Page 7 of Dare To Tempt (Dare Nation 2)
Knowing his situation made him a magnet for paparazzi, she dressed up in case she was photographed coming or going from his house. There were cars lined up the street, and she was certain paps with long-range lenses were inside, making her glad she’d thought ahead and looked the part of a woman a man like Damon Prescott would date.
In the real world, they couldn’t be more different, but she was drawn to Damon anyway. Not for one minute did she believe he’d cheated in the sport he loved. And that was one of the most appealing things about him, his dedication to his career. Okay, there were also his soft lips that knew how to devour her mouth like the professional player he was.
The kiss meant for show had turned into something that felt real. His tongue delving between her lips and tangling with hers, her nipples pebbling beneath her dress, and the moisture in her thong had all been genuine. So had the thick erection she’d felt pressed against her thigh. She pushed those unwanted thoughts away because, attraction aside, they were like oil and water. And he had no desire to be with a woman like her.
He’d made that perfectly clear when the idea of her playing his girlfriend had come up, which was why she’d gotten a definite jolt of satisfaction at the look on his face when she’d walked into Allstars last night. His gaze had darkened, that gorgeous stare settling on her lips, and she’d never felt more feminine and powerful. But at the end of the day, she was who she was, a woman who liked casual clothing and speaking her mind, and she didn’t want to care whether a pro football player found her lacking in any way.
She rang his doorbell and, when he didn’t answer, hit the button again. His house was located in an exclusive Miami neighborhood, a huge structure with gorgeous colored shrubbery, trees, and flowers surrounding the white stucco set back from the road. A gate surrounded the perimeter of the house, open at the drive. And neighbors were far apart, further proof that the cars did indeed hold paparazzi looking for the million-dollar photograph.
She rang again, growing concerned.
She was about to knock once more when the door opened and a sexy, disheveled Damon stood before her. He wore a pair of low-riding gray sweatpants that revealed more than they covered, and her stare lingered on the bulge in his pants and the deep V on the sides of his hips.
He cleared his throat.
Caught, she forced her gaze up past his tanned chest to meet his amused expression, heat rising to her face. But as he took in her carefully made-up face and chosen outfit, his indigo eyes darkened with definite approval, making her glad she’d chosen the white low V-neck lace camisole tank that revealed a good amount of cleavage, her beloved leather jacket that covered her scar, a pair of tight designer jeans, and a pair of high wedge shoes that showed off her coral-colored toenails.
He met her stare and grinned.
She forced a smile at the damned good-looking man. His hair appeared as if he’d run his hand through it … or had just gotten out of bed, and she wished she’d been there with him. The errant thought rushed through her and she stifled a groan. She was here for business. Even if that kiss last night and that hot body now had rocked her world.
“Did I wake you?” she asked, hoping she sounded composed.
“It’s fine. I just need some coffee.” He turned and walked away, apparently expecting her to follow him.
“I take it you’re not a morning person,” she said to herself and shut the door.
She found him in the kitchen with a K-cup in hand. “Want one?” he asked before popping it into the machine.
“No, thank you.” She’d had her caffeine earlier at home. “Are you up to talking?” she asked.
“Yeah. Just dealing with the remnants of this head injury. It’s annoying as fuck. I’m not used to the constant spinning, throbbing, and general dizziness. And if I win the appeal, they’re not going to let me play until I can pass concussion protocol.”
“I’ve read up on that.” She nodded understandingly.
He gestured for her to take a seat at the table, and she chose a chair and lowered herself into it.
His coffee finished dripping into a large mug, and he sat down, obviously taking it black. “So, what do you want to know?” he asked as he took a sip.
She pulled a notepad from her purse, foregoing her phone app or taping. “I want your daily schedule, what you do, who you see, what supplements, if any, you take, things like that. Who likes you, who’s jealous of you, who tolerates you? And after we discuss your weekdays and friends, I want to know your weekend schedule for the last month including the women you’ve been with. So, take out your calendar and get to it.”
