The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) Page 10

Surprise zinged through her. Was that how he saw himself? “No, that’s not at all what I meant.”

  He waited.

  She wasn’t going to explain that he was so spectacular it was hard to draw in enough oxygen when shut into an enclosed space with him. “I meant that you are practically a national treasure, so it’s a little intimidating to be responsible for your entertainment for an entire day.”

  A shadow crossed his face. “I was born with a certain talent for throwing a ball and taking a hit. I’m not curing cancer. I’m not feeding third world nations. I’m just an entertainer.”

  That word didn’t fit him. “Frank Sinatra was an entertainer. You’re more like a gladiator.”

  That made his eyes glint with amusement. “Okay, a gladiator, but they were just there to entertain the Romans.”

  “And you give a lot of money to people who cure cancer and feed third world nations,” Miranda said. She’d spent far too much of her limited free time googling Luke Archer.

  “I have enough money to buy a couple of third world nations, so that’s no skin off my back.” He leaned forward so she could see the scruff of blond beard he hadn’t shaved that morning and the tiny squint lines at the corners of his eyes. “I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.”

  “Yes, but you probably don’t lose your balance,” Miranda murmured.

  Luke gave her a raised eyebrow, but she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. However, he didn’t let her stop him from making his point. “I’m just another client, and you’re just doing your usual excellent job.”

  She heard the compliment through a haze created by the scent of his lemony aftershave, the nearness of his sharply sculpted lips, and the breadth of his shoulders filling her entire field of vision. She wanted to shift forward just two inches so she could brush back the gilded lock of hair that fell onto his forehead. It would feel like silk, she was sure.

  Instead, she hugged her tablet to her chest. It would be blasphemy to touch a legend without his permission. “Thank you. I hope you’ll enjoy today,” she said. Clichés were always useful when your brain refused to function.

  He also settled back in his seat and crossed his arms, making the muscles in his chest shift under the fabric of his T-shirt. Now she wanted to flatten her palms against that wall of pure power, as he said, “Since my life is on the Internet for anyone to read, tell me something about you. Where are you from?”

  Miranda felt a slight flush climb her cheeks as he mentioned the Internet, but his question was innocuous enough. “I was raised on a dairy farm in upstate New York.”

  “You?” His gaze skimmed over her body. She felt it almost as a touch. “On a farm?”

  “Yup, I can milk a cow in nine minutes flat.” But she knew why he was skeptical. She’d worked hard to fashion a veneer of city sophistication over her rural upbringing.

  He looked at her neatly manicured hands. “When was the last time you milked a cow?”

  “Last year. I like to keep in practice, just in case.” Theo had challenged her to a milking contest since he also didn’t believe his fancy aunt Miranda had ever milked a cow. Even she was surprised at how quickly she’d found the rhythm of it again. She’d let Theo win, of course.

  “Just in case what?” His dimple was starting to show.

  “Oh, I don’t know, an apocalyptic failure of the power grid or something. I could survive on milk and cream.”

  “Or trade it for eggs.”

  She nodded, glad he was entertained by her whimsy. “So what would your survival skill be in an apocalypse?”

  “Huh,” he said, dropping his chin to his chest as he considered her question. “I could probably throw a spear to bring down game.”

  She had a vision of him dressed in a wolf skin, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing and rippling as he sent a spear streaking through the air toward his unsuspecting prey. “Okay, with that talent, you’re invited to join my postapocalyptic enclave.”

  He huffed out a chuckle. “Does your brother still live on the family farm?”

  She nodded. “It’s not an easy life, but Dennis and Patty like it. I worry about Theo, though. The school up there isn’t very academic, and he’s a bright child.”

  “My parents are teachers, and they’ve always said that a kid can get as much education as he wants, no matter what school he’s in.” Luke fiddled with his sunglasses as he said it.

  “That’s reassuring, but it’s not so much the teachers I’m concerned about as the kids. When I went to school there, it wasn’t cool to be smart. I don’t want him to hide his intelligence in order to fit in.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  The man was far too perceptive. “No, but I’m female, so I didn’t mind being considered a nerd.” Well, not too much. There had been times when she’d longed to be part of the popular group, but she hadn’t been willing to change who she was just to belong.

  “So you weren’t a cheerleader.” He sounded almost approving.

  She shook her head. “You probably knew a lot of those.” She had discovered from her research that he’d been a standout athlete from high school on. Picturing him with a buxom cheerleader on each arm provoked a misplaced stab of jealousy.

  “Yeah.” There was no enthusiasm in his response. The jealousy evaporated.

  “You’re from Texas.” She gave in to the urge to know more about him than just the facts everyone read on Google. “Do you miss it?”

  “I go back summers, so I satisfy my taste for wide open spaces then.”

  “Is space what you miss the most? I can see how New York wouldn’t give you much of that.”

  “One of the reasons I bought the condo at the Pinnacle was because it looks out toward the Statue of Liberty and the Verrazano Bridge. Makes me feel like I have some room.”

  She’d seen his presence on a football field, the way he dominated the swirl of bodies around him. He probably did feel the need for space. “It’s a beautiful view.”

