“Sam, what are you doing to me?”

Hopefully driving him half as wild as he was driving her. With Jack standing so close, cupping her face with his big hands, avoiding a dance had become the last thing on her mind. “I should mention—” Sam sank her teeth into his earlobe, thrilling to the sound that dragged from him “—it’s been a little too long for me. I’m liking this way too much.”

“Don’t tell me that.” His hand skimmed up her back, while the other rested on her hip. His thumb glided over her belly, then moved upward, stroking each rib as it climbed. He traced her last rib, then just barely touched the bottom curve of her breast.

All the while his gaze held her, conveying hunger, passion, desire…more heady than the champagne she’d sipped. She let out a shuddery breath.

Then his thumb made another sweep, not quite touching her nipple, and she had to concentrate on breathing.

Sinking her fingers into his hair, she brought his mouth back to hers, and their moans mingled, becoming part of the crazy, wild kiss.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always wanted to be a surfer girl. I grew up in L.A. in the fun and sun, but alas, I was never coordinated enough to make it on a surfboard. So I created a heroine who was. Samantha O’Ryan—Sam to her friends—is one tough cookie. She’s had to be. Surfing in the mornings, running her little café in the afternoons, she thinks she has it all.

Enter one Jack Knight, ex-basketball star and current rich bum. After a life in the limelight, all he wants is peace and quiet. But then these two are thrown together by one well-meaning nosy older sister, a fancy charity event complete with obnoxious paparazzi, and a dunking booth.

Oh, and throw in a red-hot, undeniable attraction like nothing either Sam or Jack have ever experienced. Watch them both fall hard. Hope you do, too.

Best wishes and happy reading,

Jill Shalvis

Seduce Me
Jill Shalvis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my very own future basketball stars

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

1

SAMANTHA O’RYAN had been eyeing half-naked, wet, glistening men for hours under the guise of teaching them to surf. They’d offered to pay her but, truthfully, she’d gotten the most out of the deal. She just loved being in the water, on her board. After she finished giving the group of college kids pointers, she walked down the beach and up the stairs to let herself into her outdoor café, where she went to work on her second love—creating fun, exotic sandwiches.

As she served her customers, she realized she had no plans after work, her favorite kind of evening. She could bodysurf by moonlight if she chose, or drive up Pacific Coast Highway as far as a tank of gas would take her…anything.

That was the beauty of being unencumbered.

Although she wouldn’t mind being temporarily encumbered—for a night, that is. It had been a long dry spell without a guy around.

Her own fault.

“You sold everything.” Lorissa Barrett, her best friend and part-time server at the Wild Cherries café, looked surprised as she surveyed the empty display cases at the cash register. “Well, except the brownies. You make terrible brownies.”

“Hey, thanks.”

But Lorissa was right. Everything but the brownies were gone, including the new turkey-with-mango-spread special. Sam could drum up inventive stuff like that with ease, bake the most mouthwatering cookies on the planet, but she failed at brownies every single time. She knew why; she just didn’t like to think about it.

“Sorry.” Looking anything but, Lorissa leaned against the counter, her amusement slowly fading.

“Uh-oh,” Sam said. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

They had a long history and knew each other better than anyone else did. “If it’s nothing, then stop staring at me like you’re trying to get your nerve up for something.”

“I’m not.”

Sam shrugged and turned back to cleaning the countertop.

Lorissa sighed. “Okay, I have this favor.”

“Pass.” It was a hot one today, and Sam swiped at her forehead, then dusted off the display cases.

“You can’t turn down a favor when you don’t even know what it is.” Lorissa tossed back her long, red, wildly curly hair and pushed out her full, highly glossed lower lip in a pout that was extremely effective on men, but not on Sam.

“Sure I can. In fact, I just did.” Sam moved outside to the bright red plastic tables, wiping them down, lowering their red-and-white-striped umbrellas, all the while watching the sun slowly sink into the glorious Pacific Ocean. “When you ask for a favor in the same tone you might mention a funeral, I know better than to even hesitate.” Sam stretched out the muscles in her neck and back, and thought a midnight swim later tonight might be just the thing she needed, especially in lieu of a man.

“You could at least let me tell you what the favor is.”

“I do not want a blind date,” Sam said emphatically.

Lorissa rolled her eyes. “The way you read my mind really creeps me out.”

“It doesn’t take a psychic. You’ve got a hot new fling going with that rich Cole guy, and he keeps asking you to set up his friends with your friends.”

“I’m sorry. This is what happens when you’re my bestest friend.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Sam shifted to the covered patio area and checked the tables there. All clean. “You know I’ve been quite patient through all the hideous blind dates you’ve set me up with over the years. I’m not interested in trying another.”

“They haven’t all been hideous.”

“I have two words for you—Toe Guy.”

“Okay, that one can be explained. I forgot your weird foot fetish, and how was I supposed to know about his accident with the lawn mower?”

“I don’t want a date tonight.”

“Good. Because it’s for tomorrow night.”

Sam walked back inside to the kitchen and looked around, cleaning up as she went. All she needed to do now was shut off the lights and she was done. She could head out…or simply go upstairs, where she had a nice little apartment. Little being the key word, of course, but she liked little, and the place was her own. She’d made it so. “I’m busy tomorrow night.”

“Please, Sam. One date, that’s all I’m asking.” Lorissa batted her long lashes over her light caramel eyes. “Cole promises me this guy is rich.”

“And yet he can’t get his own date.” Sam hit the switches and the main part of the café went dark. She locked the small kitchen and pulled the retractable gate around the patio area. “What’s wrong with that picture, Lorissa?”

“Listen.” Lorissa pressed her fingers to her temples, closing her eyes for a second. When she opened them, they were filled with emotion. “I really like this one, Sammie.”

Sam took a good look at her. She’d known Lorissa twenty-odd years, since kindergarten. Together, they’d already been through so much: Lorissa’s parents’ nasty divorce, her mother’s suicide when they’d been twelve, and a close friend’s overdose at age thirteen. Then Sam losing her parents in a car wreck on the night of their eighth-grade graduation. Between them they’d racked up more mileage on the road of life than most others their age.

