The Player's Club: Lincoln (9 page)

He wondered if she thought the whole place was lame.

“I didn’t see you living someplace like this.”

“Someplace like what?” He hated the defensive note in his voice.

“It’s homey,” she said. “It seems really comfortable.”

“What, I’m not comfortable?” He asked it with a small chuckle.

She turned to him, her eyes darkening, like the deep, velvety purple of wet pansies. “You’re anything but comfortable, darling,” she purred.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, his body tightening. He got a whiff of her perfume: something floral, with dominant notes of violet and lilac. She was wearing a dress again; formfitting this time, like something out of a Fellini movie. She looked like a silver-screen goddess. “Why aren’t you an actress?” he blurted out.

She turned to him, amused. “Sorry?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” So much for home-court advantage. He started to gesture her over to one of the couches, then remembered that their track record with couches was spotty at best. Instead, he motioned her toward the deck. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thanks. I’d rather get this over with.”

Well. Obviously she wasn’t here to seduce him. He wasn’t sure what he should feel about that. He’d damned well better be relieved, he scolded himself. They sat at the café table he’d set up. She was taking in the view. “Very nice,” she said softly.

“So, what do you have to show me?”

She pulled out a small portable DVD player. “Here you go.”

He turned it on, then watched. The quality wasn’t bad for a handheld, he realized; he also realized that she’d filmed herself in her own living room. He’d know that couch anywhere.

Enough with the couches. Focus.

He frowned.

“Hi!” the screen version of Juliana said brightly. “My name’s Juliana Mayfield, and these are my five rules for living....”

He watched, grinning slightly, as she went through a quick, five-minute spiel, largely full of platitudes of the fortune-cookie variety, ending with a wink and a smile so dazzlingly bright that it could probably cause a sunburn. He glanced at her, his eyebrow quirking in question.

She was smiling, too, although her eyes were fierce. “First challenge was filming something about my life rules,” she said, then pointed to the video. “That takes care of that. And I’ve got here two letters that I wrote to my parents, telling them how I felt about them. I made copies before I sent them, just in case.” She handed them over. She also handed over a candy bar.

“Thanks, I’m not hungry,” he said, and she laughed.

“That’s not for you. That’s proof. I stole it from a drugstore.”

His eyes widened. “Shoplifting?”

“Granted, it’s not
To Catch a Thief,
” she said wryly, “but I did steal something.”

He stared at her. Then he laughed.

She smiled back at him. “What’s so funny?”

“None of this counts,” he said. “You didn’t really think it would, did you?”

Her expression tightened. “I know it might not fulfill the spirit of the law, but it follows the letter.”

“Yeah, but we’re not the law.” He smirked. “If I told Finn about this, he’d admire your ingenuity. For about two seconds. Then he’d tell you just what I’m telling you—this doesn’t count.”

“You’re just trying to shut me down. You’ve never liked me, and never wanted me in your precious club,” she huffed, getting to her feet. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, this,” he said, pointing to the video, “is a scam. If you’re going to do this, you need to do it all the way.”

“I do everything all the way,” she said, standing in front of him. She poked a finger argumentatively at him, her eyes blazing. “I just hate wasting my time!”

He stood up, toe-to-toe with her. “Not everything’s easy, princess,” he bit out coldly. “Especially not the club. You want to get in, you’re going to need to sweat it out and do something you fear…just like everybody else did.”

She let out a quiet shriek of exasperation. “Do you like ruining everyone’s life, or just mine?”

“Are you a spoiled brat with everyone else, or just me?”

They stood like that for a second, staring at each other, tension and frustration humming between them. His eyes locked with hers.

Then his body started bowing, inevitably, toward her. She put a hand up on his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was to stop him from getting closer, or just a starting point to touching him.

“What the hell is it with you?” he asked between clenched teeth. “You piss me off like no one I’ve ever met in my life. And every other second, all I can think of is…”

He bit back a curse.

“I know.” She sounded puzzled. And breathless. “I don’t even like you.”

He laughed. “That’s good. Because you drive me up a wall.”

She leaned in. He took a deep breath, and the smell of her made him weak. His hands reached out, not touching her…just gently skimming an inch or so away from her flesh.

“You’re going to have to do everything over,” he said, and his voice rasped slightly. He balled his hands into fists, then released them and brushed his fingertips against her cheek. So soft, he thought. She leaned against his hand for a second. “I’m not going to go easy on you, either. If you want to pass, I want to be present for every single challenge. You don’t get a go-ahead until I say you’re finished.”

“Slave driver,” she said. No,
purred.
He could feel the heat coming off her…or was that his own heat? God knew his body felt as if it was on fire.

“Count on it.” He let his lips brush over her temple, barely, just a whisper of flesh against flesh. Then, shuddering, he stepped back, putting some distance between them.

She looked a little disoriented. Then she tilted her head, studying him. “Why…?”

Why was he stopping himself? He wondered that, as well. He let out a strangled laugh. “You don’t even like me.”

“Well, yes,” she said, frowning. “But some part of you obviously likes some part of me a hell of a lot.”

“And vice versa,” he defended, then shook his head. “We haven’t had a lot of women in the club, and we’re fixing that. But I think that getting physically involved with a pledge I’ve agreed to mentor is probably a bad idea.”

