Pass Interference. Desiree Holt
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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