Skin in the Game (4 page)

“Trust me, the only thing he’ll want to do when he sees me in any of these rags is nominate me for What Not to Wear.”

“Pfft, it can’t be that bad. What about the dress you wore to Kate’s bachelorette party a few years ago?”

“Are you kidding?” It was a beautiful dress—Angie would be the first to admit that—but it was also closer to lingerie than black tie attire. She’d chosen it for her sister-in-law’s party because the theme had required all the attendees to wear the most outrageously sexy thing they could find. The plain black dress, with its figure-hugging design and daringly low-cut back, had definitely fit the bill. But to wear it in public? She might as well go out naked.

“I’m not only not kidding, I’m dead serious. You look incredible in that dress. He’s is going to take one look at you and forget Haley Burroughs’s name.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, thanks for reminding me that the last woman he dated was a supermodel.”

“Stop it. You’re ten times prettier than that anorexic thing. And anyway, he asked you out at the coffee shop. What were you wearing then?”

The same thing she was wearing now—capri pants and a tank top with scalloped edges.

Nothing special, that was for sure.

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Okay, I won’t cancel.”

“And you’ll wear the black dress?”

Angie pressed her lips together. “We’ll see.”

After a brief pause, Rachel asked, “So, do you know why he’s in town?”

That question had crossed Angie’s mind when she first saw him in the coffee shop, of course, but she hadn’t bothered to ask. Now that she thought about it, though, the answer seemed pretty obvious. “He must be here to see Harvey.”

“Did he say that?”

“No, but it makes sense. You know Cade’s father died a few years before the family moved to Harper Falls. Harvey’s the closest thing to a father Cade’s got.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. How long will he be here?”

“I didn’t ask him that, either.”

“Good grief, girl, you’re useless! The guy asks you on a date, and you don’t even bother to ask why he’s here or for how long?”

“Well, I’ll be sure to find out tonight, but I can’t believe it’d be for more than a few days.

The Texans are trying to trade him, and they have to do it soon. Plus, knowing how he felt about football in high school, I bet he can’t wait to play again.”

As she said the last few words, everything suddenly fell into place. Cade wasn’t here just to visit his old coach. He was here because he was looking for a job as a starting quarterback. If Warren Harris had been injured badly enough that he couldn’t play for more than a few weeks, the team’s management would be looking for a replacement, particularly given how poorly his backup had performed today. Cade was an obvious choice to take Harris’s place.

If the accident had occurred early this morning, Cade could have flown up from Texas and been here by mid-afternoon, giving him an opportunity to stop in for a visit with Coach Lund before heading to the Cities tomorrow.

That meant Cade’s sojourn in Harper Falls might last longer than a few days. It could be weeks, months, even years. Long enough, possibly, for him to remember her from their high school days.

Her stomach tilted precariously.

As if reading her thoughts, Rachel said, “Hey, that reminds me…did he recognize you from high school?”

“God, no, and I intend to keep it that way.” Although how she’d do it if he wound up moving back to Harper Falls…

“Then you’d better wear the black dress, sweetie.”

Cade glanced at the clock above the fireplace mantel in the living room of his suite: 6:48 p.m.

Exactly three minutes later than it had been the last time he looked.

Where was she?

He knew he’d said seven o’clock. And he knew he’d given her the name of the hotel and the room number. She could get in touch with him if she got lost or changed her mind.

What he hadn’t done was get her cell phone number. Or her address or any other way of finding her. So now, he wasn’t sure if she was lost, fashionably late, or just plain standing him up. The uncertainty—and the fact that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it—chafed.

Restless, he got up from the couch and strode over to the large plate-glass windows that lined the room. From here, he could see clear up to the falls that had given his hometown its name. Water careened over a wide, rocky ledge that straddled the river and crashed more than one hundred feet to the bottom. Though neither as tall nor as wide as Niagara Falls, the sight was still dramatic enough to make the towns on both sides of the river into minor tourist attractions.

