worry about Theo, though. The school up there isn’t very academic, and he’s a bright child.”

“My parents are teachers, and they’ve always said that a kid can get as much education as he wants, no matter what school he’s in.” Luke fiddled with his sunglasses as he said it.

“That’s reassuring, but it’s not so much the teachers I’m concerned about as the kids. When I went to school there, it wasn’t cool to be smart. I don’t want him to hide his intelligence in order to fit in.”

“Is that what you did?”

The man was far too perceptive. “No, but I’m female, so I didn’t mind being considered a nerd.” Well, not too much. There had been times when she’d longed to be part of the popular group, but she hadn’t been willing to change who she was just to belong.

“So you weren’t a cheerleader.” He sounded almost approving.

She shook her head. “You probably knew a lot of those.” She had discovered from her research that he’d been a standout athlete from high school on. Picturing him with a buxom cheerleader on each arm provoked a misplaced stab of jealousy.

“Yeah.” There was no enthusiasm in his response. The jealousy evaporated.

“You’re from Texas.” She gave in to the urge to know more about him than just the facts everyone read on Google. “Do you miss it?”

“I go back summers, so I satisfy my taste for wide open spaces then.”

“Is space what you miss the most? I can see how New York wouldn’t give you much of that.”

“One of the reasons I bought the condo at the Pinnacle was because it looks out toward the Statue of Liberty and the Verrazano Bridge. Makes me feel like I have some room.”

She’d seen his presence on a football field, the way he dominated the swirl of bodies around him. He probably did feel the need for space. “It’s a beautiful view.”

He gave her that long, assessing look of his. He focused every ounce of his attention on her, and it was a lot to bear up under, but it also made her feel as though he believed she was worth it. It was probably a well-rehearsed trick of his, and she needed to resist the illusion.

“I want you to talk to me straight,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“That comment about the beautiful view. That’s concierge-speak. Just talk. Like I’m your friend.” He softened his command with a wink.

She felt weirdly disappointed at his request. Even friendship with this man was a gift beyond any normal expectation. What more did she want?

She opened her mouth and then shut it again when she realized she was about to spout a cliché.

He unfolded his arms and held out his hand to her. “Friends.”

As she put her hand in his, a little shiver of heat sizzled through her. His skin was warm and dry. His grip was strong but not overwhelming. He probably muted it when shaking hands with mere mortals.

“Friends.” She returned his grip and found herself wanting to hold on because his strength was so reassuring. If you needed him, he wouldn’t let go of you. That had to be another one of those illusions he created. As a quarterback, he needed people to trust him.

The car glided to a stop, and he released her hand. The driver’s voice came through the speaker. “We’re at the entrance, Ms. Tate.”

Luke slid his sunglasses back into place.

“You shouldn’t need those,” Miranda said. “I arranged for us to come in a back entrance. I figured that would lessen the chance that a photographer would spot you going in.”