The Man Tamer. Cindi Myers
you,” Moira said.
Rachel laughed. “Oh, you’re wrong there. Rhonda is exactly where she always wanted to be. Why would she envy me?”
“Maybe because you’re younger, cooler and free to do pretty much anything you want—including date hot guys like Garret Kelly.”
Rhonda, envious? The idea was absurd but cheering. “I guess I do have it pretty good,” Rachel said. “Not that Garret and I are dating.” Yet.
“But you are going to be seeing a lot of him,” Moira pointed out. “I take it the two of you are supposed to make public appearances and stuff?”
“Something like that.” Rachel poked at her salad, searching for a chunk of avocado, a shred of cheese or a candied walnut—something besides greens. “Apparently, Garret’s contract obligates him to do publicity for the team, and I’m just going along for the ride.”
“Except you have an ulterior motive.”
She nodded. “Except for that. But Garret doesn’t have to know that. It will probably make it easier on me if he doesn’t. Then he won’t be trying so hard to resist my techniques.”
“What about you? Are you going to resist his techniques?” Moira laughed. “I’m thinking you shouldn’t try too hard.”
“Very funny.” There was no denying the sparks that had passed between her and the hunky athlete at Denton’s party. Who was to say she shouldn’t use that attraction to her advantage? This was serious business, but no one said she couldn’t have fun in the process.
GARRET WAS JUST getting off work Tuesday when his phone rang. “Hullo, mate,” he said as he flipped open the phone.
“Is this Wild Man Kelly?” a feminine voice teased.
“The one and only,” he said, playing the hale-and-hearty chap despite his wariness that some fan had got hold of his private number.
“This is Rachel Westover. We met at Denton Morrison’s party?”
He grinned, uneasiness fleeing. “As if I’d ever forget. Need help with any more chocolate?”
“Um, no. But I was hoping to get together soon.”
The knowledge that she’d remembered him, and sought him out, pleased him no end. “How about tonight? I’m just getting off work, so I’ll need to clean up a bit, but I could meet you at say—” he checked his watch “—six-thirty?”
“Work? Do you mean, practice?”
“No, I mean a real job. Lacrosse players don’t pull in the ready like American football players and such. We have to work for a living like regular blokes.”
“So what do you do?”
“I have my own fire and safety company. We install alarm systems, fire extinguishers, that sort of thing in homes and businesses.”
“Who knew? So do you want to meet for drinks at six-thirty? There’s a club on Fifteenth Street. Tangerine. Do you know it?”
“I can find it. I’ll see you there.”
On the drive to his apartment, Garret thought about Rachel. He knew very little about her beyond her name and that she worked for Denton in some capacity. And that she had amazingly soft skin and a passion for chocolate. Not a bad foundation for a new relationship, he supposed.
He’d heard no more from Denton about whatever publicity stunt he’d been hatching for him and Rachel. Maybe the team owner had had second thoughts about the Wild Man having a girlfriend.
Garret’s contract obligated him to do whatever Denton came up with to promote the team, from making commercials to escorting beautiful models to high-profile events. But what he did on his own time was his business. Rachel Westover was a woman he’d just as soon keep all to himself.
He turned into the lot of his apartment complex, an upscale place owned by Morrison Enterprises. As he was climbing out of his car, Bud Mayhew waved at him from two spaces down. Mayhew was another newcomer to Dallas, as was most of the team. He hailed from Alberta, Canada, and was a pretty quiet guy, letting his skills on the court speak for him.
“Want to come up later and watch the hockey game?” Bud asked, loping over to join Garret.
“Can’t, I’ve got a date.”
“Oh? Who with?”
“Lady named Rachel. Met her at Denton’s party.”
Bud grinned. “Moira’s friend, right?”
“That’s the one.”
“If she’s half as good-looking as Moira, you’re a lucky man.”
Garret glanced at his friend. This was the first time he could remember Bud commenting on a woman. “So you thought Moira was a beauty?” Personally, he didn’t go for the skinny, small type. They looked too fragile for a big guy like him to have anything to do with.
“Sure. She was great. And taken.” Bud frowned. “Though that Dave guy she was with was a real ass.”
“I could get her number from Rachel. You could call her up.”
“No thanks.” Bud took a step back, shaking his head.
“Why not, mate? It’s just a phone call.”
Bud shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the ground. “What would I say? I’d sound like an idiot.”
Garret grinned. “We’re all idiots, mate. Especially when it comes to women. Accept that and you’ll be a lot better off.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not interested in proving it every time I open my mouth.” He took another step back. “Go get ready for your date. See ya around.”
“See ya.” Garret waved at Bud, then took the steps to his apartment two at a time. He could have told Bud that he himself was once the shy, retiring type who had learned to overcome his reticence and get the girl. Of course it would all be ballocks. Garret never found it difficult to talk to people, men or women. The only advice he had for Bud was to get over himself and just do it.
In the past it had been pointed out to him that this wasn’t particularly helpful, so that was the end of his advice giving. And he wasn’t much for taking advice, either.
After all, no one needed to tell him that he and Rachel had started something at Denton’s party. With any luck tonight, they’d keep things going in a very good way.
RACHEL STEPPED INTO Tangerine and let her eyes adjust to the light. There was a good crowd for a Tuesday night, and a DJ was spinning dance tunes from a booth overlooking the smallish dance floor. She spotted Garret at a tall table near the bar and made her way through the crush to him. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had trouble finding a parking spot.”
“No worries. I haven’t been here long.” He signaled the waitress. “What can I get you?”
“Diet Coke with lime.” She settled into her chair. “I don’t like to drink and drive.” Not to mention she wanted to keep all her wits about her when dealing with him.
“Smart woman. I took light rail so I’m free to get blotto.”
It took half a second for her to realize he was joking. That crooked-tooth grin of his did serious things to her insides. Get a grip, she reminded herself, and looked out over the dance floor. She told herself she needed to evaluate him objectively before she began the actual work of applying her man-taming principles.
She studied him out of the corner of her eye. He was wearing a striped button-down shirt, tails untucked, over a dark green T-shirt. He had shaved. For her? A good sign.
All in all, she decided her initial impression of him was accurate: