Plus, she knew Emily would love the trip. Emily had been incredibly supportive and unbelievably patient all week long. The very least Jenny owed her was a target-rich VIP party.
An optimistic smile twitched Mitch’s lips. “You’ll be able to smell the sweat and hear the cuss words.”
Jenny made up her mind. “Wow. What girl could say no to that?”
The Tigers won the game twenty-one to six, so the mood afterward at the Moberly Club party on Galveston Bay was celebratory. With Emily’s wholehearted approval, Jenny had worn navy leggings and royal blue leather ankle boots, topped with a flirty denim miniskirt and a shimmering peach tank top. They’d done the makeup thing again, put in her contacts and pulled her hair back in a messy knot, topping the whole outfit off with dangling silver earrings.
Jenny wasn’t used to men’s interested gazes following her progress while she crossed a room. But she steeled herself, squared her shoulders and ordered herself to relax and have a good time. There was a dance band playing in the corner. She’d ordered a bright-colored cranberry martini and took a first sip. When Cole Maddison asked her to dance, she accepted cheerfully and slid off the bar stool.
The club had been closed for the team’s private party, and everyone seemed to know everyone else. Most of the players were built for strength and not agility, so the dancing caliber was mixed. Their laughing efforts made Jenny relax, and she gave herself over to the music.
Across from her, Cole did the same. He was under six feet, and much slighter than all the other men around him. But his movements were smooth and practiced. His smile was broad. And she felt emotionally safe in his company.
“May I cut in?” came a deep voice at her side.
Jenny glanced up to see Jeffrey Porter’s bright smile. She’d met him a few times over the years, and she knew he was a good friend of Mitch’s.
She looked to Cole, who shrugged his shoulders and raised his palms, backing away to the beat of the band.
Jeffrey wore a white cotton dress shirt and black jeans. His skin was olive-toned, and his jet-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck. In her experience, he was invariably friendly and jovial. All the other players seemed to like him.
The band switched to a slower number, and he drew her into his massive arms. “We should take this nice and slow,” he spoke in her ear. “I’m not the most graceful guy on the floor.”
“No spins or dips?” she teased.
“It’s for your own safety, ma’am.”
She laughed. “Nice catch out there, by the way.” She referred to a late game play in the end zone where Jeffrey had leaped a good five feet to snag the ball and score a touchdown before smacking into the turf.
“Thank you. Mitch would have drilled it straight to me, saved me a bruise or two.”
“You think?”
“Don’t get me wrong. Cooper’s a decent quarterback. But Mitch is psychic.”
Jenny drew back. “Psychic?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Does he ever give you any stock tips?”
It was Jeffrey’s turn to laugh, and his brown eyes crinkled up at the corners. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
“My 401(k) could sure use the help.” Jenny spotted Emily across the dance floor in Cole’s arms. In her ultrahigh heels, they were nearly nose to nose. Her expression looked tense, her movements stiff, and Jenny couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong.
“My salary’s just fine,” said Jeffrey. “But I expect my career to be short.”
Jenny’s attention went back to Jeffrey. “You do? Is something wrong?”
“I’m going by the mathematical odds. It’s tough out there.”
Jenny cringed reflexively in sympathy, remembering some of the hits Jeffrey had received in the game. She leaned in. “Are you in pain?”
“I’m always in pain. But that’s not the same as being injured.” He nodded toward the perimeter tables. “Now, Mitch there. He’s injured. And his physiotherapy regime is brutal.”
Jenny glanced sideways to where Mitch stood in a group of other players. He gazed intently at her, with what looked like anger simmering in his darkened eyes.
She missed a step, but Jeffrey quickly caught her, tugging her close. “Whoa, there, missy.”
“Sorry,” she breathed, refocusing her attention. What on earth was the matter with Mitch now?
Four
Mitch watched from the sidelines at the Moberly Club, while out on the dance floor Jeffrey flirted with Jenny. Though he knew she was too smart to be taken in by Jeffrey’s smooth talk, he was tempted to warn her away from the man. Or maybe he should order Jeffrey to stay away from her. It might be his responsibility to make it clear, in no uncertain terms, that Jeffrey was to stay well away from his assistant.
He straightened away from bar, intending to do just that.
“Well, hello, stranger.” A tall, leggy blonde sidled up to him.
“Misha,” he greeted, recognizing the former wife of one of Houston’s many oil executives. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Back from Paris last week,” she purred, resting her elegant, manicured hand on the arm of his suit jacket. She was a former model, born and raised in Germany. She’d had a brief but profitable marriage in Houston. Word on the street was that he’d ended up with the sports cars, while she got the Tigers’ season tickets.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked dutifully, even though he’d prefer to spend his time confronting Jeffrey.
“But, of course.” She took his hand and moved to the dance floor.
Misha, it turned out, had spent the past few months traveling, perfecting her tan in Tahiti, visiting a game preserve in South Africa and dedicating a new museum wing in Prague. She offered to show him her all-over tan, but Mitch graciously declined.
His next dance partner was just back from St. Kitts. It seemed she’d bought a little bungalow beside the ocean. She’d taken up snorkeling. She throatily informed him there was a hot tub on the balcony of her hotel suite, and then hinted that she’d like to show him how long she could hold her breath.
Mitch honestly didn’t remember these parties being quite so crass. By midnight, all he wanted to do was head for the hotel, take an aspirin and crawl under the covers.
Alone.
But then his gaze caught Jenny.
She was in the corner talking to Emily, being handed another martini. A green one this time. She seemed to have developed a taste for exotic drinks. And he didn’t know what had gotten into her with the clothes lately.
That short skirt showed off her incredible legs, and their navy silhouette made a man’s mind go all kinds of places. She’d worn her contacts again, and her ornate earrings sparkled whenever she moved her head. His gaze rested on the shimmering peach tank top, making out the rounded curves of her breasts against the slinky fabric. It was obvious she’d forgone a bra.
He couldn’t remember ever seeing her braless. Then again, he supposed he hadn’t been looking. Why was he looking now? What the hell was the matter with him? What, exactly, would it take for him to learn his lesson?
He caught sight of Jeffrey. The man was heading in Jenny’s direction again, a predatory gleam in his eyes. This time, Mitch did make his move. And he didn’t let anyone stop him along the way.
“Jeffrey,” he greeted heartily, falling into step with the man.
“Hey, Mitch. Glad you could make it.”
Mitch would just bet Jeffrey was glad he’d shown up with Jenny. “I see you’ve met Jenny.”
Jeffrey frowned. “I’ve met her lots of times before.”
“You didn’t dance with her before.”
“Her hotness factor’s gone way up in my books.”
“You keep her out of your books.”
Jeffrey turned his head to look at Mitch. “Huh? What are you talking about?”