Chapter One

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Moving through the flow of New Year's Eve hard partiers clogging the craggy downtown
Las Vegas streets, Krissy O'Claire owned the Strip. Curiosity and attraction clung to her
as tightly as every provocative inch of her long-sleeved sequined Armani minidress. The
thrill of strangers' attention lifted her higher than her five-inch stilettos could hope to.

This was the reaction she'd wanted when she'd left the sex-on-a-hanger dress in her
condo's closet instead of shipping it to California with the rest of her clothes. This was
the shot of excitement she'd craved when she had delayed her travel plans, choosing to
linger in Vegas another night before starting off the new year with a new career in a new
city.

Tonight was about vanityabout being seen. And it was about damn time. In the ten
years since Krissy had graduated and moved to Vegas, her best friend and college
roommate's hometown, she'd been practically invisible. Buried under her medical career
and white lab coat. Hidden behind her professorship and curves-concealing cardigans and
dark-rimmed glasses.

Which was what she'd desired for a long time. Even as she performed aesthetic miracles
for her patients, she concealed her own beauty, which seemed to attract jealousy from
women and superficial interest from men. Celebrities, athletes, were the worstas
shallow as a Petrie dish.

When she'd snaked into this dress, she'd wanted to feel the late December chill whisper
across the length of exposed leg and had wanted to see how the garment's sequins would
catch and spin the glittering rainfall of the Strip's lights. When she'd agreed to carve out a
slice of her night to help her best friend, Charlotte Blue, dodge yet another blind date
arranged by Charlotte's own mother, as was often the caseshe'd wanted to grant this
one last favor in the name of friendship.

Or was it guilt? Friends and colleagues assumed her stay in California would be
temporary, where she'd spend her one-year sabbatical from UNLV, but she knew the truth.
All she had to do was say yes, and her visiting surgeon position in San Francisco would
be made permanent.

She was going to say yes.

But first, Krissy was going to warm herself up with a spicy cocktail at Kunghun. In
English, Kunghun translated to Revelry. The Asian-themed nightclub was as famous
for its award-winning drinks as it was for its X-rated fortune cookies. She sidestepped a
nicotine-hungry group lighting up outside the establishment, and let herself be drenched
in the red-hued decadence of the place as she snagged a drink and wondered which of the
dozens of patrons was Russo, a man waiting for a date who'd sent a proxy to dump him
on New Year's Eve.

Krissy drank her cocktail without preamble and split open the accompanying fortune
cookie. Ride it hard tonightsatisfaction guaranteed.

Snorting, she tossed the paper into her clutch purse and continued man-browsing.

Aha. There, straddling a chair at a table-for-two with a bottle of scotch and a snapped
fortune cookie, was a guy whose strong back and arms were bound in a black leather
jacket. Grinding bodies, earsplitting music, the ambiance of temptationof getting dirty,
nasty, shaken apart tonight and clearing the slate with New Year's resolutions tomorrow
all faded out of focus. Crossing the floor to him, she avidly collected more details. The
jacket was unzipped, with the collar flipped uphis hair was cut close to the scalp, but
the wavy texture was still visiblehis mustache and beard framed a mouth that twitched
in a way that might've seemed smug had it not been for the glint of wariness in his eyes
when he looked at her.

Krissy envisioned her thong dropping in surrender. Instinctively she knew Mister Rough
and Tough in all his leather sexiness had to be Russo.

Spider and fly, they were.

But which one am I?

Chapter Two
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Krissy bent low to the man's ear. She wasn't trying to cop a feel of that glossy leather over
firm muscle, or catch a whiff of cologne so potent she imagined she could taste it. It
simply happened naturally that he invaded her senses all at once. "Are you Russo?"

His gaze darted to the chair opposite him, an unspoken invitation that she certainly
wouldn't snap up.

Canceling a date that wasn't hers to begin with shouldn't take long. One perk to having so
many exes was that practice truly did make perfect. She could quickly and cleanly cut
herself free of a failing relationship without breaking a sweat, shedding a tear or
consuming sugary comfort calories.

By her estimation, she'd be able to send Charlotte's woulda-been date on his way, walk
the two blocks back to her car and would be on the hottest dance floor downtown in the
span of thirty minutes flat.
When Krissy remained put, refusing the seat he'd offered, he said, "Yeah, I'm Russo. And
you're not Charlotte."

"Acquainted with her?"

"Aware of her." Russo leaned toward Krissy, before her brain could even process a
reaction to his nearness, and now his lips were at her ear. "I know that like myself, she's
not cool with setups. I'm not going to lieI was warned about you. Warned that she'd
have her friend get her out of this."

"New Year's Eve isn't a night you should waste on someone who's not into you."

"I don't think I'm wasting a moment in this club with you" pointedly, he jerked back for
a swallow of Scotch, and her hand fell away from where it'd gotten all nice and comfy on
his shoulder "Krissy O'Claire."

***

That got her attention. Saying her name had her staring at him, openmouthed. Russo
Lewis might've let amusement peel back a layer of the steel that coated his heart, had he
not already decided that the steel and darkness was there for a good reason and softening
for anyone would only sling him back to the place he'd been when he'd pried the last
money-lusting woman from his life.

You could say he was getting an early start on a New Year's resolution to put himself first.
Maybe it was a lesson that all professional athletes had to learn. But Russo's scars had
nothing to do with his role as a football goda defensive tackle who'd be a former Las
Vegas Slayer once he ended the tug-of-war between the two teams anxious to add him to
next season's roster. He was wrung out from treacherous women, so nowadays he walked
into nothing blindly.

He'd almost turned down the well-meaning friend who'd introduced him to the Blues, a
powerhouse family that sports media sources suspected would any day announce
acquisition of the Vegas NFL franchise that had once again failed to reach the play-offs.

But it was the woman in front of him now who'd changed his mind. One of his boys had
given him a piece of advice. "Charlotte's got this friend, a doctor. Krissy O'Claire. The
woman heals people for a living and breaks brothers' hearts for sport. She's probably the
one who's going to hit up that club on New Year's Eve. Deal with her if you want to get
playednot laid."

Russo wasn't mad at Charlotte for backing out of a setup, but he for damn sure wasn't
about to give up the chance to meet her friend, someone who ended relationships and
blocked hookups for recreation.
Call him crazy, but she intrigued him. She didn't quite match the abstract description his
friend had given: big hair, glasses, good body if you want to look close enough. No, her
bold sex appeal would've knocked his butt into his chair had he not already been sitting.
He wouldn't mind sacrificing a few hours just to drag his hands through her soft-looking
curls and over her body. Lean but with curvesit was more than just "good."

There were worse ways he could spend the night than going back and forth with a woman
like that.

"You don't know me, Russo." They were sharing the same breath and heat, closer than
strangers should be.

"That's going to change. Tonight."

Chapter Three
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"What if I walked away?"

"Then, I'd let you walk," he said, "and I'd watch your ass the entire time."

"Aren't we cocky?"

"Just putting it across that I recognize you're a woman who does exactly what she wants.
You're still right here with me cause you want to be. I'm good with that."

