Once again, he was being polite. Not thinking of himself first. Not at all congruent with the selfish, egotistical man she’d read about in his portfolio.

Something wasn’t right here, and she’d have to get to the bottom of it. Either he was playing her, or the reports about him were inaccurate.

Savannah was determined to find out. She couldn’t fix his image if she didn’t know who the real Cole Riley was.

He drove her back to her house. She started to get out, but Cole did, too.

“You don’t have to come in.”

“Sure I do. You brought a lot of stuff. I’ll help you carry it in.”

Again, he confused her. This had to be some kind of ploy on his part. “All right.”

She let him inside and turned to him, reaching for her bags. “I’ll take those.”

“I can handle it. Where do you want them?”

“You can lay them down on the bed.” Her Southern hospitality kicked in then. “Would you like a drink?”

“Sure.” He went into her bedroom and came back a few minutes later.

“Nice underwear.”

She turned. “Excuse me?”

“Hey, it’s not like I went rummaging into your drawers or anything, but you had some hot stuff laying out on your bed.”

Her face heated. She knew she should have taken her things into the bedroom herself. She handed him a glass of sparkling water. He looked at the glass and frowned. “This is the drink you had in mind?”

“You’re driving.”

“I’m a big guy. I know my limits.”

“You already had shots at the club.”

He frowned. “I don’t need you monitoring my alcohol intake.”

“I wasn’t. I was just…Okay, I was. And anyway, I thought you didn’t drink alcohol during the season.”

“It’s not the season yet.”

“But you’ll be reporting to training camp soon, correct?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

She rolled her eyes and he laughed.

“You have to get out and have some fun. The serious business starts soon.”

“And what—you don’t have any fun once the season gets under way?”

He set his glass down on the table next to the sofa and took a seat. “I didn’t say that.”

She followed, sitting next to him. “And the articles, of course, imply otherwise.”

“Of course. According to the media I’m out partying every night, including game nights.”

“Which couldn’t be true, because of team curfews.”

He picked up his drink and took a long swallow. “Don’t believe everything you read about me, Peaches. Most of it is hype.”

“Don’t you have PR people?”

He shrugged. “Here and there. I don’t really like the kind of PR they do, so I avoid them.”

“So you’ve fired them, or they’ve left you because of the kind of bad publicity you garner? Can’t be good for their image, either.”

“Yeah, it’s my fault.”

She sighed. “I’m only trying to help you, Cole.”

“Not the first time I heard that. A lot of people tell me they want to help. Sometimes PR does more damage than good.”

“Elizabeth is a very good agent. She can put you in touch with some great public relations firms who can do so much to help your career. You can trust her.”

“Trust is a hard thing to come by.”

“And yet you trust your first-name-only friends at the club so easily.”

“They haven’t screwed me over.”

“That you’re aware of.”

He set his glass down again and turned to face her. “So what am I supposed to do, Savannah? Live in a bubble? Hide out at home and never go out? Put my trust only in you professional people who all claim to know what’s best for me and my career? I’ve done that before—I’ve put my career in the hands of the experts who said they’d guide me. I’ve been with three teams so far and it’s not going so well. I’m not about to stay home and hide. And I do have friends—people I know on a first-name basis. When I come home, I hang out with them. If I don’t know their last names, what’s the big deal?”

She laid her hand on his arm. “The big deal is that it seems to me you haven’t forged any friendships with teammates, with anyone you feel close enough to invite over to your home. You’ve never had a long-term relationship with a woman, have you?”

He frowned. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“A lot, I think. Do you even date?”

“Hey, I was out on the dance floor tonight with a bunch of women.”

“That wasn’t a date. That was an orgy.”

He stood and walked to the front window. “My personal life has nothing to do with this.”

She rose and followed, stood next to him. “Your entire life has everything to do with what we’re doing here. Your background, your feelings, relationships you’ve built, both personally and professionally. It all ties into your behavior on and off the field. It’s all part of your image. Image isn’t just surface, Cole. It’s who you are not only as a football player, but as a man.”

He didn’t say anything for what seemed like the longest time. Then he turned to her. “I don’t need a goddamned psychologist, Peaches. I don’t need you delving into my personal life and my relationships.”

“I’m not a psychologist. I’m far from it. But in order to work on your image, I need to know who you are, what shaped you into who you’ve become to this point. Then we work out from there.”

He turned, held his arms out. “You want to know who I am? This is who I am. I never hold anything back. What you see is what you get.”

She didn’t believe that. He was holding back a lot and they hadn’t even begun yet. “If we’re going to work together you have to be honest with me.”

He laughed. “I haven’t lied to you. You’re the one who lied to me.”

Her eyes widened. “I’ve never lied to you and I never will.”

“You lied to me when we first met. You didn’t tell me who you were.”

“I was observing. It was Elizabeth’s job to introduce us.”

“That’s bullshit. And what about tonight?”

“What about tonight?”

“Dancing with me?”

She swallowed. “I don’t understand the question.”

He moved in closer and her heart picked up a rapid beat.

“You and me on the dance floor. You felt it.”

“It was just a dance, Cole. Nothing more.”

“Was it?” He grabbed her remote and turned on the television, found one of the music stations. He held out his hands. “Prove it.”

“What? I’m not dancing with you.”

“Afraid?”

