Читать книгу Pass Interference - Desiree Holt - Страница 10

“We were lucky to get this table,” Betsy said as they slid into their seats.

Tyler nodded. They’d scored a seat on Al Dente’s mezzanine overlooking the world famous Riverwalk. The entire wall of the restaurant was glass, giving them an unobstructed view.

“It is pretty crowded today,” Tyler agreed, adjusting her chair and looking around.

“Yes, it is.” Betsy gave Tyler a penetrating stare. “You look good, gal friend.”

“Excuse me?” Tyler’s eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline.

“You heard me. I like this look.” She grinned. “Am I seeing the real Tyler Gillette?”

“I don’t know.” Tyler looked down at the table. “I’m not sure I even know who the real Tyler Gillette is anymore, Bets.”

Betsy placed a gentle hand on her arm. “I think,” she said in a soft voice, “it’s the woman I’m looking at right now. The one without a chip on her shoulder.” She grinned. “But still feisty.”

“I feel strange,” Tyler said.

“Do you feel naked this way?”

Tyler gave a tiny little laugh. “Not so long as no one sees me, I guess. Of course, I’ll bet they’d never recognize me.”

Betsy put her elbow on the table and leaned her chin on her palm. “Maybe it’s time to make big changes in your life. Stop worrying about certain people and do this for yourself.” She paused. “You want to tell me what brought this on?”

Tyler nibbled her lower lip, a habit of her childhood that had popped up lately. How could she tell her friend why she was doing this when she wasn’t even sure herself? She felt odd with her naked face hanging out but it was something she’d felt impelled to do.

“I think,” she said slowly, “I took a good look at myself and didn’t like what I saw—someone I wouldn’t even want to be friends with.”

“Maybe it’s time you were.” Betsy opened her menu. “Let’s see what sounds good today. I could eat a truckload of something.”

Tyler looked at her own menu for a moment but she really didn’t see what was printed there. What the hell was she doing? Who was she trying to be? “Do it for yourself,” Betsy had said. But who was herself? She picked up her glass of ice water to take a sip and was just about to set it down when something made her look up and there, being seated at a table near them, was Rafe.

He pinned her with his penetrating gaze, and Tyler nearly dropped her drink.

“What’s the matter?” Betsy frowned. “You have a weird look on your face.”

A sudden feeling of panic clutched at her, and she pushed her chair back from the table.

“I’ll be right back. If the waiter shows up, order me a dirty martini and that bruschetta appetizer.”

Grabbing her purse from the back of her chair, she headed—almost ran—to the ladies’ room. Thank the Lord there was no one inside. Quickly she pulled out the makeup case she always carried and began to paint her face. When she was done, she yanked the holder off her ponytail, bent over, and raked her fingers through her hair. When she stood up straight and tossed her head back, her hair fell to her shoulders in sexy, messy waves. Good. Just what she wanted. She felt safe behind what was probably her stage makeup. No way did she want Rafe to see her face naked and vulnerable.

“Well!” Betsy gave her a wide grin as she took her seat again. “What brought that on? I told you before, I think I like the other Tyler better.”

“I just—I didn’t—” She swallowed. “God, Betsy, I got scared. I didn’t have my usual mask in place.”

“Maybe it’s like a twelve-step recovery,” Betsy teased. “You have to do it in stages.”

“Maybe.” She buried her head in the menu again.

“It’s okay, Tyler.” Betsy voice was filled with understanding. “I’m here for you all the way. After lunch, we’ll stop at one of the T-shirt shops on the Riverwalk, and get you something to wear with a crazy saying.”

Crazy saying. Right. Her whole life was a crazy saying.

“Sounds good.” Impulsively she reached over and squeezed the other woman’s hand. “I’m so lucky to have you for a friend, Bets.”

“Same goes. Now let’s have a drink on that.”

At that moment, the waiter appeared with their appetizers and drinks. Tyler lifted her martini glass and took a swallow. The liquor burned on its way down, but it was a familiar sensation and one she embraced. It let her know she was alive.

“So tell me,” Betsy asked, “how long are you going to keep changing cell-phone numbers? The guy at your carrier store looked as if he thinks you’re nuts. Three numbers now.” She tilted her head and studied Tyler. “You need to tell someone about this, Tyler. I’m not kidding.”

“I’m not telling anyone.”

“Anyone?” Betsy leaned forward. “Honey, you need to tell someone. I’m worried about you, that’s all.”

“I’m fine. Truly. And I’m stingy with who gets the new number.” She forced a grin. “I’ll just have a contacts list of the people who are important to me.”

“Wow!” Betsy grinned. “I feel honored to be one of your important people. So what’s the new number?”

“Hold on. I’m dialing you so you’ll have it.”

In seconds, Betsy’s phone, which she’d placed on the table, began to vibrate. The woman picked it up, answered, and added the number to her contacts list. Tyler spent a few minutes calling the people who most needed to have her new number, the few she felt comfortable sharing it with like Betsy and her other really close friend, Lynn. She’d worry about the others later.

Unable to help herself, she glanced sideways at Rafe’s table and caught him watching her again, his face expressionless. She didn’t dare meet his gaze knowing she’d see a look of censure there. She’d deliberately plastered everything on as outrageously as she could, her version of flipping him the bird.

“What is wrong with you?” Betsy wanted to know. She gave Tyler a hard look, then turned to see what was going on and spotted Rafe, sitting with another man. “Wow! Who is that?” She fanned her face. “Hot, hot, hot.”

“No one,” Tyler muttered.

“No one?” Betsy’s eyebrows nearly rode to her scalp. “If he’s nobody, why is he giving you that hungry look, and why are you trying to avoid him?”

“Rafe isn’t giving me a hungry look. More like distaste.”

“Rafe, is it? Well! Rafe who? And where have you been keeping him?”

“For God’s sake.” Tyler took another sip of her drink. “His name is Rafe Ortiz. He works for my father, and if he stepped on me, he’d just scrape me off the sole of his shoe.”

“Wow.” Betsy took a swallow of her own drink. “Whatever did you do to him?”

“Nothing. And I don’t intend to.” She ground her teeth. “Can we please change the subject?”

Betsy lifted one shoulder in a graceful, practiced gesture. “Sure, honey, whatever you say. But if you don’t want him, can I have him?”

“Forget him. He’s poison.” She lifted a sliver of the bruschetta and took a small bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Let’s just finish our appetizers and go someplace else. I’ve suddenly decided I’m not in the mood for Italian.”

Or Hispanic.

They paid the check, and when they left, she made sure to walk to the other side of the area then turn back to the open stairway. The quicker she got out of here the better.

* * * *

Rafe cursed his decision to come to Al Dente for lunch. But he had run into Leo Campion, the director of player personnel for the Hawks, on his way out and couldn’t figure out a polite way to tell him he wasn’t interested in company. This was Leo’s choice of restaurants, and he’d gone ahead to get a table. Rafe had nearly tripped over his feet when he spotted Tyler sitting at a table against the glass wall. It wasn’t so much that he saw her, but what she looked like. It was the first time in longer than he could remember that she hadn’t had ten pounds of makeup on her face and been dressed to expose as much skin as possible.

“You look like you swallowed something bad,” Leo joked, sliding in opposite Rafe.

“No. It’s just—No, nothing.”

Leo gave a grunt of skepticism. “I’m telling you, big man, that look doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Just drop it, please.” He definitely did not want to discuss Tyler Gillette with a member of her father’s executive staff. Nope. Not going there.

But Leo was like a dog with a bone, scanning the people seated in the mezzanine. Rafe knew the moment the man’s eyes landed on Tyler.

“Aha!” Leo sounded as if he’d just struck gold. “Fixated on the boss’s daughter, are we? Have I missed something?”

“There’s nothing to miss.”

“She won’t go there, anyway.” Leo’s mouth ticked up in nasty smile. “She won’t have anything to do with anyone even dimly connected to the Hawks. I don’t know if it’s her father’s edict or the fact she hates anything to do with the team. But trust me, she’s a snotty brat. Just ask me.”

“Can you still be a brat at her age?” Rafe asked.

“She hasn’t grown up much,” Leo commented. “So yeah, brat probably still applies.”

Rafe deliberately lifted his menu to study it, hoping Leo would get the message this conversation bit was over. Still, he managed to catch a glimpse of Tyler with a sideways glance. She looked like a totally different person without all that trash on her face, wearing none of her usual glitz.

He knew she’d seen him spot her and hoped she didn’t think he was following her or anything. When she left the table, he let his gaze fall to the menu. But then, in what seemed like a moment, she was back, stunning him with the change she’d affected. The layers of makeup were back again, her T-shirt pulled out of her jeans and knotted in front to expose her midriff, and the hair that had been so smoothly contained in a ponytail now hung in a wild tumble of curls around her face.

He wanted badly to tell her how much better she’d looked without all that crap plastered on her face, but was sure she’d misunderstand. Even from the distance he’d been able to see she had beautiful skin and gorgeous hair. In fact, he wanted to run his fingers through it, but they’d probably throw him out of the restaurant if he tried.

Then she was gone and he was left with more questions than answers about what had just happened. Why did she hide herself? What was so awful that she’d turned herself into a caricature of a woman with too much money and too few morals? More importantly, why did he care? That was the question that wouldn’t leave him in peace.

“Those are some deep thoughts.” Leo’s voice broke into his unexpected reverie.

“Oh. Sorry. Just running over some things in my mind.”

“Some things?” Leo asked. “Or someone?”

“Enough.” Rafe cut him off. “Is that all you can talk about?”

“Well, we could discuss the uptick the team has taken since the name change.” Leo dipped a piece of the Italian bread and stuffed it into his mouth.

“According to what I’ve heard,” Rafe said, “it seems people are split evenly between a good and bad decision. But you can’t argue with the fact the team’s been winning.”

“They have,” Leo agreed. “Best streak since Tate Manning got hurt and had to retire.”

“Boy, that was a damn tragedy.” Rafe shook his head. “It nearly destroyed his life.”

“But it didn’t. Amazing what the love of a good woman can do.” Leo grinned. “Maybe that’s what you need, Rafe. Then you wouldn’t be such a sourpuss.”

“Sourpuss?” Rafe lifted his eyebrows. “I consider myself serious, not sour.”

Leo shrugged. “Whatever. I can only tell you since Jeannie and I got married my life has improved a thousand percent.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be that lucky with a woman.” Rafe should know. He seemed to have made a series of bad choices. Lately he’d just decided to avoid women completely. As he’d rediscovered in his shower, his right hand did the job and didn’t give him any problems.

But it doesn’t replace a living, breathing woman.

Shut up, he told the voice in his brain. He was doing just fine.

Thank God Leo spent the rest of the meal discussing the team and the upcoming schedule. They chatted about some of the players who needed some extra work, those who might be aging out of the game, what the future held for the Hawks. Neither man wanted dessert, so they paid their checks and made their way down the open staircase and out of the restaurant.

Just at the doorway, Rafe stopped. A tiny chill had raced down his spine, the kind of feeling you get when someone is watching you or danger is near. But what kind of danger would there be in a restaurant? He looked around, scanning the diners, but nothing seemed to catch his eye. He just had the feeling—

He’d been watching too much television. Either that or he still carried the vestiges of his confrontation last night with Dewey. But Dewey wouldn’t be having lunch at Al Dente. And this was just plain stupid. Idiotic.

He made his way out the door and into the crowd moving along the Riverwalk. Maybe he’d been braced for trouble at the stadium for too long, belligerent drunks and angry fans. Maybe he just needed a little time out of the office.

Maybe he just needed to get laid.

At that, he snorted and blended into the crowd moving along the walkway.

* * * *

Malevolent eyes followed Rafe as he headed out of the restaurant.

Asshole! Jackass! Bastard!

He wanted to spit on him, then pulverize him into the ground. The thought of the man with Tyler made him sick to his stomach. If he hadn’t been keeping an eye on her, he would never have been aware of what happened the previous night. It was enough to enrage him.

Who the fuck did the rich princess think she was, anyway? Damn good thing she hadn’t invited Rafe into her house when he brought her home. Watching that kiss had been bad enough. It should have been his mouth on hers. His hands touching her body. He would have made damn sure he got inside her place. And then got inside her.

Thinking about it now he had to stop himself from licking his lips. He was in a public place, for fuck’s sake. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steadying himself. If he didn’t stop having these thoughts about her, he’d have an erection that nothing he wore could hide.

He’d called her that morning, just wanting to hear her voice. Maybe, he’d thought, this time he’d say something. Let her know who was making these calls. How special she was to him. But the moment he’d heard her voice, he’d just shut up like a clam. Maybe this wasn’t the time to let her know how he felt. Bring it out in the open. So he’d just listened to her angry voice until she hung up.

Taking a moment, he slipped into the men’s room, saw that it was empty and pulled his cell out of his pocket. He punched speed dial for the familiar number and listened while it rang. This was dangerous. He never called her when he knew she was with someone else. But seeing her and Ortiz in the same place after last night had his blood boiling. He needed to start letting her know who was boss.

He waited, watching for anyone else to enter, but the phone just rang and rang. He realized with a start it didn’t even go to voice mail. What the hell? He hung up and dialed again. Same result. He gave the instrument a hard look. What the fuck was going on? He nearly threw the phone against the wall in his anger but caught himself just in time. Instead he gripped it in his hand, clenching it tightly, and forcing a calm he was far from feeling. He could not afford to let anyone see him like this. Too many questions to answer.

Shit!

Work was calling. But as soon as he was free he’d send her a message that she better not fuck with him again. Even if he never said a word, she’d damn well better take his calls.

Finally settled enough to be around others, he exited the restroom. Maybe he could cut out of work early today. Find out where Tyler was.

And send her a new message.

* * * *

Tyler parked in her driveway, thinking in the back of her mind that she might go out later so the car would be right there in the driveway waiting for her. She let herself into her town house, juggling her mail and three shopping bags, and headed directly for the kitchen. After stashing the food, she took a half bottle of Riesling from the fridge. She grabbed a wine glass and poured a healthy drink for herself. Two swallows and her nerves began to settle. She took the bottle and the glass with her out to her patio, settled in her lounge chair, and filled her glass again. The sun had not yet begun to set but its late day rays bathed everything with a warm glow, soothing her jangled nerves.

For some reason this morning’s phone call had unsettled her more than the others. She had basically ignored them in the beginning, thinking they were a wrong number. However, when they persisted, she’d begun to get irritated. It hadn’t yet occurred to her to be nervous about them. Now she wondered if she should, if there was something sinister about them.

Dramatic much?

Again the thought popped into her head that some guy in one of the many bars she hung out in might have clipped her number when she left her phone sitting out. Lately after a few drinks, she found herself getting careless about things like that. That was not good. Not good at all. She realized she was falling into a dangerous pattern but wasn’t sure how to change it. And here she was ready to head out again tonight and do the same thing.

Stay home, a little voice in her head told her. Don’t go out tonight. Stay away from those places and the men you find there. At least she wasn’t falling into bed so easily any more. Too many unpleasant experiences had effectively killed that urge a very long time ago. Now it was more show than go. Still, she couldn’t remember the last time she actually felt the stirrings of real desire.

Then she thought about Rafe and all her girl parts suddenly woke up and began doing a happy dance. What was it about that damn man, anyway? Surely she still didn’t have a hangover from her stupid teenage crush, right? She started to take another sip of wine, then stopped as something occurred to her.

She wondered what Rafe Ortiz would think if he knew her dirty little secret—that every time she brought herself to climax it was his face that flashed in her brain.

Suddenly remembering last night’s kiss, Tyler pressed the tips of her fingers to her lips, as if she could still feel the imprint of Rafe’s mouth there. She inhaled, imagining the drift of his clean male essence in the air. And his touch, his hands on her arms, his cock so thick and swollen pressed against the heat of her pussy. The thin dress had been practically no barrier at all. She smiled with satisfaction, knowing she had aroused him, obviously unwillingly. Good! She’d like to arouse him a little more. She’d like to—

Enough. In or out tonight? She thought about it for a long moment, finally deciding to ditch the cruddy-bar circuit for the night. When she finished the wine, the sun had dipped even lower and she headed inside. Movie and jammies, she decided. And a pizza. Just what she needed.

