Читать книгу Pass Interference - Desiree Holt - Страница 9

The first thing Tyler noticed when she opened her eyes the next morning was how difficult the process was. Crap! That meant she’d fallen into bed with her makeup still on and her mascara was bonding her eyelashes together. The next thing she noticed was the headache pounding in her skull, a reminder of how quickly alcohol had an adverse effect on her these days. And finally, her lips curving in a tiny smile, she recalled that hot kiss with Rafe Ortiz.

Rafe! How many years now had she dreamed of getting him into bed for just one night of incendiary, soul-searing, no-holds-barred sex? It seemed as if that feeling had hovered at the edge of her awareness ever since he joined the team as a rookie at twenty-two. She’d crushed on him big time. Huge! She’d been just a college freshman then with a bad case of hero worship.

Of course, her father had laid down the only rule he’d ever been inflexible on: stay away from the players. She could have defied him out of meanness, but despite her feelings for Rafe, she hated the team enough not to go head-to-head with Kurt. She wanted nothing to do with any part of the operation, not the players, not anything else. Even as the years passed and Rafe morphed into a man so masculine, so sexy, he made every woman’s mouth water and her panties get wet, she’d forced herself to ignore him. He was connected with the team and her father, a man she believed had ruined her life, so that meant Rafe was definitely off her to-do list. Her father hadn’t had to forbid her to date the players. They held about as much attraction for her as a bad case of the flu.

All except Rafe.

Why had she never been able to kill her desire for him, or the longing that persisted to this day? Somehow, even as she had an excess of wild flings with men whose names she couldn’t even remember, even as she nearly ruined her life with a very bad—and thankfully brief—marriage, when she closed her eyes at night it was Rafe Ortiz’s face she always saw.

Well, damn. Just damn.

He was off-limits. She shouldn’t have kissed him last night.

Yeah, well, there were a lot of things she shouldn’t have done in the course of her very rocky thirty-two years. The list had grown to be endless.

Your choice, Tyler. Can the pity party.

She pushed herself out of bed, dragged her fingers through the wild tangle of her hair, and made her way to the bathroom. She chanced a look in the mirror over her vanity, and for the second time since she’d started the wild, crazy ride that was her life, she didn’t like what she saw. Didn’t like? Make that disgusted. Who was that cheap-looking person staring back at her? The one who ended up in that ugly situation with Dewey. She wanted to throw up. What had she done to herself on this vindictive road? The whole thing had certainly not done her any good. Her relationship with Kurt Gillette wasn’t one bit better. Maybe worse, even. Poking the bear had only made him turn away from her even more.

What did she do with her life besides shop, spend time with her two best friends and hang out in bars? Talk about a waste case. At the rate she was going even her friends might wash their hands of her before too long. She couldn’t get rid of the memory of drunken Dewey trying to break down the door of the ladies’ room and her cowering inside, frantically trying to figure out who to call for rescue.

God! She was a disaster and heading toward complete self-destruction.

Scrubbing her face clean of the thick layer of makeup that still remained and brushing her teeth made her feel marginally better. Next on her list—a hot shower and shampoo. Maybe she could wash away the person she’d seen in the mirror. But first a cup of coffee.

Grabbing her phone, she made her way downstairs and started the coffee brewing. Next to the machine were three gigantic boxes of boutique chocolates courtesy of Nate Broder, her obnoxious ex. She hated throwing them out. That would be just so wasteful. Maybe she’d give them to her cleaning lady again. The woman had an unquenchable sweet tooth.

She was just filling her mug from her single-serve coffeemaker in the kitchen when she heard the staccato beat of drums that signaled an incoming call. Leaving her mug to finish filling, she grabbed her cell from the counter where she’d set it down, taking a moment to check the caller identification first. Nate. Crap. Didn’t this guy ever give up?

For a while he had stopped calling. She’d figured since she’d been deleting all his calls without answering them, calls that used to come in two or three times a day, he’d gotten the message. But yet, here he was again. What the hell? Maybe it was time to state the message a little more clearly.

“I asked you nicely not to call me anymore,” she opened with. “You took me at my word for a while. The situation hasn’t changed. Not a bit.”

Nate’s irritating chuckle floated over the connection. “Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

Tyler gritted her teeth. “Listen to me, and please try to pay attention. I thought you’d gotten the message. We’re done, Nate. Finished. I don’t want to talk to you, text with you, have lunch with you… Nothing. We are finished. Don’t call me again. I mean it.”

