To the rest of the world, professional athletics looked like a big party. In truth, millions were on the line with every play, every tackle. Sunday's game kicked the shit out of you and your body hurt like hell, with recovery taking the whole week. After spending Monday through Friday in ice baths and murderous massages after practice, you were lucky if you woke up Saturday morning feeling halfway normal, only to head into another grueling Sunday game.
But even though he hurt more lately than he ever had—his shoulder was throbbing from his workout and his knee kept popping—Dominic didn't have any complaints. He wasn't sitting behind a desk. He wasn't putting on a roof in 110 degree weather. He just wasn't healing as fast as he used to.
Dominic parked his car in Barnum's dark, cramped garage, then stepped into the dirty alley and punched in the security code next to the black metal fire door. The lock clicked open and he stepped inside, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting.
Several of the usual suspects were there—a handful of local hockey and baseball players, in addition to several Outlaws. And then his eyes landed on an unexpected sight: A woman with wavy hair was sit ting on a bar stool. Her back was to him and her feet were bare, her shoes haphazardly discarded on the floor beneath her seat.
Even as he wondered what in the hell a woman was doing inside Barnum's, his c**k instantly reacted to her lush ass, her tight waist, and the ample br**sts hinted at from behind the curve of her elbow. A voice in his head told him this woman could be the perfect substitute for Melissa—at least for the night.
The other players were watching her, too, mountain lions silently hunting their prey, ready to sink their teeth into her neck at the first sign of weakness. Protective urges warred with arousal within Dominic, and he accepted his inevitable decision. It was his duty to get her out of there before something bad happened.
These were mostly good guys, but every now and again a bad seed slipped in, particularly among the rookies, who no one really had a good handle on for a couple of years. They were too fresh, too excited about their new pro status. Sometimes they did stupid things—picked up the wrong kind of girl, turned a video camera on, or posted something indecent on the Internet, especially when they were drunk.
Dominic knew firsthand about f**king up, about how a string of stupid decisions could come to a head in a single moment and almost ruin everything.
His face grim, he headed for the woman. She was talking with Ellis, laughing about something playing on the TV. A warning bell went off in his head, the same kind that he heard on the field just before he got crushed by a defender when coming down with the ball.
Her laugh was husky. Sensual.
And oddly familiar.
Oh, shit.
Melissa McKnight, the woman he wanted to chain to his bed and not let loose until he'd fulfilled every last one of his sexual fantasies, had infiltrated Barnum's.
Anger rode him as he crossed the barroom. She'd been in this business long enough to know that any girl who got drunk around a pro would be easy prey. Sitting there looking as incredibly hot as she did was simply asking for it. She might as well get up on one of the pool tables, strip off all her clothes, and beg one of these guys to take her any damn way he wanted to.
He was nearly at her side when she turned and saw him. "Dominic!" she cried, his name blurring around the edges. "I was just watching you on TV." She blinked up at him like he was her birthday and Christmas presents rolled into one.
He followed her loose-limbed gesture to the large screen hanging above the bottles. ESPN was showing a clip of him making an over-the-shoulder touchdown reception.
"You're so amazing," she murmured, leaning toward him. "So fast. So big."
Her innocent compliments gave him a sudden, raging hard-on. Trying to ignore his body's instinctive response to her nearness, he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm.
Her skin was too warm. Too soft. Too inviting.
His fury at the way she was putting herself in danger merged with his frustration over losing the battle with his dick. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Her tongue flicked out to the corner of her mouth. Sweet lord, he had to look away from her mouth. That way lay madness.
"It's a secret," she whispered.
She tilted her head back to giggle, and his eyes got stuck on the rapidly beating pulse in her long, smooth neck. Her skin was rose-tipped perfection, her hair a mix of blond and brown and auburn that made him want to run his fingers through it for hours just to determine which color it really was.
"I'm taking you home," he said, his voice gruffer than he'd intended. "Now."
Melissa didn't budge. "No, thanks." She picked up her glass and drank the last drop, her tongue snaking out to lick it up.
Dominic's dick twitched as she ignored his command. He'd always assumed that she was soft, pliant. Her easy refusal of his wishes actually made his dick harder. He forced images of her tying him up and straddling him out of his head. A wiser woman would have known not to mess with him. But she'd obviously spent too many years surrounded by big, burly football players who treated her like a little sister. She thought she was safe from him.
She wasn't.
Chapter Four
Waggling her fingers at Ellis, Melissa lifted her empty glass. With her other hand, she patted the busted-up leather bar stool next to hers. "Sit down, Dominic. Keep me company."
Her long lashes covered her guileless eyes as she stared at his crotch. Shit, she wasn't actually assessing his package, was she? His c**k grew another painful inch beneath his jeans. If his fans could see just how badly the "master of control" was losing control, they'd boo him off the field.
"We can do this the easy way," he said in a low voice, "or we can do it the hard way."
She spun slightly to face him, her full mouth curving up slightly. A mouth like hers should be illegal. He had a distinctly uncomfortable memory of her coming home from college five years ago transformed into a goddess with sinfully plump red lips and curves that could make a man crazy.
Curves that did make him crazy.
Lifting her gaze from his crotch, she murmured, "Tell me more about doing it the hard way."
Focused on how badly he wanted to taste her lips, it took him several seconds to realize that she'd infused the word hard with a sexual undertone. Quickly, he reminded himself that it was because she was drunk.
Melissa always maintained an impressive professionalism around the guys. The way she was acting had nothing to do with him. After lord knew how many drinks, she would have probably come on to any guy in any bar. Which was all the more reason why he had to get her out of there.