Krissy rolled her eyes, but promptly regretted it when one of her contact lenses
irritating contraptions that they wereslid out of place. Recovering with a hiss of a curse
and a few careful blinks, she discovered Russo watching her with a grin.

"Nice maneuvering. You prefer glasses?"

"Yes." She swept the table with a considering look. Was she actually tempted to join him?
Maybe. After all, they were both alone tonight. How much harm would it do to simply be
alone together? "And I see you prefer Scotch."

"What I prefer is to share my Scotch with a hot doctor who keeps herself on call to break
other folks' dates." Again with that seduce-me-stupid grin. It was so charming, so
revealing. A warm contrast to the hard bulk of his build, which was a little intimidating
even as he casually straddled his chair.

"I'm not a break-up artist." Although, she certainly did have a lot of experience saying
goodbye to her own lovers. Why else had Charlotte time and again sought her help in
situations like this? "Or against sex. I can practically see that accusation racing through
your mind."
"Thank God you're not anti-sex. The fortune cookies here areerotically creative."

Didn't she know? "May I read yours?"

"Only if you sit down."

Krissy nodded, excited when she had no logical reason to be. A little New Year's Eve
banter was all right, so long as she circumvented unrealistic hopes. Now would be the
worst time to strike up a relationship. It'd only end tomorrow once she stepped onto a
plane with a first-class boarding pass to her new life in California. "Fine. But public
decency laws prohibit me from straddling my chair in this dress."

"Too bad."

The full-powered flirting had her laughing as she settled in across from him and reached
for the strip of paper crumpled beside his fortune cookie. "69's your lucky number,
Russo."

"It could be yours, too, if you want to get out of here."

It was meant to be funny, so why was she sitting there watching him through the club's
red lighting and nibbling her cheek in serious deliberation? He really was unforgivably
attractive, and if he had the sexual talents to back up his suggestive words

Russo nudged the bottle of scotch toward her, but left it up to her to drink or leave it
alone. "So what do you have against people getting together, Krissy?"

"Nothing. I'm here as a favor to Charlotte. She didn't want a blind date, and I excel at
cutting away problems. The Blues have been more like family to me than my own. Why
wouldn't I help her out?"

"I'm not sorry you showed up instead of her."

Krissy felt her resolve falling soundlessly away. "Neither am I."

"You're being honest?"

"If you can't be completely honest at New Year's, when can you be?"

Russo held out his hand for the fortune. "Where I come from, friendship's in second
place."

"What's in first place?"

"Career. The NFL."

Krissy froze with his "69" fortune still tangled in her fingers. "You're afootball player."
Russo was a professional athlete. The exact type of man she'd sworn to avoid.

Chapter Four
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Russo was amused at the surprise that registered on Krissy's face. He'd give her props for
making it look genuine. Problem was, he stopped being naive the day his mother skipped
out on him, leaving her nine-year-old child alone in a housing project apartment with five
dollars, a loaf of bread and some weed.

He was supposed to believe that a woman who was tight with the family rumored to be
buying the Las Vegas Slayers didn't know who Russo Lewis was? Hell, no. "That fake
shock is kind of hot, but I'm more into honesty, Krissy. Your friend Charlotte gave you
the lowdown on me when she commissioned you to cut away her problem. Tell me I'm
right."

"You're wrong." She finally released his fortune, letting it drift through her fingers onto
the table. "I try to dodge the sports world, and no, she didn't give me any lowdown. Just a
name and a location. I didn't think it was necessary to ask her for background info."

"Why's that?"

"I was going to find you, say a few flattering words and leave you with your male pride
still intact. I didn't predict that I'd want to"

The hitch in her voice, the dusky blush that suddenly swept her mocha skin, revealed how
flustered she was.

"Want to what?"

"Stay."

***

So Krissy was going to have some of that Scotch after all. After that solitary wordstay
she could think of no quick save and Russo stared deeply into her eyes. The R. Kelly
song beating through the club was straight-up seduction, and wasn't enough to fill the
space between Krissy and Russo. Action was needed.

She wrapped her fingers around the bottle, tipped it slightly in his direction in a mock
toast and took a swallow. The liquid blazed down her throat; her eyes teared.

"I need a minute" she stammered. "Justexcuse me." The last of her words were
probably lost in the noise of the place because she was already making a dash for the
ladies' restroom, somewhat blinded by Scotch-induced tears which only irritated her
contact lenses.

In the restroom she was slapped with the overwhelming scent of artificial floral spice.
Soldiering on, she gave the attendant a polite smile.

"There's no crying at New Year's," the older woman said in a "there, there" tone as she
followed Krissy to the sink to assist.

"My eyes are watering," she said, taking the towel the attendant held out. When she
fumbled over her phone, she let the woman pinch it from the teeny clutch purse and then
voice-dialed her friend.

The attendant discreetly sauntered back to her post near the door and busied herself
straightening fresh towels.

"Charlotte," she said, interrupting her friend's "Is the deed done?" Relieving her eyes of
the lenses, Krissy recalled why she hardly ever bothered with contacts. They were more
fuss than a convenience. At least she'd thought enough to bring a pair of glasses. "I'm
wearing my paper-grading glasses with an Armani dress, and you didn't tell me Russo's a
football player." And I'd love to roll around in bed with him until crazy-o'clock.

"A really talented football player, too," commented Charlotte, who was often as single-
minded about sports as any man Krissy had met. "He's a Slayer."

A really gorgeous Slayer, too. The retort was on the edge of her tongue, but was she
eager to confess how attracted she was to a date that wasn't even hers?

Chapter Five
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Krissy paused, uncertain of how to slip in a mention of the lust that had been strumming
her veins since she let herself engage in a game of no-limits flirtation with the man she'd
been sent to Kunghun to dump. "Anything else I should know about your non-date?"

"Just that I appreciate you helping a girl out. I don't think even Cupid's a more
determined matchmaker than my mother. Anyway, I met someone else. I can see myself
getting serious about him."

"That was fast." But not surprising. Charlotte never had difficulty finding men or trouble
or men who were trouble. And her family always counted on Krissy to keep her in line.

"The Blues move fast. When we're certain we want something, we make it our prey."
Whereas Krissy was a muller, a debater, a weight-the-pros-and-cons type. But once she
made a decision, she didn't backpedal. Being precise was critical in the OR, but it stifled
her ability to be spontaneous in her social lifewhatever that elusive thing was.

"His name's Wade," Charlotte went on. "If all goes well, maybe I'll have lots of naughty
details to share tomorrow when I drive you to the airport. If I'm not too depressed to
function, that is. I still can't believe you'll be in California for an entire year."

Krissy almost blurted the truth that the year was more like indefinitely. But this wasn't the
time or place to veer into that conversation. "Once I'm gone, you won't miss me nearly as
much as you think you will now. Positive attitude manifests positive outcomes."

"So you say. What will I do without you?"

"Call me for advice. Visit Cali. It's not so far away." Krissy adjusted her glasses on the
bridge of her nose. "Lean on your girl Joey a little more. She's a lot like you."

