Player's Ultimatum Page 4

  Yvonne couldn’t resist playing along. “Only as long as you promise you’ll be my personal hairdresser, cook and make-up artist.”

  “Already a given.” Robbie took his time opening the tiny box. “Bam!” he said revealing a pink diamond the size of an English pea.

  “Robbie!” Yvonne gasped, practically shoving her hand in his face and wiggling her fingers in anticipation. The ring fit perfectly.

  “I guess I’m officially yours.” Yvonne admired the rock on her finger. “My first marriage proposal and it’s from a gay man. How prophetic! By the way, how many carats is this?”

  Robbie looked down at the ring with a winsome smile. “Two-and-a-half carats. Does it meet your standards?”

  “I guess, but didn’t Bennifer have five?”

  “You’ll have to sleep with me to get five. And we both know that’ll never happen.” Robbie grabbed her hand and tugged. “Come on Bride of Frankenstein. I can’t take this anymore. We’ve been sitting in traffic for over thirty minutes.” Robbie looked down at his watch. “We can get there faster if we walk.”

  Three city blocks and less than fifteen minutes later they stopped across the street from The Atrium. An enthusiastic crowd of people, barely contained by velvet ropes, snaked down the block.

  “Gutierrez, te amo!” Someone yelled. Soon the entire line took up the chant.

  “Game on,” Robbie whispered to her.

  They barely cleared the curb before they were bombarded with autograph requests and pictures. Unused to such adoration, Robbie hesitated.

  “Go on, superstar.” Yvonne pushed him toward his adoring fans.

  “I won’t be long,” he promised.

  “Take your time. I’ll keep the bouncers company.”

  To Yvonne’s delight, Robbie signed everything from game programs and team jerseys to body parts. But after dutifully signing for more than ten minutes, he finally had to beg off any more requests as the knot of people became a mob.

  Escorted by security, he grabbed a hold of her hand and rushed them behind the velvet rope and into the gala.

  *****

  Formerly an orphanage, The Atrium had been gutted and renovated to resemble a villa during the Roman Empire. Consisting of two levels, each floor gleamed with luxurious pink marble and walls decorated with frescos depicting scenes of ancient Rome. Columns, several inches thick, lined the palatial dance floor and stars twinkled above through the open air roof, spilling moonlight onto the rich and beautiful as they gyrated and cavorted on the dance floor.

  Despite the club’s beauty, Paolo would rather have his entire body waxed than be here. His idea of a perfect evening involved catching up on the pile of landscaping and gardening magazines next to his bed.

  Paolo smirked. He wondered how the gossip rags would react if they knew their reigning playboy cared more about ensuring the life expectancy of his Japanese plum trees than sleeping with a supermodel.

  As a child growing up in the dusty streets of Santos’ most violent favela, all he wished for was a soccer ball and a patch of grass to call his own. Now he had more than he could handle on his ten acre estate in Rome’s countryside.

  Even now he wanted to get up and slip out a side door. The bevy of beauties his teammate Marco Linvachek brought along with him didn’t interest him. Like most women he had come into contact with, they were too eager to please or too self-absorbed.

  Excusing himself, Paolo walked the perimeter of the second floor mezzanine. Careful to stay inside the teams’ VIP area, he avoided making polite conversation, signing autographs or posing for photographs with fans. He loved his fans, but they would only delay his departure. And if he left now he could still catch Luigi, The Renaissance Guy. Tonight’s episode was on repurposing old newspaper into fertilizer.

  Paolo’s burning desire to leave suddenly cooled as he spotted Robbie Gutierrez making the rounds with the Club’s manager Stefano Gallo. Coming to a standstill, he watched the two of them hold an impromptu press conference with Natalia Conti host of one of Europe’s most popular sports shows.

  Every now and then Gutierrez would throw his head back in laughter, his pearly white teeth contrasting with his dark skin.

  Bile rose in Paulo’s throat. Gutierrez didn’t deserve so much happiness while João’s body lay rotting in the ground. His contempt for the Club’s latest rising star was so palpable he practically choked on it whenever he was around him. And to think a simple favor had resulted in his best friend taking his life!

  Two seasons ago, Gutierrez had been allowed to side step the feeder teams and the second squad as a favor to a friend of the general manager’s.

  Quick of foot, the American easily made the team and eventually displaced João. Distraught over the loss of his lifelong dream, among other things, he’d put a gun in his mouth and ended his life.

  Unable to digest anymore, Paolo decided to go the other way. He didn’t get far. Gutierrez wasn’t alone. He’d reached out and pulled a woman, despite her profuse protests, over to him.

  Not as tall nor as thin as the women usually associated with footballers, the woman’s differences set her apart and made her even more appealing. Like an exotic bird in a sea of pale swans, her almond shaped eyes and round face topped off with a pert button nose, high cheek bones and a wide mouth intrigued him.

  Despite his better judgment, Paolo stepped closer. He couldn’t tell her eye color from this distance, but who cared with breasts like hers. They strained against the low décolletage of her form-fitting dress and emphasized the sexy nip in her slender waist.

  An avowed butt man his perusal shifted lower, settling on her derriere. Paolo let out a low whistle. She had the kind of ass that would fill out the tiny bathing suits Brazilian women made world famous.

  The more he looked, the more Paolo wanted to drag her into the nearest bathroom and bend her over the sink. He wondered if her ass cheeks would jiggle as he rammed his cock between her healthy mounds.

  Maybe romancing Gutierrez’s fiancé wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Paolo was definitely attracted to her. Of course, she might get hurt in the process, but she’d recover. He had his heart broken once and he was fine. Wasn’t he?

  Suddenly bothered by his conscience and memories of Gia, Paulo stopped a waiter, pilfered a flute of champagne and gulped it down in ten seconds flat. The champagne might as well have been fruit punch because during the season he couldn’t touch anything stronger. Cursing, he focused his attention on a much stronger aphrodisiac.

  Paolo called out to Gutierrez. “Stefano leave him alone. You work him to death in practice. Now you monopolize his time after hours.”

  Gutierrez and Stefano swung around and looked in his direction. The general manager’s surprised expression matched the man beside him.

  “Should have known... Il Duca,” Stefano sniffed, knowing full-well Paulo hated the nickname the press had given him.

  Eyeing the flute in his hand, a frown marred his craggy features. Even when he was having a good day, their general manager always looked like someone stuck a pole up his ass. “I hope that’s only champagne or you’ll be running extra laps tomorrow.”

  “Promessas, promessas,” Paulo scoffed. Dismissing the older man, he turned his attention to the woman at Gutierrez’s side.

  I know her!

  Paolo pulled himself up. He couldn’t remember the names of half of the women he slept with, but after a single meeting he’d committed her name to memory. Her name was Yvonne Floyd. And like before, he couldn’t drag his eyes away.

  Unlike the reaction he’d garnered from her earlier, this time Yvonne kept her eyes downcast, ignoring him. An alien experience for someone who garnered attention wherever he went, Paulo was stricken by the sudden impulse to reach out and shake her.

  Before he acted upon his compulsion, he dragged his gaze back to Gutierrez. “Glad the game’s hero could finally make it.”

  “Just barely.” Robbie’s smile w
as slow. Paulo mentally shrugged. He knew there was no love lost between them. He’d set out from the beginning to ostracize the American. Better to assuage his guilt.

  Done with small talk, Paolo aimed his attention at his goal. “So, who’s your beautiful friend?”

  While Robbie’s smile didn’t slip, his eyes narrowed as he wrapped his arm around his companion’s waist. Paolo clenched the stem of his champagne glass before he acted on impulse, like ripping the other man’s hand away.

  “This beautiful woman is Yvonne Floyd, my fiancée.”

  The declaration was simply a confirmation of what he already knew. Still, Paolo fell into a tailspin like the wind had been knocked from his sails. He tried performing a mental check. It didn’t help. He was seized by a bout of jealousy so irrational and overwhelming, he could barely see straight.

  What was wrong with him? Paolo remembered walking in on a girlfriend once having sex with another man and he didn’t even blink an eye. Robbie pulled his fiancé into his side and he wanted to tear the other man’s head off and use it as a practice ball.

