He went rigid as he realized that she was trying to get away from him, and he was holding her against her will.
"God damn!" He pushed himself away, knocking over a chair in his haste.
Her mouth was swollen and bruised from his kisses. Her breasts heaved and her hair was tousled, as if he'd plunged his hands through it, which maybe he had because he sure as hell didn't know what he was doing anymore. As he looked into her stricken eyes, he felt sick. He'd been with a lot of women, and this was the first time he'd ever had any trouble sorting out no from yes. The accusation in those tilty-up eyes made him feel like a criminal, and that wasn't right because they'd gone into this together.
"I'm not apologizing again, goddammit!" he shouted. "If you didn't want me to kiss you, all you had to do was say no!"
Instead of arguing with him, she lifted her hand in a small, helpless gesture that made him feel like the world's biggest bully. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Phoebe…"
She grabbed her purse and ran from the kitchen, from his house, from the dangerous heat of two bodies on fire.
Chapter 11
Phoebe felt muzzy and depressed as she sipped her first cup of morning coffee. Slowly swiveling in her chair, she looked out through her office windows onto the empty practice fields. It was Monday, "Bumps and Bruises Day," when the players picked up the grade they had been given by the coaches for their performance during the game, had physical checkups, and looked at films. They didn't practice again until Wednesday, and she was grateful she wouldn't have to spend the day watching Dan run up and down the sidelines in a T-shirt and shorts, yelling and screaming and throwing clipboards as if he could propel his team to football glory through the sheer force of his will.
Why had she let him kiss her last night when she'd known that she wasn't woman enough to see it through? She couldn't blame him for his anger; both of them knew she had gone into his arms willingly. But when she had heard the hot rasp in his breathing, felt his strength, and known she couldn't control him, she had panicked.
She looked down at the body that made up the lie of who she was. If her outside matched her inside, she would be flat-chested, scrawny, brittle from lack of moisture. What good were curvy hips and full breasts if she couldn't let a man caress them, if they would never bring a baby into the world or nurture its new life?
She didn't want to be this way anymore. She wanted to go back to those moments before her fear had taken over, when Dan's kiss had sent fresh new blood pulsing through her body. She wanted to go back to those moments when she had felt young again and infinitely female.
She heard a knock and the door of her office opened. "Now, Phoebe, don't get upset." Ron crossed the carpet toward her, a stack of newspapers in his hands.
"An ominous beginning."
"Well, as to that… I suppose it depends on your outlook." He spread the newspapers in front of her.
"Oh, no."
Color photographs of Phoebe in her hot pink carwash dress and rhinestone sunglasses glittered on the pages of the assorted papers he spread in front of her. In one of the photographs, she had her knuckles pressed to her mouth. In another, her hand was resting on her waist and her breasts were outthrust so that she looked like a World War II pinup. Most of them, however, showed her kissing Bobby Tom Denton.
"That headline is my particular favorite." Ron pointed toward one of the papers.
STARS' OWNER COMPLETES FORWARD PASS
"Although this one has a certain poetic quality."
BOBBY BUSSES BOMBSHELL BOSS
Phoebe groaned. "They've made me look like a fool."
"That's one way to interpret it. On the other hand-"
"It's good for ticket sales." She no longer had any trouble reading his mind.
He took a seat across from her. "Phoebe, I'm not certain you understand how dismal our financial picture is right now. This sort of publicity is going to fill seats, and we need to do everything possible to generate revenue immediately. With that brutal stadium contract we have-"
"You keep mentioning our stadium contract. Maybe you'd better fill me in."
"I suppose I should start at the beginning." He looked thoughtful. "You're aware that the days of the purely family-owned football team have just about disappeared?"
"How many are left?"
"Only two. The Pittsburgh Steelers, owned by the Rooney family, and the Phoenix Cardinals, owned by the Bidwells. Football has simply gotten too expensive for single-family ownership. Tim Mara sold off his half of the Giants in the late eighties, the McCaskeys got rid of a piece of the Bears, and, of course, Bert sold off fifteen percent of the Stars to some of his cronies."
"Those are the men who keep leaving me the phone messages I'm not returning?"
"The same. For now, corporate ownership violates league rules, but that's probably where we're eventually headed. How can the Green Bay Packers, for example, which is a publicly owned team, compete with all the land barons, oil and gas men, and automobile fortunes that are pumping money into the Chiefs and the Cowboys, the Lions, the Saints, all the rest?"
He shook his head. "Teams have astronomical expenses and only limited ways of generating revenue: network television contracts, ticket sales, licensing agreements, and, for some of the teams, their stadium contracts. We don't get a penny from any food or liquor sold at the dome. We don't receive a cut from any of the advertising that's displayed, our rent is astronomical, and we have to pay for our own security as well as our cleanup."
"How could Bert allow something like that to happen?"
"He let his heart rule his head, I'm afraid. In the early eighties when the Stars' franchise became available, Bert wanted to buy it so badly that he didn't hang tough enough with the consortium of businessmen behind the sports dome. He also expected eventually to renegotiate the contract by making some threats and showing a little muscle."
"Apparently he thought wrong."
"The consortium that owns the stadium is headed by Jason Keane. He's a tough businessman."
"I've heard of him. He shows up at a lot of Manhattan clubs."
"Don't let his reputation as a playboy fool you. Keane's smart, and he had no intention of losing his sweetheart deal with the Stars. The contract comes up for renewal this December, and so far we've made no progress at all improving the terms."
Resting her elbow on her desk, she plowed one hand through her hair and swept it back from her cheek. The Stars had lost their final three exhibition games as well as their season opener, so there was little possibility of the team's qualifying for the AFC Championship game. All the sportswriters were predicting that the Portland Sabers would make it to the Super Bowl again this year, and she hadn't failed to note that the Sabers had won their opener against the Buffalo Bills 25-10.
The stadium contract was going to be Reed's problem, and there was no reason for her to waste time thinking about it except for an inescapable need to accomplish something her father hadn't been able to do. But how could she expect to remedy a situation Bert couldn't fix when she knew nothing at all about such things?
Reed had called her several times since the night he'd come to visit her. He'd even sent her flowers before the opener. Each time they'd spoken he'd been unfailingly polite, although he wasn't happy about the two-year contract she'd signed with Ron. She knew he was afraid that she was going to destroy the team before he could take it over. He would never understand that her need to be more than the figurehead her father had envisioned outweighed any desire she might have to get back at him for his childhood bullying.
She gazed at the computer that sat idly on the corner of her desk. "Could you set me up with someone who can teach me how to use this thing?"