The three of them hit up clubs, shopped, dined, man-hunted and had once taken a road
trip together, but while Krissy was the girl you called when you wanted a wrinkle gently
smoothed awayfiguratively and literallyCharlotte's abrasive DEA agent friend Joey
was more about fighting fire with fire.

"Which means Joey's not like you, Krissy. If anyone had told me the first day we met in
college that we'd be the best of friends, I wouldn't have believed them."

"Yeah. Right off the bat we didn't get along."

"Because you called me wild and selfish."

"And you called me a Mary Sue." Krissy paused. "We weren't wrong in those
assessments, you know."

"Hell, I know." Now it was Charlotte's turn to pause. "Sowhy does it matter that Russo
Lewis is a football player?"

And here Krissy thought they'd safely navigated away from this topic. "You know how I
feel about athletes and actors"

"Um, I know that's an issue only when you're considering dating a man. Is something
happening with the two of you?"

"Just flirting. He's good at it. Really good. But I ran to the ladies' room to trade my
contacts for glasses, and if he's not already gone or hooking up with someone else, he
will be once he sees these geeky frames."
"You love those frames. If the two Cosmos I drank tonight haven't made my memory
fuzzy, I correctly recall that you bought those frames because you like to hide behind
your geekiness. Now stop hiding in the restroom and let yourself have fun with the man."

"If he hasn't moved on," Krissy added.

"Positive attitude, positive outcomes. Your words. Go live by them."

Krissy put her cell phone away and went to the door, passing the attendant who'd
obviously heard every syllable of her end of the conversation.

Swinging open the door, Krissy was confronted with Russo standing on the other side.

Chapter Six
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Backlit with red light and soul-shaking noise, Russo appeared larger-than-life. The
leather jacket alone was enough to dare Krissy to slide her fingers intimately over the
fabric and bring her body tight against his. But the simple oxford shirt and the fitted jeans
that made her jealous of denimthat kicked up her lust level from wickedly simmering
to full-on boiling.

And it was getting hotter in that cramped little restroom corridor. Three was a crowd
when Russo was staring at her like he wanted to have her naked, and the petite attendant
was glancing between them and not even trying to mask her awareness of what might
happen if she wasn't there to chaperone.

The woman nudged a stack of cloudlike towels off the counter. "Oops." When Krissy
turned to help, she flapped her hands. "Filthy towels in Kunghun is profanity. I'll fix it.
I'll just have to go get more."

"There's another tower of them" Krissy began to point out, only to be interrupted when
the attendant toppled that stack, as well.

"I'll just have to go get more," the woman repeated, emphasizing the word go. She
gathered up the towels and quietly slipped out of the restroom.

Russo watched the attendant depart, then murmured, "I'm going to give that woman an
obscenely generous tip."

"You really shouldn't be in here," Krissy told him. She'd walk out herself, except she
couldn't get her feet to cooperate.
So he came to her. One deliberate step brought him into the restroom, and thank God
there were no other women inside to shriek and summon security. Getting a pro football
player thrown out of a club wasn't one of Krissy's life aspirations.

Neither was getting it on with a pro football player in a public restroom, but the hunger
etched on his face warned her that they were headed in that direction.

"You proved me wrong, Krissy." Another step.

"Did I?"

"At the table I didn't think you could be any more beautiful. I was wrong. The glasses"

The low groan he made was a shot of heat straight to Krissy's bloodstream. "So glasses
turn you on."

"Naw. You turn me on." Russo shut the door behind them, muffling the outside world.

***

Russo didn't know how his connection with Krissy shifted from flirtation to something
out of his control. As he watched arousal ride her features, he was conscious of only the
certainty that she was as wet for him as he was hard for her.

"This person who warned you about me," Krissy whispered. "What'd he say?"

"He didn't say you have sexy glasses and soft-looking hair" desire mercilessly worked
his body as she self-consciously flicked at her loose curls "and a body like a pin-up
model."

He angled closer even as his better judgment begged him to back off. "No one warned me
that I'd want to know how smooth your skin is and if you taste like heaven."

He reached out a hand to trace the line of her jaw, but in the same moment his face
dipped toward hers.

"Russo," Krissy said, seizing the collar of his jacket before offering her mouth, "there are
some things a man has to find out for himself."

Chapter Seven
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Krissy didn't come to her senses when Russo's tongue greeted hers. She didn't interrupt
the erotic education her hands got as they moved firmly down the front of his solid body.
She didn't protest when he cupped her sequin-covered breasts.
Were they still in flirting territory? Or was this the brink of a one-night stand?

Or could this be the beginning of something deeper?

The thought remained lodged inside her brain, repeating only a few dozen times as they
kissed and grappled for flesh, pressed against a restroom wall. She was on the edge, close
to emptying her mind of anything but Russo and thatoh, damn, incredible!thing he
was doing to her mouth.

Until the door swung open.

"Oh, shiznit!" someone said over a chorus of gasps. "This is the real party."

Krissy ducked out from under the shelter of Russo's body and it registered that the
women who'd cut short her restroom sex were college-aged. Hell, it wouldn't be a
surprise if they were UNLV studentsher former students.

Not that they were likely to recognize her in a minidress and high heels, with a hot NFL
player groping her.

Russo remained a step behind Krissy as she rushed out into the club.

"Where are you going?" he asked her.

"I'm going to give you some cash for the Scotch I drank"

Russo intercepted the bills she fished from her clutch and jammed them back in. "I don't
want it."

"and I'm going to leave. Telling you in person that Charlotte wouldn't show up was my
end of the bargain. My job's done."

"Krissy," he said, turning her around to face him, "you weren't fulfilling a favor to her
when you were with me just now, were you? Letting me touch you wasn't part of your
little deal, was it?"

"No. That was all me. I let it go too far, and I'm sorry."

"You don't regret it, Krissy. Don't tell me you do."

"Hey, you said that if I chose to walk away, you'd let me walk." Krissy had to remain
unyielding if she had a chance of getting through this night without becoming attached to
a man who couldn't be hers. "I'm walking."
You did the right thing. The words kept her company during the cold two-block walk to
her car. If she was going to let herself get hung up on someone, he should at least be a
man who wasn't on her list of types of men to avoid.

That list was in place to protect her from unnecessary hurt. It was part of her personal
campaign to have a happy future, one not tainted with betrayal and fighting. She'd had
enough of that life as a child when her father had stepped out with younger, more
beautiful women and her mother had taken her "woman scorned" anger out on Krissy.
Once she'd made it to college, she had said good riddance to that life and wasn't looking
back.

Give Russo Lewis the power to change up her plans? No, that couldn't happen. All she
had to do was get behind the wheel, drive away and let him forget about her. Then maybe
she could forget about him.

Chapter Eight
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The interior of Krissy's VW Bug was frigidno doubt about it. But she was hot enough
to warm it up once she scooted behind the wheel and turned the engine. Even though the
sexy twist tonight had taken had her all nice and toasty, she grabbed her cardigan from
the passenger seat and put it on before securing her seat belt. Who needed chocolate for
comfort when you had cashmere?

Of all the men she'd rejected on behalf of other women, Krissy had never come close to
screwing any of them.

It wasn't really a question of ethics. Last time she checked, girl code stated that once a
woman made her lack of interest clear, an unclaimed man was fair game for someone
else.

Yeah, Charlotte said to have fun with him, but I bet she didn't think "fun" would entail
Frenching and fondling in a public bathroom.

Krissy nosed onto Las Vegas Boulevard, and the city lights showered down on the hood
of her Bug. She was all about finding bright sides and silver linings, and hadn't faced a
situation yet that didn't have some positive aspect.

The silver lining to tonight? She'd enjoyed a kiss. It had been a while since she'd been
kissed quite that way. If she wanted to, she could find herself in a position to be kissed
again before midnight. According to the car's clock, it was only ten-forty. There was
plenty of time to find a hopping club and get loose with another stranger.

Another man's touch wouldn't erase Russo, though.

Approaching a traffic light, Krissy covered her brake but had to jerk the wheel when a
skateboarder cut her off. Cussing viciously under her breath, she cringed at the sound of
metal meeting metal. The skateboarder had disappeared around the corner, and now the
front of her car was wedged against a motorcycle.

A sleek motorcycle that she'd give up her Vegas condo for, had she not already sold it.

Krissy tucked her car close to the curb, turned on her hazards and got out to view the
damage. Scratches to the Bug, and gouges and dents to the bike. All cosmetic, but
unfortunately these were superficial imperfections she couldn't fix. With her cell phone,
she took pictures to pass along to her auto insurance company. She glanced up and down
the street for any sign of the motorcycle's owner. Motorists continued their dance of
accelerate and brake on the street; the flow of pedestrians remained constant. No one
stopped to assist, and no one came sprinting out of any of the buildings to crucify her for
destroying their pristine ride.

Krissy felt around in her purse for a pen and something on which she could jot her
contact information.

She withdrew a skinny strip of paper. With a groan, she reread the words printed on one
side: Ride it hard tonightsatisfaction guaranteed.

She hesitated, sliding her gaze over the motorcycle. It did have that "Sit on me" look to it.
How would it feel to have a machine like that between her thighs and cupping her
bottom?

Gingerly, Krissy climbed onto the hard steel. To sit comfortably, she dragged up her skirt
a few inches and spread her legs. The bike was cold on her warm flesh.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Caught! Krissy turned her face in the direction of the intimidating male voice.

"Russo." And he was trailing his gaze up the length of her legs to the juncture that was
exposed to pretty much anyone who wanted a peek. "This isn't your business."

"Actually," he said, "it is. That's my Icon you're riding."

Chapter Nine
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Russo had left Kunghun without the expectation that his motorcycle's fairings would be
busted up and that Krissy O'Claire would be spread-legged on top of the machine.
Directly in front of her now, he could make out a sliver of pale fabric in the shadow
between her thighswhich he appreciated for all of five glorious seconds before she
threw a leg over the side of his bike and hopped off.

"I don't know if I believe this is yours," she said, retreating until there was a respectable
amount of distance between the wounded bike and herself.

"It's an Icon Sheene. See the bikini babe playing card?" He waited with a commendable
amount of patience as she investigated. "There's only one of this particular bike in the
world, and it's mine, and I don't think I gave you permission to touch it. I certainly didn't
give you permission to dent it."

Damn, what did she do? The abuse to the bodywork was enough to make him wince as
though the trauma had been inflicted directly on him. He spied the Volkswagen idling
nearby with its hazards flashing.

"Before you accuse me of hitting your motorcycle on purpose, let me explain that it was
an accident. Someone on a skateboard came out of nowhere and I swerved."

"How'd you end up on top of it?"

"Oh." There was that deep flush staining her cheeks again. "I was going to write down
my contact info. It's what any good citizen would do."

"You had to get on the bike to write?" In a few quick strides he cut away the distance
between them. Whatever she had to say next was going to be interesting.

"No. The paper I found was my fortune from Kunghun." She gave him the paper, and
the message combined with the image of Krissy wide open on his motorcycle sent a rush
of blood to his crotch.

Krissy, apparently, didn't notice. She was taking out her phone. "I snapped pictures of
your motorcycle and my car. If you want to call the police and get a report for your
insurance, I'll cooperate."

"You're not injured, are you?" he asked. When she denied it, he continued. "We're both all
right. This city's cops have more important things to deal with tonight than dented metal."

"Then get an estimate for repairs and call me."

"Not interested in your money."

"The damage is nasty, though, Russo. For a bike like this, I can guess the cost to fix it
won't be cheap. I want to resolve this in a way that'll be mutuallyuh"

"Satisfying?" He pressed the fortune into her hand. "I have a suggestion."
"Don't make guarantees you can't deliver," she said softly.

"All I'm going to guarantee you is one night that's going to turn you inside out." He
couldn't give her more than one night. After the first night, women began wanting more.
He hadn't been with anyone who inspired him to spare more than a few hours of pleasure.
"You got on my bike for a ride. Well, I want to ride this attraction between us as far as it'll
take us."

"Then guarantee me something else." The smile she stroked him with was a beam of
sunshine in the pit of night. "A New Year's kiss."

Chapter Ten
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Abandoning the Strip with Russo was no act of impulse. On some level, Krissy had been
considering having him for herself from the minute she'd spotted his strong leather-clad
shoulders in the club.

Now that he'd arranged to have their rides collected and had called on a personal driver to
escort them to what was likely one of the most lavish penthouses in Nevada, it was on.

"When do I have to let you go tomorrow?"

Russo's question was more of a growl against Krissy's mouth, as he relieved her of her
cardigan and sent it sliding across the gleaming hardwood. Tomorrow this would all be
over, as if it had never happened. "Get me so turned on that I can't think about tomorrow
or anything else but you." Her voice was so steady and firm, but her insides were
positively vibrating.

He turned, walking deeper into the recesses of the penthouse to a luxurious master suite.
Without invitation, she followed and watched him flick light switches and jab remote
control buttons that further illuminated the bedroom.

"Lights on? Why?" For Krissy, sex in the dark had always been safer, more in her
comfort zone. There were more opportunities to hide her imperfections and curl into her
shyness in the dark. Under all this light, she'd be completely exposed to this man.

Russo circled her, then gently nudged her onto the bed where she toed off her stilettos. "I
want to see your face when you come."

The blunt words thrilled her. Instinctively, she yanked him down to join her. Somehow
she managed to get him naked first, but he rolled her underneath his powerful body and
was taking his sweet time getting her dress off.
He raised her legs and peeled off her thong, then gave her one final intense look before
dragging the dress up over her head. Her glasses got tangled in the garment, and there
was a distinct tearing sound, but Russo had so thoroughly succeeded in turning her on
that those details didn't deeply register.

Krissy's arms were still caught in the sleeves, and bound this way she was at his mercy.
He uncovered her glasses, put them in place on her face, and held her arms trapped in the
sequined fabric while he invaded her mouth with his tongue.

He released her to get a condom, and then she freed her arms. Taking the condom from
him, she took control, and he allowed her to.

Dropping kisses across his chest, she sheathed him, then straddled him the way she had
his motorcycle. She was so soaked in her own arousal that she was equal parts shocked
and proud. "I didn't get my ride before," she told him, rocking onto his hard shaft at the
same moment that he jerked his hips upward. "Maybe now I should."

Then there were fireworks. Not the burst of color and noise inside her mind at the slam of
her climax, but actual fireworks outside the bedroom windows. Wound around each other,
neither had realized that the new year had arrived.

Krissy started to collapse over Russo, but he only draped her over the bed and parted her
legs.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said against her navel. Wider still, he opened her to his
bold touch and hungry perusal. "Now, for that New Year's kiss."

Chapter Eleven
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"Satisfied yet?"

Krissy turned onto her side on the orgy-size bed, hugging a pillow close. Russo stood
nude at the foot of the bed, and her first thought was that she could get used to this.
They'd each given up the mission of getting dressed, since every time one or the other
made a move to put on something, they ended up falling into bed again.

And of course she was satisfied. The creative ways he'd made love to her took the
guessing out of that. He just wanted her to tell him so, which would only flatter his ego
and get him all hot again, and then they'd be intertwined in minutes.

At this rate, she'd never gather the energy or the inclination to leave his bed.

"Well" she said with a lazy smirk "there is one need that hasn't been met."
Russo knelt in front of her on the mattress. "Name it."

"I'm hungry." She kicked out of the cocoon of sheets and looped her arms around his
neck. "Feed me, will you?"

A wee-hours-of-the-morning meal of pizza and champagne was a first for Krissy, but she
was completely comfortable eating it in bed with him. "This has been" Hmm, how to
say he rocked her world without sounding overeager and immature? "It's been a good
night."

"That surprises you," he deduced. "Why?"

"Unless it's uncool to be charming and successful, I'm not sure why anyone would pass
you up."

"Your friend did."

"On principle. She loathes being set up."

"You would've passed me up, Krissy, if your car hadn't intervened."

"I don't get involved with athletes." At his skeptical look, she added, "Usually. It's a
personal choice, and it's mine to make."

Russo took a swallow of champagne. "All athletes? Is it athleticism in general that doesn't
do it for you? Or some other trait we have in common?"

"I'm a cosmetic surgeon, Russo. I'm also a woman who's dated a lot. I've found men with
celebrity statusso not strictly athletesto be shallow and entitled individuals.
Obsessed with themselves. Determined to find physical perfection in the women who're
lucky enough to be in their presence." She set down her half-eaten pizza slice. "You say
you met me at Kunghun out of mild curiosity, but you pursued me because of my
looks. That's not the real me, Russo. I don't go crazy on the makeup and strut around in
tall shoes and wear contact lenses in everyday life. The real me wouldn't be welcome to
pizza and Dom Prignon in your bed. The Krissy O'Claire that Las Vegas knows is
invisible."

"I think the real you is the woman I found sitting on my Iconsexy and daring with her
glasses and sweater and with her dress up to her ass. I think you let yourself be invisible
cause it shields you somehow."

"I want to be happy. Even big, rugged football players must want happiness underneath it
all."

"Peace of mind is good enough for me."

"I hope you find it, Russo."

"If I do, it won't be here," he said. "The way you feel about men with celebrity status is
the same way I feel about gold diggers. Las Vegas is full of them. Can't say I'll be sorry to
leave all that hell behind."

"Leave behind? What?"

"Rightyou're not big into sports. That's refreshing." He grinned. "The Slayers didn't
reach the play-offs, and it's time for a change. Dolphins or 49ers."

If Krissy had been sipping her bubbly, she surely would've sprayed a mouthful across the
bed. Miami orSan Francisco?

Chapter Twelve
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Krissy didn't have the most vivid of imaginations, but she couldn't help getting hyped up
on the sheer possibility that Russo would end up being transferredWas that even the
proper term for it? Or was it traded?to California.

She was hours and a flight away from her new life in San Francisco. Potentially, he'd
make it his home city. That had to mean something, right?

Didn't it mean anything that the vehicle she'd bumped happened to be his one-of-a-kind
motorcycle? Or that she'd met him at all on a last-minute decision to take her friend's
place on New Year's Eve?

If he were meant to be with her in California, wouldn't it happen without any intervention
from her? She didn't want to influence him to reject San Francisco because he didn't want
to see her again, or choose the city because he did want to see her again. So instead of
taking a golden opportunity to add "Speaking of California, I'm going to be living there
as of today," she deposited their pizza into the box, leaned over the edge of the bed to set
it on the floor and splashed her bare skin with the exquisite contents of the chilled
champagne bottle.

"Oopsie, I'm all messy now," she said in mock concern, watching Russo's features take on
telltale signs of desire.

"I can get you all cleaned up."

Krissy fell backward onto the mattress. "Don't miss a drop."

Body licking led quickly to sex, and all Krissy could focus on was the man in her arms,
until she lost herself in dreams.
She awoke with the midday sun peeping at her like an unashamed voyeur.

Midday!

Wearing a sheet toga-style, Krissy did a quick lap around the penthouse. Russo was gone.
What was this? A "Thanks for the nighttime delight. Be gone by the time I get back"
signal?

At least he hadn't tossed cash on the nightstand.

But there was a note.

Krissy,

Getting breakfast. Your beautiful body looked so damn good, I didn't want to wake you.
Your car's downstairs. Leave if you have to. If you don't have to leave, I'd like you to stay.

Russo

Krissy got herself cleaned up and dressed quickly. Only when she leaned over to put on
her shoes did she realize her minidress was torn. She'd heard the ripping sound last night,
but in the urgency to get naked and wrapped around a hot stranger, she hadn't given the
matter proper attention.

On top of that, she couldn't locate her cardigan.

Sticking around for Russo to get back was a laughable idea. They'd agreed to one night,
and now that it was over, she had to take off.

Bittersweet it might be, but Krissy had a plane to catch. She snatched a T-shirt from
Russo's closet, yanked it on to cover the rip in her dress and hurried to her car. Without
her sweater, and without another look at the man who'd, for a little while, given her what
she wanted most: happiness.

Chapter Thirteen
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Charlotte was already at Krissy's condo when she arrived.

"What happened to your Bug? Is that a man's T-shirt? Are you even wearing anything
under it?"

Krissy peeled off the shirt, sprinting around the condo to grab a change of clothes from
her carry-on bag.
"That is a really short dress." Charlotte paused. "Is it the Armani one you were talking
about on the phone? Why is it ripped?"

"No time to talk now." Krissy disappeared into a room to change into jeans and a shirt of
her own. Balling up the dress and T-shirt, she stuffed them into her bag and rushed to the
door. "C'mon!"

On the road, Charlotte slipped on a pair of sunglasses while Krissy fiddled with her
"paper-grading" glasses. "This is the info I have to work with, Krissy. Your car's
scratched up and your dress is ripped."

Well, that did seem concerning. "I hit Russo Lewis's motorcycle with my car and he
tore my dress. During sex."

"You slept with him?"

"A little." Krissy turned to stare out the window of Charlotte's Fiat. "Okay, a lot." She
retrieved his note from her pocket and read it aloud.

"Sounds like somebody had a happy New Year."

"It's done now, though. The briefest of flings."

