Chapter 8

EIGHT

Shane was still seething as he held the passenger door to his Lincoln Navigator open for Carly. As elegantly as was possible considering the circumstances, she climbed up into the SUV, gathering the skirt of her dress up under her. The car wasn't exactly made for women in high heels and evening gowns, but he didn't like cramming himself inside a tiny sports car. He needed space. As he walked around to the driver's side, he ripped at his bow tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar. Enough of the monkey suit.

Climbing in beside Carly, his hands tightly gripped the steering wheel. He took a deep breath before glancing over at her. She sat with her eyes closed, her head leaning back against the headrest. Man, what a night, he thought as he looked out over the hotel's drive. He could have killed that bastard Thompkins. If Donovan hadn't come along, he very well might have. Thoughts of what might have happened if he hadn't gone looking for Carly made his palms sweat. He didn't even know why he'd gone looking for her, except that he missed her. Boredom had set in within two minutes of her leaving the table. Trying to calm his thoughts, he dragged in another breath .

"You okay?" Carly asked softly. He turned to look at her. The interior of the car was dark, but he could see her cheek silhouetted against the street lights. Reaching over, he traced a finger along the spot on her shoulder where Joel had grabbed her.

"I should be asking you that," he said. "I don't think he left too much of a mark."

"I'm fine." Her battle cry for the past hour. She gave him another one of those fake grins she'd given to her sister and Coach. The darkness of the car's interior obscured her eyes. He desperately wanted to know if she was really okay.

"Let's just go home," she said. With a sigh, he started the car. He slid in a jazz CD and Carly once again rested her head against the seatback. She seemed content to just be in the car with him. He was astounded at how well she was taking the events of the past hour. Most women he knew would be hysterical by now, but not Carly. Growing up in a media fishbowl had obviously toughened her up. It was almost as if she were resigned to her fate. The thought made Shane's gut clench.

Braking for a red light, he looked over at her again. She was still leaning against the headrest, but her eyes were open and she was staring at him.

"Thank you," she said.

"We're not there yet. Don't thank me until you've arrived at your door in one piece."

Her lips curved into a soft smile as she gently shook her head from side to side.

"No. Thank you for earlier. For, you know, dealing with Joel."

Shane swallowed. God, she made it sound so simple. As if guys tried to force themselves on her and she needed rescuing all the time. His fists clenched more tightly on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white .

"Don't mention it. I have a reputation as a brawler, remember?" he quipped.

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she reached over to lightly caress his right hand where it rested on the steering wheel. He flinched as she grazed a bruised knuckle.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, quickly pulling her hand away. He hadn't flinched from pain, but he didn't bother telling her that. This was getting complicated. The sooner he got her home and got the hell away, the better. He needed his familiar safety net of isolation.

"No," he said as he lifted the bruised hand and flexed it.

"Hank won't sleep a wink until a trainer looks at it on Monday."

"It'll be fine by then. Don't worry."

The light turned green and Shane focused his attention back on the road. The only sounds in the car were the purr of the engine and John Legend's piano. His plans for a quick getaway evaporated as they reached her town house. She hadn't bothered to leave a light on. Silently, she sat staring at her front door. Shane would be a heel to let her go in alone after the night she'd had. Not to mention the coach would have his balls if he did. Getting out of the car, he walked around to help her out of the passenger side. She didn't say a word as he reached in the back to take out a foam container. Gently, he guided her up the steps and stood as she unlocked the door. Her hand didn't shake, which he supposed was a good sign. Turning on lights as he went, he guided her into the house. When he walked into the kitchen, he carefully placed the container on the counter. He turned to find Carly standing directly behind him, one hand still clutching the lapels of his jacket around her neck. She looked calmer, more like herself, here in the light of her kitchen. Definitely a good sign.

"What's in there?" she asked, gesturing to the container .

"Ahh," he said, pleased with himself. "Dessert to go."

He opened the container to reveal a perfect slice of chocolate mousse cheesecake, complete with whipped cream and a raspberry on top. Carly's face lit up. A man can never go wrong giving a woman chocolate.

"Where did you get that?"

"I had the waiter box up your piece while I was getting the car. You seemed so excited about the dessert when you were talking with your nieces; I didn't want you to miss it." Shane also wanted to erase the look of vulnerability he'd seen on her face when he'd come upon Joel mauling her in the hallway. He was still coming to terms with the scene himself, and he could only imagine how Carly felt. No woman should ever have to go through what she'd endured earlier. Shane didn't regret punching the little prick. He'd have done it for any woman. The fact that it was Carly getting attacked didn't make his reaction any more intense. At least that was what he was telling himself.