He was silent for a moment. “Tyler,” he said at last in his all too familiar drawl. “I was just checking to see—”

“See what? Nothing about my life concerns you anymore. I thought we had that taken care of.” She resisted the urge to slam her fist on the counter. “Anyway, just so you know, I’m changing my number. Again.”

“I don’t know why we can’t at least be friends.” His voice had that oily, egotistical sound that she hated. “Maybe have lunch together once in a while. Enough time has passed I thought we could at least be friendly acquaintances. We did enjoy each other’s company.”

“I think only one of us had any enjoyment.” Tyler looked at the phone and frowned. “How did you get this number, anyway? I just changed it again.”

He laughed again. “I’m an attorney with connections. I can get anything I want.”

“Except for me. You can’t get me. We aren’t friends. We aren’t anything. Now go away and don’t call again.”

She pressed the End button with more force than necessary. They’d each had a reason for getting into the marriage, neither of which had anything to do with love. It was the one time she’d tried to do anything to make herself respectable in her father’s eyes. A last-ditch effort for a man who made it all too obvious he despised her lifestyle. Nate had thought it would give him a seat at the right hand of her father.

That hadn’t worked for either of them. Before three months were up, she’d known what a mistake it was and kicked him to the curb. For a while the persistent messages he left in her voice mail were rich with anger. Then began the deluge of flowers and candy and texts, a good indication that he wasn’t about to give up.

She was still holding the phone when it chimed again. This time it was Chad Sinclair, media relations director for the Hawks. Another big effing pest.

“What is it, Chad?” She didn’t need to ask him how he got the number. She was meticulous about leaving it with her father’s secretary every time she changed it. She didn’t need the ten tons of shit that came down when she didn’t, although she had no idea why he even cared.

“No hello? Or, hi, Chad?” His voice was nearly as smooth as Nate’s and irritated her just as much. She really hated the occasions when she had to spend time with him.

“I’m really busy. What do you want?”

“Okay. Okay.” He dialed it back. “Just wanted to remind you of the event this Saturday night at the Conquistador Club.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “This Saturday?”

“Yes. The big fundraiser for athletic scholarships. The Hawks are big benefactors.”

“Oh, yeah, another command appearance.” An obligation forced on her by her father—if she wanted to keep the money in her trust fund flowing.

But he never left the choice of escort up to her, probably thinking she’d bring someone from her skanky nightlife. So Chad got the nod and made sure she got to each and every one. Maybe she’d once hoped if she continued to attend, her father would see a different side of her, see she wanted to please him and maybe even…like her.

But it hadn’t made even the tiniest dent in the situation. She’d finally got the message nothing she did would change things with her father, but couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Did he think that by forcing her to attend these, she’d begin to bond with the Hawks? She hated the effing football team. She saw it as the child that had usurped all her father’s affections.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Chad told her.

“Fine.”

“So, I wondered if you’d like to have lunch with me today?”

This was only about the fiftieth time he’d asked her. She had no interest in spending time with him beyond what she had to.

“Thanks, but I already have plans.” Or she would as soon as she made them.

“You know,” he said, in what she assumed was his most seductive tone. “I’m really a nice guy if you’d get to know me outside of our obligatory dates.”

“I’m sure you are. I’m just not interested. See you Saturday.”

She clicked off and finally managed to get her mug from the coffee machine.

Chad was always the perfect escort, dancing attention, even after she started drinking too much, often making a real fool of herself. A few times when he brought her home, he’d actually had to half carry her into the house and up the stairs. She always had enough wits about her, though, to make sure he left before he could try to take things further.

When she heard the chimes for the third time, she let out a string of curses.

Ed Spinelli. What did he want now?

Had she pissed someone off royally? Was that why the three men who annoyed her the most all just happened to call her this morning? Or was Mercury in retrograde or the stars out of alignment? Did that mean she could expect a call from her father, too?

Ed wrote a sports blog that was followed by half a million people. He’d hit on her at a Hawks barbecue where she’d given one of her many command appearances. She’d gone out with him for a couple of reasons. For one she was curious about someone who had a blog that people followed religiously. For another, he’d written a lot of unflattering things about the Hawks, so it had been another big Fuck you to Kurt.

The man was hardly her type, tall and skinny with an ego bigger than the stadium. She’d expected him to be funny, charming, full of exciting and interesting things to do. Instead she’d discovered that his entire personality was confined to the words he wrote on his computer.