And they’d survived, each in her own way. Lorissa had stayed with her father and his new wife, trying junior college in San Diego but deciding higher learning wasn’t for her. Now, she drew caricatures on the beach and was good enough to make a decent living at the local weekend Malibu craft fairs. She supplemented this income by serving weekdays at Wild Cherries—when she wasn’t busy surfing.

As for Sam, she’d gone to live with Red, her mother’s beach-bum brother, who’d had no more idea of what to do with a hurting kid than how to cope with his own grief. The car accident that had killed her parents had been her father’s fault and by the time the dust had settled years later, Sam was left with little money. She’d already begun working at Red’s place, Wild Cherries. Happy enough to have her friends, she’d lived in the moment—surfing in the mornings, working a shift for cranky uncle Red in the afternoons…an easy career choice.

During the few times she let herself think too much, she remembered her motto: Enjoy every little thing as it happens, appreciate all of it. She repeated that mantra often, because she knew that if she ever acknowledged all she’d been through, she’d drown. As a coping mechanism, it had worked.

And as the years passed, little changed. Red retired, and Sam scrimped, saved and went into debt to buy the business from him. Now, at twenty-six, things were good. Maybe she didn’t often engage her emotions, but she didn’t want to. She recognized that about herself and was smart enough to know she couldn’t even skim that pool; it simply went too deep.

Like Sam, Lorissa also had commitment issues. For her to date a man more than once was rare, much less admit she really liked him. “You sure about this Cole guy?” Sam asked Lorissa now. “You know how rich guys are. They’re like the too-good-looking ones—they always turn out to be jerks.”

“Not this one.” Lorissa’s smile was earnest. “Please, Sam. Just one little date. Just one short night out of your life—”

“Yeah.” She was still shocked at Lorissa’s willingness to fall for Cole. “Fine.”

“—It won’t be so bad, and you can call me from your cell phone every few minutes. If you need me, I’ll come up with a way to rescue you, I promise. I—”

“I said fine.”

“I’ll give you—”

“Lor, honey, I’ll do it.”

Lorissa blinked and gave a slow, relieved smile. “Really?”

“But I swear to you, if he’s got hair plugs or garlic breath or tries to cop a feel, I’m outta there.”

Lorissa beamed. “Deal.”

Great. Deal. Sam turned away from the café and looked at the ocean. Four- to five-footers pounded the surf. A jogger made his way down the sand, along with a few other stragglers. For a hot late August evening, the place was quiet. “Let’s go for a swim.”

Lorissa checked her watch, something she rarely did. In fact, Sam couldn’t believe she was even wearing a watch. “I’ve got an hour before I’m catching up with Cole.”

“You’ve been late since the day you were born. Why the sudden concern with being on time?”

“I’m meeting his parents.”

Sam did a double take. Parents? That sounded…real, and she suddenly took this whole thing more seriously. “Hasn’t it only been a week?”

“Yes, but it seems like a lifetime,” Lorissa said with a dreamy sigh.

As they walked to the water, Sam got all protective. “What does he do again?”

“He’s in marketing.”

“Marketing.” How…vague. Her bikini was already under her sundress as usual, which she stripped off and Lorissa did the same.

“You’re going to love him, I promise,” Lorissa said.

Sam would see about that. Privately, she was already prepared to hate the guy who’d captured her best friend’s heart. He’d better treat her right, or she’d—

“Which reminds me…” Lorissa grimaced. “There’s sort of a stipulation about your date.”

“Stipulation?”

“The guy is a client of Cole’s, as well as a friend. The deal is you go with him to some big fancy charity event—”

“Whoa. Dressing up?”

“Yes, dressing up. You make nice at the charity dinner and auction, and you can’t talk to the press.”

“Who is this guy?” Sam pictured some smarmy, overly sophisticated businessman gone Hollywood.

“Just remember, rich.”

“Great.”

“So you agree to the terms? The no talking to the press thing?” Lorissa shot her a worried look. “Since you’ve never been fond of the press anyway, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

Tomorrow night was going to be one long exercise in patience. Not that Sam had anything against dating. The opposite, actually. She enjoyed going out and meeting men.

But a guy she hadn’t picked, laying down rules…it all just went against the grain somehow. And yet, there Lorissa stood in her yellow bikini and hopeful expression, so Sam offered a weak smile. “No problem.”

Lorissa’s grin was brilliant. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah. Remember that.”

And in perfect sync, they plunged from the still-warm sand into the oncoming wave.

THE NEXT EVENING, Sam was floating on her back between swells, watching the glorious sun touch its bottom tip on the ocean, that lovely time between day and night, when the birds and stars strained for equal time against a dusky sky. The air was still and hot as the soothingly chilly water lapped over her.

Sam figured she could float out here the rest of the evening and never tire of it.

“Sam!”

Damn. Lorissa had found her, and probably just in time for her date. Given the volume of swearing over the roar of the waves, she had precious little time left before her date showed up but she stretched out in the water, trying to swim her doubts away. She didn’t often have worries, or so she liked to think, but today she had one big one.

She wished she hadn’t agreed to the date. She’d rather be catching the Bewitched marathon in her pj’s, eating at will. She knew she had the makings for her newest creation—Fritos smashed into cheddar cheese on French bread. She’d melt it over the stove and happily stuff her face—

“Samantha Anne O’Ryan, get your ass out of the water!”

With a sigh, she flipped over and rode a wave in, beaching herself. Flopping onto her back on the hot sand, she shoved her long, blond hair from her eyes and grinned up at a serious-looking Lorissa. “Hey.”

Lorissa put her hands on her hips and studied Sam grimly. “I am not amused.”

“So I’m running a little late.”

“Run late on your own night.”

“I have ten minutes before he’s due to pick me up.”

“He’s here now.”

“Ah, man.” Sam sat up, taking the towel Lorissa tossed down into her face. “An obsessive compulsive.”

“I’ve given him a soda. He’s sitting at a table.”

“But I already closed up.”

