Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (41 page)

• • •

They made love in the shower, then moved to
the sofa, where Wyatt polished off three burgers while she tried to
explain why his signature had been too hasty. Not just because of
all the cross-outs and additions, but because he hadn’t read it,
and probably wouldn’t agree with it if he did.

“But
you
agree with it, don’t
you?”

“I guess so,” she admitted, pulling her bath
robe tightly around her. “Technically.”

“Then sign it.”

She sighed. “It’s a big step, Wyatt. And I
need to be honest with you. I used the surrogacy format
because—well, you want a baby. And you want me to be the mom. And I
want a baby and I want you to be the dad. But there’s a lot more to
it.”

“I agree. We’ll raise the kid together.
Maybe have more than one. Right?”

She reached for his hand. “It’s really a
contract to keep us from breaking up. Just in a roundabout
way.”

He seemed surprised, but nodded. “Yeah, I
don’t see us breaking up. Not after this. Are you saying you put
that
in the contract? You’re right,” he added with a grin.
“I’ll have to read it someday.”

“Be serious.” She touched his jaw. “Last
night, Emily said something interesting. About you joining PMA.
Assuming Murf and Johnny give us the okay.”

His eyebrow arched. “Is she opposed to
it?”

“Not at all. Just the opposite. She thinks
it would be a coup for Murf. And maybe for me too. Assuming you and
I can be collegial. But if we started feuding again, she worries it
would cause disharmony. She’s very protective of PMA for obvious
reasons.”

“I had the same thoughts,” he said, nodding.
“That if we’re going to work together, we shouldn’t try dating
again. Just settle for being friends. I wasn’t happy about it,” he
added quickly. “But she makes a good point.”

“Exactly! But she could see I wasn’t ready
to—well, give up on dating you. Even though a bad break-up really
could be a career disaster. So she had this crazy idea that you and
I should make a deal in advance. We could date for as long as it
works, but we’d promise each other—
contractually
—that when
we break up, we’ll be civilized about it. Put PMA first. That sort
of thing.”

“A contract to have a civilized break-up?”
he mused. “Is that even possible?”

She laughed. “Try drafting it. It’s
ridiculous. And so pessimistic. Because to me, we have something
special. Non-traditional, maybe, but who cares? So instead of
focusing on the break-up, I tried to think of ways to keep us
together. I guess that sounds manipulative and orchestrate-y?”

“No,” he murmured, stuffing his last wrapper
in the take-out bag, then fixing her with a solemn stare. “I was
struggling with the same thing. The idea that we might split
up—that it was inevitable—seemed like such a waste.”

She edged closer, charmed. “So I tried
thinking about the things we have in common. We love challenging
each other, for one thing. But I needed something more tangible.
And the big one is the baby. And since I didn’t have much time, I
used that as a starting place for discussion.” Smiling, she
repeated, “I thought you’d hate it. Or at least demand dozens of
changes. And maybe we’d decide it wasn’t even workable. But it
would force us talk about
us.
What we actually want from
each other.”

“It’s perfect. You fixed the flaws, and you
respected the rest. You even kept the checklist. That means a lot
to me.” He cupped her chin in his hands. “Sign it, Darcie. Make it
official.”

She started to object—to remind him it
wasn’t even sign-able in its present condition—but her cell phone
vibrated on the coffee table and she jumped, exclaiming,
“Murf!”

Wyatt grimaced. “We haven’t really talked
about what we’ll do if he says ‘no.’ Would you consider moving to
New York?”

“
What?”
She laughed at her own
shocked tone, then said, “Hold that thought. Let’s see what he has
to say,” and answered the call. “Murf?”

“Hey, kid. Good news. John’s on board.”

“Oh, my God.” Her spirit soared. “Did he put
up a fight?”

“Hardly. He wants this for his old man. And
let’s face it, with Wyatt off the Jets, John’s second Super Bowl
ring is in the bag.”

“Wow.” She gave Wyatt a grin, knowing he was
getting the gist of it. Then she asked her boss in a
pseudo-concerned tone, “What about you, poor baby? Are
you
on board? Because I know what a
nightmare
this is for
you.”