She’d been stupid enough to date him more than once. She’d broken it off when she found out that his goal was to get in her pants as his way of giving her father the finger. Apparently he was the only person in San Antonio who didn’t know Kurt Gillette didn’t give two hoots what his daughter did.

He hadn’t been too happy when she broke it off, but at least he hadn’t stalked her via her cell phone, unlike her ex. When she’d sent Ed a text telling him to lose her number or she’d do a blog about him, he finally got the hint. She had seen him out a few times with other women and figured he couldn’t be too heartbroken. She hadn’t heard from him in ages now, and wondered what was up with him now.

She had barely tapped the button to send the call to voice mail when—damn it!—here came another one. She looked at the screen and couldn’t decide whether to answer it or not. The number wasn’t familiar but the readout also didn’t say Unknown or Blocked like the other weird calls she’d been getting, so she took a chance.

“Hello.” She waited but no one replied. “Hello,” she repeated. Still silence. Not even any background noise. Her fingers tightened on her cell and her stomach cramped with tension. Would this never stop? “Hello.” This time she shouted it as anger bubbled up inside her. “Listen, whoever you are, this is not fun. Don’t call me again.” She paused. “Do you hear me?”

When there was still no answer, not even heavy breathing, she disconnected the call and tossed the phone down on her bed, as if it had a disease.

Crap.

Damn it all to hell, anyway.

The calls had started three weeks ago, silence, then heavy breathing. In the beginning, they’d only come once a day, then it had escalated to two, then finally four. At first, she kept saying, “Hello? Hello?” but no one ever answered. All she heard was that damn heavy breathing. Then whoever it was would hang up.

She’d thought it was some guy who’d somehow gotten her number and was pranking her. Since she didn’t make a habit of giving it out, the choices of who the caller could be should be limited. She’d changed her number twice since it started, to the irritation of her carrier, but too bad for them. They got paid, didn’t they? So how did some stranger keep getting his hands on it?

She was pretty sure they hadn’t gotten it from any of her friends. They were all very careful not to share each other’s information with anyone. If it was Nate or Chad or even Ed, what would she do next? Who would she tell? Tyler Gillette, the wildest woman in San Antonio. As she’d told Betsy, everyone would just think all this was a by-product of her crazy lifestyle. She’d stitch her mouth shut before running to her father. Maybe Rafe would help her, but he was off-limits. Besides, after last night he’d probably never go near her again.

Her own damn fault, for playing out this outrageous charade all these years.

Taking a deep breath, she dialed the number from the readout. No luck, just as the other times she’d tried. All she got was “That is not a working number.” As someone who didn’t live under a toadstool, she was aware that telemarketers bought phone numbers that they could hide behind. But no one spoke up and tried to sell her anything.

Climbing the stairs, she reviewed other possibilities, ticking off more names.

Maybe someone from the Hawks who’d seen her and wigged out on her? Was it someone hanging around the fringes of her life, lusting after her or angry with her for something? She tried again to think of every man she’d picked up and walked away from. Or those she’d hung tight with for a few days, maybe even weeks, then ditched with little more than a verbal kick in the ass.

She gave herself a mental shake. Time to get dressed and get moving. Nothing would get solved this way. She just kept hoping whoever this was would finally get tired of the game.

She stood in the shower, spreading the body wash lavishly over her skin, hot water sluicing over her, and tried to remember every place she’d had her phone for the past couple of weeks where someone could palm it long enough to check the number. She had to admit sometimes she wasn’t as careful about keeping it in her purse as she should be. Maybe it had happened before that, and whoever was doing this had just been biding his or her time. Who had she pissed off so much that they were making these kinds of calls to her?

Oh, well, Tyler, how much time do you have?

She hadn’t made any friends in the dive bars she trolled. Besides, that had all been nothing but a ploy. What had she thought? That the famous Kurt Gillette would finally ask her what the hell this was all about? Clutch her to his heart and ask how he could help? Unfortunately, her plan bombed since she never got the reaction she wanted. She wondered who was more disgusted with the person she’d made herself into, her father or herself?

In any event, she was pretty sure it wasn’t anyone from her nightlife. They were all highly unlikely to indulge in games like this. She could barely recall half of the idiots she’d strung along in the bars but none of them would have her number. Would they? And no one else jumped out at her.

