nausea.
* * *
Shane’s megawatt smile dimmed along with the hot, tungsten studio lights. He’d outdone himself this morning. No one in the Blaze organization had better dare complain that Shane wasn’t giving the media blitzkrieg his best.
Christ, they ought to give me a freaking Academy Award
.
Tossing the hand towel onto the countertop, he looked around the set for Carly. The show’s host—Candy, Cindy, or whatever the hell her name was—rubbed her hip next to his, leaning across him to drag her finger through the bowl of whipped cream. A seductive smile on her face, she stuck her whipped-cream-laden finger into her mouth and sucked on it dramatically, her bright red collagen lips bulging.
Seriously, lady
? Shane looked around the studio in disgust. He hated these television segments. Why did anyone care what he was like off the field? Wasn’t his job to win football games? And where the hell was Carly? It was her job to run interference with the overly made-up television hostess. Usually, Carly jumped right in at the end of each interview, graciously but effectively untangling him from fans and interviewers and herding him out the door to his next gig. Right now, Candy-Cindy was being a bit too playful as she shoved her business card in the back pocket of his jeans, her hand lingering on his ass just a little too long.
“Call me if you want someone to show you around Baltimore, Shane,” she said, tossing her hair for effect.
Shane gave her a noncommittal smile before quickly heading off the set to find Carly. She’d be hard to miss. Dressed for the spring weather, she’d arrived at the studio in a clingy blue dress, showing off toned, bare arms and legs. Normally, Carly wore her hair done up in some conservative style, but today she’d left it cascading down her shoulders. Every man with a pulse stopped to stare as she wandered about the set offering a cheery hello to the show’s staff.
Shane wasn’t immune, either. His pulse had been racing since he’d laid eyes on her earlier; the effort to keep their relationship strictly business was making him testy. In fact, these last few weeks as “friendly coworkers” had been torturous for Shane. As much as they both tried to will it away, the sexual tension still burned between them. By sheer will, Shane kept it professional. He couldn’t afford any distractions. He had records to break.
Despite the daily punishment of looking but not touching, Shane was grateful for Carly’s help “working” the media. In fact, he was a little in awe of her skill. Putting aside her tenuous relationship with the reporters, Carly managed to carry out Asia’s media plan without any glitches, always remaining poised and professional. Her tactic seemed to be to kill them with kindness, ingratiating herself with everyone she met. Shane found himself looking forward to his scheduled interviews—if it meant he could spend time with Carly. The “no touching” rule was still in place, but he discovered that on the occasions when she gifted him with a smile, it was almost as good as a touch. Almost.
Searching the studio, he finally found her standing alone back against one of the movable set walls, her arms wrapped around her midsection.
“Hey, the Hostess with the Mostest was coming on to me with the whipped cream. You wanna go take her down? You know, one for the team?” Shane teased.
Carly looked up at him then, her blue eyes wide and frightened.
“Whoa, Dorothy, that was a joke,” he said, bending down so he could peer into her face more closely. She was trembling.
Jesus!
Gently taking her by the elbow, Shane steered her off the set and out into a blessedly empty hallway.
“What gives?” he asked, reluctantly releasing her elbow. As soon as he did, she turned and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her without conscious thought.
They stood there for a few moments, her taking deep breaths against his instantly aroused body, him slowly
* * *
Shane’s megawatt smile dimmed along with the hot, tungsten studio lights. He’d outdone himself this morning. No one in the Blaze organization had better dare complain that Shane wasn’t giving the media blitzkrieg his best.
Christ, they ought to give me a freaking Academy Award
.
Tossing the hand towel onto the countertop, he looked around the set for Carly. The show’s host—Candy, Cindy, or whatever the hell her name was—rubbed her hip next to his, leaning across him to drag her finger through the bowl of whipped cream. A seductive smile on her face, she stuck her whipped-cream-laden finger into her mouth and sucked on it dramatically, her bright red collagen lips bulging.
Seriously, lady
? Shane looked around the studio in disgust. He hated these television segments. Why did anyone care what he was like off the field? Wasn’t his job to win football games? And where the hell was Carly? It was her job to run interference with the overly made-up television hostess. Usually, Carly jumped right in at the end of each interview, graciously but effectively untangling him from fans and interviewers and herding him out the door to his next gig. Right now, Candy-Cindy was being a bit too playful as she shoved her business card in the back pocket of his jeans, her hand lingering on his ass just a little too long.
“Call me if you want someone to show you around Baltimore, Shane,” she said, tossing her hair for effect.
Shane gave her a noncommittal smile before quickly heading off the set to find Carly. She’d be hard to miss. Dressed for the spring weather, she’d arrived at the studio in a clingy blue dress, showing off toned, bare arms and legs. Normally, Carly wore her hair done up in some conservative style, but today she’d left it cascading down her shoulders. Every man with a pulse stopped to stare as she wandered about the set offering a cheery hello to the show’s staff.
Shane wasn’t immune, either. His pulse had been racing since he’d laid eyes on her earlier; the effort to keep their relationship strictly business was making him testy. In fact, these last few weeks as “friendly coworkers” had been torturous for Shane. As much as they both tried to will it away, the sexual tension still burned between them. By sheer will, Shane kept it professional. He couldn’t afford any distractions. He had records to break.
Despite the daily punishment of looking but not touching, Shane was grateful for Carly’s help “working” the media. In fact, he was a little in awe of her skill. Putting aside her tenuous relationship with the reporters, Carly managed to carry out Asia’s media plan without any glitches, always remaining poised and professional. Her tactic seemed to be to kill them with kindness, ingratiating herself with everyone she met. Shane found himself looking forward to his scheduled interviews—if it meant he could spend time with Carly. The “no touching” rule was still in place, but he discovered that on the occasions when she gifted him with a smile, it was almost as good as a touch. Almost.
Searching the studio, he finally found her standing alone back against one of the movable set walls, her arms wrapped around her midsection.
“Hey, the Hostess with the Mostest was coming on to me with the whipped cream. You wanna go take her down? You know, one for the team?” Shane teased.
Carly looked up at him then, her blue eyes wide and frightened.
“Whoa, Dorothy, that was a joke,” he said, bending down so he could peer into her face more closely. She was trembling.
Jesus!
Gently taking her by the elbow, Shane steered her off the set and out into a blessedly empty hallway.
“What gives?” he asked, reluctantly releasing her elbow. As soon as he did, she turned and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her without conscious thought.
They stood there for a few moments, her taking deep breaths against his instantly aroused body, him slowly
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