His Seduction Game Plan (2 page)

But she knew what she'd find. Athlete, NFL superstar. Probably had more confidence than Hercules after he'd done all of his labors. It didn't matter that she'd come here to forget her last breakup and figure out her messed-up relationship with her dad. Her mom had made an offhand comment that perhaps by not resolving the past she was repeating it by dating men who were emotionally unavailable.

Ugh.

Her mom was right but still.

Hunter...he intrigued her.

Why?

Because being attracted to a former player was easier to deal with than her dad. She knew that. Her daddy issues weren't all that exotic or hard to figure out.

It was boring here at her father's house. Especially since he wouldn't really see her except at mealtimes.

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she quickly saved the article she'd been writing and jumped up to see who was coming.

Hunter.

He looked...well, almost angry.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

“You seem upset,” she said.

“Upset? You don't spend a lot of time with men, do you?” he asked.

“I do,” she said. “Not that it's any of your business. Why would you say that?”

“Sorry, Ferrin, I'm pissed, not upset. I guess maybe you hang out with a classier group of men than I do.”

She doubted it. Stuffier maybe, but classier? She wouldn't call the psych department classy. “Pissed, eh? Why? I told you he's not really recovered yet.”

“I know,” Hunter said, then gave her a look that was, well, calculating. “Coach said that the college had sent everything from his office over here. I was wondering—could I take a look at it?”

“Why?”

“Well, the truth is, I needed some information I thought Coach had. He can't remember the details but I know that they used to keep track of some of that stuff.”

“What stuff?” she asked.

“Videotapes from workouts at the gym and stuff from the practice field,” he said. “Would you consider letting me look through the boxes?”

“What did Coach say?”

“Nothing. He didn't answer me when I asked. In fact, he didn't say much while I was in there,” Hunter said.

That was strange, she thought. “I wonder why. He loves to relive the glory days.”

“I'm searching for some answers about things that happened in old college football days. I was really hoping Coach could help.”

The sincerity in his voice and that tightness in his stance communicated his determination. She thought it over. She had nothing else to do during the day while her father ignored her, and she'd always fancied herself a Nancy Drew type.

“Let me see what I can find out from him,” Ferrin said. She wanted to double-check with Coach and make sure he was okay with her letting Hunter go through his papers. “Why don't you come back tomorrow?”

He came closer to her then and she noticed how green his eyes were. Like the fields on the first days of spring. He was handsome—there was no denying that—with his thick dark hair, classic features and lightly trimmed beard. His jaw was strong, his nose straight as a blade, his brows thick but not too thick. She wondered if he had the golden triangle proportions. He must. He was one of the handsomest men she'd ever seen.

“Couldn't you ask now?” he asked, arching one eyebrow at her. “That way we could look and then I'll take you to dinner.”

“Um...dinner?”

“Yes. I'd like to get know you better, Ferrin. It's been a while since I've done anything fun. Plus I sort of owe you after being a bit of a jerk.”

Fun.
He thought dinner with her would be fun. She sighed. “I'll ask Coach tonight about the papers. He has physical therapy now and then he'll be napping.”

“Fair enough. I shouldn't have been so pushy,” Hunter said. He rubbed his hand over his chest, drawing her gaze to the way his shirt fit the muscles of his shoulders.

“So dinner. I'll pick you up at six,” he said.

“You will? Shouldn't you ask me?” She wasn't sure what he was up to. It was clear that he'd changed gears when he realized she wouldn't be budged. Even knowing he was probably trying to get something from her wasn't enough to make her say no.

She hadn't been out on a date in a long time. She'd broken up with Roger before Christmas, and really that relationship had been dying for at least three months before then. If nothing else, going out with Hunter would provide her some distraction from all the gloom that seemed to cling to this house, and to her while she was living in it.

“Apologies,” he said. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

She tipped her head to the side, pretending to think it over.

“I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“You said it yourself. I'm used to classy,” she said. Even though she wasn't. But she didn't want to make this too easy for him. With that pretty face and muscled body, she doubted he ever had to work hard to get a date.