Maybe, possibly, one of her friends had laid their phone on a bar or table and someone had managed to scroll the contacts list. Or… The list was longer than her driveway.

First thing today after she dressed, she was getting another phone with yet another new number. She’d keep this one for all those annoying calls and use the new one for personal calls. That way she’d have some control over the situation. Maybe the person would get tired of it and go away.

She dried herself off, her mind doing a quick flashback to the previous night and Rafe. Calling him had been a move of desperation for her. She hadn’t known who else would rescue her from the rapidly deteriorating situation. She got the feeling he didn’t have a very high opinion of her but not nearly as bad as how she saw herself. What the hell was she doing with her life, anyway?

In a short robe and still barefoot, she carried a fresh mug of coffee out to the deck and dropped down into one of the lounge chairs. Letting the sunlight warm her, she closed her eyes for a moment and there was Rafe’s face again. That thick shock of midnight-black hair set off a dark face with a square jaw and high cheekbones. Eyelashes as black as his hair and as thick as a woman’s curtained eyes of a shocking electric blue. Faint evening scruff shadowing his square jaw made him look devilishly sexy. And his lips. God, those full lips, so soft yet at the same time hard and demanding. Remembering the feel of them, she touched her fingertips to her mouth.

If she’d just pushed it, she was sure she could have had him. The swollen thickness of his cock had been unmistakable when she’d imprinted her body against his. And she hadn’t imagined the heat of the kiss before he’d forced her away. His tongue had been just as much involved in that kiss as hers.

She didn’t think it would have taken much more effort on her part to coax him inside the house, to peel off the soft-collar shirt that matched his eyes so perfectly and the jeans that hugged his muscular legs and very fine ass. Oh, yes, she’d noticed his ass.

Over time her crush had developed and blossomed, despite no interaction between them to help it along. She’d certainly tried to obliterate her feelings with her lifestyle, but there it was. She was plain and simply stuck on the man. And wasn’t that just a bitch, because she had as much chance of making anything happen as she did of her father giving her a hug and telling her he loved her.

Inside, she rinsed her mug and set it beside the sink. Fetching her phone, she scrolled through until she found the number she wanted.

“Hope you’re not all perky today.” Betsy Timmerman punctuated her words with a loud yawn.

“I don’t think perky exactly describes my situation,” she told her friend. “I need to do some stuff, and I want company. Is today a free day for you?”

Betsy was a docent at the San Antonio Museum of Fine Art three days a week, a responsibility she took very seriously.

“Sure is,” Betsy said. “What’s on your plate?”

“I need to buy another phone, for one thing.” Betsy was the only person she’d shared her problem with.”

“Oh, Tyler.” She heard the caring note in Betsy’s voice. “Are you still getting those damn calls? You ought to report it.”

“And say what?” she asked. “They’ll want to know who it could be and they don’t have enough time to hear all the names. I’ll get halfway through the list and they’ll tell me they’re sorry but my lifestyle just leaves me open to stuff like this. It’s my problem.”

“Surely not,” Betsy protested. “They’re the police. They have to help everyone, no matter what they think.”

Tyler gave a bitter laugh. “You keep right on thinking that, Betsy, if you want to. They like to write off people like you and me.”

“But your father has a lot of influence,” her friend said. “Get him on it.”

“Are you kidding? He’s the last person I want to tell. He already thinks I’m a wasted piece of trash.”

Betsy was silent for a long moment. “Maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet with him.”

Tyler snorted. “Oh, right. What kind of pills are you popping?”

“I’m just sayin’, you know? After all, you are his daughter.”

“He hasn’t cared about that all these years. He’s not going to start now.” She sighed. “No, I’ll figure this out myself. So, are you up for some shopping and lunch at Al Dente?”

Betsy laughed. “Two of my favorite activities.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

Before she could climb back up the stairs, her doorbell rang. A deliveryman stood there holding a disgustingly atrocious display of flowers.

“Miss Gillette?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“These are for you. Glad you’re home to receive them.”

Tyler stared at them. “Who are they from?” she demanded.

The driver juggled the flowers and checked his digital tablet. “All it says here is From the man who will always love you. Wow! He must really love you a lot. I know what they cost.”

Tyler stepped back into the hallway. “Please take them away. Right now.”

“But—”

“Away. Now.” She practically slammed the door in the poor man’s face. This had to be Nate. No amount of flowers or candy would gloss over the disaster that was her marriage.

