Line of Scrimmage (12 page)

“Whatever it takes,” he told her. “You know, you could just bring me a cloth and a towel and I could do it myself.”

But that wasn’t what he wanted. Could he convey the message without saying it out loud? Did she understand just from the way he looked at her that he really wanted her to take care of him?

“But then I wouldn’t be living up to my responsibilities, right? Besides, with your casts and your injuries it will be next to impossible.”

That was the damn truth. The thought of her soft hands on his cock and his balls was too much to resist. He watched as she walked into the bathroom, eyes fastened on the delightful sway of her hips. Hips he’d held in his grip while he plunged into her and—

Nope. Not going there. He’d be primed for another little accident. He made himself take deep slow breaths while he listened to the water running. Then she was back, a towel in one hand, a damp washcloth in the other. And a businesslike attitude.

Well, hell.

“Okay, then let’s play hospital.”

He saw a slight tremor in her hands as she sponged his fingers carefully after he eased his grip on his dick. She dried his hand off, then set the towel on the nightstand with the wash cloth on top of it.

“Don’t you want to know how this happened?” His voice was low and thick. “I don’t normally just lay here in bed and jerk off.”

Her face reddened with a delicate blush. “I think I’ll pass. Thanks anyway.”

“What if I told you I was dreaming about you?”

“Jake, please.”

“Please what?” he teased. “Tell you the details?”

“Please don’t tell me anything.” She made her voice as noncommittal as possible. “Okay. We have to get those shorts off,” she told him, “and I don’t think that’s going to be a lot of fun for you. I’ll be as careful as I can.”

“Just do what you have to.”

She untied the string on his shorts and began to ease them over his hips and down his legs. He sucked in a breath as she bent his uninjured leg so she could free that one first, then eased the fabric down over the cast. He hadn’t taken a pain pill since before he went to sleep, and the places in the damaged leg where they’d operated were throbbing like crazy. When she finally got the shorts free and tossed them to the floor, she picked up the washcloth again, and keeping her eyes averted from his, bathed his cock and his balls. She might pretend she was unaffected, but he saw that blush stain her cheeks again and her hands shook just the tiniest bit.

She dried him off and carried the cloth and towel toward the bathroom.

“There’s a hamper in my closet,” he called out.

Erin made a sharp turn into his walk-in closet. When she emerged she asked, “Fresh shorts?”

“Third drawer in the dresser on the right hand side.”

Getting the clean shorts on was nearly as bad as taking off the old ones. Finally she had him settled again, the pillows behind his head plumped, the ones beneath his injured leg rearranged. She took a step back and studied his face.

“Pain pills,” she announced, and headed to the bathroom where she’d stashed them.

“Nope,” he ground out, when she was back with them. “Still not taking them.”

“Tough guy, aren’t you? There’s no need for you to lie here in pain, Jake. You had a severe injury to your leg and some complicated surgery. You might even do yourself damage if you don’t ease the pain.”

“Fine. Fine, fine, fine.” He was getting pissed off all over again at the injustice of the whole situation, never mind that she might be right. “Just give the cripple his pills and go about your business.”

He expected a smart comeback from her, but she just shook out two of his pills and handed them to him with the bottle on his nightstand.

She looked at her watch. “It’s seven thirty.”

He frowned. “Yeah? And you’re all dressed. What the hell time did you get up?”

“Early. I’m an early riser. Would you like some coffee and juice? Your home care person will be here at ten o’clock. When he left yesterday he said that’s the time he’ll be here every day.”

“Did you ever get hold of Ivy?”

“Yes.” She nibbled her lip, then wiped all expression from her face. Still, he could see anger blazing in her eyes.

Uh-oh.

“I take it that did not go well. When is she coming over?”

She tightened her fists and shoved them into her pockets. Today she was wearing slim jeans and a soft shirt that draped too nicely over her breasts.

“She’s not. She’s going out of town.”

Jake widened his eyes in shock. “She’s not coming here at all? To talk to us? To me? What the hell?”

Erin shrugged. “She’s your sister. You know her better than I do. I think she’s throwing both of us to the wolves.”

