I tuck it behind me. “I’m fine. No need to check on me.”

He swallows and stares at a point over my shoulder. “Sorry to bother you. It’s just once a reporter broke in here and went through his things. One time, a girl got in. Stole all his clothes.”

“Good for her!”

He blinks. “Ma’am. I just wanted to check on you. Jack gave me this job out of the goodness of his heart, and I don’t want to mess up.” He pauses. “He said to tell you he’s sorry.”

“He’s sorry? Oh my God! The nerve of him to send you to apologize.”

Young James Bond fidgets. “Most girls Jack dates are happy—”

My anger races up. “You aren’t helping the situation here.”

He dips his head, lowering his eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have said that about other girls. Hasn’t been one here in a very long time.”

Jeez. I need a better look at this guy so I can read his face. I hobble over to my purse and pull out my glasses and slide them on, turning back to check out the young man. All at once, I’m relieved. He looks antsy and uncomfortable.

He clears his throat, keeping those arms crossed in front of him like a soldier.

“You’re security for Jack?”

He gives me a tight nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Please stop calling me that. You can’t be much younger than me.”

“Yes, ma’am—sorry. Southern boy. Can’t help it. May I run out and grab you something? Or call you in breakfast downstairs? The staff here is phenomenal.” He keeps those eyes off me, and I feel at ease.

My stomach rumbles, growling, and I sigh. This is not the time to be hungry. “I’m sorry; I missed your name?”

He sticks his hand out. “Quinn. I’m here for whatever you need.”

I give him a firm handshake. “And Jack? Where did he run off to?”

He gives me an odd look, as if I should know. “Uh, he’s at the stadium. Big press conference today and all.”

“I see.” My mind churns, recalling his powerful body, those tightly roped muscles. Stadium means either hockey or football in Nashville, and since Jack said his girlfriend dumped him for a hockey player . . .

“I guess football keeps early hours.”

He gives me a big smile. “He’s the hardest-working quarterback in the league. A real legend. Brought Nashville four AFC championships since he was drafted. He finished the regular season with four thousand one hundred and four yards passing, five hundred and fifty-one yards rushing, and thirty-one touchdowns. I know we haven’t won a Super Bowl yet, but that isn’t all on him. This next season is the one. I can feel it.” He blushes.

“Uh-huh.” Sounds Greek to me. “Go on. I love football stats. What else has Jack done?”

He gives me an odd look, but you can tell he wants to talk about Jack. “Well, people are still sore about our loss to Pittsburgh this year, but it takes a team to win. We need better guys on defense. He just gets a bad rap because of his past.”

“I know. His past. Man, it follows him everywhere. Such a shame.” I look expectantly at Quinn, who’s nodding along with me.

“Right! So what if he got a DUI once and was benched. That was years ago. I mean, come on; at twenty-two he got a twenty-four-million signing bonus, fifteen more million than the quarterback that played before him. He made some mistakes. That kind of money can mess with a kid who never had a pot to piss in.” He grimaces, as if he’s said too much.

Indeed.

“I see. When was the Super Bowl?”

He starts. “Last month, ma’am. You didn’t watch?”

“Missed it.”

He gives me a disappointed look, as if I’ve failed horribly. “That’s a shame.”

I keep the dawning realization of who Jack is off my face. A jock. A freaking athlete! A famous one who makes millions!

It’s so ridiculous that it must be on my face, because Quinn frowns.

“You okay, Miss?”

“Call me Elena, please. I insist,” I say absently, trying to come up with how to glean more info from Quinn.

“So back to Jack. How did he seem when he left this morning?”

Quinn hesitates. “A little tired, maybe. He’s got a lot on his mind. You know what he’s dealing with. The media hates him and for no good reason. He’s one of the kindest people I know. He took care of that kid that got hurt and even paid all his medical expenses, although he’d never tell anyone.”

Kind? He lied to me and took my underpants!

Kid? What kid?

I straighten my shoulders. I’m not leaving this place until I figure out exactly who Jack is and why he . . . why he . . . I bite my lip . . . he made me feel so . . . beautiful.