“Not at all. This isn’t part of my job.”

“Not part of mine, either, but you left before we were finished earlier.”

She crossed her arms. “It’s not a good idea. We need to keep our relationship professional.”

“I didn’t say I was going to f**k you up against the wall, Savannah. I just want to dance.”

Savannah’s body went up in flames at Cole’s words. Up against the wall? Heat flashed through her and her mind filled with the visuals.

Be a professional. Ask him to leave.

Emotion warred with common sense and she knew what needed to be done here. Cole needed a firm hand, someone who wasn’t going to take any of his shit. But he was bullheaded and if she pushed too hard this early, she’d lose him. She had to give a little, too.

She walked into his arms. “One dance. Then you need to leave.”

He grinned. “Sure.”

She loved jazz music, and the slow, sexy saxophone eased into her bones, making her want to melt against Cole’s body. But that would be a very bad thing. Instead, she held herself rigid, refusing to get close.

She wouldn’t make eye contact, either.

“Peaches. Look at me.”

She tilted her head back to meet his gaze and was lost. His eyes were like the ocean in Mexico. Staring at them mesmerized her, and his off-kilter smile made everything in her lower regions clench in anticipation.

“Relax. It’s just a dance.”

He was right. And maybe they did need this contact so he’d trust her and open up more.

She released the tension in her muscles and moved in to him, letting herself feel the music, feel Cole, inching her body closer until her thighs pressed to him. When he pulled her in tighter, she couldn’t object, not when it felt so good to be held, to feel her br**sts against the warmth of his body.

And god, was he ever warm. Rock solid. She looked up at her hand, almost invisible when clasped within his much larger one.

It was just a dance. But when his hand began to roam over her back, his fingertips teasing lightly over her bare skin, it felt like much more. Her skin prickled with sensation, her body trembled as if she’d never been touched before. She definitely wasn’t new at this game, but it sure felt like it. She needed to remember that Cole was practiced at this seduction thing, so where he was concerned she was a decided amateur. And maybe it did feel good to be held by someone so big, to feel all those hard muscles under her hands and to have him look at her like he wanted to devour her. He might be the epitome of her every fantasy, but she knew this was going nowhere. He was her client, and she never mixed business with pleasure. They’d already taken it as far—further—than she intended. It was time to end this.

“Cole—”

“You have a beautiful mouth, Savannah.”

Her gaze snapped to his. “What?”

“Your lips.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since the first time we met.”

“You have? Oh, that’s not good.”

He quirked a smile. “So you’re a bad kisser?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“So, you’re a good kisser?”

“Yes. No. Yes. I don’t know. Cole…”

He slid his hands along her throat. “What you’re saying is, you want me to find out for myself.”

The “no” hovered. But then his mouth was on hers. All rational thought disappeared and she couldn’t remember why he shouldn’t kiss her. He kissed her gently, his lips sliding along hers in a delicate tease that made her want to inch up and beg for more.

Her heart pounded as he held her neck between his hands. Could he feel the way her pulse raced as he moved his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss, pulling her tighter against him until her br**sts were crushed against his chest? He moved a hand down her back, cupping her butt, letting her feel the ridge of his erection against her sex.

This was everything she imagined. His tongue licking against hers, his cock, hard and rocking against her pu**y while the slow wail of jazz music filled her mind with images of the two of them spread out on her bed. She already had a mental list of things she wanted to do with his na**d body. She wrapped her tongue around his and sucked. He groaned and lifted her dress to palm her panties.

“You’re wet,” he said, his tone rough, making her sex quiver as he moved his fingers over her. “I could make you come, Peaches.”

He could. Easily. She wanted that. She wanted him, wanted to feel the stretch of his muscles under her hand.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. They had work to do. Fucking him wasn’t on the agenda.

She pulled away, smoothed down her dress and caught her breath before lifting her gaze to his.

His eyes had gone dark, a storm of hunger in them that matched the fury of her desires.

“We can’t…I can’t do this, Cole. I’m sorry.”

She expected anger. Argument. Persuasion.

Instead, all he did was nod.

“You need to leave.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair and she sensed his frustration. God knew she felt the same way.

“Yeah. Sure.”

She walked him to the door, feeling ridiculous, and angry with herself for letting it go as far as it had. Where had her self-control gone?

Out the window with that first kiss?

Or maybe as soon as he’d pulled her into his arms for the dance.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

He turned to her and his lips curved into a smile. “Don’t be.”

“I’ll call you in the morning.”

He walked away without looking back. She shut the door and leaned against it, her body still humming with arousal.

She’d just made a critical error. She’d gotten too close to a client.

FIVE

AFTER HIS WORKOUT THE NEXT DAY, COLE CHECKED his phone and found a message from Savannah, asking him to meet her. He showered and changed, then texted her and told her he’d be there in thirty.

He wondered how this meeting would go after what had happened between them last night. He wondered how it would have gone if Savannah hadn’t gotten scared and pushed him out the door.

She was an interesting woman. Cool and remote one minute, and all fiery passion the next. She had these issues about them working together that got in her way.

He aimed to remove those barriers, because he wanted to take her to bed. His dick had been hard all the way home. Jacking off in bed wasn’t his favorite pastime and not something he had to do all that often. Or at all. Usually the woman went home with him, or they went to a hotel and ended up in bed.