"You didn't bring yourself a piece?" she asked. "I suppose I could be persuaded to share. After all, you did beat up a guy for me earlier." He absently rubbed at his chest in reaction to the pleasure flickering in her eyes. Despite everything that had happened this evening, the attraction between them still hummed. Common sense dictated that he leave her safely tucked away in her home with her dessert and get the hell out of Dodge.

"In that case, bring on the forks." Apparently, he'd left his common sense out in the car. Taking a seat on the bar stool at the end of the counter, he watched as she bustled around the kitchen, transferring the cake to a plate and grabbing two forks. She pulled two mugs from a cabinet.

"Would you like some coffee? It's decaf."

Hell no! He needed a stiff drink after the night he'd had. "Sure," he said instead.

She filled the carafe and turned on the brewer, then reached into the freezer and pulled out an ice pack.

"Here, put this on your hand. I'm just going to clean up a little while the coffee brews." She slipped out of his jacket and laid it carefully on the other bar stool. Shane's breath hissed as he saw the mark Thompkins had left on her neck. She followed his gaze and reached up to rub the spot.

"It doesn't hurt," she said. "Lisa must have put a whole tube of antibiotic cream on it." She disappeared upstairs somewhere as Shane unclipped his cuff links and rolled up his sleeves. As he looked around for a TV remote, he put the ice pack on his battered hand. Although given the way his body was reacting to Carly, he'd be smart to put it somewhere else. Of course, if Shane were really smart, he wouldn't be sitting in her kitchen.

Carly brushed her teeth for a full five minutes. Lisa had cleaned and disinfected the bruise Joel left on her neck while they were waiting for the police. But now Carly needed to get the taste of him out of her mouth. She really should take a shower and crawl into bed, but Lisa had been right, Carly didn't want to be alone. Shane Devlin was the last person she should be alone with, but her family was still at the gala. Certainly she could have a cup of coffee with the man without losing her head. Unclipping her hair, she brushed it out, removing the heavy sapphire dangle earrings as she went. She decided to leave the dress on. Shane was still in his tux, after all.

It looked like Shane had no trouble locating the remote to her TV because he was watching SportsCenter when she came downstairs. When he saw her, he changed the channel to the cable company's jazz station. Pouring them each a cup of coffee, she took a seat on the opposite bar stool.

"Well, at least he didn't tear your dress," Shane said out of nowhere.

"Ohmigod! Can you imagine?" Carly laughed as she stirred cream and sugar into her mug. "Julianne would hunt him down and castrate him if he had!"

Shane chuckled as he took a sip of his coffee.

"How'd you and Julianne meet anyway?" he asked.

"Boarding school," she said wistfully. "Molly likes to think it was a scene out of The Parent Trap, but nothing could be further from the truth. The headmistress put us together because we had both lived mostly in Europe—Julianne's father is an ambassador—and we'd both recently lost our mothers. Aside from that, though, we had nothing in common. She is artistic—which is a polite way of saying she's a bit of a slob to share a room with. And she was the ultimate party girl in school. She knew everyone on campus and they all loved her. I, on the other hand, just wanted to bury my nose in a book and have everyone ignore me. I'd been homeschooled by my mom as we traveled around for her work, and boarding school was my first real exposure to the whole school experience." Carly took a sip of her coffee, her mind drifting back through the years.

"Julianne is a force of nature," she said with a grin. "She wasn't going to let me hide out in our dorm room. The other girls weren't as friendly, really cliquey. I was kind of the odd girl out with a very different life experience. The other girls weren't quite sure what to do with me and I didn't really have the social skills to stand up for myself. Julianne took me under her wing. I think I was her first pet project. She didn't care about what the other girls said about it. That's when I realized that Julianne was her own person and always would be. I've been devoted to her ever since."

"Your friend was speaking Italian in Cabo. One of the bartenders at the resort claimed she was from a mob family. Was he telling the truth?" he asked.

"No," she laughed. "Her brother is a U.S. senator! I think Julianne secretly wished she was a Mafia princess. Her way of dealing with her mother's death was to create a whole fantasy life. It's what makes her such a fabulous designer today."

Carly looked up from her coffee at Shane. His eyes were dark and contemplative. She almost asked him how he had dealt with his own mother's death, but given his track record of avoiding all conversations involving his family, she decided against it.