“Well, I reopened. I’ll close again after you’re gone. Come on. We’ll sneak in the back door, get you into the bathroom to snazzy yourself up.”

Samantha glanced down at her efficient, basic black bikini. She was covered in sand and had nasty twin bruises on her thigh and hip, where she’d gotten surprised on her board this morning, tumbling through a full set before managing to get upright. “I look fine.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Just kidding. Jeez, lighten up. I’m the one facing Boring Night Out.” Sam rose, gently patted Lorissa’s cheek. “Honestly, you’re just so cute when you’re being mom, yelling at me, using my middle name—”

“I’m going to use my middle finger in a minute.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

Taking care not to be seen, they crept in the back kitchen door of Wild Cherries, with Lorissa shoving Sam’s head low, beneath the counter.

Once in the bathroom, Sam stepped to the sink and eyed herself. Her mirror didn’t lie. Her hair had rioted and she wore no makeup.

“Start fancying yourself up, you look like hell,” her supposed best friend said, gesturing to the cold water coming out of the faucet.

“You’re going to really owe me,” Sam swore, but got to work getting the sand off her body. Then she dipped her head in the sink to rinse the salt out of her hair. “Towel.” Blindly, she took it from Lorissa and dried herself.

“And remember,” Lorissa instructed, trying to finger-comb Sam’s hair. “Don’t talk to the press—”

“I remember.” She snatched the black cocktail dress hanging on the back of the bathroom stall and started to shimmy into it. The bathroom was small and hot and she wished she was still in the water. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t told me how gorgeous he is.”

Lorissa’s gaze met hers in the mirror while Sam pulled the little stretchy dress over her bikini. She slipped into the black strappy sandals her surfer buddies would have howled at, knowing she had maybe a thirty-minute window for comfort. After that, Blister City.

“You are not going to wear your bathing suit beneath that dress,” Lorissa said.

“Well…yeah.” Nixing her beloved flip-flops had been smart, because that gave her leverage for this battle.

“The ties from your top show.”

“Fine.” Lifting her arms up, Sam untied the bikini strap around her neck, and then pulled the top out from beneath the dress. She shoved the still damp bra into her black evening purse. “Just in case.”

“In case what—you end up swimming at the Palisades Country Club?”

When she’d found out where they were going, she’d checked it out on the Internet. Fanciest place in town. Probably served jellied fish eggs and drinks she couldn’t pronounce. Ugh. Sam touched her hair as she took another look in the mirror. Not great. “Blow-dryer?”

“The thing blew up six months ago and you never replaced it.”

“Right. No problem.” Twisting up her hair, she searched for something to pin it with.

Lorissa rolled her eyes and pulled the shiny black clip out of her own hair, offering it to Sam. “Makeup.”

Sam knew this was not a request. She offered up her face and Lorissa applied blush, mascara and lip gloss. The last item she handed to Sam. “Keep this with you and reapply every once in a while. Please remember that. Now, it’s time to get out there and—”

A heavy knock sounded on the bathroom door, accompanied by a low male voice. “Hello?”

In the mirror, Sam raised her brow at Lorissa.

“Uh—hi,” he said through the door. “Do you suppose we can get on with this?”

Get on with this? “A real charmer,” Sam said beneath her breath.

“I’m sure he’s just—”

Another knock. “Hello in there?”

“—in a hurry,” Lorissa finished weakly.

“Yeah, well, he’d better be hot,” Sam whispered, and with one last deep breath, hauled open the door.

And came face to face with her date.

Or more accurately, her date’s broad, wide chest.

“I think he’s got the hot covered,” Lorissa whispered in her ear.

Good thing she was a fairly tall woman herself, Sam thought vaguely, tilting her head back to catch sight of his face, because the guy had to be six and a half feet tall.

“Oh, good,” he said with obvious relief, running his gaze down her own five-foot-ten willowy body. “You’re ready.” He held out his arm, which she didn’t take.

“I don’t go out with nameless men,” she said.

He looked surprised, as if shocked she had no idea who he was. “Jack Knight,” he said in that slightly husky voice.

Okay, not a bad name, she’d give him that. In fact, it sounded vaguely familiar…“Sam O’Ryan.”

“Yes, I know. Nice to meet you.” He was wearing a tux and a frown, and to her relief, wasn’t ugly or fat, but quite…

Actually, Lorissa had put it most aptly. Hot. He had dark hair and even darker eyes, a wide, sensual mouth that wasn’t smiling at the moment but seemed to have good potential, and a strong jaw covered in a barely there five o’clock shadow, all on top of a long, lean, tough body…Nice combo, she’d admit that.

Not that she was hung up on appearances, but on her run to the bathroom, she’d caught sight of the black Escalade out front. The guy was indeed rich and, as she’d told Lorissa, rich guys usually didn’t have much else going for them. So really, she didn’t hold out much hope for this one.

But she was committed to tonight. With a last look over her shoulder at Lorissa, she settled her hand on his arm and let him lead her out of the café.

“We probably should have met at a safer location than this,” Jack said. As they walked outside into air that was no cooler than the café bathroom had been, he favored his right leg, but she didn’t say anything about it because he’d sidetracked her with the “safe” comment. She glanced back at the Wild Cherries sign she’d painted herself five years ago when she’d bought the place from Red.

“It’s perfectly safe,” she said.

“Now, maybe, but I don’t want to drop you off at some isolated hole-in-the-wall later tonight when it’s dark. There are no lights out here.”

“Watch it,” she warned lightly. “I own this hole-in-the-wall, and happen to be quite fond of it, lights or no.” She wasn’t open at night, so she’d never felt the need to add outdoor lighting.

He glanced at her as he unlocked the passenger door with his remote, but she avoided his gaze until he opened the door and turned his body, blocking her way into his SUV with those long arms and broad shoulders.

Not fond of intimidation, she tipped her head up and slowly cocked a brow, then realized…he wasn’t trying to intimidate her at all. Not with his eyes filled with apology and self-deprecation.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it.” She wasn’t willing to fall for a simple sweet look, not when, for all she knew, the man might be full of them.

