any other young couple, strolling the streets, enjoying the mild March weather. He could almost forget about the issues they faced that could ultimately separate them. Miranda nudged him with her shoulder, jostling him out of his thoughts and back into the moment. And instead of being resentful and irritated by her pressure, he felt relaxed, almost happy.
“Chicago is windier and cold.”
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “Be serious.”
She shivered lightly. He took off his jacket and laid it over her shoulders. “I don’t spend much time in Chicago, to be honest. I spend most of the time on the road, with other teams.”
“So you live out of a suitcase? Must be nice to settle in for a few months here, no traveling.”
He shrugged. “I’m with the teams for a few months most of the time. Not travelling weekly or even monthly. Most teams have apartments or short-term housing for players that I can stay at so I’m not stuck in hotels for the duration.”
“So where is home?” She asked.
He thought about the question for a moment, the empty apartment in Chicago, his childhood home in Georgia. “I guess I don’t really have one anymore.”
“Most people create their own home, their own families.”
He lifted her left hand, entwined with his, and peered at the fingers. “What about you? I don’t see a ring here. How have you created your own family?”
Just asking the question shot a stab of jealousy in his gut. Although he wasn’t ready to admit why he cared if she had someone, or had been married.
“A little late to be asking, Mr. Wainright, but no. There’s no one special. The team is my family.”
Her words shot straight to his heart, a reminder of what was at stake, what they were fighting for. Damn, the Knights were her family? What would happen if she had to leave them, if anything happened to the team? The weight of responsibility was a boulder on his shoulders, reminding him of the stakes. With other teams, it was easier. He could keep his professional distance, focus on the numbers and make the tough calls. With the Knights, with his father’s ghost lurking in every corner, resurrecting the past, haunting him with every step he took, every decision he made, it was completely different, meant something so much more. Could he make the tough calls now, knowing the stakes?
Miranda wasn’t a faceless team president, seeking advice and rescue from bad decisions and a difficult economy. No, she was Miranda Callahan, a scrappy, tough woman who oozed sex appeal and distracted him with every look she gave him. She’d been handed more challenges than most teams, personally and professionally, and, instead of crying or curling up in a corner, she was making tough decisions, trying to make a difference and save the team, even knowing her father might not approve. And yet she prevailed, that combination making her sexy and irresistible. A combination he’d have to resist, knowing the challenges ahead.
The realization made him stop dead in his tracks. Miranda turned at the jerk of his arm, a question on her face. Shit, he was getting in deep, breaking his own cardinal rule. Never get involved.
He cleared his throat and dropped her hand. “I think we should be getting back. Tomorrow’s an early day.”
She followed his lead, not questioning his words, but her feet almost dragged, a half step behind. The camaraderie and bubble that had surrounded them this whole night had burst, leaving them adrift without a tether. Even as he tried to give himself some space and remind himself not to get involved, he knew it was too late. He was in too deep with Miranda.
And it scared the hell out of him.
Chapter Twelve
S leepless nights were becoming something of a habit for Miranda and she was damned sick of it. First her father, then the team, and now Lucas. She still didn’t understand what had happened the previous evening. It had started out promising, with a scorching hot kiss in the garage, and ended
“Chicago is windier and cold.”
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “Be serious.”
She shivered lightly. He took off his jacket and laid it over her shoulders. “I don’t spend much time in Chicago, to be honest. I spend most of the time on the road, with other teams.”
“So you live out of a suitcase? Must be nice to settle in for a few months here, no traveling.”
He shrugged. “I’m with the teams for a few months most of the time. Not travelling weekly or even monthly. Most teams have apartments or short-term housing for players that I can stay at so I’m not stuck in hotels for the duration.”
“So where is home?” She asked.
He thought about the question for a moment, the empty apartment in Chicago, his childhood home in Georgia. “I guess I don’t really have one anymore.”
“Most people create their own home, their own families.”
He lifted her left hand, entwined with his, and peered at the fingers. “What about you? I don’t see a ring here. How have you created your own family?”
Just asking the question shot a stab of jealousy in his gut. Although he wasn’t ready to admit why he cared if she had someone, or had been married.
“A little late to be asking, Mr. Wainright, but no. There’s no one special. The team is my family.”
Her words shot straight to his heart, a reminder of what was at stake, what they were fighting for. Damn, the Knights were her family? What would happen if she had to leave them, if anything happened to the team? The weight of responsibility was a boulder on his shoulders, reminding him of the stakes. With other teams, it was easier. He could keep his professional distance, focus on the numbers and make the tough calls. With the Knights, with his father’s ghost lurking in every corner, resurrecting the past, haunting him with every step he took, every decision he made, it was completely different, meant something so much more. Could he make the tough calls now, knowing the stakes?
Miranda wasn’t a faceless team president, seeking advice and rescue from bad decisions and a difficult economy. No, she was Miranda Callahan, a scrappy, tough woman who oozed sex appeal and distracted him with every look she gave him. She’d been handed more challenges than most teams, personally and professionally, and, instead of crying or curling up in a corner, she was making tough decisions, trying to make a difference and save the team, even knowing her father might not approve. And yet she prevailed, that combination making her sexy and irresistible. A combination he’d have to resist, knowing the challenges ahead.
The realization made him stop dead in his tracks. Miranda turned at the jerk of his arm, a question on her face. Shit, he was getting in deep, breaking his own cardinal rule. Never get involved.
He cleared his throat and dropped her hand. “I think we should be getting back. Tomorrow’s an early day.”
She followed his lead, not questioning his words, but her feet almost dragged, a half step behind. The camaraderie and bubble that had surrounded them this whole night had burst, leaving them adrift without a tether. Even as he tried to give himself some space and remind himself not to get involved, he knew it was too late. He was in too deep with Miranda.
And it scared the hell out of him.
Chapter Twelve
S leepless nights were becoming something of a habit for Miranda and she was damned sick of it. First her father, then the team, and now Lucas. She still didn’t understand what had happened the previous evening. It had started out promising, with a scorching hot kiss in the garage, and ended
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