A long hot shower worked out the kinks. She scrubbed every bit of makeup from her face, wrapped a towel around her wet hair, and creamed every inch of her skin that was visible. After belting a terry robe at her waist, she picked up her phone to order the pizza and suddenly remembered she had left her car in the driveway. She hated to leave it out there all night. Not that she had to worry about more than the weather damaging the custom paint job. Her neighborhood was safe and all that, even if the rare communications from her father included messages to move to a gated community.

Whatever he asked, she always did the opposite. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that was getting old, too.

Everything was getting old. But it wasn’t too late to clean up her act.

Sighing, she stuck her feet into slippers, grabbed her keys from the counter, and automatically put her cell phone in her pocket. On the way to the driveway, she disarmed the security panel so she could get back in easily. The outdoor sconces that she flipped on shone enough light on the driveway for her to see—

She stopped. Stared. Stared even more, frozen in place.

Her tires were slashed. All four, she discovered as she circled the car in a daze. Not just slashed, but destroyed, with deep cuts all around. She might just as well have put a sign on the car that said, “Destroy me.” She must have been totally oblivious not to hear anyone. And it was dark enough now that someone could sneak up to her place, crouch down, and get the job done before anyone took notice.

She leaned against the car, suddenly weak and shaky. This person, whoever it was, had been right here in her driveway. Could have walked around to where she sat on the patio. Broken in while she was in the shower. Done God knows what to her. For a moment, she could hardly breathe. Couldn’t move. This was more than silent telephone calls.

Don’t call the police. You don’t need that kind of publicity.

Besides, she could hear her father’s voice in her head telling her that was the smart thing to do, so of course she would do just the opposite.

So no police. She didn’t need blue lights flashing, photographers capturing every action, the neighbors all standing around whispering about her. No, there was only one person she could call, much as she hated to. Two calls in two days? She could just imagine what he’d be thinking.

When she could make herself move, she unlocked the car and crawled into the driver’s seat. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and, swallowing any misgivings, she punched in the number, praying she’d get an answer.

Please let him answer.

“Ortiz.”

Oh, thank God.

“Rafe?” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Hi. It’s Tyler.” On the off chance that he’d frozen her out of his brain or knew a lot of women with the same name, she added, “Gillette.”

There was a long moment of silence. “What now, Tyler? What’s going on? Did you get yourself into another mess again?”

Well, of course he’d think that. Why shouldn’t he?

“I—Can you come to my house? I have a little problem.”

She could almost feel him come to attention over the connection. “Is he there? That guy?”

“No, no, no.” Oh, God. “He doesn’t even know who I am or where I live.”

“So you say.” Another pause. Then he repeated, “What’s going on?”

“I—Someone slashed my tires. In my driveway.”

“Slashed your tires?”

She could tell he was trying not to sound irritated. In a minute, he’d probably tell her to just call a garage and leave him alone. Or wait until the morning and get hold of the dealer. After all, she really wasn’t his responsibility. Something pinched inside her when she realized she really had no one who was her go-to person. She’d done a good job of alienating everyone who might fit the bill. She was sure Rafe was only doing this because he worked for her father, because she knew he had little to no use for her. Then he sighed, a sound so audible it carried over the connection.

“Where are you now?” he demanded.

“Inside my car, still outside.” And afraid to get out.

“Go in the house and lock the door. I’ll be right there. Did you call the cops?”

“No.” She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “No cops. I mean it, Rafe.”

Another long moment of silence stretched across the connection. “All right. Go inside. I’m on my way.”

“Thank you.” She said it in a small voice. She wasn’t sure he heard because he disconnected the call.

Looking carefully all around her, she eased out of the car and let herself into the house. He was coming. He might be furious with her but at least he was coming.

As she stood in the hall, her phone chimed with an incoming text message. She prayed it would be Betsy or one of the few people she’d given the new number to. Fingers shaking, she opened the text.

“Hope you weren’t planning 2 drive anywhere tonight. I can get 2 u anywhere.”

She slammed the phone down and pulled in a deep breath, hoping she wasn’t going to throw up.