She sat down on the stairs for a few minutes to pull herself together. This just had to stop. And she had to quit letting it bother her. But the phone calls and the flowers and the—

Get it together, girl. If you fall apart, he wins. Whoever he is.

Finally she pulled herself together and stiffened her spine. She’d go to lunch and ignore this. But maybe today she’d go without all the typical Tyler glitz. Maybe it was time for a change. Because she was tired of wasting her life, throwing it away and getting nothing for it. She knew who she really was on the inside. Maybe it was time to show the world on the outside.

Eventually she settled on a pair of unadorned skinny jeans—she hadn’t even known she had any—and a plain, pale green T-shirt with no embroidery or bedazzling on it. She didn’t even remember buying it. She unwound the towel from her head and picked up her blow-dryer to style her hair, then stopped, changed the setting and just dried it enough so she could skin it back into a ponytail.

She opened her makeup drawer, decided on just a brush of mascara and a swipe of lip gloss. She felt almost naked without the heavy mask of makeup she usually wore, but damn if she didn’t look a lot better. Younger, even. Well, well, well. Simple studs in her ears completed her outfit. Then she was ready to go.

When she picked up her cell, she looked at it for a long moment, sure she was about to make a stupid mistake.

Do not call Rafe. Do. Not. Call.

But it’s just to say thank you, she told herself.

Uh-huh.

Her finger hovered over the keypad and before she could change her mind, she punched in the number. By the time she hung up, she was almost sorry she’d called. What had she expected, that he would ask her out?

Oh, right! Dream on.

Time to head out.

When she picked up Betsy, her friend slid into the passenger seat of Tyler’s car and froze in place.

“What’s the matter?” Tyler asked. “Something wrong?”

Betsy just stared at her. “I didn’t recognize you. What’s the deal?”

“With what?” But Tyler was sure she knew what she meant.

“The clean-face look. You lose your makeup box?” Betsy continued to stare at her.

“Maybe I’m incognito. Fasten your seat belt.”

“I need a drink.” Betsy fastened the safety clasp of the belt. “I can’t stand the shock.”

“Okay,” Tyler grinned. “We’ll have iced tea with lunch.”

“Jesus, Tyler. What the hell is this all about?”

“Maybe it’s just about me,” Tyler said. “Maybe I just need a change.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see.” Betsy chuckled. “We’ll just see.” She paused. “Although I have to say, you look a hell of a lot better.”

* * * *

The team headquarters was busy, probably because the Hawks had just returned from two weeks on the road. Rafe knew they hated playing back-to-back away games, much as he had before he retired. The National Football League, however, had its own method of scheduling and there wasn’t much to do except go along with it. At least they now allowed for jet lag when putting the calendar together. Rafe sometimes traveled with the team depending on the location. This time he’d chosen to stay home, clean up loose ends, and get ready for the first game after their return. He saved the open file on his computer and pulled up his digital calendar.

An important game was coming up Sunday, a highly competitive game with the Austin Mustangs. For the stadium security team this meant more drinking to monitor, more tailgate parties to keep an eye on, more everything. Only a few more days to prepare for the next onslaught of trouble. For the most part, football fans, as crazy as they were, behaved themselves. They respected the sport and the players and wanted only to show their support. But there were always the exceptions. In recent years there seemed to be more and more of them, people looking to settle sports disagreements with their fists rather than their mouths, and often in more drastic measures.

Then there were the fans who had that one beer too many and got belligerent when told they would have to leave. Rafe drilled his men constantly on the best way to handle all these people with a minimum of fuss and disturbance to the people around them. It was important that those who paid to see their team play had the best experience possible.

He had met with his staff twice already this week, but he made a note on the calendar for one more meeting on Saturday. He wanted to review everything before he went through the game-day drill once more. Clicking on Invite, he sent the notice with the time and place to everyone on the stadium security team.

Finally he sat back in his chair, wishing like hell he could erase the previous night from his mind. Images of Tyler Gillette had plagued his dreams so intensely that he woke with a painful morning woody. He’d tried an icy shower to shrink his stubborn cock but not even what he felt was subzero temperature had helped. He’d ended up turning the water to full steam, soaping his hand, and stroking himself to completion, imagining a naked Tyler kneeling before him with her slender fingers gripped around him. When the hot cum erupted from him and slid thickly over his fingers, his body had shaken with the effects of the release.