“And you’re offering me juice and coffee. Does that mean you’re staying?”

She shrugged. “So it appears. No one’s looking for a replacement, and even I’m not rotten enough to walk out and leave you like this.”

Well, well, well. This could get interesting. Even with the pain crawling up his body, the possibilities of the situation sent a surge of pleasure through him. He’d have plenty of time to plead his case and see if he could erase this hard-on she had for him and apparently all football players.

Be nice. Play nice.

He wet his lips. “Thank you for that. I really do appreciate it. And coffee and juice would be nice.”

“I thought I’d wait to fix a meal until after your shower and everything. Unless you want something now with the coffee.”

“No. I’m not much of a breakfast eater, anyway.”

“Fine.” She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “It would probably be good if we sat down together after that and went over things I should know. Any activities of yours you’ll be missing, people you need to contact. People you don’t want coming to the house.”

“You’re going to be my bodyguard, too?” He couldn’t resist the tease.

She gave him the tiniest grin. “Like you said, I’ll just think of it as another guest relations job. I’ll be back in a minute with your stuff.”

He held in his smile until she was gone from the room. Then, when there was no chance she’d turn around and see him anymore, he pumped his fist in the air.

Yes!

Maybe this broken leg would be good for something after all.

Erin reread the e-mail Ivy had just sent, with key telephone numbers she might need and more instructions regarding Jake’s personal activities. This person can visit him, keep these people away, don’t let just anyone speak to him without asking him, etc. etc. etc. She was going to kill her friend. Or maybe just torture her until she begged to be killed. How was she supposed to deal with it, when Jake pushed every one of her sexual buttons, and it seemed he was having the same trouble?

She’d finally accepted she wasn’t going to be able to leave. Jake wouldn’t even discuss the possibility of the team hiring someone—his damn ego again, as if he had something to be ashamed of—and her conscience wouldn’t permit her to just up and walk out, telling Ivy to get her ass over to Jake’s and fix things. So here she was, determined now to use all her skills to excel at this job she was stuck with so when she walked away she didn’t have any regrets.

Regrets? Does that apply to the sex also, missy?

Deliberately putting anything related to s-e-x out of her mind, she finished separating the big stack of mail she’d placed on the kitchen table. She’d found it on the counter just dumped into a big carton, probably by Ivy the night she’d stayed here. It was obvious no effort had been made to sort through it. She took the liberty of ditching all the unsolicited advertising and solicitation letters in a big trash bag. She discovered people with any kind of notoriety got mail from everywhere and everyone. The rest of it she tried to sort alphabetically, by sender’s name. After lunch she’d bring them into the bedroom and go through them with Jake, see if there were any she needed to handle for him.

Handle for him? Okay, so Ivy had told her she’d be kind of an executive assistant. Ha! Talk about putting lipstick on a pig. But she was here, she was doing it, and she’d accepted the fact that wasn’t about to change. She needed to pull up her big girl socks and get on with it. The money was good and much appreciated in her situation.

At least they’d gotten past the embarrassing episode where she’d had to clean him up. The rest of the day hadn’t been nearly as uncomfortable as she’d expected it to be. Still, although they hadn’t mentioned it again, every time she was in his room she saw him watching her through half-closed eyes. Sexual tension hummed in the air. Jake hadn’t helped things by lying there all day with his covers thrown back, his swollen cock obvious beneath his flimsy shorts.

“I’m hot,” he’d told her every time she suggested he cover up. “It’s fucking hot lying in this bed.”

She’d offered to turn up the air conditioning, but he told her with blatant hunger in his eyes that air conditioning wouldn’t fix his problem. She certainly didn’t intend to ask him what would.

Had he really been dreaming about her? What would he think if he knew she’d had an erotic dream about him? When she’d thought about it last night, after she finally got into bed, she’d been hot and cold by turns, her breasts aching and the walls of her sex thrumming. She could not give in to whatever attraction she felt for him. For one thing, in his condition, not much would be possible. For another, and most importantly, she knew she’d be just another notch on his bedpost and she was tired of men like that.