Whatever. He deceived me, and that trumps everything.

My stomach rumbles. “When’s he coming back?”

“Not sure he will. He usually stays at his other place. You can hang out here as long as you like.”

Oh, I see. This is the fuck palace. I do my best to hide my simmering emotions.

“Well, Quinn, does Jack keep his fridge stocked?” I’m already marching into the space, flinging open the French-style stainless steel fridge.

He tags along behind me. “I keep it up for him. If you’re okay, I’ll just go.”

My eyes glaze over when I see eggs, green peppers, and a drawer full of premium cheese.

“Oh, Quinn,” I sigh. “There’s gouda here. And dang . . . fresh spinach.” I squeal. It feels like centuries since dinner. Plus, I’ve practically run a marathon since then. “You hungry?”

He gives me an unsure glance, his head turning to look back at the door. “Um, yeah. Gouda. There’s some gruyère as well.”

“You know how to shop, Quinn. You can stock my fridge anytime.”

He just stares at me, and I see a hint of anxiety. He’s a little afraid of me. Good.

I open three cabinets before I find the mixing bowls and give him a smile over my shoulder. And I know how crazy I must look, hair and bedsheet, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“I best be going . . .” He trails off, watching me crack eggs against the granite countertop and then drip them into the bowl.

Teacher voice is back. “Have a seat, Quinn. No one’s going to charge the front door this early in the morning. Now, come beat these eggs, and chop some spinach while I go make myself presentable, and when I get back, I’m going to whip us up an omelet, and you’re going to freaking love it.”

And you’re going to tell me all about Jack.

“Uhhh . . .”

I push the bowl at him and smile. “Aren’t you hungry?”

He nods grudgingly. “Kinda. I usually just call up the restaurant downstairs, and they deliver food to me.”

I smile. “Big strapping guys like you need a home-cooked meal. Me too. Look, we already have something in common. We’re gonna be besties. Be right back.”

After grabbing my purse and clothes, I dash into the marble-tiled master bathroom, taking in the opulent wall-to-wall white stone. I catch my reflection in the mirror again and groan. Rode hard comes to mind. By a lying football player. Not that I have anything against athletes, but me? I’m not the sexy-jock-type girl. I’m drawn to the intellectual types: lawyers, teachers, computer programmers—weathermen.

After washing my face and combing out my hair and putting it up in a messy knot, I dress hurriedly, minus the panties. I’m almost out the door when I turn back around. After fumbling through my purse, I pull out my cherry red and write on his mirror: Jack. I want my underwear back!

Chapter 8

ELENA

A few hours later, after a not-as-informative-as-I-would-have-wished breakfast with Quinn, I’m driving the twenty minutes back to Daisy on Interstate 40, my hands tight on the wheel. All Quinn wanted to discuss was Jack’s football career and nada about him personally. I did like him, though, and it’s not his fault Jack lied to me.

I’m feeling ashamed of my one-night stand, and I’m sure every car I fly past on the interstate can see the huge scarlet A on my face. Weak, I was weak. Throw in the gin and tonic, and all my inhibitions disappeared.

Okay, okay, also it might have been his kissing too.

And the fact that he’s hotter than a blazing fire.

My phone buzzes again with a text, and I figure it’s Topher checking on me, but I don’t text and drive or even talk on the phone while I’m behind the wheel. Plus, I sent him one earlier from the penthouse. I’m alive and on my way home. My cell goes off again, then again, and I dart my eyes over to the passenger seat where my phone is. Sexy Lawyer is the sender, and my jaw tightens.

Why haven’t I removed Preston from my contacts yet?

Cursing under my breath, I find an exit and pull off to the side at a gas station. I totally should ignore him, but Preston did see me leave with Jack, and I’m curious about what he has to say. I snap the phone up and read a series of texts from him; the first ones were sent earlier, but I missed them.

I came by your house this morning and you weren’t there.

Did you spend the night with him?

Elena. Are you crazy? He’s not a good person.