He’d leaned against the shower wall until he could catch his breath again and his legs were steady. For a hand job, the orgasm had been so powerful it totally rocked him. Not only didn’t he remembered the last time he’d had such a draining climax, he also couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed his good right hand as a partner. Maybe when he was sixteen?

He glanced reflexively down at his crotch, startled to realize he’d placed his hand over his fly and the insistent bulge beneath it.

Damn, Rafe! Get your shit together.

Tyler Gillette was forbidden fruit on so many levels. When the Hawks drafted him right out of college, the gates of the future had opened wide for him. He’d had a successful playing career, choosing to retire while his body was still in one piece. With his degree in criminal justice, he’d had a lot of options to examine.

Then Anthony Castillo, owner of Lone Star Security, had stepped in with an offer he couldn’t refuse—head of security for Southern Bank Stadium and for the team. Kurt Gillette and the Hawks would be his sole responsibility. He couldn’t believe they had given him this assignment first thing out of the box, but he’d busted his ass not to let anyone down.

Which was a very good reason to stay away from a wild card like Tyler Gillette, no matter how many of his fantasies she’d starred in over the years.

At that moment, the phone on his desk buzzed and he hit the Intercom button.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Tyler Gillette.” He heard both amusement and curiosity in the voice of the team receptionist.

Was it possible his wandering mind had called her up just like that?

Shit.

“Did she say what she wants?”

“Just asked if she could speak to you for a minute.” Pause. “I did ask if she’d leave a message, but she said she wanted to speak to you personally.”

Now what?

He heaved a sigh, something he seemed to do a lot of where this woman was concerned. “Okay. Put her through.”

He heard the click of the connection: “Tyler?”

“Good morning, Rafe.”

She sounded a little less sure of herself today for some reason. Without the slurring caused by the alcohol or the gruffness of a late-night voice, her voice was almost musical.

Musical? Where had that come from?

“What can I do for you?” The best thing was to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible. He did not need any more contact with this woman than absolutely necessary. He hoped she wasn’t calling to pursue that hot kiss from last night. He’d need every bit of tact and diplomacy to get out of that bit of trouble.

“I just wanted to call and thank you for coming to get me last night.” She cleared her throat. “I appreciate it.”

Hmm. That was the last thing he’d expected.

“I’m just glad I could be of help.” He waited, wondering if she expected him to say something else, but what?

“Okay.” Her voice breaking the silence startled him. “Well, thanks again for the rescue and thanks for your time.”

And she was gone.

Thanks for your time? What the hell did that mean? She had to know that one of these days, she’d get herself in a situation like last night and it wouldn’t end quite as well. She was on a fast trip to self-destruction if she didn’t wake up. Still, it wasn’t his responsibility. She was Kurt Gillette’s daughter. Maybe the old man should put a leash on her the way he did on his players.

Still, there was something about her that he just couldn’t put his finger on. A feeling that she wore a disguise, that beneath it there just might be a woman he’d like to get to know. Getting involved with Gillette’s daughter, though…

He gave himself a mental shake. Forget it.

“Got a minute?”

He looked up as a gravelly voice broke into his thoughts. Kurt Gillette himself, in dark tailored slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, stood in the doorway. The man pretty much filled the space. A former football player, he still had the bulky but toned appearance of a lineman. Unlike many other former players his age, he hadn’t let his body go soft, despite the amount of time he spent at his desk or in meetings. It was common knowledge that “The Boss” regularly used the workout room when no one was in there.

“For you?” Rafe smiled. “As many as you want. What can I do for you?”

Kurt lumbered into the room and dropped into one of the chairs in front of the desk. “It’s about Tyler.”

Damn! Had his thoughts conjured up this visit with the man himself? Tyler Gillette was the last thing he wanted to discuss, especially with her father. The man would not like what he had to say. Every muscle in Rafe’s body tensed. He forced himself to relax before he spoke.

“What about her?”

The man rubbed his jaw. “ I was just wondering… I mean, I know…” He shook his head. “This is a bad idea.”

“Maybe if you tell me what you want, I can tell you if it’s bad or not.”

“Okay. I just…”

Rafe knew there was a kicker in here somewhere. This man was never at a loss for words. In fact, sometimes it was next to impossible to shut him up. Oh, crap. Had he heard about last night? Rafe was not in the mood to dissect it.

“You know I’d never discuss my daughter with anyone but you, Rafe. Right?”