“Oh, I'll give you classy, Ferrin,” he said. “You just wait and see. I'll be back at six.”

“I'll be ready at six thirty,” she said.

He threw his head back and laughed. “You're a minx.”

Doubtful. But she was tired of the same-old, same-old, and Hunter promised something different.

“Six thirty then. Dress classy.”

“As if I'd do anything else,” she said, leading him down the hall. She opened the front door and leaned back against it as he brushed past her. He stopped and leaned down, putting his hand on the bottom of her chin.

Dinner suddenly seemed like more than just a break in the routine. She suspected he might want something from her but that was okay. She wanted something from him, too. A chance to remember she was young and single. Maybe make a memory in California that wasn't laced with guilt and disappointment.

Two

R
ocky Point Restaurant was famous in Carmel-by-the-Sea for its views of the Big Sur coastline. And since Ferrin had mentioned not being out of the house since she'd arrived, Hunter thought she'd enjoy being around other people. Plus, if he was completely honest, he really didn't trust himself alone with her.

He might have gone to the Gainer house to see Coach and get answers, but tonight he was torn. Right now, his focus was on seeing Ferrin and a part of him—granted, a small part—didn't even care if she let him see Coach's boxes from his office.

She wore her thick, black curly hair down and it brushed the tops of her shoulders, which were left bare by her bohemian-style top. The blouse was a sea-blue color and she'd paired it with slim-fitting white jeans that made her legs seem even longer than they had earlier in those shorts. She had on heels, which made her only a few inches shorter than his six-two frame.

And as they walked from the parking lot to the restaurant, he was aware of people watching them. For a moment he forget he was Hunter Caruthers, famous for being accused of the Frat House Murder, and pretended people just noticed a good-looking couple.

But as soon as they got closer, people turned away and gave them a wide berth.

He cursed under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. I thought going out would put you at ease but I might have misjudged this. Everyone here knows me.”

She put her hand on his arm, her touch light and delicate. “That doesn't matter. They don't know the real you.”

“You don't either,” he pointed out as he pulled her to one side before they entered the restaurant. “I wouldn't blame you if you demanded I take you home.”

“You don't know me either, Hunter. I'm not one to bug out on a date before it's even started. I can handle a little gossip,” she said. “Are you one of those bad-boy players in the NFL?”

“Not really. I mean I do date pretty women and have a few rushing records, but I don't see myself as a bad boy.” He wondered if she'd already Googled him and knew the scandal that followed him around like a dark cloud, driving him away from anything good. Damn, he was getting dramatic. It was just that ten years was too long to be on the run from the past. Even his dad, who made laconic seem chatty, had said maybe it was time to get answers, to find out what had really happened.

“Who would see himself as a bad boy?” she asked with a wink. “But you should know that no matter what else happens between us, I'm not someone for you to toy with.”

He reached around her to open the door. She entered the restaurant and walked over to the hostess.

He saw Coach's inner steel in Ferrin. And she didn't know who he was, which was reassuring and a bit worrying. He'd have to tell her. It had been a long time since he'd had to do that. In fact, most everyone he met already knew the stories if not the facts. He should come clean with her but from past experience, he knew once he told her about his connection to the Frat House Murder, she'd freeze up on him.

“Party of two?”

“I made a reservation,” he told the hostess. “Hunter Caruthers.”

The hostess nodded and led them to a table that overlooked the craggy cliffs that led down to the sandy beaches of Big Sur. He held Ferrin's chair the way his mama had taught him to before sitting down himself.

They ordered drinks and dinner before Hunter remembered this wasn't just a date. He had invited her tonight to soften her up and get her to give him a glimpse at Coach's old files even though her old man wasn't in an agreeable mood.

“So...”

“You want to see my dad's old office stuff. I know. And I'm thinking about it. But my dad and I aren't on the best of terms and doing something blatant to anger him without a good reason makes no sense to me.”

“Fair enough, ma'am. But what if I can convince you that he won't mind?”

