Dominic snarled. "He needs a babysitter."

"Then that's what I need to be." She threw the door open and practically ran down the hall to the elevator, and pressed the red button over and over. She really needed to stop leaving Dominic's condo like this.

When Melissa got out of the cab at JP's house, she was surprised to see several cars parked in his huge driveway. Suddenly she wondered if she was being played.

JP's front door was partially open and she walked in without knocking. Several very thin girls with fake breasts and tight, skimpy clothes were lounging in the living room, and they glanced at her dismissively. Melissa pulled her shoulders back. She was proud of her curves. Apart from sheer genetics, she enjoyed food too much to ever look like these women.

JP appeared at the top of the stairs. "My number-one woman is finally here!"

This was why she never dated guys her own age; they were so immature.

"Come upstairs," he said.

"Do you need us, too?" one of the other women asked in a breathy voice.

JP grinned at his harem. "Why don't you girls play a little strip Twister while you wait for me?"

Melissa nearly burst out laughing when the girls actually started rooting through JP's things for the game.

She followed JP down the hall to his bedroom.

"I had that bed specially made," he boasted.

"Great." Fatigue washed through her. It had been a long week. "What do you need, JP?"

He led her into an enormous walk-in closet. "I want a big endorsement this year."

She nodded. "I'm going to get you one. As soon as we find a team." A player like Dominic was an easy sell to advertisers. He was a good-looking guy who consistently won games and stole women's hearts. JP, for all his talent, might be a mere flash in the pan. Advertisers weren't willing to shell out the big bucks on a guy who might not be playing next season.

"Since I'm here, you and I might as well have a little talk."

JP flipped through a dozen identical black shirts. "Whatever you have to say is what I want to hear."

She said firmly, "JP, you need to get serious about your playing, about the reality of your prospects."

He shot her a glance. "I thought that was your job."

She nodded. "It is, but you need to help me out by keeping your mouth shut." She handed him the newspaper clipping. "I'm not your 'babe.' I'm your agent."

He cocked his head. "But I meant this as a compliment."

"I appreciate that, JP," she said in a softer tone, "but it makes us both look bad."

He looked at her with respect. "I like that you're willing to come over here on a Friday night and tackle my ass. And actually, I was wondering about your friend."

"Alice?"

His face lit up. "I can't figure her out. And I like a woman I can barely keep up with."

Oh? Judging by the women downstairs, what JP really liked were women he could run mental circles around.

"You think she'd come out with me tonight?"

"No."

He looked at her like a puppy she'd just kicked. "Call her. Ask her."

"She's busy." Melissa lied to protect her friend.

His face fell. "If you say so." He started taking off his clothes.

"What are you doing?" she asked, taking a step backward.

"Going out. I need you to help me figure out what to wear."

"I'm afraid that's something you'll have to figure out yourself. I'll give you some privacy," she said, furious with him for dragging her over to his house for no reason.

As she left, he said, "I want you to come out with me tonight so we can get to know each other."

"Okay." He'd readily accepted her criticism, and now it was her turn to give a little. Even though she had a sixth sense that nothing good could come of this outing.

As she waited in the living room with the giggly groupies, she wondered if anything had happened between Alice and JP last night. Unable to find Alice at the aquarium, Melissa had taken a cab home from the party. And her friend hadn't answered her cell phone all day. Melissa desperately hoped Alice hadn't pinned any romantic dreams on JP: He was a player through and through.

Alice and JP would never work. Just like she and Dominic never would, either.

Chapter Twenty

Dominic couldn't remember the last time a woman had walked out on him. When he wanted a woman, he got her. Even as the years went by, he'd never felt threatened by the younger players, on the field or off. If a woman wanted to be with some young hotshot she could twist around her finger with a sexy glance, Dominic wasn't interested.

Melissa had never been that kind of girl. As far as he knew, she'd never dated an athlete, and certainly not one of her father's players. And she didn't sleep around.

Just the thought of another guy seeing her naked made Dominic see red. She was his.

He threw their dinner into the trash. JP had called only to fuck with her. Didn't she realize that? He didn't need business advice; he just wanted to get under her skirt.

Dominic yanked a paper towel off the roll so hard that the stainless steel holder broke away from the wall. He had to save her. Had to bring her back where she belonged: with him.

Dominic grabbed his keys and headed for the garage. It didn't matter what her father was going to say; it didn't matter than his practices had gone from okay to crap after two sleepless nights of loving her. It didn't even matter that he did risky-ass things when he was with her, that he was powerless to stop himself from having sex in locker rooms and empty buildings and construction sites.

She was his.

And he refused to let her go.

Guys like JP were religious about their Friday-night partying. Whatever that punk needed from Melissa wouldn't take longer than an hour—which gave Dominic time to buy her flowers.

There hadn't been a lot of wooing yet, and he wanted to change that. He wanted her to know that he cared about her beyond their explosive sexual connection. He wanted her to know that she was unlike any woman he'd ever known. Melissa was soft and warm, yet filled with an inner strength that he wasn't certain she fully recognized.

All at once, he could see her with their children— a big crew of boys and girls with her wide laugh and expressive eyes. She'd been right there in front of his eyes for so many years—how had he managed to miss her?

A middle-aged woman was just turning the Closed sign face out on the flower-store door when Dominic double parked his car in front. She shook her head as if to say "sorry."

Dominic put his hands together in front of his chest, giving her a charming grin and a persuasive glint of his eyes.

She shook her head and laughed, then opened the door. "Come in," she said in a lilting Irish accent.

"Thank you," he said, full of gratitude at her kindness.

She chuckled. "Just so you know, I'm not doing this for you because you're a famous man who plays with balls."

"Whatever the reason, I really appreciate it."

She nodded. "My son watches your games every weekend. When he grows up, he wants to run around and get sweaty and dirty just like you." While she spoke, she pulled various flowers and greens out of plastic buckets. When she returned to her wooden worktop, she nimbly arranged the stunning bouquet. "You badly need these flowers, don't you?"

"I do," he admitted. "They're for a very special woman." It felt good to say the words aloud—not just to the woman but to himself, as well.