  “It seems…” Paulo paused to clear his throat. The thought of being jealous of his worst enemy sat at the back of his throat like sawdust. “It seems like a celebration is in order.” As if in a dream, he raised his hand and waved down a passing waiter. “Bring over several bottles of your best champagne. We have an engagement to celebrate.”

  Paulo played his role to the hilt. He corralled most of the team together, while The Atrium’s wait staff found clean glasses and several bottles of the finest champagne. When everyone’s glass was filled, he turned to Gutierrez and his future bride. “To the happy couple, we wish you all the best, saúde.”

  Everyone chorused his salutation and raised their glasses to their lips. Paolo kept his eyes on her. He couldn’t toast her happiness with another man, especially when he was his enemy and he wanted her so badly for himself.

  *****

  With the echo of clinking glasses and laughter filtering around her, Yvonne watched Paulo Saito as he continued to hold court. After sharing a toast with the team, he’d ushered them over to a private table within the club’s VIP section. Turns out, the table wasn’t all that private, but already occupied by another teammate and four groupies.

  Yvonne pretended to take an undue interest in her drink. Better than vomiting in the ice bucket from nervousness and the disgusting display taking place on the other sofa.

  Like a text-book Lothario, Paulo caught and held every woman’s attention or they fought for his by thrusting out their fake breasts, asking incessant questions and laughing at everything he said. They reminded Yvonne of hens in a chicken house preening for the rooster’s attention.

  Fed up with the show and thoroughly disgusted by her response, Yvonne put her champagne glass down. Taking a cue from the hen’s book, she flicked her hair over her shoulders and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her dress.

  “Let’s hit the dance floor,” she said, placing her hand on Robbie’s shoulder.

  Determined to forget Paolo and his groupies’ silly antics, she stalked off toward the dance floor below. Yvonne didn’t wait to see if Robbie followed, instead she descended the stairs determined to put some distance between her and Paolo Saito. Half-way down the staircase, Robbie took her hand.

  Not missing a beat, Yvonne weaved them through the crowd. Finding an open space, she released Robbie’s hand and without turning around, she lifted her arms above her head. She listened to the music for a moment, caught the rhythm and started to sway her hips.

  Before too long, Robbie gripped her from behind and pulled her up against his lean frame. She and Robbie danced all the time, but he’d never been this aggressive. Maybe he was just putting on a show for the gossip rags. Falling into her role, Yvonne threaded her fingers through her hair and rotated her hips in time to the music.

  Without warning, she dipped down low. As she shimmied back up, she made sure her backside rubbed against him. Startled, Yvonne gasped. Whoa, Robbie’s body was banging!

  She barely rose to her feet when Robbie’s hands slid up over her hips to rest on her waist, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. Yvonne shuddered. Her girls were her most erogenous zone.

  Robbie pressed his body closer to hers and kissed the side of her neck. His cologne tickled her senses and she melted into him. A smile played on Yvonne’s lips as several heads turned to watch them. Good! By the end of the night, no one would doubt Robbie was straight.

  The crowd wasn’t the only ones responding to their antics. Robbie’s erection pressed insistently into her lower back and his hands snaked around her torso. If she didn’t know any better, he was trying to bark up the wrong tree!

  “May I take a picture?”

  Yvonne glanced around at the smiling face of the same photographer she’d met in the stadium tunnel. His grin revealed a set of buck teeth, reminding her of a rat.

  “Sure go ahead.” Yvonne turned around and wrapped her arms around Robbie’s neck. When did Robbie grow his hair out?

  Yvonne lifted her gaze, coming face to face with Paulo Saito. While she stood there shell-shocked, barely able to breath, the photographer clicked off several photos.

  Anxious to rectify the situation, and not caring if she made a spectacle of herself, Yvonne shoved away from him. But it was too late, the photographer was long gone.

  “You’re not leaving now are you?” Paolo asked, a small smile playing over his full lips. “We were having so much fun.” Yvonne glanced away from him nervously. It should be illegal for a man to be so damn sexy.