Charlotte glanced sharply in her direction, her wild ebony curls bouncing this way and
that. "You don't seem very convinced, Krissy. What aren't you saying?"

"He told me that his team didn't do well this year. It's 'time for a change,' he said."

"The Slayers are overdue for a change. It's going to happen faster than even the players
know," Charlotte commented.

Whatever the hell that meant. "Russo's making a change. He's going to a new team. He's
leaving Las Vegas."

"To go where?"

"He hasn't decided. Apparently it's a choice between Miami and San Francisco."

"Wow. You're going to have to tell me everything. From the beginning."

"Long story."

Charlotte flashed her a grin. "It's a short trip to Wayne Newton Boulevard. So you'd better
talk fast."

***
Krissy O'Claire's presencelike her scent in the air and her sweater halfway hidden
under an end tableremained in Russo's penthouse, but he'd known in his gut that she
would be gone before he'd even returned to the building. A call to the valet on duty
confirmed that a woman in a Nike T-shirt and fancy high heels had claimed a Volkswagen
Bug over a half hour ago.

Russo had a suspicion of where the Nike shirt had come from. A note awaited him on the
closet door.

Dress ripped. Can't find sweater. Swiped a shirt. Last night wasn't a good night.

He felt his brow furrowing, but read on.

It was an amazing night that I'll remember forever. You CAN find happiness, too, you
know.

And that was all.

Krissy was gone and he needed to let her stay gone. He should appreciate that all she'd
taken from him was a slice of pizza, some champagne and a T-shirt. He should be grateful
that she'd abided by the terms they'd set on the Strip last nightone night. He'd screwed
up letting her drift asleep in his bed as though she belonged there, and going out to a
bakery for fluffy pastries that she'd look so good biting into.

It hadn't been a smart move to play with the idea of dragging out their time together. Not
since trying to track down his crackhead mother when he was a kid had he followed a
woman. He wouldn't pick up the habit now.

He looked again at Krissy's note.

You CAN find happiness, too, you know.

Damn. He'd already found itin her arms last night.

Chapter Fourteen
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"Tick-tock," Charlotte said when a traffic light stopped them in their tracks. "A woman's
entitled to her secrets, but if you're going to tell me what went down with Russo, you
should start soon. Like before you get on the plane, California girl."

"What's to tell, really?" was her cavalier reply. Cavalier never worked with Charlotte,
though. Buckling under her friend's cut-the-crap frown, she said in a rush, "I walked into
Kunghun wearing Armani and some high-end cosmetics, and his body put his mind in a
chokehold. It's only attraction. It happens to the best and worst of us."
"He sees it that way?"

"One night was supposed to be the beginning and the end of it."

"Yeah, til he planned to have breakfast with you. That note's a lot more revealing than
you probably want to acknowledge. And that's all right if it keeps you in your happy
bubble."

"Avoiding drama isn't living in a bubble, Charlotte."

"Just let this marinate, percolate, whatever. Sex with a stranger certainly gets complicated
when morning comes."

Krissy studied her friend. "Speaking from recent experience? How was your morning-
after with that Wyatt guy?"

"Wade. I left before dawn." Charlotte winked.

"So you won't be seeing him again?"

A gentle lift and drop of her shoulders. "I might. He's in town and so am I." There was
something lackluster in the quiet answer, but Krissy didn't press.

Should Krissy have left Russo's place before dawn? Just said thanks for the crazy-hot sex
and tiptoed out into the darkness? She'd found the darkness to be protecting, anyway. It
gave her the option to hide and pretend all of the distorted shadows were harmless.
Whenever she chose, she could be a center-of-attention vixen, or a watchful wallflower.

Russo, a man who knew nothing about her beyond strands of Las Vegas gossip, had in all
his arrogant surety pronounced her to be a blend of both the vixen and the wallflower.

"About Russo. Am I being unfair?"

Charlotte's eyebrows peeked over the tops of her oversize sunglasses when she glanced at
Krissy then back at the road. "As someone who's known you since you were a perky
college-freshman Mary Sue, I'm going to say only this. You're a beautiful person inside
and out, and pretending you're not is unfair to you. Making assumptions about Russo
based on how your dad treated your mom and how some men have treated you in the past
is unfair to him."

"Nothing about last night even matters now," Krissy said on a sigh, though her mind
whirred reflecting on her friend's words. "What happened in Vegas is staying in Vegas."

"That's how you truly want it to be?"

"It's the only way it can be."

"Dodging the actual question gives me my answer."

Krissy's laugh was absent of legitimate humor. "The man's career is going to lead him to
California or Florida."

"So if he chooses San Francisco, he's going to look you up?"

"I wouldn't place my bets on that."

"Why not?"

"He doesn't know I'm going to California."

Chapter Fifteen
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Charlotte threw the blinker and hooked the wheel, jolting the car to the right shoulder. A
few drivers leaned on their horns and surged past.

"Swerve like that with caution," Krissy said dryly. "You could hit some guy's motorcycle
and end up having the night of a lifetime."

The joke fell on deaf ears.

"A couple of hours ago you were in bed with Russo, and you didn't tell him that you're
leaving the state?"

"Put the car in Drive." Krissy remained stubbornly silent until her friend acquiesced. "I
didn't tell him because I don't want to influence his career. Where he's going to play next
is a huge decision, one that he shouldn't make based on whether or not he'd like to sleep
with me again. He straight up said his career is his first priority. The NFL trumps
everything."

"Priorities change."

"Yours haven't. You've broken up with more men than I have, and you'd never choose a
relationship over your career."

"Aren't you curious, though? What would he sacrifice for a chance with you? You hit it
off with this man and you're just going to throw it away because you don't want to
influence fate."

"Asking a man to sacrifice is what my mother did. It didn't turn out well for her. If Russo
and I are meant to be together, we will be. If we're not meant to be together, then that's
cool, too."
The twist of Charlotte's mouth suggested that whatever expression had settled behind the
large, dark sunglasses held no approval. "This sounds like something you'd tell yourself
in your happiness bubble. 'If we're meant to be together, we will be. If we're not, we won't
be.' This way, if you don't get what you want, you can tell yourself that it wasn't meant to
happen and you can pretend that's fine."

"You should try it. Your heart wouldn't wind up broken so often."

"I'm tough enough to get over it every time. And I'd never try to change myself because
of it." Charlotte sighed. "Krissy, I'm sending you off to California with something real to
think about. It's going to be a year before we can drive around the city and chat like this
again."

"Not a year, Charlotte," Krissy said, looking ahead and finding the airport in the distance.
"I'm planning on staying in California. If things mesh well, I'm going to practice facial
cosmetic surgery permanently there."

"Why?"

"Guess I can understand what Russo said about it being time for a change. Las Vegas has
been the place where I've lived since college, but it's not my home. The whole Blue clan
has treated me like family, but you're not my family. And I've been dependent on my
friendship with you, Charlotte. Steered by a need to be needed maybe. Your parents count
on me to keep you under control, and you count on me to make things better." She smiled
gently. "Last night I met a man who gave me the best time of my life, but I met him only
because I was sent there to cancel your date."