“I'd say you're relying a little too heavily on that good old boy charm. I'm immune to that Texas ‘aw shucks' attitude.”

He threw his head back and laughed. At Coach's house, Ferrin had seemed...well,
timid
didn't feel like the right word to describe this feisty woman. But she had been subdued earlier.

“What can I do to convince you?” he asked.

“Tell me something about Hunter that the world doesn't know.”

“So nothing to do with football then,” he said.

“Yeah, nothing to do with football,” she said.

He couldn't understand her attitude toward the sport. He'd always thought it would be great to grow up with a coach as a father. His own dad really only cared about the cattle, the land...their family legacy. But Hunter had never understood it.

“Why don't you like football?” he asked.

She took a sip of her wine and glanced out toward the setting sun. He noticed the burnished copper in her dark hair and for the first time realized it was layered with different colors. The wind blew, stirring the strands against her face, and she put her glass down and looked over at him. Her blue eyes were serious and almost sad.

“I could never compete with football or the players in my dad's eyes. So I didn't even try. It's not that I don't like football it's just—”

“You hate it,” he said.

“
Hate
is really a strong word.”

“Not for a passionate woman,” he said. “I get it. I feel that way about cattle. My family has a big spread in the Hill Country and my brothers all love the land. Or most of them do—one of my brothers is a surgeon. But damned if I didn't hate ranching from...well, from birth, I imagine.”

“So you played football?”

“Well, ma'am, I am from Texas.”

“I could tell,” she said.

“What about you? I'm pretty sure I heard a bit of twang when you talk.”

“I teach at UT Austin.”

“Let me guess. Literature,” he said.

“Wrong. I'm a psychology lecturer.”

“Wrong? Good thing we didn't wager on it,” he said.

She laughed. “Good thing. I bet you're not used to losing.”

The mantle of the past fell heavy on his shoulders. He had only really lost once and he'd done it bigger than life when Stacia had been killed and he'd been blamed for her murder.

“No one gets used to losing,” he said.

She put her hand on his where it lay on the table and squeezed. She was very different from the coach, who'd always told them to shake it off. She was empathetic, and a part of him knew he could play on that. Get her to give him what he wanted. Another part wanted not to have to play games with her. But he was a player. He always had been.

“I'm sorry, Hunter. Tell me again why you need to see my father's papers and effects.”

He turned his hand over in hers, rubbed his thumb over the back of her knuckles while he thought about it. If he went for the hard sell now she'd pull back. He needed...he needed her to feel important. As if he was here for her.

And he was, as long as she had access to the information he needed to clear up the past. But something didn't feel right about that. Maybe this date was a mistake because getting to know Ferrin was making him feel as if using her was wrong.

“I'm here to finally solve the Frat House Murder case. And clear my name once and for all.”

* * *

She put her hands in her lap and linked them together tightly. A chill spread down her spine as she stared at the man whom she'd been dining with.
Murderer.
The word echoed in her head but a part of her had a hard time reconciling that with the man she'd come to know throughout the evening.

Her throat was dry and she knew she had to say something. He watched her carefully but she had no idea how to respond to what he'd just said.

“Um...”

“Yeah, it's kind of a mood breaker,” he said. “At first I'd thought you might have recognized my name but then it became clear you didn't.”

“No. I really don't follow sports or my dad's teams that closely,” she said. “So tell me what happened.”

“Okay, I don't know where to start.”

“The beginning is probably a good idea,” she said. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he'd been accused of murder. He didn't feel threatening to her at all. “Were you arrested?”

“Yes. But we were released on bond and charges were never brought,” he said. “That's why it's so important that I get a look at your dad's files.”

“Do you think Coach had something to do with the murders?” she asked.

He shrugged. “No, I don't. But we are missing the videotapes from the gym and that's where the attack on Stacia took place. I think they might be in your dad's files. He kept everything.”

“Yes, he did. He reviewed those tapes every night when I was with him. What makes you think he has tapes from the gym? I remember seeing practice footage,” she said. She was trying to understand what Hunter thought he'd find.