“No, really.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and met her sardonic gaze. “Look, obviously, I’ve made a hell of a first impression.”

She felt a smile curve her mouth. “Do you care?”

“Actually, I didn’t plan to. But…”

“But…?”

His gaze danced over her features. “I find that I do care.” His smile was slow and genuine, and made her tummy flutter. “I want to enjoy this evening with you.”

“Why? Because I’m passably pretty?”

“More than passably,” he said lightly. “But no, I don’t suddenly want to enjoy this just because you turned out to be an extremely pleasant surprise, but because we might as well have fun.”

“You mean for two people who didn’t want to do this in the first place?”

His smile went to a grin that jump-started her pulse, startling her. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Stop that,” she said, pointing at his mouth.

“Stop…what?”

“Smiling.”

“Why? Do I have something in my teeth?”

He knew he didn’t. A guy like this knew exactly how good he looked. “Okay, listen. I’m going to be honest with you right from the get-go.”

“Please.”

“I have a long, horrible, nasty history with blind dates, and I’d talked myself into lumping you in with the worst of them, but I can’t do that when you smile.”

The grin only spread. “Really? Well, same goes. I have an idea. Why don’t we start over.” He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jack Knight.”

“I’m not going to commit to starting over, not yet. You might still turn out to be a blind-date disaster.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his jaw. “You might be right.”

She climbed into his Escalade. “I usually am.”

His soft laugh scraped low in her belly. “Something tells me this is going to be a much more interesting night than I could have imagined.”

“Is that good or bad?”

He came around and slid his long body in behind the wheel. He looked at her as he started the engine. “Not sure yet.”

“So we’ll leave that up in the air as well.” With that, Sam put on her seat belt and braced herself for the evening ahead.

But she had a little smile of anticipation on her face.

2

ONCE UPON A TIME, scandal had been Jack’s middle name. Jack Scandal Knight.

Not that he’d asked for such a rep. Nope, he’d been tried and convicted in the court of the tabloids, without a jury of his peers. But that was in the past.

Tonight, he’d pulled out his tux with a simple goal in mind—get the evening over with as fast and painlessly as possible. No scandal. No surprises. No nothing. Just show up, raise more money for his sister’s beloved charity that helped underprivileged kids, then go on his merry way.

Should be easy, given that over the past year he’d become the master of fast and painless, at least as far as public appearances went. The trick was to be visible, but not approachable. Pleasant and professional, but not particularly nice. This talent had been hard-earned, costing him unknown amounts of heartache and grief, but it was a rule he assumed every celebrity eventually learned, one way or another.

All he had to do was arrive at the country club with a date in tow, and his sister would stop pestering him, at least for the evening. Maybe even by some miracle the press would stop hounding him, but he wouldn’t hold his breath on that one.

He’d never really been out of the media’s spotlight, but that went back to that Jack Scandal Knight thing. He’d have figured no one was interested now that he was no longer in the public eye, but just last week he’d gone to a Dodgers game with a group of friends, where for a few blissful hours he’d eaten hot dogs and had a few beers. After the game, he’d stopped to take a leak and a reporter had come up next to him at the urinal, shoved a camera in his face, blinding him with the flash, and, oh, by the way, could he sign an autograph as well? Jack had looked down at the offered pen, and then farther, to where his hands were busy, and had little choice but to laugh. Before or after I finish here, he’d wanted to ask. Five days later, it was splashed all over the rags that he’d been rude and refused to give out autographs.

That was the problem with being a basketball icon known for flying down the court, averaging thirty plus points a game. There was no privacy anywhere. It had been a year since his bum knee had taken him out of the NBA, and his San Diego Eels contract. A year.

The paparazzi had been all over him at first, following his every sneeze, apparently not noticing or caring that the difficult decision and subsequent announcement of his retirement had nearly destroyed him.

And still they stalked him, given a chance. He didn’t know if that was because the Eels hadn’t made the championships without him, or because reporters had caught Jack coaching some local kids and thought he might come out of retirement.

Not going to happen. His knee was shot to hell. Two surgeries had left it usable, but not NBA material. And quite honestly, he’d been put through so much by the press, the public and his coaches that he no longer missed playing enough to worry about it.

This charity event tonight, carefully and meticulously planned by his philanthropic sister, would be a nightmare for him. And yet he’d agreed to come because, as asinine as it seemed, just his presence would guarantee money for the kids Heather worked so hard to help. This year, she was raising money for a new rec center, and he wanted to do what he could because he was all for getting those kids into sports and after-school programs, where he’d been volunteering as a coach.

He glanced over at his date as he drove them down the Pacific Coast Highway, the cool air-conditioning blasting out at them. If his presence was going to earn Heather money, then Sam’s presence was going to earn him kudos from his sister. Heather would find no obvious flaws in Samantha O’Ryan. She had sparkling green eyes and glossy lips, with honey-blond hair piled prettily on top of her head. The long tendrils hanging down made him want to touch. The look was sophisticated and elegant, yet slightly messy at the same time, almost as if she wanted people to know she could lose the image at the drop of a hat and get down and dirty. Incredibly sexy, if you asked him. The rest of her slender body fit into her little black dress, which clung so perfectly to her curves—and very nice curves they were—that he decided he definitely had come out ahead on this deal tonight.

Thank you, Cole. “I appreciate you doing this,” he said.

She shrugged and leaned into the AC vent, letting the air blow over her face, which caused a sigh of pleasure to slip out of her that somehow reverberated through him. “A lovely drive and a free dinner. It’s no problem.”

“And yet you didn’t want to come.” He smiled, still a little bowled over by the fact she’d had no idea who he was and still didn’t. That might have disturbed another man so used to everyone being aware of him, but not Jack. He found it extremely amusing, and oddly refreshing. “You’ve already alluded to the fact you were worried I was going to be your worst nightmare.”

She shot him a wry look. “And what exactly would that be, in your opinion?”

“I don’t know…maybe an old guy, with a potbelly and a bad toupee.”

“I don’t discriminate against age or shape.”

She had her cute nose in the air, and he laughed. “Come on. You were worried about something. Bad breath? Someone too short? Be honest.”