Oh, shit. Now what?

It was no secret the old man and his daughter had a damaged relationship. Was Gillette regretting it now, for some reason? Rafe didn’t think the man ever regretted anything.

“Where is this going, Kurt?”

“Okay, here it is. I’ll just say it straight out. It’s been brought to my attention by…people…that my girl has a tendency to get herself into a little bit of trouble now and then. I’ve been hearing about it more and more.”

Really? No shit. Talk about an understatement. And was he concerned about Tyler or about his own image? He certainly couldn’t like his high-octane friends telling stories about Tyler.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Rafe put a half smile on his face. “I’m sure this concerns you, but I’m not sure what I can do about it.”

Kurt shifted, as if the chair was uncomfortable. “I don’t have any right to ask this, but I know you’re out here and there some nights.” He lifted a hand. “I don’t mean you hang out in bars and stuff like that. You’re a good man, Rafe. I always thought of you as the son I never had.”

Oh, Jesus.

Gillette shook his head. “I know she won’t listen to me. Listen, hell. She hardly talks to me.” He rubbed his jaw. “Anyway, I’m suddenly getting feedback from people more than before, so I just wondered if you could kind of put the word out to keep an eye on her.”

Ah. Feedback from people. That meant his cronies were asking him what was up with his wayward daughter. But why now? Had news of the debacle at Tequila Sunrise reached his ears? Had someone called him and said, “Your daughter is a mess. Fix it.”? Was this all about how it affected Kurt’s reputation? Or had all the stars suddenly aligned and focused on her father, giving him a nudge? Not likely, but whatever. He’d do whatever he could. After last night, he figured it was necessary, anyway.

He frowned. “Put the word out where, exactly?”

Gillette shrugged. “Wherever you can would be appreciated.”

“I don’t know how much help I can be,” he said. “I hate to say it, Kurt, but it’s not like I can call every bartender in town and ask them to watch out for her.”

“I know, I know.” The man gnawed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Maybe you could just tell the guys on your security team if they see her any place to pay attention to what’s going on.”

Rafe swallowed a sigh. “Don’t get upset, but my guys don’t exactly go the same places she does. I can do one thing, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

“What is it? I don’t have too many options.”

“I know a lot of the cops in this town. I can quietly pass the word to the ones who cover the part of the city she hangs out in to keep an eye out.”

Kurt heaved a loud sigh. “You’re right, asking the cops to watch my daughter isn’t something that I enjoy, but if that’s my only alternative, then I’d appreciate you doing it.”

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you.” Kurt pushed himself out of the chair, then stood there a moment, just shaking his head. “I guess I made a lot of mistakes with her, Rafe. But…I had no idea how to raise a daughter. Still don’t. And I hate the way she lives her life. Despise it. But I sure don’t want to see her get hurt. Which,” he added, “she’s liable to if she doesn’t make some changes.”

Rafe had to ask himself if there was a spark of genuine concern in there, or Kurt was just more worried about how people would view him if indeed something bad happened to Tyler. Either way, that was none of his business. He’d told the man what he could do and he’d do it.

Rafe stared at the doorway for long seconds after the man had left. He’d talk to the cops he knew well enough to approach and hope that maybe after last night she’d wised up a little. She seemed determined to destroy herself and people like that didn’t want help. Dewey could have done serious damage to her. Didn’t she realize that?

Maybe so. She hadn’t seemed quite as feisty.

As if the devil himself were tempting him, he found himself wondering yet again what Tyler looked like naked and in the throes of passion. Not good, he told himself for the tenth time. Thoughts like that could only bring problems. Maybe it was the lack of steady female companionship that was screwing with his head. He’d dated Mike Lazarus’s sister for a time, but they’d figured out in a hurry they were better as friends than lovers. Since then no one had rung his bells.

Last night, he’d responded to Tyler’s call because he worked for her father. Because he felt a responsibility. Period. The same with the promise he’d just made. But beyond that he was done. The farther he stayed away from this woman, the better off he’d be. Her lifestyle irritated him, and her attitude annoyed him.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, smartass. Her father had nothing to do with that kiss.

Lunch. Food. Anything to distract him from thoughts of Tyler Gillette.

Still, as he headed out of his office, he rubbed his lips with the tips of his fingers, trying to brush away the memory.

He’d better rub it away real good. Otherwise he could get his ass in a very big sling.