They pulled up at Krissy's airline's terminal, and once the luggage was unloaded from the
car, Charlotte hugged her fiercely. "God, this feels like I'm losing a friend."

"But you're not. I'll still be around, just not close by."

"Sure this is what you want to do?"

Krissy nodded with conviction. "San Francisco's been in my plans for a while."

"Nope." Charlotte grabbed something off the passenger seat and offered it with a smirk.
Russo's note. "I mean going away without saying a proper goodbye to the man who gave
you the best night of your life."

Chapter Sixteen
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Russo Lewis excelled at footballbut he was better at clipping women out of his life.
After his mother had skipped out, he'd stumbled around in the system for a few years
under the next-to-inhumane care of a woman whose interpretation of foster care had been
to collect government checks and skimp on the actual care. Success in the NFL had
introduced him to gold diggers. Anyone who didn't want a place in his life was always
free to walk, but rarely did it happen. Usually, he cut the connection before a woman
could start feeding from the wealth he endured physical hell season after season to earn.
When a woman did walk away, he didn't lose sleep over it.

Last night he'd stayed awake thinking about a woman who'd choked on his Scotch,
dented his bike, slept naked in his bed, taken his shirt and had left behind a note that he
still couldn't bring himself to discard. Yesterdayfour short yet mercilessly long days
after he'd met herRusso had given himself over to an impulse to see Krissy again.
Ignoring their one-night agreement, he'd followed her publicly listed number and address
to a disconnected landline and a condominium that a pair of newlyweds now inhabited.

According to the new residents, who'd purchased the property weeks ago, Doctor
O'Claire moved out on New Year's Day but she'd left behind her cell phone number.

Russo hadn't asked the important questionsWhere? Why?and still restless now, as he
sulked in a private skybox in the city's most exclusive gentlemen's club and let a polished
waitress fill his glass with Scotch, he regretted pretending that this time he didn't care that
a woman had slipped out of his life.

"Lewis, come on, man," his business manager, Zed Apollo, said. Clearly enjoying the
table service, he kept two waitresses at his elbow. "This is supposed to be a celebration.
This 'angry man' thing you got going? It's bringing down the party."

Russo lifted his gaze from the snippet of an article his smartphone's search engine had fed
him while he'd waited for Zed's arrival. Dated one day ago, the San Francisco Chronicle
article discussed a hospital-hosted luncheon to welcome Nevada transplant Krissy
O'Claire to its staff.

"You called this a celebration, Zed. I'm just here to tell you in person that my mind's
made up." Russo gave the women flanking Zed a glance. "A little discretion's
appreciated."

"Want discretion? Consider it yours." Zed excused the waitresses, who promptly
sauntered away without so much as a hint of complaint. "See that? Easy. Anything you
want can be done for you or belong to you. That's what happens when you're a star. Stick
it out with Las Vegas and potentially you could have more than you can imagine. The
owners run this franchise into the ground as deep as he can. New blood's comin' in. Not
official, but let's call it a strong hunch."

Placating and patronizing did nothing for Russo, but he didn't harp on that fact. "There
are some men staying loyal to the team" Russo's best friend, the Slayers quarterback,
was among those men "but I'm not one of them. There is no team. Let the new blood
come in and try to turn it around. I can't stay and hope for the best."

"Then what did you decide? East or West?"

Russo tossed his phone onto the table. He wasn't a man who'd pursue a woman once she
walked away. But was he a man who'd let a sometimes-shy, always-sexy woman who
didn't know crap about football change him? "Get rid of this Scotch," he said, having lost
the taste for it, "and I'll tell you."

Chapter Seventeen
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Krissy couldn't shake the feeling that she was forgetting something. The sensation first
emerged when her flight had landed at San Francisco International Airport.

She'd blamed it on being separated from her VW Bug, and relying on public transit and
her own two feet to get about in a city she wasn't yet used to, but the transport service had
delivered the car yesterday in time for her to drive herself to an orientation seminar at the
surgical center where she'd signed on for a one-year hitch, and still the odd "What didn't I
remember to do?" feeling remained.

It was totally isolated from the tiny truth that she time and again neglected to return a
Nike shirt to a certain pro athlete.

Yeaheven I can't go for that delusion.

Krissy moseyed through her exclusive Millennium Tower condo to the contemporary
neutral-tone master bedroom. The dark-colored T-shirt was lying on top of the carry-on
bag she'd promptly unpacked upon crossing the threshold to her new place. That had been
five days ago, on New Year's Day. Since then she'd passed the shirt on dozens of
occasions, each time reminding herself to either send it back to Las Vegas or donate it to
charity, then letting her thoughts rush back to Russo and how it'd felt to be with him, then
distracting herself with something else altogether.

Her friend had asked her if she was certain that it was best to go about her relocation
plans without telling Russo what's up. At the time she had been. But after five days of
hanging on to his shirt and replaying those hot private hours they'd spent together, she
was regretting that she'd all but run away from what they'd shared.

This was new. Krissy never backpedaled. That was the point of thinking things carefully
through before acting. Only, when it'd come to taking a flight out of Nevada without
telling Russo, she acted without considering that she would miss him.

A lot.
"Then there's only one thing to do," she said to herself, gathering the shirt and her
handbag, and going straight to the concierge to ask for the address of the nearest dry
cleaner and UPS store.

Sure, allowing her new address to be plastered on the shipping box was a subtle way of
letting Russo know where to find her, but it was more sensible than making a quickie trip
to Las Vegas to knock on his door and say, "Yo, I'm wearing your shirt, and if you want it
back you'll have to strip it off me."

Which she was still considering even as she parked her Bug in front of the recommended
downtown dry cleaner. Pushing through the door to find a line of customers in front of
her, she pulled her ringing phone from the pocket of her glove-fit jeans.

Unfamiliar number.

"This is Krissy," she greeted.

"The same Krissy whose fortune cookie compelled her to climb on a stranger's bike?"

Russo! She blurted an expletive that garnered a few over-the-shoulder glances from the
customers in front of her. "Whathowumwhat's on your mind?" "You've got
something of mine. I want it back."

Chapter Eighteen
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Unable to gauge the emotion behind Russo's words, Krissy pressed the phone to her chest
and stepped to the side. The customer who'd slipped into line behind her took her spot
without checking that she'd even relinquished it. She left the too-warm confines of the
building and met the comfortable outdoor sunshine.

"I have your shirt," she said into the phone, watching a crowded trolley lumber down the
road. "But that's all. I was taking it to a dry cleaner to be freshened upso I could return
it."

"How were you going to do that?"

"Ship it to the penthouse where we spent the night together." She ducked into a nook
under an awning of a florist shop, and took a breath to recover from the attack of
memories spent the night together evoked. "Russo, you didn't have to go sleuthing for my
phone number to get your property back. I'm not a gold digger. I want none of your
possessionsnot even a T-shirt."

"I know you're not like that."

"Is that so? Then why make an issue out of me borrowing the damn thing? I have to say,
it would be very minimal compensation for my ripped Armani dress and missing
cashmere sweater."

"I didn't hear you complaining when I tore the dress, when you were in my bed and had
your hands on my body."