“You’re a riot,” he drawled. “So listen, I
want to move on this right away. Assuming Wyatt’s ready to discuss
representation. Can you have him call me?”

“He’s sitting right here. Hold on.” She
handed the phone to Wyatt. “It’s all up to you now apparently.”

Wyatt’s expression grew cautiously hopeful.
“Murf? It’s Wyatt Bourne.”

“Put it on speaker,” Darcie whispered, but
he ignored her, listening intently to what must have been a
fascinating monologue.

Finally he said, “I appreciate this, Murf.
It’s more than—well, frankly, something I didn’t dare hope for. So
yeah, ten o’clock. We’ll be there. Thanks again.”

When he ended the call then handed the phone
back to her, she demanded, “What did he say?”

“Sign the baby contract,” Wyatt suggested
with a sly smile.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, wrapping her
arms around his neck and staring into steely eyes. “You look so
good. So pumped.”

He nodded then pulled her against himself
and kissed her amorously.

When her mouth was free, she dashed to the
dining table, picked up the same pen he had used, and signed her
name next to his. It made no sense, and it surely wasn’t binding,
but they were in this together now, so why not?

Coming up behind her, he encircled her with
his strong arms and murmured in her ear, “I can’t believe this.
Any
of it. Damn . . .” He moved against her
backside, his erection responding to the hot, sure grinding. Then
he pulled up the back of her bathrobe, unzipped his khakis, and
took her with gentle exuberance.

“Wyatt,” she groaned, loving the new angle.
He was hitting her just right, and with his hands plumping her
breasts, teasing her nipples, she lost all thoughts of what Murf
could possibly have said.

As they came together, his finger traveled
down between her legs to reinforce the sensations and she gasped in
shocked delight.

And all she could think was:
The
Surgeon
.

Such precision. Not to mention god-like in
his powers.

Finally he turned her to face him, and she
could see he was as euphoric as she, especially when he said
hoarsely, “This is all you. You know that, don’t you?”

She still had no idea what that meant, but
it didn’t matter. All that mattered was this moment. So perfect.
Such a tribute to the fact that mismatches could make it work.

Make it sizzle.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she
teased him gently. “Especially this last part.”

“Yeah, that went well. Come on.” He led her
by the hand back to the sofa, where he sat and then pulled her into
his lap. They kissed again—slow and sweet—then he said, “Until now,
I thought Murf was doing this—if at all—as a favor to you. But he’s
hot for this deal. Almost as bad as we are.”

“Yay.”

“He didn’t go into detail, and I don’t blame
him since he’s not technically my agent yet. That’s the first thing
he wants to rectify. At ten tomorrow morning. He’s got a suite
reserved at the Four Seasons but he’s staying tonight in San Diego
and driving up early.” He hesitated, then said, “He seems to think
I need persuading. Crazy, right?”

She shrugged. “He’s proud of our agency
because it’s quote-unquote full-service. But the philosophy is
different than what you’re used to. So you’re not just signing with
him, it’s the whole concept. I’ll let him explain it.”

“So you’re full-service with Bannerman? What
does that mean exactly?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Not what
you’re
thinking. But, for example, I’m helping him and
Rachel find a new house. Stuff like that.”

“What about Decker?”

She laughed. “Again, not what you’re
thinking. But it’s been nice. They’re such a close group up there,
he appreciates having an outsider he can talk to
confidentially.”

“Yeah, okay,” he grumbled, then he flashed a
smile to show he was only kidding. Or at least mostly.

“Did Murf give you a hint about his strategy
with the Jets? I mean, they technically own your ass, like Jake
said, as long as they’re willing to pay for it. Which we know they
are.”

Wyatt chuckled. “Either your boss is great
at bluffing or he’s got it worked out. Because he sounded bizarrely
confident.”

“That’s Murf.” She snuggled against him. “I
know you don’t usually spend the night at women’s
houses . . .”

“I’m staying,” he promised. “Want to hear a
secret?”

She nodded, her pulse racing.

“First tell me the truth about something.
When you slept next to me on the plane, was that really the first
time you fell asleep in front of strangers?”

“Yes.” She slipped her hands behind his neck
and kissed him lightly. “You’re just so formidable, I felt like no
one would dare bother me. Just like I told your family. Why?”