  He gave her that long, assessing look of his. He focused every ounce of his attention on her, and it was a lot to bear up under, but it also made her feel as though he believed she was worth it. It was probably a well-rehearsed trick of his, and she needed to resist the illusion.

  “I want you to talk to me straight,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That comment about the beautiful view. That’s concierge-speak. Just talk. Like I’m your friend.” He softened his command with a wink.

  She felt weirdly disappointed at his request. Even friendship with this man was a gift beyond any normal expectation. What more did she want?

  She opened her mouth and then shut it again when she realized she was about to spout a cliché.

  He unfolded his arms and held out his hand to her. “Friends.”

  As she put her hand in his, a little shiver of heat sizzled through her. His skin was warm and dry. His grip was strong but not overwhelming. He probably muted it when shaking hands with mere mortals.

  “Friends.” She returned his grip and found herself wanting to hold on because his strength was so reassuring. If you needed him, he wouldn’t let go of you. That had to be another one of those illusions he created. As a quarterback, he needed people to trust him.

  The car glided to a stop, and he released her hand. The driver’s voice came through the speaker. “We’re at the entrance, Ms. Tate.”

  Luke slid his sunglasses back into place.

  “You shouldn’t need those,” Miranda said. “I arranged for us to come in a back entrance. I figured that would lessen the chance that a photographer would spot you going in.”

  “Thanks,” he said, but his voice held a tinge of disappointment.

  “Would you rather go in the front? We can.”

  He shook his head. “You’re right.”

  The driver opened the door and stood waiting. Luke shifted his legs out of Miranda’s way and offered his hand for support.

  She kept her ha
nds on her tote bag as she scooted sideways on the seat. “I’m not going to aggravate your injuries.”

  “You’ll aggravate me more if you don’t take my hand.”

  She gave in and laid her hand in his, savoring the way his long fingers wrapped around hers. But she kept her weight balanced away from him, stooping to back out of the door so he didn’t have to twist in his seat.

  A cloud of annoyance scudded across his face, the mirrored Ray-Bans adding to the formidable effect. “That’s called a pass fake,” he said when she tugged her hand away.

  As soon as she stood up, he swung his legs out, planted his worn tan cowboy boots on the pavement, and unfolded his body with a grunt.

  “That’s why I didn’t lean on you,” she said.

  “When it’s you doing the leaning, it feels good.” His drawl was like molasses, slow-moving and scrumptious.

  “Do you always flirt with your friends?” she asked, struggling against the slide of his seduction.

  “When they’re pretty.”

  Miranda didn’t buy that. He was accustomed to stunningly beautiful. “Well, let’s keep this on a friends-only basis.” Otherwise she would fall completely under his spell.

  He covered his gleaming hair with the Yankees cap again. “We’ll see how it goes.”

  She choked on thin air as his implication sank in. Her body wanted it to go one place, while her brain knew it had to stay in another. But she’d handled flirtations from clients before. It shouldn’t make her feel this flustered.

  Marching briskly to an unmarked door, she punched in the temporary security code she’d been given by the museum’s PR director. Luke reached around her to pull the door open, so the sleeve of his jacket brushed her shoulder, and his big body angled close to her. If she leaned a little to the right, she would come up against his muscular chest.

  She practically ran through the door.

  Luke followed her into an empty, utilitarian corridor and looked around. “How’d you get access to this?”

  “Oh, I’ve arranged enough VIP tours of the museum that the PR director trusts me.” In addition, she might have hinted that Luke would make a donation if he enjoyed his visit to the Met, as some of her other clients had.

  She pulled up the map she’d been e-mailed and started in the direction that would lead them to the Temple of Dendur. He strode along beside her, his boots thudding on the commercial-grade carpeting. She tried hard not to notice the subtle creak of his leather jacket, or the way the worn denim of his jeans outlined his thigh muscles.

  They passed through a catering kitchen used to serve the parties that took place in the venue and emerged on the stone platform beside the ancient Egyptian temple. She felt bad that Luke couldn’t approach it from the front to get the full effect of the dramatic setting, but this offered less risk of him being recognized and bothered.

  Still, the huge exhibition space with its vast ceiling and curtain wall of glass made a strong impact. Luke stopped and whistled softly as he took in his surroundings.

  “The big pool of water surrounding the temple is supposed to represent the Nile River,” Miranda said, drawing on the research she’d done. “The decorative carvings on the base of the temple are stylized papyrus and lotus plants.”

  Luke started walking toward the front of the temple.

  “It was built in 10 BC under the rule of Caesar Augustus,” Miranda continued. As they came around to face the entrance with its two tall columns, she said, “The winged disk is—”

  “The symbol of the sky god Horus,” Luke finished for her. He gave her a slanted smile. “As a kid, I got interested in the Egyptians. Some of it stuck.”

  “And you let me babble on about it. A friend would tell me to shut up.” Miranda worried that she had sounded patronizing with her mini lecture.

  He sauntered into the first room of the temple, his gaze skimming the carvings of pharaohs making offerings to the gods Isis and Osiris. “I don’t know anything about this temple. I just recognize some of the symbols. Like that one means pharaoh.”

