Cavanaugh’s Woman by Marie Ferrarella

was to play her. “Okay, you’re on.”
    He led the way to the door. “Want to make a little wager on the side to make it interesting?” she asked as they walked out of the apartment.
    About to shut the door behind them, Shaw stopped dead and looked at her. “Is that how you did it?”
    He’d lost her. “Did what?”
    “Rope people in for one of your father’s con games?”
    Though she was protective of her father, she took no offense. “My father never hustled basketball,” she informed him. Then she added, “Times were tough. He hustled pool, but never basketball.”
    As if that made everything all right. Shaw shook his head. “I’ll consider myself forewarned.”

    She was as good as her word.
    Bringing her to a local park, Shaw lost no time in getting started. He figured that at least he’d get a workout and burn a few calories. He didn’t expect her to play well enough to give him a run for his money.
    She didn’t play basketball. She owned the game. For a small woman, he quickly discovered, Moira McCormick had more moves than a team of semi-pros. She stunned him by being all over the court and making him work for every point he scored.
    He’d begun by trying to take it easy on her. After all, that was what males did with females, he reasoned. They went easy on them. He’d learned a long time ago that the average woman was nothing like one of his sisters. The average woman wasn’t competitive and she wasn’t incredibly athletic.
    But, he quickly learned, Moira McCormick was not the average woman. Certainly not the average movie star.
    She was good.
    She was better than good.
    She took his breath away—and the ball—whenever possible. Which was often.
    Time melted away as they played. All he could focus on was the game.
    And the woman.
    “Had enough?” she asked, panting as she made another basket.
    The sound of her breathing heavily was getting to him. And it had nothing to do with his spirit of competition. It was evoking a completely different scenario in his head. One he was trying desperately not to acknowledge.
    Besides, it was getting late. If he was going to get to the precinct on time, he had to stop now and start getting ready.
    Still, he didn’t want to call it off. Not when he was losing. Shaw looked at her grudgingly. “Game’s not over.”
    With a quick nod of her head, Moira assumed a ready stance, her legs spread apart, her body poised. “Fine with me.”
    Desire, strong, red-blooded and able, roared through his veins with a speed that astounded him. He needed another shower, a colder one this time. Not that he really thought it would help. This was going to take a little mind over matter.
    Maybe more than a little mind over matter, he silently amended.
    He looked at his watch again. He really had to get going. “Rest of the game has to be postponed,” he informed her. “I’m due at work.”
    “ We’re due at work,” Moira corrected. She blew out a breath, then drew another one in.
    He found himself watching, fascinated, as her lungs expanded. The glimmer of a grin on her lips told him that he’d been caught at it.
    “Good game,” she commented. They started walking back to his apartment.
    It was one of his better ones, but it still hadn’t been good enough. “I was a little off.”
    “Yes, I noticed.” He looked at her sharply. She laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t kid around much, do you?”
    He didn’t like the way she seemed to think she could read his mind. “With my friends.”
    He lengthened his stride. She followed suit, stretching to keep up. “How long does it take to get into this exclusive club?”
    He spared her one glance that was meant to cut her off at the knees. Whatever game she was playing, he wanted no part of.
    “Why would you want to be my friend?”
    “Why not?” she countered, refusing to be intimidated. Better men than he had tried their hand at that and she had never flinched. Part of the education she’d sustained at her