His eyes shone. “While you were asleep, I
couldn’t take my eyes off you. And not just because of that
see-through top. You looked so peaceful. So perfect. And I kept
thinking: This is something I’ll never have. Waking up next to a
beautiful woman every morning. Seeing her face. I didn’t even
realize I
wanted
that until I met you.”

“Oh, Wyatt.” She smiled shyly. “Did I
drool?”

“Just a little. It was cute.”

“Ugh.” She cuddled again. “Why didn’t you
ask me out? Or at least get my number?”

“I might have. But when I woke you up, you
gave me a death stare like I had invaded your privacy. Which I
suppose I had.”

“Well . . .” She brushed her
lips across his. “When you wake me up tomorrow morning, you’ll get
a
completely
different reception, I promise.”

• • •

He woke her up at dawn and they made sleepy,
almost syrupy love before dozing off again in each other’s arms.
Then he woke her up two hours later, this time accompanied by the
aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, and she slipped her arms around his
neck and told him with a sigh, “It would have been such a waste,
Wyatt Bourne.”

“Huh?”

“Waking up without a woman next to you.
You’re perfect for this.”

“Yeah, it’s amazing. Don’t move, I’ll get
you some coffee. Black?”

“Cream and sugar, please. And hurry
back.”

While he was gone, she wandered to the
bathroom to freshen up.

Refusing to question if this could possibly
be her future—
their
future—she forced herself to focus on
the meeting with Murf in less than three hours. So much depended on
that meeting.

Wyatt’s casual suggestion sprang to
mind—that she might move to New York if he ended up staying with
the Jets. Shouldn’t she jump at the chance? She could do her job
from anywhere, couldn’t she? And if she and Wyatt really had a baby
sooner than later . . .

Ugh. What are you doing?

Confused, she started the water for a
shower, then stood under the spray, trying again to focus on Murf.
The meeting. Her career. But as usual, it was all Wyatt.

Wyatt, Wyatt,
Wyatt
 . . .

After drying herself, she wrapped her body
in the damp towel and returned to the bedroom, where he waited
patiently, sitting on the edge of the bed with two mugs of coffee.
To her relief, he was dressed and alert, but with a calm expression
that told her he understood her confusion.

Probably because it mirrored his own.

“Yum.” She took the cup then sat beside him.
“Today is the day, right?”

He chuckled. “With you,
every
day is
the day. But yeah, this should be interesting. I need to stop by my
hotel so I can wear a suit. So let’s call ahead for room service,
then take a cab from there to the Four Seasons.”

She nodded, pleased with his business sense.
“I’ll get dressed right away, then. Thanks, Wyatt.”

He gave her a surprised smile. “Just tell me
what you need, Darce. That’s the only way this’ll work.”

She wanted to say something profound in
return, but the practical side of her brain had already switched
over to the perfect outfit for an up-and-coming agent who wasn’t
sure who’s side she was on—her agency’s or her boyfriend’s.
Hopefully, that little detail wouldn’t matter.

• • •

She ended up wearing an off-white linen
suit, even knowing Wyatt and Murf would wear somber, impeccable
gray. Wasn’t that the advantage of her position?
She
wasn’t
auditioning for the role of agent. That was on Murf.

And he would undoubtedly nail it.

True to form, he answered their knock at the
presidential suite—west—dressed like a financier but pumped like a
sports fan. “Hey, Wyatt. This is a pleasure. Thanks for
coming.”

Wyatt shook his hand. “We’ve met before, but
this—well, this feels like one for the books.”

“No doubt,” Murf told him solemnly. Then he
gave Darcie a grin. “Our heroine.”

“Be good,” she warned, accepting his hug.
“I’m trying to make a good
second
impression on the Surgeon.
To make up for the first.”

Murf eyed Wyatt. “Did she actually call you
‘Doctor’? I’m still wrapping my head around that one.”

“Me too.”

Murf’s tone grew brisk. “Let’s get started,
shall we? Have you eaten?” When they nodded, he led them past a
balcony that overlooked the Bel Air Hills, then motioned to a long
table, where he took a seat at the head, then indicated the chairs
directly to his left and right.