From Enemies to Expecting

That was not happening. But Moore had already moved on to the next couple, both of whom looked relieved with their matches.

The sinking feeling in Logan’s stomach bottomed out. Pink Lady had crossed her arms under her spectacular breasts, shoving them upward so that they strained against the fabric of her suit. He averted his eyes as she started tapping out a staccato rhythm with one stiletto.

“What’s wrong with being my teammate?” Her agitation pushed her voice up a notch. “You don’t think I have any business savvy because of the tongue piercing. That’s crap and you know it.”

A...tongue piercing? Instantly, he envisioned exactly what skills a woman with a steel bar through her tongue might have. And they all centered on being naked. With her mouth on his flesh as she pleasured him.

Dragging his thoughts out of the gutter took entirely too much will. That’s why he liked unassuming, unsexy, uneverything women.

“I didn’t even notice that,” he informed her truthfully and tried to stop himself from catching a glimpse of the piercing. “My objections have nothing to do with you.”

That part was patently false. It had everything to do with the fact that she had distraction written all over her. He’d have to get a new teammate, no question.

For God knew what reason, she laughed, and that did a hell of lot more than thrum in Logan’s gut.

“I have a BS meter with new batteries,” she said. “Look around, honey. Everyone else has been paired. Can we get with the program?”

Logan peered down at his new teammate’s fingernail, which had landed in the dead center of his chest. Then he glanced back up at her incredibly disturbing eyes. They were a shade of ice blue that seemed so much more stark and unique than they should, probably because of her eye makeup.

“I’m with the program.” He reeled back the curl of awareness that her finger had aroused. “The question is, are you? I wasn’t late.”

“Five a.m. is an ungodly hour, and I was only fifteen minutes late. You can’t hold that against me.”

Yeah, actually he could. He’d been on time and so had everyone else. But since it did appear as if all the other teams had been set, he sighed. “Fine. You’re forgiven. What did you say your industry is again?”

“I didn’t. What did you say your name is again?”

The point wasn’t lost on him. He’d completely abandoned civility with this pink curveball, and his mama had taught him better than that. He stuck out a hand. “Logan McLaughlin. Owner and general manager of the Dallas Mustangs.”

“Sports is your thing, I see. The lack of dress-up clothes threw me.” She glanced at his Mustangs shirt, and then slipped her hand in his for what should have been a perfunctory shake.

The moment her palm slid against his, a shock zinged up his arm, arrowing straight for his groin. He let it ride because it was that powerful and, God, he hadn’t felt anything like it in ages. Her eyelids drifted downward a touch, and she peeked up at him from under her lashes, clearly affected by it as well.

“I own suits,” he muttered, loath to release her and completely aware that he should have ended the handshake at least thirty seconds ago. “I’d rather go naked than wear one.”

What was he doing?

Get a grip, McLaughlin. This woman was the polar opposite of his type, and flirting with her could only lead to disaster, especially since they were supposed to be focused on winning. Unfortunately, he had a feeling the disaster train had already pulled out of the station.

“Naked is my favorite, too.” Her voice had dropped back into the throatiness he much preferred. That was not going to work, either. “Trinity Forrester. Yes, as in the holy trinity, the chick in The Matrix and the river. I’ve heard all the jokes, so save them.”

“I guess I’m not allowed to ask if you’re overly religious, then.”

She smiled, leaning in close enough to share a whiff of her exotic scent that of course only added to her allure.

“If you do, you get my standard answer. ‘Any man in a ten-foot radius is expected to treat me like a goddess. You can get started worshipping me any time.’”

Oh, she’d like that, wouldn’t she? His eyes narrowed.

If they were going to be teammates, they had to get a few things straight. No flirting. No throaty voices coupled with come-hither glances. Logan called the shots, and Ms. I’ve Heard All the Jokes had better be able to keep up. Sexy heels were optional.

* * *

The cameras had captured every word of the exchange. So far, so good.

The more the cameras tuned in to Trinity, the more times the producers would overlay her name and Fyra Cosmetics on the screen. You couldn’t buy better advertising than that, and Fyra needed all the positive press it could get.