Her expression was one of bafflement and suspicion…and something gentle, glowing in her eyes, that he couldn’t quite describe. “You’re really a throwback, you know? A genuine white knight.” She sighed, putting her weight on one leg, an unconsciously sexy pose. “Why do you do all this, Lincoln?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” she answered quietly.

It was tempting, he admitted. And because it was, he shook his head.

“Maybe I can show you,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Up for having some drinks in Marin?”

6

AN HOUR AND HALF LATER, Juliana was sitting in the bar of Frantoio, an upscale restaurant in Mill Valley. The place was nice, she thought, sipping a light Pinot Grigio that she was making sure Lincoln paid for. It looked like a villa in Florence; it even had a working olive-oil-production section, apparently. She sort of wished she could have dinner, but that wasn’t the point of this exercise, apparently.

She glanced over at Lincoln, who was barely touching his Stone Pale Ale. Instead, he was looking around at the other diners.

“So why am I here, again?” she asked softly.

Lincoln sent her a sideways smile that had her heart speeding up a little. She crossed her legs, shifting her balance on the bar stool and forcing her body to calm down.

“You can’t participate in any of the player activities,” he pointed out, “but you can help a fellow pledge. Right now, I get the feeling he’s going to need some moral support.”

Other pledge? Oh, she remembered. The sweet, nerdy guy in the other folding chair. She couldn’t even remember his name. “Well, we’re not painting anything, and this isn’t the Taj Mahal,” she said, “so I guess he’s going to open up to that girl he’s in love with.”

“And from what Tucker tells me, he’s nervous as hell,” Lincoln said, with a sympathy that surprised her. “By the way, thanks for, ah, adjusting your look. The last thing Terrence needs for this challenge is a bunch of photographers around. He’s queasy enough.”

“No problem,” she said, even as she squirmed. She’d thrown a sweater over her dress and put her hair up; even wore a pair of squared-off glasses that she bought as a gag, to look more “intellectual.” It was a little disconcerting to actively try to avoid attention, though.

Lincoln sent her another sidelong glance, and she felt her body tingle to life. Apparently, demure worked for him. She felt her lips curve into a smile, felt herself lean toward him like metal to a lodestone....

Just how hot do you think he’ll feel about you when he finds out you’ve got a hidden camera on you?

That thought was like being doused with a fire hose. She sat back on the bar stool, chastened. The camera was attached to a pin she had on her dress. Tonight’s challenge might be boring, but it was proof that she really was in with the players…and who knew? Maybe she could get something salvageable out of it.

She knew Lincoln was wiggy about paparazzi, and she doubted he’d ever come on board with signing a video release. Still, this wasn’t going to be used for the show. She just needed the green light. The ends, as her father always said, justified the means.

She was pretty sure he’d stolen that from someone. But he was an actor, after all—it wasn’t theft, it was
craft.

“Here’s our boy now,” Lincoln murmured.

She glanced over and saw Terrence walk in, nerves screaming in every gesture, every stride. He was wearing a T-shirt that said The Force Is Strong with This One.

“God,” she whispered. “Couldn’t one of you have dressed him before sending him?” Lincoln looked more closely at Terrence after her comment, then winced, sighing. But when Terrence met his gaze, Lincoln smiled with encouragement, nodding and giving a discreet thumbs-up.

“Where’s the girl?” she whispered, taking a sip of her wine. “His high-school crush?”

“Over at that table, the blonde,” Lincoln said. “Don’t look.”

She rolled her eyes, then sized up Terrence’s target. About twenty-five years old, she noticed, dressed in a knee-length red skirt with matching jacket and a white silk tank. Her hair was cut razor sharp and her cosmetics were flawless, albeit a little too matchy matchy for Juliana’s taste. She was wearing some red shoes that looked like Louboutin knockoffs and a candy-apple-red patent-leather purse.

Power suit,
Juliana surmised, with the quick addition of
trying too hard.

“How’d you know she’d be here?”

Lincoln smirked. “We have our ways. All right, game on.”

Terrence made his way over to the white-linen-covered table. It was before the dinner rush, but there were still diners seated around them, their conversations hushed and refined.

“Heidi?” Terrence said. His voice bobbled slightly. She was pretty sure she could see him sweating, even from as far away as the bar.

Juliana suddenly had a quick, painful premonition of doom.

The blonde looked up from her chicken-Caesar salad. “Do I know you?”

“Um, you used to,” Terrence replied, with a laugh. Nervous laugh. Juliana’s palms started to sweat in sympathy. “We went to high school together. I’m Terrence. Terrence Smith?”

The blonde stared at him blankly.

“From, ah, chemistry. And French class.”

The stare never wavered. Juliana finished the rest of her wine in two quick gulps.

Terrence rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “And, um, I gave you a ride home, junior year. When the bus broke down. Remember?”

“Oh, right.” Her eyes narrowed as recognition bloomed. “It’s been a while.” She didn’t invite him to sit down, and irritation was clear when he did.

Lincoln leaned closer to Juliana, and she was momentarily distracted by the spice of his cologne. He smelled delicious. “Terrence’s sponsor, Tucker, looks like he’s ready to kick her ass,” he said, nodding at the blond man who was glaring at Heidi from another table.