"It helped that we both bonded against our evil stepmothers. Her father remarried a twenty-seven-year-old flight attendant from Brazil. She's only a year younger than Julianne's brother. Can you imagine?" she asked.

"Is she hot?" Shane asked, a lopsided grin on his face. Carly rolled her eyes at him.

"Of course!" she laughed. "Why else would we hate her?"

"Hugh and your stepmother aren't hard to hate either," he said. His face had hardened again.

"Yeah, well, you can't really blame them." It had become second nature to Carly to defend them. "They weren't exactly looking for another kid. They've mostly let me be."

Shane shook his head and huffed.

"What about your dad?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject. "Do you see him much?"

He stiffened in the chair. When he raised his eyes to her, they were black as night. Too late, she realized that her attempt to change the subject had only increased Shane's ire.

"No," he said. Draining his coffee, he set the mug down on the counter with a thump. "He's not a part of my life and I'm not a part of his. "

"Why?" She regretted asking as soon as the word left her mouth. This wasn't a safe topic. She could feel it.

Abruptly standing, he paced a circle around her small living room, running his hands through his hair as he walked. When he turned to her, his face was taut with strain. He seemed to be debating something with himself. But then he spoke, his voice soft but lethal.

"The other day, you asked me if I had a problem with my dad."

It was a statement, but Carly heard the question implied within. She tried to swallow, her mouth becoming suddenly dry, not sure whether she should let this conversation continue. Her curiosity got the better of her though and she nodded.

Shane let out a brief snort. "The Bruce Devlin the media portrays is a fake. The real-life version is a rotten SOB who abandoned his family when they needed him the most." He paused to run another hand through his hair. When he spoke again, his eyes looked everywhere but at her. "My dad tried to escape the only career option open to him. He didn't want to spend his life as a coal miner. So he worked hard at the one thing he knew. He threw a ball."

Carly's body tensed as Shane spoke. She knew he and his father weren't close, but the vehemence in his voice was a bit startling. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know the reasons Shane obviously hated his father.

"I'm not sure how," he continued. "Luck, I guess, but he got a scholarship at a small university. It was an hour away from where he grew up, but to him it may as well have been a continent away. He was the big man on campus from the day he arrived. The dean of the school worked the media like a Madison Avenue professional to get attention for my father and the school. If they only knew what he would turn into."

Carly stifled a shiver at the force of his words. She was familiar with Bruce Devlin's story, having read the synopsis of the elder Devlin's bestselling biography when the team was considering signing Shane. Clasping her hands in her lap and waiting for rest of the story to unfold, she knew Shane's version of events would differ from the book.

Shane's voice was a flat monotone as he continued. "When my dad knocked up a local townie, the dean was the one holding the shotgun at the wedding. My dad had enough sense to do what was asked. He knew football was his only means of escaping the life of all the Devlins before him."

As he began to pace again, Carly's hands gripped the seat of the bar stool.

"He married my mother, but that was it. They were like two kids playing house when I was born. He won the Heisman, got drafted in the top three picks, and promptly set my mom and me up in a house in West Chester, Pennsylvania. I'm not even sure he ever lived with us. He showed up for photo spreads and Christmas card pictures, but not much else. He was just going through the motions with us."

Shane looked at her then. She opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Her heart ached for the little boy Shane had been. It was a childhood she could easily relate to.

"Yeah, I know what you are thinking," he said, his tone clipped and bitter. "He was just a kid. But so was I. So was my mother." His voice softened as he spoke of her. "She was great. She took me everywhere. She did everything with me. When I started school, I think it broke her heart to have me gone all day. Of course, this was around the time my dad blew out his shoulder. Instead of coming home, he began the drinking and the drugs. My mother got sick when I was in the second grade. She suffered through two years of chemo while my father boozed and snorted his way around the country feeling sorry for himself. He showed up a couple of weeks before she died. "

"He seems to have gotten his life back on track now," Carly said softly. Shane whirled on her, his eyes angrier than Joel's had been earlier. Surprisingly, she didn't feel the same fear. Reining in his temper, he stared at her. Briefly, she glimpsed the vulnerable boy he'd once been, but then he tamped down the emotion.

"Yeah. Like your friend's father, he went and got himself a trophy wife and a new family." He didn't bother to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"Don't you ever see your half-brother?" she asked. Carly couldn't imagine not having Lisa in her life.