He looked at the clock again: 6:50 p.m. His shoulder began to ache, as it always did when he was tense.

Relax, man. She’s just a girl you met in a coffee shop. If she doesn’t show up, it’s no big deal.

But for some reason, it was a big deal. And it wasn’t just his ego. It wasn’t just that he wouldn’t get laid, either, although that was definitely disappointing. He hadn’t been so intensely or instantly attracted to a woman in a long time. Possibly never.

Sex wasn’t the only thing he’d been looking forward to, though. Angela Peterson was a knockout, but she was also intelligent, kind, and utterly genuine, and as a bonus, seemed completely unaware of just how gorgeous she was. The entire time he was talking with her in the coffee shop, he’d had the sense she was mentally looking around, trying to figure out if it was really her he was flirting with.

He paced over to the coffee table and picked up the TV remote, pointed it at the flat screen mounted beside the fireplace, and jammed his finger on the power button, by now resigned to the fact that she wasn’t coming. Unlikely as it seemed, it appeared Cade Reynolds was about to be stood up.

Sound blared from the speakers—why were televisions in hotels always set to turn on at full volume?—so loud that he didn’t realize the tap on the door was real until it reached an insistent staccato.

He pressed the power button again and then tossed the remote onto the couch as he hurried to the door. Taking a slow, calming breath, he turned the doorknob and pulled inward, half imagining he’d find a maid on an errand to drop off pillows or towels and bath salts.

To his relief, Angela Peterson stood in the hallway, wearing an uncertain expression and the sexiest little black dress he’d ever seen. Made of flimsy material, the dress hugged her curves from breasts to waist to hips then flared out into a wide skirt that ended just below her knees. It was a simple, elegant style he’d seen many women wear, but somehow on her, it took on near mystical qualities, managing both to leave nothing to his imagination and to make him itch to remove it so he could explore what was beneath for himself.

“Oh,” she breathed, her cheeks pinking. “I thought for a minute I had the wrong room.”

“No, you definitely have the right room. Come in.” He stepped to the side and allowed her to enter.

As she walked past him, he got a gander of the back of the dress—or rather the lack of it—and almost swallowed his tongue. A deep U cut from her shoulders to the small of her back, revealing not merely the entire length of her spine, but the dimpled indentations on either side just above her ass.

And a fine ass it was, too, judging from the way the material clung to the rounded curves.

“Is it okay?” she asked, turning to face him.

He blinked, realizing he was staring. “Is what okay?”

“The dress,” she said. “I wore it to my sister-in-law’s bachelorette party a few years ago.

I was afraid it might be a bit much.”

Much? Hell, it was barely there. Cade found himself hoping that party had been a strictly female affair, because he instantly hated the thought of her wearing this dress for any other man.

Or taking it off for anyone but him.

“It’s perfect,” he said, meaning it. “Did you have trouble finding the place?” he asked as he closed the door behind her. It seemed more polite than to berate her for making him think she was standing him up by arriving almost half an hour late.

She shook her head. “No, but I did have a little trouble finding a place to park.”

Cade’s brow furrowed. That didn’t make any sense. The hotel had valet parking. There was always space available.

He was about to say as much when he noticed Angela gazing in wide-eyed appreciation at the room’s lavish, though tasteful, furnishings. When she spotted the polished mahogany-and-brass wet bar stocked with its full selection of high-end spirits, he could see her calculating in her mathematically gifted head the expense of it all and coming up with an enormous figure that was still probably an underestimate. She drifted toward the wall of windows, brushing the back of the couch’s butter-soft leather with her fingertips as she passed. When she reached the windows and looked out over the river, a soft sigh of amazement escaped her.

Damn. He was an insensitive asshole.

He was accustomed to this kind of luxury and utterly unaffected by its cost. He could spend every night for a year in a hotel like this and barely make a dent in his bank account. Even if he never worked in the NFL another day in his life…

But Angela was a schoolteacher. To her, thirty-five dollars plus tip to valet park her car for a few hours—or overnight, if he was lucky—would seem like an exorbitant amount of money. How could he have forgotten what it was like to think about prices and wonder whether he could afford something or not?