Krissy swallowed, fanning herself with the shirt. Was it always soso hot in California
in January?

"Discussing this is silly," she said, finding her voice again, "because I don't care that
much about a couple of articles of clothing."

"Then let's discuss why you wrote me a note saying you'll remember forever being with
me that night."

She tightened her grip on the phone. Why did she write that? What could he have thought
to read it and then catch on that she'd left Las Vegas? "It was just New Year's honesty,
Russo."

"When you moaned my name, said that you loved how I made you feel, were you being
honest then?"

Krissy slumped against the stone-fronted building, staring up at the sheltering burgundy
awning. "Yes. Every word. Every emotion." It was like she couldn't speak or think or
breatheall she could do was want. "But we agreed to New Year's Eve only. We gave
each other that, and afterward it was time to face the real world. There was a new life
waiting for me someplace else, and I had to go to it. You have your own career to sort
out. It doesn't make sense for two intelligent, successful people to let a New Year's Eve
hookup get in the middle of that."

"Too late, Krissy. I think you got to me the second you sat down to have a drink with me
at Kunghun."

How was she supposed to respond to that? It was exactly what her happiness-hungry
heart needed. But they'd agreed to one night together for reasons that still remained.

She scrunched his shirt in her hand. "The Nike. If you still want it, I'll have to ship it
back. I'm not in your town anymore."

"No," Russo said, "but I'm in yours."

Chapter Nineteen
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"You're in San Francisco? Now? As in, this minute now?" Krissy emerged from beneath
the awning and darted between clusters of passersby, tossing glances in one direction then
the next, as though Russo and his scraped-up motorcycle would roll up any moment to
whisk her away. "Where?"

"I-80."

She sprinted, not cutting her speed until she reached her Bug. "Plug 301 Mission Street
into your navigator. It's in the South of Market district. Find the skyscraper that looks like
a crystal. That's my building."

"Are you saying you're not turning me away, Krissy?"

"I'm saying come to my building. We'll both know what we want when we see each other
again." She jumped behind the wheel, with the understanding that there was a time for
mulling and a time for action.

Peeling away from the curb and into the choked afternoon traffic, Krissy took action.

She reached Millennium Tower quickly, but didn't steal even a minute to duck inside and
primp. Her hair was held off her face with a few bobby pins, but was otherwise a big,
brushed-out mane fluttering over her shoulders. In lieu of lip color, she'd favored festive
peppermint-flavored lip balm today.

As she waited in front of the skyscraper, residents and visitors entered and exited the
main entrance, some stroking her with glances that begged the question, was she
someone they should know? She wasn't a celebrity, and though several of her patients
were, she devoted more of her time to cases of birth defects and trauma.

She had nothing to prove here, no reason to hide behind a vixen or wallflower persona.
And she was happy about that.

Gripping Russo's shirt under one arm, she toyed with her smartphone. He was in
California. Did that mean he'd made a career choicethat he'd chosen San Francisco?
She keyed Las Vegas football news into the phone's web search box and scrolled.

What the hell? She recited the top headline aloud. "'Slayers defensive tackle, Russo
Lewis, expected to ink deal with Miami.'"

***

Russo had never driven eight and a half hours to talk to a woman. But Krissy was worth
it allthe angst he'd felt when he'd found out that she had left Las Vegas, the uncertainty
he'd waded through to finally decide where he wanted his future to lie, the peace of mind
he'd found when he had admitted to himself that on New Year's Eve he'd realized what he
was missing in his life when he met her.
He turned his SUV onto Mission Street, and had no problem spotting the building Krissy
had described. The tower of gray-blue glass was like a dagger stabbing into the sky.

At the main entrance he saw her standing with a familiar bundle of dark fabric in her grip
and the slightest of frowns on her face. She was rightwhen he looked at her, and felt a
burst of need that was as affecting as a blow to the chest, he knew exactly what he
wanted.

"Krissy."

Russo got out of the SUV and went straight to her, but she intercepted his embrace with,
"You chose Miami."

Chapter Twenty
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"Games aren't for me." Krissy's emotionless expression disguised the devastation
trespassing through her system. She wasn't about to cause a scene on the street, in front of
her new neighbors. "Not competitive games. Not mind games."

"Good, cause I'm not in the mood to play around." Russo leaned in closer, but she didn't
hold him off or back away this time. "I'll get in my ride and leave you alone if that's what
you really want. But if we're going to talk this out, it needs to happen in private."

"My place, then."

It was the last exchange of words between them until they were in her condominium.
Krissy got as far as the open living space's dining area before she draped the T-shirt over
the top of the chair in front of her and asked, "Why are you here if you chose Miami?"

She heard his footsteps drawing near, felt the warmth radiating from his body, but it
saddened her that he didn't attempt to touch her.

"I didn't choose Miami."

She pivoted. "But the press"

"Speculates to get readership and viewership." Closerclosercloserhe shuffled

toward her. "I'm going to play for San Francisco, but I chose you, Krissy."

"You let one night with a stranger in Las Vegas tip the scales for you? I'm not the one you
were supposed to be with on New Year's Eve. I don't get involved with athletes. I'm
hopelessly ignorant when it comes to football. I bought Football for Dummies and still
need CliffsNotes."
"You bought a book on football? When?"

"During a very recent restless night of online shopping. I was curious."

"About the sport?"

"About what you love."

"Despite all those reasons you listed, we want each other anyway." Russo rested his
hands on either side of her face, and her eyes slid closed in instant pleasure.

"I do want you. You knew it that night and you know it now," she whispered, reaching up
to curl her fingers around his wrists. "Russo, I thought fate would throw us together again
if it were meant to be. You interfered."

"Think I'd leave it up to chance to decide whether or not I lose the woman I need in my
life?" His mouth settled onto hers, nipping first her bottom lip, then her top, before his
tongue swept deeply into her for an intimate taste.

"I don't want to be the reason you sacrifice things," she said as liquid, craving heat
threatened to strangle rational thought. "II don't want to be the one you blame when it
dawns that you made a mistake."

"Blame? That's not going to happen"

"It does happen."

"Not to us, it won't. Open your eyes."

Her eyelashes quivered behind her glasses, then she focused on his face. At the core of
those hard angles and sexy shadows was a pair of sincere coffee-dark eyes. Without
words, without a signal whatsoever, they sought each other. Desperate for naked flesh,
their greedy mouths groaned sensual demands and their frantic hands yanked away
fabric.

She eased one hip onto the dining-room table, then the other, and with a breathless sigh
of his name she welcomed him into her body and her life.

It was a while before she could speak coherently again. "People would call our
relationship?"

"Crazy."

"Whirlwind."
"Unconventional. But every happy ending has to start somewhere." Another touch of his
mouth to hers. Time froze for kisses like this. "Damn it, I'm glad mine starts and ends
with you."

Don't miss Charlotte Blue's love story in

Harlequin Kimani Romance

NIGHT GAMES

By

Lisa Marie Perry.

The first installment of The Blue Dynasty, with all the dazzle and glamour and earth-
shaking romance

of Las Vegas, Nevada

is coming to readers

in March 2014.