“And he gave me and the other players notes the next day. He'd tell me if I was slacking off on the middle reps on a specific weight machine. I know he reviewed the gym tapes too.”

“It's a lot to think about,” she said at last. She wanted to help Hunter but if her father said no, she wasn't going to rock the boat with him by going behind his back. That wasn't her way.

“Want to take a walk?” Hunter asked. “Unless you don't feel safe with me.”

She looked over at him, saw the uncertainty in his gaze and felt a tug at her heart. She'd been accused in middle school of cheating on a test; she hadn't cheated and her mom had gotten the teacher to change her grade but the other students all believed she had cheated. Though it wasn't the same as Hunter's situation, she remembered what it had been like when she'd gone to the honor society meetings and people would stare at her as if she didn't belong there.

“I feel safe with you,” she admitted.

Hunter paid the bill and led the way down to the beach. For a man who had once been accused of murder, Hunter was charming in a self-deprecating way, Ferrin noted as they walked along the beach. The breeze blew her hair and the only sound that accompanied them was the waves crashing on the shore. He wanted her dad's information, and given how little she cared about it, she was tempted to just give it to him. But this was the Gainer legacy. It was all that her father had left—and there was something in those boxes of practice tapes, game-day films and old files that her father was afraid of.

She doubted there was anything in the files that would help Hunter. What could her father have possibly known about a coed's death and not shared with the cops? But at the same time...she liked Hunter. There was something about him that was different from all the other men she'd met.

He was a jock but not like the others. He was one of her father's favored honorary sons but he didn't look through her. Didn't make her feel as if she was too bookish to warrant his attention. And maybe it was just that he was good-looking and paying attention to her. That couldn't be ruled out. She might be serious and pretend to be sophisticated but she wasn't dead.

“What are you thinking? You've been glancing at me from the corner of your eye for the last few minutes,” Hunter said, drawing her to a stop near a rocky outcropping.

“Nothing,” she said.
Right!
As if she was going to tell him that she was contemplating his attractiveness.

“Sweetheart, I know you think I'm a dumb jock—”

“Never. There is nothing dumb about you, Hunter,” she said, glancing out at the endless cycling of the waves and realizing that was the problem. If he'd been like every other player on her dad's team, then she'd have said
thanks for dinner, I'm outta here
. But he wasn't.

“Aw, shucks, ma'am.”

“Can it, Caruthers. You know you're charming. You play that card when you think it will work to your advantage.”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe. I haven't decided yet,” she said.

He turned so that his body was closer to hers. He wasn't touching her but it wasn't that hard to imagine his hands on her shoulders, pulling her closer... Ugh. She needed—him. She needed for once to be in her dad's world and in control. And Hunter wanted something from her. Why shouldn't she take something from him?

She lifted her hand, skimmed her fingers along the neat beard on his jaw. His facial hair was soft and smooth to her touch. Cool from the breeze that was wrapping around them. The heat of his skin radiated upward, making her fingers tingle.

“What is going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. She closed her eyes so she could try to make a “wise decision” but her hormones and her gut said too late. That ship had sailed as soon as he'd tried to back out of the date because of what strangers might think of her for eating with him.

She opened her eyes and was unnerved to see he was watching her. That his green-eyed stare was fixed on her. Just waiting.

He'd been judged many times in his life. She understood that from the stillness in his body and in his gaze. He was waiting for her to reject him, walk away. But he wasn't cowering.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Live with it. Live with the attention and not go nuts.”

“It's been hard. But the truth is, I'm innocent. That's what gets me through. That and Kingsley. He and I both know the truth of that night.”

She nodded.

“I'm not sure about letting you have carte blanche with Dad's videos and files,” she said. “But I don't want you to walk out of my life. Not yet.”

The side of his mouth lifted in a slight grin. “I'm listening.”

“I want...that sounds so selfish, doesn't it?”

“Not at all. I told you what I wanted. Why shouldn't you have what you want?” he asked.