“You could still have bad breath, for all I know.”

He arched a brow and slanted her another glance. “Not going to admit it could have turned out worse?”

“Hey, the evening is young yet.”

“What could go wrong now?” Well, besides being grilled by his sister, and possibly being stalked by the paparazzi guaranteed to be waiting at the front door of the club….

“You could chew with your mouth open,” she said and lifted a shoulder. “Or have an extra toe.”

He shook his head. “An extra toe?”

“No ugly feet allowed.”

“You can’t date a guy with ugly feet?”

“Not once I find out about them.”

Inside his shoes, he wriggled his toes, thankful to have only ten, but not sure whether they were ugly. He’d never thought about it. “Tough cookie, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

He nodded. He could appreciate tough. He was rather tough himself.

But not with a woman. He’d never kicked a woman out of his bed for ugly feet, that was for damn sure.

“Why did you need a blind date anyway?” She shot him a curious look. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes, or an obvious raving lunatic.”

He laughed at the backhanded compliment. “Let’s just say I’ve been out of the dating pool this year, and if I don’t show up with a woman tonight, my sister is going to bring out the cavalry.”

“Cavalry?”

“Her friends. And their friends. And their friends, and so on.” He shuddered. “Trust me, it’s awful.”

“Ah.”

Her understanding smile stopped him in his tracks, and he nearly gaped because she had great eyes, and when she smiled like that, they could slay a man at ten miles. “So…” He struggled for something to say, something that would please her and keep that beautiful grin in place. “You own Wild Cherries?”

“Yep.”

“Must be nice to be cooked for every day.”

Now she laughed, the sound light and genuine. “The cook is moi. I serve, too, and we’ve been exceptionally busy, so I guess I should ask myself for a raise. My best friend, Lorissa, helps out, but still, we’re usually crazed.”

“I’m impressed,” he said, loving the sound of her laugh as much as he’d enjoyed her smile. “I usually dial out for my meals. How do you do it all?”

“The café is small, as you saw, and we’re only open for the midday and afternoon crowd, so it’s not that hard.”

“Which leaves you time to…”

“Oh, that’s enough about me, I’m not that exciting.” She cocked her head at him. “Let’s hear about you.”

It was a fact of life that women wanted to hear about him, but the thrill of the adoration had worn off years ago. He was the last thing he wanted to think about, much less discuss. “Trust me, I’m really not that exciting, either.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” She eyed the interior of his SUV. “You live well, you dress well. I’m guessing you also do something for a living pretty darn well.”

“Not lately.”

She took her eyes off the road and looked at him. “So you’re rich and you do nothing?”

“Yeah.”

She lifted a shoulder, unimpressed.

That was what he liked about her. Laid-back. Accepting. And for the first time in years, years, he found himself relaxing, just letting himself be, because with her there seemed to be no preconceived expectations. She wasn’t a groupie, she wasn’t trying to leech off his stardom, she wasn’t anything but a woman just trying to make the best of a blind date.

He loved that. “I’m retired,” he admitted. He waited for her to laugh, or drill him for more answers; in truth, she probably deserved them.

But she just nodded. “Must have been a good run before you called it quits.”

“Yeah.” A hell of a good run. His team had been infamous for being a tight-knit group and, of course, for their fondness of all things wicked. Sex scandals, gambling scandals, police scandals—name it, and his team had been there, done that. As team captain, Jack had taken the brunt of the fallout. The press had loved the Eels’ antics, and they’d loved that Jack had hated them. In fact, after several libel lawsuits that his attorneys had filed and won, they’d joyfully labeled Jack Scandal Knight a prima donna.

He could bike twenty miles a day, bench-press another player and held numerous NBA records. Yet what did everyone remember him for? A frigging prima donna.

It had gotten so bad that the owners and coaches had clamped down on the team, punishing the players with curfews and brutal practices for even a hint of trouble.

It had been a year since Jack retired, and three years since there’d been any so-called scandal.

And still, even now, after all the hiding out, the press loved to hang him.

For being a prima donna.

That just killed him, truly killed him.

Retired life was definitely simpler than being in the NBA. He could avoid most things media-related—except when his sister needed his name to raise money. And since he’d gotten over the initial shock and letdown of not playing professionally, he’d been happier. Content.

And maybe just a tiny bit bored, he admitted.

He pulled off the Pacific Coast Highway and onto the plush grounds of the country club where tonight’s event was taking place. Palm trees lined the half-mile-long driveway which skated past acres of perfectly groomed rolling grass hills overlooking the ocean. The sun was setting on the horizon like a half ball.

His date took one look at the country club as it came into view—the sprawling southwestern-style building set in an impressively lavish garden—and let out a sound that could have been either annoyance or amusement.

“Problem?” he asked, coasting into a parking space and turning to look at her.

“Are you kidding? It’s gorgeous. Pompous, but gorgeous.” She sounded the same, but her glow was gone, her voice quiet. “I’m sure the food’s great.” She smiled then, a self-deprecating grin. “Let’s just say I’d feel more comfortable in the kitchen than the dining room.”

Not expecting such a comment from the woman he’d thought confident and strong-willed, he felt taken aback, and oddly…protective.

But before he could say a word, Sam got out of the car into the warm evening, shutting the door and leaving him to hurry after her. Not easy to do with his knee aching like a son of a bitch—he’d overdone it this week playing with a bunch of hot-headed tenth graders. He came around the car, reaching for her hand to slow her down. “I was thinking maybe we could arrive together,” he suggested with a smile.

“Yeah. Okay.” She shot him a small smile back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” God, those eyes of hers. They leveled him. “Look…” He turned her to face him. “You seem uncomfortable. How can I change that?”

She stared at him for a second, then smiled. “I think you just did.”

He touched her cheek, just one light stroke over her soft skin, a little startled to find himself feeling so…happy. “Good.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Knight, could I get an autograph and picture?”

The man with the large camera and press badge had come from nowhere, and Jack steeled himself. “No problem on the autograph,” he replied. “But if we could skip the picture—”

A bright flash went off in their faces. Nice. When Jack could see again, the guy was gone. “Sorry,” he said to Sam who stood there blinking, and took her hand.