  “You were the only one having a good time,” she snorted pointing down at the bulge tenting the front of his tailored trousers. Paolo tried pulling her back into his arms, but she stabbed her finger in the middle of his chest. The man had to work out five hours a day. His chest felt hard as a rock!

  “Verdadeiro,” he admitted. “But I don’t think I’m the only one affected by our dance.” Before she could step back, he raked a finger across a hardened nipple, causing it to peak the fabric of her dress.

  Yvonne smacked his hand again. “I thought you were Robbie,” she gushed as heat rushed to her very core.

  Paolo’s eyes dropped to her décolletage and he licked his lips. “How I wish I were your noivo, Yvonne. I so want to take you home, put you in my bed, crawl inside of you and never leave.”

  Yvonne’s pulse quickened. His forwardness rattled her, but her response to him disturbed her even more. If she’d worn panties they would be soaked. She needed to regroup! And that meant distance. “I better get back to my fiancé and your teammate. This. Didn’t. Happen!”

  She attempted to move past him, but he stopped her with a hand on her upper arm. Oblivious to the sweating bodies cavorting around them, he leaned into her, his hard body pressing into hers. Yvonne closed her eyes and willed her heart to stop racing.

  “You can run, Yvonne Floyd,” he whispered near her ear. “But you can’t hide.”

  When he finally released her, Yvonne struggled to stay on her feet. His threat like being near him rocked her. And considering her physical reaction to him, she could definitely hide, but would she?

  * * * * *

  “Honey I’m home!”

  Robbie hadn’t bothered to knock. What was new! He barged into her room so often she didn’t bother with locking the door anymore.

  “What’s all of this?” He asked pointing at the travel books scattered across her bed. “I already gave you a tour of Rome.”

  “A shopping spree is not a tour.”

  Grinning, Robbie fell on top of the bed and all of Yvonne’s travel books. “What else is there to see beyond Valentino, Versace and Dolce & Gabbana?”

  “You’re crushing my books!”

  Robbie rolled over with a groan, releasing most of them. Yvonne salvaged the last book from under his hip.

  “Guess what?”

  “What,” Yvonne repeated as she smoothed the guide book against her chest.
>
  “We’re having company. Some of the players usually get together to watch our matches. And some of the mates nominated me as tonight’s host.”

  Yvonne sat up. “So now you’re Mr. Popular?”

  Robbie shrugged. “Could be that or your famous smothered pork chops and fried apples.”

  “You bribed them with my cooking?” Yvonne reached behind her and grabbed a pillow. Too late, by the time she launched the cushion Robbie had disappeared in the hallway.

  That wasn’t the last of him. He poked his head around the door. “Everything you need is in the kitchen. The grocers made a delivery about thirty minutes ago. The one-man staff, that’ll be me, is just waiting on the head chef to arrive to start prep on dinner. Oh and by the way, your dance partner is coming over as well. See you downstairs in five.” Laughing, Robbie spun from yet another pillow.

  Shrieking at the top of her lungs, Yvonne rolled from the bed. Robbie wasn’t going to let dead dogs lie. Ever since she’d come clean about her dirty dance with Paolo over a week ago, he’d teased her at every opportunity.

  “I should have kept my mouth shut,” she muttered, shoving her feet into a pair of house shoes. Instead she’d come clean as soon as they were in the limo. She wanted Robbie to know about the pictures before he found out from someone else or the press.

  Why keep it a secret when the whole incident was innocent? It was innocent wasn’t it? Then why did she feel so guilty whenever she thought about Paolo and their dance?

  Yvonne took her time coming down stairs, but once in the kitchen she got down to business.

  With Robbie’s help, she prepared dinner for a quarter of the soccer squad. Instead of preparing the dining room for company, she decided on a buffet-style set-up. She would place all the food on the kitchen counters, and then the guys could file past and fix their own plates to their heart’s content.

  With everything in order and smeared up to her elbows with all-purpose flour, Yvonne went up to her room to shower and change. Forty-five minutes later, she made her way back downstairs. Before she reached the kitchen, she could hear the low hum of masculine voices.