The other players were watching her, too, mountain lions silently hunting their prey, ready to sink their teeth into her neck at the first sign of weakness. Protective urges warred with arousal within Dominic, and he accepted his inevitable decision. It was his duty to get her out of there before something bad happened.

These were mostly good guys, but every now and again a bad seed slipped in, particularly among the rookies, who no one really had a good handle on for a couple of years. They were too fresh, too excited about their new pro status. Sometimes they did stupid things—picked up the wrong kind of girl, turned a video camera on, or posted something indecent on the Internet, especially when they were drunk.

Dominic knew firsthand about fucking up, about how a string of stupid decisions could come to a head in a single moment and almost ruin everything.

His face grim, he headed for the woman. She was talking with Ellis, laughing about something playing on the TV. A warning bell went off in his head, the same kind that he heard on the field just before he got crushed by a defender when coming down with the ball.

Her laugh was husky. Sensual.

And oddly familiar.

Oh, shit.

Melissa McKnight, the woman he wanted to chain to his bed and not let loose until he'd fulfilled every last one of his sexual fantasies, had infiltrated Barnum's.

Anger rode him as he crossed the barroom. She'd been in this business long enough to know that any girl who got drunk around a pro would be easy prey. Sitting there looking as incredibly hot as she did was simply asking for it. She might as well get up on one of the pool tables, strip off all her clothes, and beg one of these guys to take her any damn way he wanted to.

He was nearly at her side when she turned and saw him. "Dominic!" she cried, his name blurring around the edges. "I was just watching you on TV." She blinked up at him like he was her birthday and Christmas presents rolled into one.

He followed her loose-limbed gesture to the large screen hanging above the bottles. ESPN was showing a clip of him making an over-the-shoulder touchdown reception.

"You're so amazing," she murmured, leaning toward him. "So fast. So big."

Her innocent compliments gave him a sudden, raging hard-on. Trying to ignore his body's instinctive response to her nearness, he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm.

Her skin was too warm. Too soft. Too inviting.

His fury at the way she was putting herself in danger merged with his frustration over losing the battle with his dick. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Her tongue flicked out to the corner of her mouth. Sweet lord, he had to look away from her mouth. That way lay madness.

"It's a secret," she whispered.

She tilted her head back to giggle, and his eyes got stuck on the rapidly beating pulse in her long, smooth neck. Her skin was rose-tipped perfection, her hair a mix of blond and brown and auburn that made him want to run his fingers through it for hours just to determine which color it really was.

"I'm taking you home," he said, his voice gruffer than he'd intended. "Now."

Melissa didn't budge. "No, thanks." She picked up her glass and drank the last drop, her tongue snaking out to lick it up.

Dominic's dick twitched as she ignored his command. He'd always assumed that she was soft, pliant. Her easy refusal of his wishes actually made his dick harder. He forced images of her tying him up and straddling him out of his head. A wiser woman would have known not to mess with him. But she'd obviously spent too many years surrounded by big, burly football players who treated her like a little sister. She thought she was safe from him.

She wasn't.

Chapter Four

Waggling her fingers at Ellis, Melissa lifted her empty glass. With her other hand, she patted the busted-up leather bar stool next to hers. "Sit down, Dominic. Keep me company."

Her long lashes covered her guileless eyes as she stared at his crotch. Shit, she wasn't actually assessing his package, was she? His cock grew another painful inch beneath his jeans. If his fans could see just how badly the "master of control" was losing control, they'd boo him off the field.

"We can do this the easy way," he said in a low voice, "or we can do it the hard way."

She spun slightly to face him, her full mouth curving up slightly. A mouth like hers should be illegal. He had a distinctly uncomfortable memory of her coming home from college five years ago transformed into a goddess with sinfully plump red lips and curves that could make a man crazy.

Curves that did make him crazy.

Lifting her gaze from his crotch, she murmured, "Tell me more about doing it the hard way."

Focused on how badly he wanted to taste her lips, it took him several seconds to realize that she'd infused the word hard with a sexual undertone. Quickly, he reminded himself that it was because she was drunk.

Melissa always maintained an impressive professionalism around the guys. The way she was acting had nothing to do with him. After lord knew how many drinks, she would have probably come on to any guy in any bar. Which was all the more reason why he had to get her out of there.

In a flash, he had her up off the bar stool and hoisted over his shoulder, her sweet ass in his hands, her breasts pressing into his shoulder blades. He expected her to scream, to insist that he put her down. Instead, she shifted her hips more firmly into the curve of his palm.

"Mmmm, you're strong," she murmured as he strode across the cement floor.

Several of the guys whistled, and some had the nerve to clap. "You go, Dom," one called, and Dominic scowled fiercely at them, making a mental note to kick each and every one of their asses for thinking dirty thoughts about Melissa.

Wilson smiled at him. "Thanks for taking her out of my hair. Watching over her ass was too much responsibility for me."

In less than sixty, they were out of the bar and he'd strapped her into his passenger seat. He tried to keep contact to a minimum as he leaned across her body to click her seat belt into place, but he couldn't avoid pressing his triceps into her breasts. By the time he got behind the wheel, warning himself for the hundredth time to cool off, she was curled up in the leather seat, looking like a cat nestled in a comfortable blanket. Her eyes were warm honey as they raked over him. He'd never seen her like this, with her guard down.

She was all woman . . . and on the prowl for a man.

Deciding that his wisest bet was to play the role of concerned friend, he said, "I'm taking you back to my place for coffee. You're going to sober up, and then you're going to tell me how the hell you ended up in Barnum's."

Something must have happened between the photo shoot and Barnum's—probably something at work. As soon as she filled him in on the details, he would fix the problem.

He wasn't a fool, though. Women hated men who tried to solve their problems, so he just wouldn't let her know about it.

In a warm voice Melissa said, "I've always wanted to see your house."

She wrapped her forearms around her shins. He'd forgotten to grab her shoes on the way out, and his erection grew yet again at the sight of her red toenails peeking out from beneath her very sexy fishnets.

He cleared his throat, working to obliterate all signs of lust from his tone. "I'm taking you now."

She all but purred, "Goodie. I've been waiting a long, long time for you to take me."

Jesus, if she only knew all the ways he wanted to take her, she'd throw herself out of his car. She was innocent and pure, and had no idea about the dark side of life—or men.