“Who was that?”

“A pest. Come on.” A white-carpeted porch led into the club, while the deck above was covered with white awnings, from which hung planters dripping with colorful flowers. At the top of the carpet milled a group of paparazzi, no doubt waiting for the “celebrity” listed on the roster.

Him.

His skin began to itch, an old reaction to bad experiences. He knew he’d have to give them a sound bite once he got inside if he wanted any peace at all. “Stick with me in there.”

“What’s going on, Jack?”

“In a sec.” He pulled her off the walk into the thick grass. Sam gasped and wobbled as her heels sank right in. She lifted a startled gaze to his.

“Piggyback, or in my arms?” he asked.

“What?”

“We’re going around the back.”

Any woman in the history of his dating life would have stopped cold, stared at him as if he were crazy, and quite possibly even pitched a fit. At the very least, she’d have attracted attention by complaining about the ruining of her heels.

Not this woman.

She pulled the long strap of her little black purse over her head and one shoulder, settling it against her back. Then she tugged up the hem of her dress from mid-thigh to high-thigh. “Piggyback.”

He could have kissed her. Instead, he turned his back and bent down a little.

She hopped on. He felt her reach behind, probably checking to make sure she wasn’t flashing anyone. “Okay,” she said.

He gripped her legs at his sides, adjusting her slightly, and now his hands were each filled with a smooth, tanned thigh. They were firm and lean, and so were her arms, which encircled his neck. “Hold on,” he said, enjoying the feel of her toned body plastered to his and the loose tendrils of blond hair clinging to his neck and jaw.

“All set,” she said in his ear, her mouth brushing his skin.

A delicious shiver slid down his spine, reminding him that it had been a while since he’d indulged in what was too often thrown at him. In any case, the evening was definitely looking up. Despite the warm night, he began to move through the grass at a fast clip, ignoring the occasional twinge in his knee, concentrating instead on the athletic yet somehow perfectly soft body snugged so intimately to his.

They made it to the line of palm trees undetected, and slipped between them. Now they were far enough off the path so that if people glanced over, they’d merely see a couple walking, but would have no idea of their identity.

Perfect. “You okay back there?”

“Mm-hmm.”

The sound vibrated from her chest through his back, and his hands involuntarily tightened on her bare legs. What had started out so innocent had turned unexpectedly and pleasantly…hot.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her mouth close to his ear, causing more shivers down his spine.

Was he? He was melting, that’s what he was, and it had nothing to do with the weather. “Believe me, I’ve got the good end of the stick on this one,” he assured her, extremely aware of his fingers on her smooth, warm flesh.

They reached the building, and Jack moved alongside it. He headed around to the kitchen entrance. Finally he stepped out of the grass and onto concrete. He slowly—reluctantly—let go of her legs so that she could slide to the ground.

And slide she did. He felt every single inch of her, and when he heard her heels hit the deck, he turned. Before he could say a word, the door flung open and Heather stood there in a floor-length sheath of shimmery gold, her long dark auburn hair twisted in some complicated up-do. “You made it,” she said with relief. “Quick, inside.”

“You leaked this to the press,” he accused.

Guilt flashed quickly. “Yes, but only because this time the stalking little bastards are actually going to get the charity’s name out there and do some good, so screw them. Plus I made sure they paid the thousand-dollar price tag for the evening. Each.” Heather pulled them both into a large, bustling kitchen. There were servers rushing around, filling their trays from bins on the counters.

Heather shut the door behind them and hugged him tight. “You’re a sweetie for doing this.”

“Just remember that the next time you’re pissed off at me for something.” Jack pulled free and reached for Sam’s hand. “Sam, this is Heather Knight, my sister. Heather, meet Samantha O’Ryan.”

“The date I begged you to find.” Heather looked Sam over.

His tough, versatile, intriguing, beautiful beach girl looked right back.

“So. Are you real?” Heather asked.

“Excuse me?” Sam blinked. “Real?”

“Did he hire you, or are you his real date?”

“Hey,” Jack said. “Play nice.”

“Hire me?” Sam glanced from one to the other, and then laughed at Jack. “Tell me you are not that hard up.”

“I am not that hard up.” He shot Heather a glare, wanting to strangle her. “She’s just insanely bossy. You know, the much older sister routine—”

Heather growled at that. “I’m only eleven months older than you, you big lug.”

“So you’re admitting to being insanely bossy?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Okay, yes. That part is true.”

“You’re both crazy,” Sam decided.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Heather actually even looked it. “I’m just a little protective.”

“I guess I can understand that.” Sam’s gaze hooked and held Jack’s. “Just as you should understand, I am your brother’s date. Real date.”

Servers continued to hurry past them, but all Jack saw was Sam—the adventurous woman with the contagious smile and amazing eyes in the sexy little black dress. “Definitely a real date,” he said, not taking his eyes off her.

Sam’s grin spread.

And Heather sighed with relief. “Finally, then.”

“Just make your money for the kids tonight,” Jack said before she could plan their wedding. “Make enough that I don’t need the monkey suit again for a while.”

“Thanks to a great lineup of auction items, I will. Oh, and I got your donation, by the way. You didn’t have to do that, not on top of all the money you’ve already—”

“Just tell me you have food in there, lots of it, because I’m starving.”

“Oh, there’s food. Amazing piles of it,” Heather assured him. “It’s going to get every person in there in a check-writing mood, I hope.”

“Good.” But Jack’s smile suddenly felt a little weak thinking about the evening still ahead, and he braced himself to keep smiling until lockjaw set in.

Sam shot him a curious glance, but didn’t say a word. She just reached out for his hand, which he found himself grabbing on to like a lifeline.

At the moment, it was all he had.

3

SAM LET JACK lead her out of the kitchen and into the main area of the club, which was one huge open room with thick white pillars, gleaming tile floors and sweeping windows overlooking the hills of grass. Beyond them was a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean, aflame as the sun set.

