“Gerry.” She’d spat her partner’s name.
This couldn’t be good. “What has he done now?”
Jaclyn wiped the sweat from her eyes with the tips of her right fingers. “He’s not interested in finding a larger market or raising more revenue for the Monarchs. He just wants to destroy us.”
That was dramatic phrasing. “He said that?”
“He didn’t deny it. That’s why I came to see you earlier.” Her shrug was self-conscious. “I wanted someone to talk to.”
There was the source of the loneliness he’d heard earlier. DeMarcus glanced at her large house. With her grandfather gone, to whom did she turn? How lost would he feel if his father weren’t there to confide in? DeMarcus wished he’d been there for her sooner. “Why would Gerry want to destroy the franchise?”
Jaclyn settled the ball on her hip. “Before my grandfather died, he warned me that I’d have to fight Gerry and Bert to save the Monarchs.”
DeMarcus remembered her saying that before. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I, at first. But they don’t have an emotional connection to the organization.”
“Why is that important?” He didn’t get the touchy-feely stuff Jaclyn was hung up on.
Confusion and fatigue dimmed her eyes. “If they cared about the franchise, they’d never dream of moving it. Bert’s more interested in Tipton’s Fashion-wear. I understand that. That’s his family’s legacy. Not the team.”
“What about Gerry?”
“He inherited his shares from his uncle. Apparently, he also inherited his uncle’s resentment toward my family.”
“Why?”
Jaclyn shrugged a shoulder, causing her T-shirt to expose another inch of midriff. “I’m trying to figure that out. Basketball helps me think.” She passed the ball to him. “Show me what you’ve got.”
DeMarcus caught her sudden pass by reflex. He looked from his gray warm-up suit and white sneakers to her skimpy T-shirt and barely there shorts. Somehow a game of one-on-one with his sexy boss didn’t seem like a good idea. “Sorry, I’m not up for a game.”
She cocked a brow at him. “What are you afraid of, Guinn? Losing?”
Jaclyn caught her breath. The competitive spark that lit DeMarcus’s coal black eyes at her challenge sent a charge through her blood. It heated her skin.
“You’re on.” DeMarcus sent the ball back to her. He crossed to her deck, shrugging out of his jacket. His white Reebok jersey was revealed underneath.
Jaclyn’s attention dropped to his glutes. Retirement hadn’t softened the former shooting guard. DeMarcus tossed his jacket onto her deck’s railing. He turned back to her. Jaclyn jerked her gaze upward. His long legs brought him closer.
Her fingers pressed into the basketball. Its skin was rough beneath the pads of her fingers. Her heart pounded against her chest. She’d never dreamed she’d compete against the Mighty Guinn. During her three years in the WNBA, she’d matched up against numerous future Hall of Famers. But DeMarcus Guinn was different. In so many ways.
Jaclyn bounced the ball once. It snapped against the tiled court before returning to her. She spun it back to DeMarcus. “Show me what you’ve got.” She balanced on her toes, ready to defend the basket.
DeMarcus stepped back as he dribbled the ball. “What are we going for?”
“Ten points with two-point baskets?”
He took her measure. What did he see? A woman? An athlete? His boss? What did she want him to see?
DeMarcus arched a brow. “Ten points? Is that the best you can do?”
Jaclyn grinned at his taunt. “It won’t take me long to school you.”
DeMarcus threw back his head and laughed. The sound was full, deep and just a little cocky. It strummed a chord—or two—in her lower abdomen. Jaclyn could listen to the sound forever.
Still grinning, DeMarcus drove to her right. Jaclyn favored her left side, forcing him back. She could smell him, spice and musk. The warmth of his body tempted her to relax into him. It wasn’t easy to resist his appeal.
Jaclyn widened her stance, bent her knees and spread her arms to her sides. She danced with him as she guarded the perimeter. It was like confronting Mount Kilimanjaro.