"No," he all but sneered at her. "They keep the good child away from the bad seed."

"Oh, Shane," Carly said as she stood and walked over to him. She stopped inches from him, the tension rolling off his body in waves. Not trusting herself to keep from touching him, she wrapped her arms around her middle. They stood like that, toe to toe, staring at one another for several minutes before Shane closed his eyes, seemingly fighting his own inner battles.

"You know what I think, Shane Devlin?" she whispered. A muscle twitched on the side of his mouth as he opened his steely eyes. "I think the bad-boy persona you've cultivated all these years is just a ruse. A way to get back at your dad for hurting you. You'd like everyone to think you a selfish jerk, but I know for a fact you're not."

His eyes hardened at her words and Shane stepped around her to pace her small living room.

"Wow, Carly," he tossed over his shoulder. "You've been reading your sister's psychoanalysis books. That's quite a diagnosis."

Lisa would have a field day psychoanalyzing Shane, Carly thought as she turned to watch him pace. But she wasn't being fair. She hated when her sister analyzed her. Although something told her peeling back Shane Devlin's layers would be a much tougher challenge for Lisa.

Carly wanted to say she was sorry. Sorry for what he had gone through. Sorry for bringing the subject up. But she knew how empty the words would sound. She'd heard them too many times in reference to her own life. So she tried to steer the conversation back to lighter waters.

"Well," she said, clearing the coffee mugs. "Your story earns you sympathy, but you won't get the big box of tissues until it's been played out on the big screen and on cable every week."

Shane stood in the center of the room, hands on his hips. She'd startled him, she knew, but after a few seconds, he shook his head and laughed. The sound resonated throughout the small area. Carly crossed her arms under her breasts and stared at him. The action seemed to startle him more. He slowly walked over to her, the hunger returning to his eyes. Her breath hitched. He glanced down at the cheesecake on the counter beside her and a slow grin spread over his face.

"I go to all the trouble to snare you your favorite dessert and you haven't even touched it." He shook his head at her as he sat on the bar stool and speared a piece of the cheesecake with a fork.

Carly's mouth went dry again. Shane was waving the fork in front of her face until she had no choice but to open. The dessert tasted like sawdust, but the whipped cream was cool to her hot lips. She licked some off her lower lip. Shane swallowed. His knuckles were white where he gripped the fork. Reverently, he closed his eyes.

"Dammit, Carly," he whispered. "I'm so tired of avoiding this."

She took a step closer and stood between his knees, gently placing a hand on each of his hard thighs. His eyes shot open.

"So am I." It was as if another woman had taken over her body. Carly knew she should not be getting involved with Shane, but she didn't care anymore. He was right; she was tired of avoiding the incredible pull between them, too.

He put his hands on her waist, his thumbs reverently caressing her hipbones.

"Maybe"—his breath fanned her ear as she swayed into him—"we should just go ahead and get it out of our systems. Then we can move on to being . . ."

"Friendly coworkers?" she finished for him, her lips tracing his jaw.

"With benefits," he said just before his mouth seized hers. When he swept his tongue in, she met it with her own, his erection jumping against her stomach. Like their previous encounters, the heat between them was almost instantaneous. She feverishly kissed him back, her hands dragging through his hair. His fingers fisted in the flimsy fabric of her dress as he bit her bottom lip. Suddenly, he tore his mouth away and rubbed his hands on her bare arms, pushing her back slightly.

"Carly." His voice was raspy as he struggled for control. Her arms tingled where he rubbed them. He leaned his forehead against hers as he caught his breath. "I've been fantasizing about getting you out of this dress all night. But right now, if I touch it, I'll rip it."

She smiled provocatively as she took a step out of his warm embrace. Her eyes never left his as she reached up behind her head and untied the knot holding her dress in place. His eyes followed the fabric as it slithered down her body and pooled at her feet. He stood as his gaze slowly traveled back up her body, taking in her silk stockings, the garter belt that held them up, and her lacy bustier. He let out a slow breath that came out sounding a lot like holy shit.

"That may be better than the dress," he whispered.

Stepping over the fabric lying in heap on the floor, Carly trailed her fingers up his torso and began to undo the studs on his shirt. Strong fingers traced along the skin of her back, leaving a trail of heat in their path. She kissed his throat as she continued her task, slowly rubbing her lower body against him. His lips cruised over her shoulders. Carly winced as his mouth came in contact with the bruise Joel had given her.