Sam tore her eyes from the sight and prepared to be swallowed up by the crowd. She also expected to lose sight of her attractive date because apparently, Jack was a big draw tonight. Already women were staring, most of them with dreamy smiles on their faces, making her feel as if she were back in high school with the captain of the football team at her side like a piece of eye candy.

But even back then, she’d never cared about popularity. She was who she was, and she dated guys who felt the same. Things hadn’t changed much. She still didn’t care about image, and as a result, her dating circle, small as it was, involved mostly fellow surfers or customers of Wild Cherries. No one had come along and turned her head in a long time.

And yet she felt her head turning now.

Spinning, in fact.

She honestly expected Jack to excuse himself and catch up with her later. She hadn’t imagined he’d hold on to her hand with a grip of steel, or that he’d keep looking at her as if he were glad she stood at his side.

They were perfect strangers really, and yet…she held on to him as well, and felt a thrill go through her when he looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the room.

The north corner was set up for dining, with rows of tables covered in white linens and china. In the south corner a band was playing, while people milled, conversed and danced.

Everyone was dressed to the hilt, sedate and professional in their partying. Sam and Jack passed a group of women in shimmery gowns, each with a man in a tux on her arm. Most stopped talking, shooting Jack more than a passing glance.

Interesting.

“Don’t look directly at them,” Jack murmured in her ear, still holding tight to her hand. “Smile, but keep your feet moving.”

“I think they want to talk to you…”

“Like I said, keep moving.” Obviously an expert at working a crowd, he weaved and dodged like a pro quarterback even when people turned toward him and tried to head him off at the pass. He kept smiling and nodding his head, but with admirable skill, avoided being detained by anyone with a camera.

“Impressive,” she murmured, and then began to catch snippets of conversation going on around them.

“My God, it’s him.”

“Mmm, looking hot as ever, too.”

“The Eels never recovered after he left. He shouldn’t have left.”

That one had Jack’s jaw tightening, and Sam felt an odd surge of protectiveness for the man. How dare these people act as if he couldn’t hear them.

“Who cares why he really quit. I just miss seeing his buns in basketball shorts.”

“Take a shower, Marge.”

The last was probably a disgusted husband, but Sam tripped over her heels as it hit her. Jack Scandal Knight. She was Jack Scandal Knight’s blind date. My God, how had she not realized? He had athlete written all over him—from the long, hard, rangy length of him, to the rigid yet easy control in every movement he made.

He wasn’t the quarterback she’d just imagined, but a basketball star.

He caught her. “You okay?”

She looked up into his startlingly handsome face and nodded. Why hadn’t he told her? What was it he’d said…? He’d retired. She supposed it had been easier to define it that way rather than as millions of others did—going out as a legend in his own time.

She imagined his reticence was because everywhere he went, people fawned over him, or just talked about him, as they were doing now, as if he wasn’t in the room.

This was crazy. Jack Scandal Knight, holding her hand, pulling her along.

“Jack, tell us when you’re coming back to the game.”

Jack sighed and squeezed her hand. “Sorry, but I have to say something or they’ll never leave us alone.” He turned to the group of reporters on their right. Ten mikes were immediately shoved in his face. Flashes went off. “I had a great run,” he said. “I loved every minute of it, but I’m not coming back to the game. I’m here to support this evening’s charity, which gives money and attention to underprivileged kids.” He smiled, held still for another moment for pictures, then backed away.

Sam moved with him, wondering how his life had changed since he’d stopped playing. Given the expert weave and bob he was executing, it hadn’t changed much. He didn’t want the press around him, he didn’t want any attention at all. There was something…cute about that.

If one could call a six-foot-six, tough-as-nails, hard-as-rock man cute.

In the middle of the large room now, he took a deep breath, and when a group of men came up to him, not reporters, but guests, Jack shook their hands warmly.

“How’s retirement?” one asked. “Great?”

“How could it not be?” Jack answered. “And how are you all doing tonight?”

Everyone murmured their answer, then someone said to Jack, “What are you doing with yourself these days?”

“Keeping busy, that’s for sure. Who’s actually played golf here? Is it any good?”

It went on like that for a few minutes, with Jack dodging and deflecting. She could see how private he was, and she wondered how a man like that dealt with such public pressure.

After a few minutes, Jack excused them and led her away. They passed a waiter holding a large tray of champagne. “Thank God.” He let go of her hand to grab two flutes, one of which he handed to her. Then he let out a long sigh and clinked his glass lightly against hers. “To the best evening we can make out of this.”

“Well, we’ve done pretty good so far.”

“Yeah.” A genuine smile touched his lips. “We sure have. And I think most of the press actually left after their photo op. Thanks for being so patient.”

Around them, the crowd tightened, closing in a little, and she was forced into him. “Sorry,” she murmured, backing away to give him some room, only to bump into a couple behind her, nearly spilling her drink.

“Come here,” Jack said softly, sliding his free hand down the length of her arm, entwining his fingers through hers. Shifting their connected hands to the small of her back, he gently urged her forward and once again into him.

Now her hips were cradled rather intimately with his, her breasts brushing his chest. The connection came on like a strong jolt, and her gaze flew up to his.

Jack felt it, too; she could see the heat in the dark depths of his eyes reflected back at her. “So maybe,” he murmured, “the toast should be to the rest of the evening.”

“Yes…” Dipping her head, she took a sip from her flute to cover her confusion at her unusually strong reaction to him, but then caught a movement over his shoulder. “Mob closing in at two o’clock.”

He swore, tossed his champagne down his throat and ditched the glass on a different waiter’s empty tray before getting them on the move again.

They headed toward the band, who’d struck up a Seventies disco beat. The lights went down and at least ten disco balls lowered from the ceiling swirling and sending flashes of light into every corner.

“Join us for disco hour,” the band leader said into his microphone. “And at eight o’clock, we’ll move into the Eighties.”

The crowd perked up, and many moved toward the dance floor.

