Jane Millionaire

“Anything?”

Her words had been heavy with innuendo. Hot desire flared, threatening to melt his tennis shoes to the gym floor.

“Anything,” she whispered low, her lips parted and her green eyes dripped with desire and fire.

Oh, yeah, she planned to make him suffer for his rejection.

Every single drop of testosterone screamed for him to play for one night in her bed. For that one night he’d be the winner. But then he’d lose. Big time. He had a feeling there was no way he could really win when it came to Jane.

“When I beat you, you have to kiss one of the bachelors tomorrow.”

Had he said that? Idiot. What kind of incentive was that for him to win? For her to kiss another man?

Hell, he really did want to lose.

She looked taken aback, then shrugged with a saucy roll of her shoulders. “If that’s what you want.”

She passed the ball. “Producers first.”

Twenty points. Piece of cake.

Ten fast-paced minutes later, they were tied twelve to twelve. Maybe the bachelors hadn’t let her win after all, he grudgingly admitted to himself as he dribbled down court.

“Do you give up?” She swatted the ball, but failed to steal it as he switched hands.

“You wish,” he laughed in spite of his inner turmoil. What was it about her that made him feel good inside even when he was trying to hang on to all the reasons why he shouldn’t be with her? Shouldn’t let her close?

She slapped at the ball again, causing him to lose control. He snatched it before she stole it away.

“You really should go ahead and forfeit. You can’t win this game.” Yeah, he’d already worked that one out for himself. Was she still talking about basketball?

“I will win this game, and you will kiss one of the bachelors. Tomorrow.” But damn if he wanted to think about another man tasting what he wanted.

“Which one would you like me to kiss? Jeff? Steve?” Her lips twitched.

None of them. “Which ever one turns you on.”

“You turn me on.”

He missed his shot.

What could he say? She turned him on too, but not enough to ruin JP’s career. Or his. Or to get involved with a woman who craved the spotlight, for that matter.

She grinned, looked him over from head to toe and rebounded the ball. When he didn’t respond, she dribbled out and cut through toward the goal for a lay-up.

He refused to allow her an easy score. He blocked her path, but she swapped hands, shot, and the ball bounced from the backboard and through the net. Swish.

“Nice shot,” he admitted. “Enjoy it. You won’t see another.”

“You think?” She placed a hand on her hip, drawing his attention to how the cotton material stretched over her curves.

“I know.” And he did. He knew he was in a helluva lot of trouble if he didn’t quit looking at how her breasts heaved with her rapid breathing. Or how her bottom looked like it would fit perfectly in his hands as he pulled her to his hips.

“Come on,” she urged, her eyes flashing as if she’d read his thoughts and teased him with her word choice. “What are you waiting on? For me to die from boredom? It’s not going to happen, dude. Take your turn or pass me the ball.”

He took the ball out, shot from three-point land, and, despite Jane’s valiant blocking attempt, sank it through the net.

“Whoosh!” Elation filled him. He couldn’t remember the last time something so pure and simple as a game had excited him. Maybe not since he was a child and he’d beat his brother for the first time. He grinned at her and strutted his stuff. “There it is.”