The trouble was, even in the short time she’d been here, she was beginning to have conflicted feelings about Jake Russell. Okay, sure, he was injured and in pain and reluctantly dependent on her for everything. But as bad as he was being, it wasn’t nearly as obnoxious as she’d expected.

Wait. No. She wouldn’t go there. If she allowed herself to feel sorry for him or make excuses, she’d be—

She’d be nothing. Because she was going to put up an invisible wall between them and keep it there.

She was just putting the rest of the envelopes in a neat stack when the phone rang. It startled her, mostly because there had been so few phone calls since she’d arrived. Coach Raymond, Jim DiMarco, Scott, the doctor’s office, innocuous calls like that. Apparently, Ivy had passed the word about her because no one seemed startled that she was answering the phone. But those were the only calls that had come in since she’d arrived a little more than forty-eight hours earlier. No personal calls. She thought that very strange for a man in Jake’s position.

All the calls she’d been expecting today had already come in this morning. Should she answer this? She hadn’t seen a landline phone in Jake’s bedroom, making it obvious he was not taking any calls. Ivy had said this would be part of the job, so when the phone rang twice more she figured she’d better pick up. She just hoped it wasn’t some airhead groupie or a glamour girl looking to give Jake her own special brand of healing medicine.

Oh, wait. Ivy had been specific about telling her the number was unlisted. Still, Jake could have given it out and—

Oh, answer the damn phone, idiot.

Lifting the receiver, she cleared her throat. “Jake Russell’s residence.”

God, didn’t she just sound like a prissy housekeeper. What was next? A uniform and starched apron?

“Who the hell is this?” a gravelly sounding man demanded.

“This is his—” His what? “His personal assistant.”

The man on the other end of the call laughed so hard she could hear him wheeze. “His what? Are you shitting me?”

“I am his personal assistant,” she repeated, digging her nails into her palm. “May I ask who this is?”

“It’s—”
Wheeze, wheeze
. “I’m—”
Wheeze, wheeze
. “Tell him Santos is on the line.”

“Santos,” she repeated, and all her hotel training kicked in. “May I ask if that’s a first name or a last?”

“You mean you don’t know Golden Legs Santos, the Mustangs’ hot wide receiver? Who are you, anyway? Do you live under a rock?”

Erin silently counted to ten. “Not all of us are addicted to football, Mr. Santos.”

“Oooooh.” He made a teasing sound. “Putting me in my place, right? So, honey, if you don’t like football, what are you doing with Big Jake? And why the hell isn’t he answering his own phone?”

“Mr. Russell is recovering from a serious injury and complicated surgery.” She put as much authority into her voice as she could muster. “He doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Oh, honey, you sound like you could be disturbing him a lot. Wanna disturb me for a change?”

Erin reached for her self-control. This was exactly why she hated all jocks and wished them sailing off on a garbage scow. “I’ll tell Mr. Russell you called.”

“How about telling him I want to speak to him?” Now the man was getting belligerent. “What’s the matter? Doesn’t he want to talk to his friends?”

“If you’re such a good friend, why didn’t you call his cell? Don’t you have the number?”

“I, uh…” A pause. “I lost it. But it’s all good. He’ll take my call. Just tell him it’s me.”

Erin had an idiotic desire to reach through the connection and smack this guy. She wondered if both he and his ego fit in the same room together.

“Fine. Hold, please.”

She tromped off down the hall to Jake’s bedroom. He was lying there with the television on but muted, his eyes closed. She waited a moment, then started to turn away.

“I’m awake,” he told her. “Who’s on the phone?”

“Someone named Santos. When I asked for his full name he wanted to know why hadn’t I heard of Golden Legs Santos. He says he wants to talk to you.”

Jake’s eyes flew open and anger flashed across his face. “That asshole. Absolutely not. Not even if he was the last person on earth.”

“Wow! What did he do to you?”

“Not to me specifically but to everyone in general. He’s an immature jerkhead who things he’s God’s gift to the world. Tell him I’m asleep.”

“Okay. If that’s what you want.” She trudged back to the kitchen. “Sorry, but Mr. Russell is asleep.”

“But—”

“I’ll tell him you called.” She barely restrained herself from slamming the receiver back in the cradle. What an ass.