Page 15 of Virgin Pass

Chapter Seven

Lori

I’m so happy,I can’t even see straight.

Flopping to the side as Austin laughs with low, throaty superiority, I let my legs fall open, the cool brush of air from the ceiling fan a balm to my overheated skin. I’ve never been this sore—or felt this good. Every single time Austin and I are together, the sex gets better. Dramatically better. I’ve-died-and-gone-to-sex-heaven better. I stretch lazily alongside him, feeling every inch like a pampered princess with her sexy athlete prince.

Austin helps that fantasy along as he curls one strong arm around me and pulls me close. “No practice today,” he murmurs against my hair. “We can stay in bed.”

“Mmm,” I snuggle against him, willing to put off my day for at least another hour or so. It’s a gorgeous summer morning, I’m wrapped up in the soon-to-be starting quarterback of the Warriors, and I haven’t thought about my stupid job in days—other than how I can help Austin. If I could ignore agenting altogether and simply support him, life would be perfect. But I can’t. I need to get at least a couple more clients to keep my job at Elite Sports.

“What’re you thinking about?” Austin asks, kissing me lightly on the top of my head. I glory in the moment, feeling safe and secure and supported, my whole world bathed in sunlight.

“Nothing important,” I sigh. “Agent stuff.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles and squeezes me, then settles back on the bed, moving one arm behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. It’s his “thinking pose,” at least when he’s in bed. We don’t spend a lot of time thinking in here, granted, but Austin’s mind is every bit as elite as his body. He never stops running the angles for long.

“You know, I’m feeling really good about my chances for getting some playing time in the pre-season,” he says next, and I know his mind is back on the game he loves so much.

“You’re playing great,” I say. “And more to the point, Brad King is still holding out on his contract. He’s now deliberately missing critical practice time, and while he’s good—he’s not that good. Not when they have you waiting in the wings.”

“Exactly,” he says, more distractedly this time. I love that I’ve already gotten to know my gorgeous quarterback so well that I can read his moods, his gestures, almost his mind. I can practically finish his sentences now.

Austin breathes out a long, contemplative sigh. “I bet Eddy is ready to take me back.”

I freeze. Okay, I wouldn’t have finished that sentence the same way.

“Eddy?” I turn and prop myself up on one elbow as I narrow my focus on Austin, trying to keep my expression open, my voice light. “What are you talking about? I’m your agent.”

Austin looks at me with that unfocused cast to his eyes that I know means he’s still deep in his own thoughts. “Yeah, but you’re my lucky angel. Eddy’s a real agent, ya know?”

“Oh. Of course.” With the way he says it, it makes perfect sense, but inside, my heart kicks sideways a little, like it was sucker punched. Of course, Austin doesn’t see me as a capable agent—how could he? I let him seduce me barely thirty seconds after signing him. There’s no way I can undo that. And to be honest, I don’t want to. Not if that means giving up being his angel.

But there’s only one problem…I do need to keep my job, even if I don’t like it. And if Austin is dropping me as an agent, that means I need to get more clients, like now. “Ah…so what is it about Eddy that you’ve really liked?” I ask, trying not to sound panicked.

Austin grins, settling back against the bed pillows. “He’s got balls,” he says, and though I know he means it metaphorically, the real-live testicles certainly don’t hurt in the agenting business. That’s not an option for me. “He tells everyone exactly what’s going to happen, and then it does. He doesn’t ask permission, or seek consensus, he simply does what he wants. It works.”

“I can see how it would,” I agree, and I slip out of bed, eluding Austin’s playful grab.

“Where are you going?” he asks with a grin.

“You’ve reminded me—I’ve got a meeting I totally forgot about, downtown. They already get annoyed I’m not there every day, so…” I let my sentence trail off as I pull on my clothes, my mind already churning. Don’t ask permission…don’t seek consensus. I can do that. “Can you sleep for a bit?”

Austin snorts. “I can sleep for four days.” He settles back into the pillows. “But don’t let me sleep too long, angel. I’m counting on you.”

I almost go back to him. The temptation to rip my clothes back off, throw them on the floor, and climb over that gorgeously ripped and toned body is almost enough to undermine every other thought in my head. But—I can’t. If Austin is going to go back to Eddy, I need to find some other way to stay on the inside of all the agenting gossip, if only to do whatever I can to help him. And I have to be able to help him. So that means I need more clients. Like right now.

“You rest then. You need it. Once you replace Brad as starting quarterback, and it looks like that’s where this is going with the way you’re playing, you’re going to be firing on all cylinders. I’ll give you a call in a few hours and see if you want to get some—”

I break off, and barely avoid laughing out loud. My enormous gladiator, the once and future hero of pro football—has completely passed out on me. He wasn’t kidding when he said he could fall asleep for four days.

I watch his peaceful face, my unruly heart squeezing so tightly I worry it may spontaneously explode, and I sigh. I realize way too belatedly that I’ve already fallen in love with Austin—like real, ridiculous love and not some silly kid thinking she was in love with her hero—and that’s why I can’t help but be a little upset that Austin doesn’t want me as an agent, no matter how much I understand it. I want him to be proud of me! I want to be proud of myself.

Well, then, I need to get new clients, not mope about the fact I screwed myself over with my very first one…in more amazing, incredible, unforgettable ways than one.

That thought actually makes me giggle as I step out of Austin’s mansion into the sunshine. My mind immediately starts clicking with possibilities, and when my phone rings a second later, it feels almost like serendipity. I pull the device out of my purse, scanning the number. I don’t recognize it, and I put the phone to my ear.

“Lori Connor, Elite Sports,” I say in my coolest, crispest voice.