He frowned. "Seriously? You're staying?"

"You bet I am." He looked shell-shocked, so she decided to give him a few minutes to get used to the idea of her being in the top-secret players' haunt. "Go back to your pool game. I'll let you know when I'm ready for your help."

He looked over his shoulder at the rest of the players in the club, then shook his head. "I don't think this is such a great idea, you being here."

She shrugged and looked around the joint. "Not much of a vibe, but I suppose it grows on you."

Waving him back toward the pool table, she headed over to the empty bar. At least a dozen pairs of eyes were on her. Football, hockey, and baseball players relaxed with beers and video games and pool. There were even a few pro golfers in the mix. She knew their names and teams, but apart from Wilson she didn't know any of them personally. Yet.

There wasn't another bar in the city where she would have felt as at home. She'd grown up around professional athletes, traveled with them, watched games with them, hung out with their families. Football meant family to her.

"Gin and tonic, please," she said to the beefy bouncer/bartender. "Make it a double."

Looking none too happy about serving her, he grabbed a tall glass.

She took a sip, which immediately turned into a gulp. "God, this is good," she murmured.

Even better than the drink was the instant buzz that worked its way from her head to her toes. She hadn't eaten since 6 a.m. It wasn't going to take long for the drink to work its magic.

"Honestly," she said to the large bartender, "I understand why you wouldn't let me come inside."

"You do, huh?"

She nodded. "These guys need somewhere to get away from everything. The press, the groupies, the big-money pressure. I think it's great that you turned this joint into a refuge." She crossed her fingers over her heart. "I'll never tell. Cross my heart and hope to die."

They'd gotten off to a rocky start, but another drink later proved that the bartender—his name was Ellis—was a very nice man. He was happy to listen to her plans to become the next great football agent. The next thing she knew, her second drink was empty and he was sliding another one across the bar.

When Ellis flipped the channel to ESPN, they were doing a profile on the greatest wide receivers of all time. Dominic was their top pick, and something warm and heady bloomed in Melissa's chest. She'd chat up the players in the bar later. For the next hour, she was going to nurse her drink along with her pointless crush on the most beautiful man in the world.

Chapter Three

Dominic sprinted the last hundred yards on the track, beating Ty Calhoun by an inch. They fell down on the grass inside the track and sucked in air. "I never thought I'd see the day when an old man like you would beat me," Ty said, panting.

Dominic laughed through the stitch in his side and the throbbing in his knee. "Marriage has made you slow," he ribbed, even though they both knew it was his job as wide receiver to be the fastest guy on the field.

"What can I say? I've got better things on my mind than a leather ball." Ty grinned. "Nothing beats an insatiable new wife waiting at home."

Dominic was happy for his friend, who was one of the best quarterbacks in the country. Things had been iffy there for a while. Fortunately, everything had ended up working out for Ty. Playboy no more, he was a happily married man.

"What about you?" Ty asked as he started a set of sit-ups. "Got marriage and kids in your future anytime soon?"

An image of Melissa popped into Dominic's head, all luscious curves and plump red lips and an almost accidental sensuality. Blood rushed to his groin.

His agent's daughter was as off-limits as they came. Even if she had looked better than ever this morning at the ad shoot, even if her lush curves had been a perfect fit in his hands, even if she had the softest skin he'd ever touched. He wondered for the thousandth time what she'd look like without her clothes on; if the skin on her breasts, her stomach— between her legs—would be as creamy and tempting as her beautiful face.

Shit. He needed to force the picture of Melissa naked and flushed in his bed from his brain. He rolled over and propped himself on his palms for a punishing set of push-ups. "The last girl I dated kept confusing baseball with football."

"Hey, I think I dated her, too," Ty said, laughing. "At least she was hot, right?"

Dominic held his final push-up an inch from the grass for twenty seconds to push himself to the limit. Letting his weight down slowly, he said, "I guess."

The girl had been too skinny and synthetic-looking, with the same overplumped lips and sili coned breasts and skinny ass as every other good-looking blonde that guys like him dated.

The sun was starting to set as they headed into the showers. Dominic stood under the hot spray for several minutes. An integral part of his job with the Outlaws was turning on the charm. Not just on the field, but at charity events and after-hours parties for the media. But he'd always kept a firm check on himself around Tom McKnight's daughter—regardless of the fact that he wanted to fuck her senseless. She might have been the best-looking woman for miles, but she was meant for some other lucky bastard. Not only would Tom never forgive him for touching his little girl, but Dominic was too old for her, too experienced.

He'd grappled with the darkness within himself one too many times, and come up on the losing end. She deserved better than him.

He stepped off the slick tile to dry off, then pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt. He didn't spend much time in bars anymore, having burned through that kind of behavior in high school, but tonight he felt like having a beer. Someplace out of the public eye where he could hang with the guys, shoot some pool, and stop thinking about the beautiful woman that he couldn't have.

The sun was sinking halfway into the Bay as he drove along the Embarcadero toward Barnum's. Every once in a while, a guy needed a place to get away from the fans. Heck, some of the guys went to get away from their wives and girlfriends.

To the rest of the world, professional athletics looked like a big party. In truth, millions were on the line with every play, every tackle. Sunday's game kicked the shit out of you and your body hurt like hell, with recovery taking the whole week. After spending Monday through Friday in ice baths and murderous massages after practice, you were lucky if you woke up Saturday morning feeling halfway normal, only to head into another grueling Sunday game.

But even though he hurt more lately than he ever had—his shoulder was throbbing from his workout and his knee kept popping—Dominic didn't have any complaints. He wasn't sitting behind a desk. He wasn't putting on a roof in 110 degree weather. He just wasn't healing as fast as he used to.

Dominic parked his car in Barnum's dark, cramped garage, then stepped into the dirty alley and punched in the security code next to the black metal fire door. The lock clicked open and he stepped inside, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting.

Several of the usual suspects were there—a handful of local hockey and baseball players, in addition to several Outlaws. And then his eyes landed on an unexpected sight: A woman with wavy hair was sit ting on a bar stool. Her back was to him and her feet were bare, her shoes haphazardly discarded on the floor beneath her seat.

Even as he wondered what in the hell a woman was doing inside Barnum's, his cock instantly reacted to her lush ass, her tight waist, and the ample breasts hinted at from behind the curve of her elbow. A voice in his head told him this woman could be the perfect substitute for Melissa—at least for the night.