“It’s been a long night on very high heels,” she said with a laugh. “I freely admit I’m more of a blue jeans and flats kind of girl.”
He cocked his head to the side. “I could definitely see you that way. I’m more of the same way myself.”
“Blue jeans and flats?”
He laughed. “Uh, no. But this tux is killing me.” He loosened the bow tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons, then shrugged out of his jacket. “That’s a little better.”
“If you’re going to start stripping, maybe you should head on home,” she teased.
“Why? Never seen a man naked before?”
She choked out a laugh. “No, that’s not it. But I don’t think this oversized mausoleum of a ballroom is going to offer you the privacy to take off everything you want to take off.”
“And how do you know how much I want to take off?”
She dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head. “I’m digging the hole deeper and deeper, aren’t I?”
“Is there someplace you have to be right now?”
Her head shot up, her gaze meeting his. “No. Why?”
“Come with me.” He laid her feet on the ground, bent over and retrieved her shoes, then grabbed his coat and slung it over his arm.
Tara followed him out of the ballroom. “Where are we going? And shouldn’t I put my shoes on?”
“Nah. We’re not leaving the hotel.” He pushed the elevator button.
“You have a room here?”
“Everyone does. The team didn’t want the guys driving tonight after the party. You know, in case there was overindulgence of all that great alcohol you provided.”
She stepped in while he held the door open for her. “I don’t recall seeing you drink anything but water.”
He shrugged and pushed the button. “Not much of a drinker at events like this. Too much of an opportunity to make a total ass of yourself in public. And the media loves getting shots of players partying a little too hard.”
She turned to him. “You prefer to do it in private, then?”
“Ha-ha.” The elevator doors opened, and he led the way down the hall, retrieving the key card from his pocket. “I prefer not to do it at all. Got all that out of my system when I was younger.”
He opened the door for her and held it while she walked in. Since they held the party at one of San Francisco’s premier hotels, the room was nice. Really nice. A suite, actually, with an outer room and a hallway that must lead to the bedroom. Tara walked to the window and stared at the killer view of the city skyline, rubbing her arms as she did.
“Cold?”
She half turned to face him. “A little.”
He put his jacket over her. “Slip into this. I’ll adjust the temp in here.”
She slid her arms into his jacket, which was miles too big for her but instantly warmed her. His scent surrounded her again as she pulled his jacket around her. She turned to face him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His fingers lingered over the lapels of his jacket, his knuckles resting on the swells of her breasts. Even though the fabric separated his hands from her skin, she still felt the pressure of his hands there, and that warmed her more than his jacket ever could. Her heart kicked up a fast beat, and she became aware that she was in his room—alone. She didn’t do this, didn’t blindly follow men she didn’t know to their rooms. And she wasn’t easily captivated by fame, so who he was meant nothing to her.
Where had her common sense gone?
MICK HAD BEEN WITH PLENTY OF WOMEN IN HIS LIFETIME. From college to the pros, women had gravitated to him like he was an irresistible magnet. And he’d never been one to turn down a beautiful woman who wanted to crawl into bed with him.
So he’d never had to pursue a woman. Until tonight, until he’d seen Tara leaning against the wall of the ballroom, not participating, just watching, the sparkles on her champagne-colored dress lifting the light from the chandeliers and all the candles shining around her as if she were the main event in the ballroom.
She’d captivated him from the first moment he’d seen her in the locker room area today. He’d hated missing the opportunity to meet her then, and finding her at the ballroom tonight had seemed like it was meant to be.