"Jesus, Carly!" He jerked back, his hands dropping to his sides as if she'd burned him. "I shouldn't be doing this. Not after what that bastard nearly did to you tonight."

Carly fisted her hands in his shirt, trying to pull him closer. She didn't want to lose contact. Shane's face was drawn, a sheen of perspiration forming on his forehead.

"No," she begged. "Don't you dare stop now, Shane. I need you. I need to feel a man's hands on me. A man whose hands I want to feel on me. Please!" The last came out in a desperate whisper.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Carly." But he'd stopped backing away. His eyes were more focused again. Their smoldering heat focused on her lips. She leaned back into the circle of his arms. With one hand, she cupped the back of his neck, bringing his mouth down toward hers. With the other, she cupped his still-throbbing erection.

"You won't hurt me," she said before kissing him. Contemplating the reasons she trusted this man so implicitly would have to be for another time. Carly just wanted to shut her mind off and lose herself in the warm body standing in front of her.

Whatever chivalrous objections Shane had disappeared once she started kissing him. He shed his shirt in one easy move. Pushing down Carly's bustier, he gently bent her over the back of the bar stool giving him better access to her nipple. As he wrapped his mouth around it, a breathy sigh escaped her and she lightly ran her nails down his muscled back. Heat pooled between her legs and her caresses became more urgent. He responded by taking a nipple in her mouth and sucking. Carly moaned, snaking a leg up the back of his thigh.

"Wrap your legs around me," he urged before taking her mouth in another deep kiss. Lifting her up, he carried her over to the sofa. Gingerly, he laid her down on her back, his mouth never leaving hers. She kept her legs wrapped around him, her hips grinding against his erection. She was so incredibly aroused that she nearly came as her body rubbed against his vibrating arousal.

Vibrating?

"Shane!" she cried as she pulled out of the kiss. "Oh. My. God!"

He jerked up on his forearms and reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Carly felt the blush spread from her face to her exposed chest. How embarrassing! She'd nearly climaxed because of his cell phone. She couldn't help it; a giggle escaped.

"And I thought you had magic power in those pants," she teased. Absently, he placed the cell phone on the photo shelf above their heads. A sly smile came over his face as he looked at her. A lock of hair hung in the middle of his forehead. His eyes deepened to a smoky gray.

"One of those girls, huh?" His voice was husky as he slid farther down her belly, his long legs hanging off the sofa's edge.

"Shane!" Her body was so tense, she jumped as his tongue cruised the inside of her navel.

He just shook his head and slid lower. Expertly, he unsnapped her garters and skimmed a fingertip between her legs. Another moan escaped her. He dragged his tongue against her inner thigh; his five-o'clock shadow stung as it brushed against the tender skin. Her hips bucked at the pain and the pleasure of it. Pressing them back down with one hand, the other dipped between her thighs. Watching her intently, he slowly placed a finger inside her.

"Please, Shane," she said, reaching out to grab his shoulders. "Come back so I can touch you."

"Huh-uh," he mumbled. "You'll get your chance. Right now, I want to show you that the real thing is better than the toys." Grinning widely, he slowly lowered his chin, his eyes never leaving hers. With his finger he stroked her intimately, following it up with his tongue. Throwing her head back against the cushions, she gasped for breath as he tasted her with his mouth. She dragged her hands through his hair as his tongue pulsed inside her. He found her sweet spot and coaxed it with his tongue. Carly's back arched as she came, brilliant shards of light dancing behind her eyelids. He sucked harder and she heard a scream: hers. Her body was too satisfied to register any embarrassment.

"Oh God, that's amaz— Oowh!" The vibrating cell phone fell from the shelf, hitting her in the nose.

Swearing, he crawled up her body to lie on top of her. His erection throbbed against her thigh as he fished the phone off the floor. Snapping the phone open to check the text, he sat up suddenly, Carly's legs scissoring his body. For a long moment, he stared at the phone, the blue light of its text screen shining on his face. Feeling the tension rising up in his body, she bit her lip. Her own body, languid from her orgasm, began to come to life again.

"Shane?" she asked gently, her hand stroking his arm. "What is it?" He didn't answer, continuing to stare blindly ahead. A slow knot of tension began to form in her back as she sat up more fully to caress his shoulder.

"It's my father." She almost didn't hear him, he spoke so softly.

"Bruce called you? "

"No."

When he finally turned toward her, she caught a glimpse of true pain on his face. It was fleeting before his eyes became hard again.

"He's dead."