Ron was asleep by the time she returned to the first-class cabin. He barely stirred when she slid past him into her seat. As soon as she was settled, she leaned against the window and shut her eyes, only to discover that all the diet soda she'd consumed had caught up with her. Easing back out into the aisle, she walked hastily past Dan's first row seat and slipped into the lavatory.
She hated using airplane toilets. She was always afraid the plane would choose the exact moment she was most defenseless to crash, and she'd spend her final seconds of life spiraling toward earth with her bottom bare to the world. As a result, she hurried through, washed her hands, and was just opening the bolt on the door when it flew out of her grasp. Before she could react, Dan squeezed in next to her and shot the bolt back into its locked position.
"What do you think you're doing!"
His massive body pressed her up against the washbowl. "I'm giving us a little privacy so we can talk."
The tiny cubicle was much too cramped for both of them. One of his knees wedged between her thighs and her breasts flattened against his chest. It was hard for her to catch her breath.
"I don't want to talk to you now. It's obvious you're going to lose your temper, and I don't happen to feel like being yelled at."
Anger crackled from him. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you stormed into my locker room tonight."
"I didn't storm in!"
"You came this close to sabotaging a whole season's work!" His eyes narrowed into the same fierce slits that had found the weakness in the most awesome defensive lines in professional football. "I want my players focused before the game, not distracted from the jobs they have to do with a lot of idiotic mumbo jumbo. If those men ever needed proof that you don't understand this game, they got it tonight. You don't have any idea what they're facing when they run onto the field. It's serious business out there, not some kind of joke."
She struggled to squeeze past him, but she didn't have a prayer. His body pressed harder against hers, and his voice was low and furious.
"I don't ever want you doing what you did tonight, you hear me? You stay out of the locker room before the game. You're just lucky they're disciplined enough that your little exhibition didn't distract mem so much it cost us a win!"
She stared at him. "You don't have a clue why I was there, do you? You have no idea what I was trying to accomplish. My God, you really do think I'm some brainless bimbo."
"After listening to your asinine theories about naked football players, I'm not going to argue with you there."
She'd never thought of herself as a short-tempered person, but now her fist shot up from her side, and she punched him in the ribs as hard as she could.
He gave a soft "oof" and stared at her incredulously. She stared back, unable to believe what had just happened. Even though she was too close to have put any real force behind the blow, she had still struck another human being, something she had never done in her life. This man was turning her inside out, and the fact that she had let herself be pushed so far made her even angrier. A red mist swirled before her eyes.
"You stupid, pigheaded, simple-minded jock! I'll tell you what's wrong with me! I'm saddled with a head coach who is not only an emotional six-year-old, but mentally deficient as well."
"Deficient!" he sputtered. "Now you listen to me-"
Her elbow hit the mirror behind her as common sense fled, and she jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. "No! You listen to me, buster, and you listen well. I was in that locker room-not because I wanted to be there-but because you've managed to get my football team so tense that they haven't been able to hold on to the football."
"Are you actually suggesting-"
"You, Mr. Jock Strap, may be a brilliant strategist, but your knowledge of human nature is just about zero."
"You don't have the slightest idea-"
"Anytime-" She jabbed him again, punctuating the syllables with her index finger. "A-ny-time, do you hear me, that I want to address my players in my locker room, I will do it. Anytime I feel they're too tense, too jumpy, too uptight to do the job I am paying them a ridiculous amount of money to do, I'll stand in front of them and strip, if I want to. I'll do whatever I judge necessary to make certain that the Chicago Stars are able to do what they are supposed to do, which, in case you have forgotten, is what I helped them do tonight. That is, to win a football game! I, Mr. Pigskin-For-Brains, am the owner of this football team; not you. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"
There was a long pause. Her cheeks were flushed, her heart pounding. She was appalled at her loss of control, and she braced herself for his retaliation, but instead of exploding, he almost seemed distracted.
"Uh-huh."
She gulped. "That's all you have to say?"
The plane hit a patch of turbulence, pressing his hips more firmly against hers. Her eyes flew open as she realized he was fully aroused.
Looking vaguely embarrassed, he held up both hands. "It's not intentional. I know you're trying to make a point and I heard every word you said. Honest. But you kept wiggling while you were talking, and the plane started to bounce, and-I don't know. It just happened."
Her temper rekindled. "I'm not in any mood for this."
"Neither am I. Not mentally, anyway. As for physically…"
"I don't want to hear it."
The jouncing continued, rocking their bodies together. Once again he shifted his hips, cleared his throat. "Are you-uh-seriously trying to tell me that you think you're-uh-responsible for us beating the Giants?"
The mildness of his tone, the hot friction between their bodies, took the starch out of her. "No… Not exactly… Of course not. Well, maybe a little bit… Partly. Yes, definitely partly."
"I see." He ducked his head and braced both hands on each side of the counter behind her. His hair smelled of pine and spice from his postgame shower. She could feel his thumbs against her hips. The plane continued to bounce and she fought to ignore the thrilling abrasion of her breasts rubbing against his chest.
"You're a loose cannon," he said quietly, "and I don't like surprises." His jaw brushed her hair as he spoke. "If you thought there was a problem with my coaching, you should have talked to me about it."
"You're right. Theoretically." Her voice sounded as if it were coming from a distance. "But, you can be intimidating."
Once again, she felt the soft caress of his jaw against her hair. "So can you."
"Me?" Her mouth curled in a delighted smile. "Really?"
"Really."
Her smile faded as she saw the way he was looking at her. She licked her lips. "I'm…"
"Hot?" His molasses drawl made that short word last forever.
She swallowed. "Warm."
He smiled his Southern boy's crooked smile, slow and easy, conjuring up endless humid nights. "Not warm, darlin'. Hot."
"Maybe…"
"Me, too."
She could feel every part of him through her clothes. He thrilled her, he scared her. He made her feel as if she'd only been half-alive before they'd met.
His hand settled around her waist. "You and me. We're…"
"Hot." The word slipped out.
"Yes." He dropped his head and took her mouth.
The lateness of the hour. The tension of the game. For whatever reason, the moment his lips touched hers, she lost all sense of restraint.
He scooped his big hands beneath her hips, and his elbow whacked the wall as he lifted her. Their bodies ground together. Her knee bumped into the door. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gloried in the feel of him pressed so hard against her.