Hot Target

Luke scooted Katie to the top of the bed, taking one of the pillows and putting it under her knee, propping the ice around it. And then he lay down beside her and pulled her head onto his shoulder. “Rest,” he said, and he ran his hand down her hair.

But she already was. Her small hand curled over his heart and her hair sprayed over his chest. Luke swallowed hard, feeling some sort of profound rightness about this that he couldn’t begin to understand. He absorbed the moment, Katie sleeping in his arms, a woman who’d stormed into his life like a raging hurricane.

Luke studied the ceiling, not seeing it but seeing himself. He had every reason to be guarded, every reason to hold back with her. He’d been royally screwed over by his ex and by his manager. But he’d always been one to take life on the chin, to make the most of his blessings and not wallow in the negative.

That’s why he refused to let the letters and threats steal his focus from the game. Being in the spotlight was part of getting the blessed chance to do what he loved and get paid for it. Shit happened in the spotlight. Shit happened in life.

But after meeting Katie, he was finding some perspective with respect to his behavior in the recent months. He’d become reserved, on guard. And he wasn’t going to allow that to happen. No doubt, that left him exposed to manipulation, but every step he’d taken to get where he was today in his life had come with risks. He didn’t want to let bad experiences, bad people, change who and what he was. A ballplayer who was grateful for every single opportunity he had in his life, and every person who’d believed in him on the way there. He didn’t want to start thinking everyone was out to get him, or get something from him. And he had. He had started feeling that way. No more of that. He wasn’t going to stop taking risks. Not on the field and not in his personal life. And he sure wasn’t going to miss out on discovering why Katie felt so damn good lying here in his arms.

***

KATIE FADED in and out of sleep, clinging to the warmth surrounding her. So pleasant. So comfortable. A ringing sound in the distance forced her to leave it behind, her eyes peeling open, bright sunlight piercing her pupils. Her cell phone. Katie sat straight up. Her eyes went wide.

“Luke!” Luke was in bed with her. “Ouch, ouch.” Her leg. She reached for it and heard the ringing again. “My phone.”

Luke started laughing. “You’ve managed to panic over me, your leg and your phone in about thirty seconds of being awake. I think you should lie back down and start over.”

She forgot her phone and her leg. “You’re… We’re…Did we?”

He leaned up on his elbows, his T-shirt stretching over his broad chest, muscles flexing beneath the soft material. “I’d like to think you’d remember if we had.”

“Good point,” she said. So would she? It would be damn near criminal to live out that fantasy and not remember.

“Besides,” he said. “I don’t take advantage of women while they are drunk or on drugs.” He chuckled as if remembering something she could not. “You really weren’t kidding about not doing well with pain pills.”

No telling what she had said or done when she was groggy. “Hate them,” she said. “Same reason I don’t drink. I hate that fuzzy, out-of-focus feeling.”

His laughter faded, but the cute dimple in his right cheek did not. “Myself, and most of the hospital staff, gathered that fairly well,” he said with playful sarcasm. “Which is why I stayed close—in case you needed anything.”

She tilted her head, studied him and his motives. “Close is within hearing range,” she said. “Close is not in bed with me.”

He didn’t seem fazed by her observation. “You were tired and so was I.” He dismissed it, as if sleeping in the same bed meant nothing, but they both knew it did. It was intimate. It was…sleeping in the same bed! He glanced at the clock, which read ten-thirty. “We slept about two hours.”

Two hours—for two hours Katie had been snuggled close to him, wrapped in those big, strong, wonderful arms, and she didn’t remember. That was wrong on so many levels.

“How’s your leg?” he asked, snapping her out of her silent regret.

His hair was rumpled and sexy, his eyes full of what appeared to be genuine concern. She didn’t answer the question. Instead, she asked one of her own. “You stayed in case I needed anything?”

“Sure. I was worried about you.” He sat up, his gaze traveling to the pillow by her leg. “Though I forgot about the ice when I fell asleep.” He grabbed the dripping bag that was filled with just water now and carefully placed it on the nightstand by the bed.