Sam looked at the colored lights, at the people starting to move to the beat, and nerves leaped into her throat. Surely Jack wouldn’t expect her to dance in these ridiculous heels and tight dress…

He stopped at the edge of the dance floor, thank God. They could just watch—

“Okay, I think it’s safe here,” he said. “Quick, gaze into my eyes like I’m the only man you see. Maybe that’ll keep everyone away.”

She laughed, but dutifully looked into his eyes. “Like you’re the only man I see? And how does one give that kind of a look?”

He blinked, then laughed, too. “Actually, I haven’t a clue.”

“Uh-oh.” She winced. “Sorry to tell you, there are three men in cheap suits holding cameras, making their move.”

“Damn.” Grabbing her hands, Jack pulled her onto the dance floor, then glanced back at the photographers stymied at the side of the room. Heather swiftly moved in and shifted them out of sight, winking at Jack over her shoulder.

Jack smiled down at Sam. “Better.”

They were surrounded by couples gyrating to the music. “Unless you know something else we can do out here,” she said, “we actually have to dance.” She could surf wave after wave, she could stand on the counter of her café and sing at the top of her lungs when the mood struck her, but swaying in time to the music was hard. She had no rhythm.

With a smoothness that startled her, Jack slid one arm around her waist, took her free hand in his and pulled her toward him. “Dancing works for me.”

“Wait—” The air rushed out of her when she came up against his big, warm, hard body. He felt good, and that was before he began to sway in perfect time to the music. She stared at him. “You know how to do this?”

In the dark, his smile flashed white. “Why the surprise?”

Because athletes, famous ones, were usually good at only one thing—their sport. But he had rhythm, good rhythm, and moves that made her mind wander into areas she hadn’t expected to go this evening.

“What’s the matter?” he asked when she stood there in his arms, stiff and unmoving.

What was the matter? Nothing, except that she felt like an idiot. For all her wild days in her crazy youth, she’d never really gotten comfortable with this elementary skill. She’d never wanted to. But she had a gorgeous man holding her in his arms, his entire attention focused on her as they tried to forget the world around them, and she really did want to help him forget. In any other way except this.

He dipped his head down a little, ran his jaw over hers. “Sam?”

She could sense the firmness of his body. She could even feel his heart beating, strong and steady, and she stared up at him, one arm around his neck, her other hand entangled in his, absorbing the strength of his fingers at the small of her back, the pressure of his hips swaying gently against hers. Her body reacted, hormones revved, bones melted…

How did a man who palmed a basketball for a living get to be so sensual?

“Sam? You still with me?”

“It’s just that dancing seems so…clichéd.”

“Clichéd,” he repeated. “Dancing on a dance floor is clichéd?”

“Yes. I’m sure we could find something else to do.” Anything…

“Like…?”

“Um, like…” She searched her brain, feeling a little disoriented by the pulsating lights from the disco balls. “I don’t know. You think of something.”

“No, I think you’d better.” His eyes were deep and dark, his hands gentle on her, and also, whether he intended it not, unbearably erotic. “Because suddenly, with you looking at me like that, I can’t seem to think of anything appropriate.”

Well, neither could she! In fact, a bunch of inappropriate thoughts kept bouncing through her head, and her body slid even closer to his.

Now what? She knew what her body would like, and her hand glided over his chest, her fingers curling into him.

“Sam—”

The lights went down even more, so that all they could see were the silhouette of the people dancing around them. Perfect camouflage. Sliding her hands into the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck, she tugged his head down closer, and planted her lips on his.

The sexy little surprised murmur he made echoed through her, tingling her nerve endings, over-sensitizing them, and she wound her arms tighter around his neck as her eyes drifted shut.

Technically, she should have shut her eyes before then, but she’d waited to make sure he was okay with the direction in which she’d just taken the evening.

Given the way he slanted his head for a better angle, while hauling her up against him even closer, he was good with the new direction—quite good.

Kissing a man for the first time was always an experience, an adventure—not unlike the story of Goldilocks. Would he use too much tongue, not enough tongue or just the right amount? But Jack Scandal Knight kissed juuuusssst right.

And he didn’t pull away, not even when they were both breathless. He had one hand on her hip, the other on her spine, fingers spread wide, and when she slid her hands down to his shoulders, sinking into his tough, hard muscle, he let out another groan, low in his throat.

At the sound, something came over her on that dark dance floor. Lust, yes, but this felt different. It gripped her and held on like a bulldog; she couldn’t bear to back away, not even to come up for air. She simply dragged her mouth over his jaw, and let out a little whimper when he did the same. Her fingers tightened on his hair, tugging just a little, while her hips danced to his, and he let out another low groan.

“Not fair,” he managed.

“Why?”

“I’m not going to be able to walk off this dance floor for a while.”

Suddenly, she didn’t want to move, either, and she arched against him, nearly seeing double when his thigh rubbed against hers.

With a glance around, making sure that no one was paying them any attention, he cupped her face. “Sam…what are you doing to me?”

Hopefully driving him half as wild as he was driving her. Avoiding a dance had become the last thing on her mind. “I should mention…” She sank her teeth into his lobe, thrilling to the sound that dragged from him. “It’s been a little too long for me. I’m liking this way too much.”

“Don’t tell me that.” One hand skimmed up her back, the other was on her hip. His thumb glided over her belly, upward, stroking, tracing her last rib, barely skimmed over the very bottom curve of her breast.

All the while, his gaze held hers, conveying hunger, passion, desire…more heady than the champagne she’d sipped. She let out a shuddery breath, her bones long dissolved away.

Then he took another sweep with his thumb, not quite touching her nipple, and she had to concentrate on breathing.

“Sam.” His voice was low, hoarse.

Sinking her fingers into his hair again, she brought his mouth back to hers, and their moans commingled, becoming a part of the crazy, wild kiss.

Then the song ended, and the lights came up slightly as the band leader started talking about their next set.

Jack’s eyes were sleepy and very sexy when they opened on Sam’s. “What else will you do to keep from dancing?”

“Um…that was about it.” At least that she was willing to admit.

His eyes flitted down to the front of her dress, where her hard-as-rock nipples were pouting against the black material, begging for more attention, and he let out a low groan that pulled at them even more.

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