He should have told her when he’d invited her here that she could charge the valet parking to his room. Hell, most women he’d dated, given the same set of circumstances, would have done just that without being told. Even the ones who made six or seven figures a year.

Money just didn’t register with them, one way or another. But he would bet that the idea simply hadn’t occurred to Angela. She seemed too unspoiled to have even considered it.

As she peered out the window, her nose almost pressed against the glass in wonder at the spectacle below, something in his chest caught and stuck. A tender, raw sensation.

His voice apparently caught and stuck, too. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Fortunately, she saved him the trouble.

“The view is stunning.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, his voice a little hoarse, though of course he wasn’t thinking of the view out the window. He was thinking of her near-naked back and curvy bottom and forever-long legs, which were about all he could see of her at the moment. And the combination was making it damned difficult for him to think of anything else.

But he had to think about something else. Something other than peeling that barely there dress off her, carrying her to the bedroom, and doing not just basic math, but long division. Very long.

“Are you ready to go downstairs for dinner?” he asked.

In profile, he could see her lips purse into a frown. The expression was both endearing and strangely familiar.

Why did he have the feeling he should know her? Not just from their encounter at the coffee shop, but from before. He wished, not for the first time, that he had a better memory for names and faces.

But surely she would have said something if they’d known each other, if she’d grown up here in Harper Falls and had known him when they were kids. It must be just his imagination or a trick of the light or maybe even a case of déjà vu.

“Downstairs?” she repeated.

“That’s where the restaurant is, yes.”

“That’s too bad.” She turned around and flashed an apologetic smile. The sense of familiarity dissipated.

“Oh?” he prompted when she didn’t say more.

She glanced back out the window, her features silhouetted in the golden glow of the sinking sun. “It’s just that I’d really love to watch the sunset from up here.” She looked back at him. ”You know you never quite see it in Harper Falls, since it’s on the down side of the hill and surrounded by trees.”

He nodded. He did know. And he suddenly had a powerful urge to see the sunset from this perspective, too. If only to share it with her…

Alone.

***

Angie turned and looked out the window again, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush heating her face.

God, what must he think of her?

First, she’d arrived wearing a dress that practically screamed “Fuck me” at the top of its lungs—and if the smoldering once-over Cade had given her when she came in was any indication, he’d gotten the message loud and clear. Then she’d all but begged to stay in his room instead of going out to a safe, public place for dinner. She couldn’t have made her intentions plainer if she’d stripped, headed for the bedroom, and asked where he kept the condoms.

Her stomach churned. She wasn’t a prude, but she didn’t want him to think she was some loose groupie who got off on sleeping with famous men, either. Not that it mattered to him one way or another as long as he got laid.

Unfortunately, she found it did matter to her.

“How about a glass of wine?” he asked from somewhere behind her.

Angie looked over her shoulder to find him standing behind the extravagant wet bar.

“Sure.”

“Red or white?”

“Red, please.”

He disappeared behind the granite counter before reappearing with a bottle in his hand.

“Good answer.”

“Why do you say that?”

He chuckled as he twisted a corkscrew into the obviously expensive wine bottle. “You like your coffee without sugar and red wine? Definitely a woman after my own heart.”

Her stomach pitched and dove. How was she supposed to take that? He couldn’t possibly mean for her to think he was serious. It was the kind of thing a man like him probably said to women all the time, right along with, “Of course, I’ll still respect you in the morning,” and, “I’ll call you.” Glib words that came easily and didn’t mean anything except, “I’m willing to pretend this is something more than a one-night-stand if it makes you feel better about having sex with a virtual stranger.”

Once again, she was reminded of just how far she was stepping outside her comfort zone tonight, while he was well within his. He certainly seemed completely at ease.