  “Which is more than I knew.”

  He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and looked down at her with a gleam in his eye. “Well, the truth is, I like to listen to your voice.”

  “My voice? What do you mean?”

  “It’s all smooth and soothing. It just kind of washes over you.”

  There he went, nudging things past the friendship line. She didn’t know whether to flirt back or try to keep things on a client-concierge basis. It would be easier if the molecules of her body didn’t do a jig every time he smiled at her. “You mean my voice puts you to sleep.”

  He shook his head. “No, it makes you want to sort of bathe in it, like a hot shower.”

  A totally inappropriate picture of Luke standing naked under a showerhead sprang into her mind. He would rival any of the perfectly muscled statues in the European sculpture gallery. Heat cascaded through her, and she thrust the thought away. Better to keep the flirting to a minimum before she did something she regretted. “Thank you. I think.”

  She turned away to drag her mind off her fantasy of Luke’s nude body and noticed that a couple of people were casting speculative looks at him and whispering to each other. He was either oblivious or ignoring them, because he continued to examine the bas-relief carvings on the temple walls.

  “We’d better get moving,” she said under her breath. “I think some adoring fans have spotted you.”

  Resignation cast a cloud over his face. He nodded and walked out of the temple. “Keep walking,” he said, taking her elbow to propel her forward. She forced her attention away from the delicious power of his touch. “It’s when you stand still that they get up the nerve to pounce.”

  “I want you to see it from the front, though,” she said, veering toward the huge reflecting pool.

  He let her guide him to a vantage point that showed the entire vista of seated statues on the edge of the pool, the temple’s entrance gate, and the temple itself. She loved the stark majesty of it.

  “You’re right. It’s worth the risk of getting ambushed by autograph hounds,” he said. His face was alight with the kind of wonder she’d hoped to evoke. She let him stand there, drinking it in, as she kept an eye out for fans. The people who’d been staring at him in the temple were coming closer, so she tugged him gently in the opposite direction.

  “We’re going to duck into another side door and head for the Astor Chinese Garden Court,” she said. “That ought to shake them off.”

  She got him through the door and into the staff elevator. “How did they notice you so fast?”

  He shrugged with that gleam in his eye. “My charisma.”

  She took a step away from him and tilted her head. He had his shoulder propped against the elevator wall, and one booted ankle crossed over the other. He had more than charisma. He made her want to run her hands over every inch of his body. “I guess there is something there,” she said, letting herself respond in kind this once.

  The elevator slowed, and he pushed off the wall to look down at her. “Too bad the elevator ride wasn’t longer.”

  The pale blue of his eyes no longer looked like a glacier. Now they burned with the scorching flame of an acetylene torch as it sliced through metal. Miranda felt the sear right down to her bones. Their flirting had taken on an unexpected edge that made her nervous. Because despite the city-girl facade she’d built for herself, she didn’t have much experience with city men. She just didn’t have the time. And she had a feeling that her romantic encounters with community college boys hadn’t come close to preparing her for someone like Luke Archer.

  As the door slid open, she held up her hand like a stop signal, hoping he didn’t notice its slight waver as her blood pulsed hard in her veins. “Flirting again.”

  He laid his big, square palm against the doorjamb to hold it open for her. Miranda sidled past him and pulled in a shaky breath before she resumed her tour guide duties. “The Chinese Garden Court i
s modeled on a seventeenth-century courtyard and features Ming dynasty wooden furn—”

  He took her wrist and pulled her to a stop in the hallway. “You’re ignoring me.”

  “That would be impossible,” she said.

  “Okay, you’re ignoring what I said.” His thumb was stroking across the fragile skin on the inside of her wrist, which sent shivers of sensation dancing up her arm.

  She could barely think straight, so she blurted out an honest answer. “I don’t understand what you’re doing. I’m supposed to be your tour guide and your temporary friend. I’m not your . . . your date.”

  “Why can’t you be all three?” he asked.

  Chapter 9

  She stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. He guessed he couldn’t blame her. It was just that when they’d been closed up in the limo together, he’d become more and more conscious of how sexy she was. There was that smooth, creamy voice, but she also had shining dark hair that he wanted to bury his hands in, brown eyes that held a softness he found rare in this city of hard edges, and a lush mouth that made him want to taste it.

  Not to mention the curves outlined by her fitted pants and silky top. Although her clothes led his mind in interesting directions, he had to admit there was nothing suggestive about them. She wasn’t showing cleavage or midriff, as did so many of the women who sought him out.

  He liked to watch her dodge and weave, especially when she decided to give some sass back to him. And if she stopped dodging, the day might get very interesting indeed.

  For now, he released her wrist, regretting the loss of her warm, soft skin under his thumb. “Okay, back to friendship. For now.”

  She gave him a beaming smile that held equal parts relief and regret. The second one was promising. He followed her through the circular moon gate and into a serene oriental garden. She led him around as she pointed and talked about imperial kilns and yin-yang principles.

  Spotting a bench standing in a sunbeam, he took her elbow and tugged her toward it. “Let’s sit down for a minute and soak up the atmosphere.”

  “I thought you had to keep moving,” she said.