her brown hair shimmered like gold. A gentle curl cupped her small chin and those eyes were daunting, daring him to make his move.
He was captivated, yet smart enough to know better than to play his hand. She had, after all, teased him about his age.
As she coddled him with her eyes—teased him really—he made a gutsy move and deliberately lowered his gaze, held it at her nipples. He took specific note of those fine diamond-shaped points pressing against her sweatshirt.
“Hello.” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Do I still have your attention?”
“Do you want it?” He asked the question before he thought of the consequences of a reply.
She immediately blushed.
“Don’t answer that,” he quickly told her in an effort to give her an out. “And if you think this gift will be something personal, I can turn my head the other way.”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on now. Please. I’ve just told you my adult life story.”
Kara opened the box and peered inside. Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned bright red. Given her expression, Zak believed there was a whole lot of story left to tell and a few blank pages they could fill.
Eight
Back in Los Angeles, Kemper and Carly boarded Kemper’s private jet at around nine-thirty pacific time. After multiple attempts to reach Kara failed, Kemper was frantic and Carly was at her wit’s end.
Thanks to the mounting stress and the paparazzi following them from their hotel to the airport, they’d been snappy with one another. By all accounts, they were approaching a real knock-down-drag-out, spare no punches kind of argument.
“This is your fault,” Carly bit out, yanking at her seatbelt and growing more and more frustrated as she fought to free the strap caught between the seat and leather back sofa. “And why in the bloody hell do we have to use these damn things during takeoff when we both know they’ll come off as soon as we’re in the air?”
“Let me help you,” Kemper said gently.
Smacking his hands away, she shook her head and defied those tears already pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t need your help right now, Kemper. Kara knows. I feel it in my gut. She knows or she would’ve responded to your texts. If not yours, she would’ve at least sent me one of her notorious “Fuck off” messages.”
“I thought of that, too.”
“Praise be, the man actually has a brain and it functions under pressure after all.”
“That was an ugly thing to say, Carly,” Kemper said, grabbing a sports magazine from the nearby bookcase.
“I just can’t stand this. What if she does something crazy?”
“She won’t.” Kemper raised then lowered his periodical. “What do you want me to do? You tried to call friends. No one answered. I don’t have anyone I can call in Cincinnati and if I did, I’d be rather embarrassed to use professional contacts. I can hear that conversation now. ‘Would you mind going to check on my girlfriend and reassuring her that I didn’t marry my other girlfriend? Oh and while you’re at it, please tell her we’re on our way now so she can rest easy.’ How would that look, Carly?”
“Will you ever stop worrying about appearances?” she asked, finally snapping her seatbelt in place. “I mean, this could’ve been avoided. All you had to do was admit to the press that you were involved with both of us. Then they would’ve backed off.”
“It’s none of their business.” Kemper lifted the magazine in front of his face again.
“No?” Carly slapped her hand across his and removed his reading material and her distraction. “When you make millions per year working in the public eye, you sort of sign on for this kind of thing.”
“Says who?” Kemper’s gaze darkened. “You? The other women out there who want a little notoriety for sleeping with an athlete?” He snarled. “Do you really think it’s all that great living in front of a snapping camera? It’s not, baby. I swear, it
He was captivated, yet smart enough to know better than to play his hand. She had, after all, teased him about his age.
As she coddled him with her eyes—teased him really—he made a gutsy move and deliberately lowered his gaze, held it at her nipples. He took specific note of those fine diamond-shaped points pressing against her sweatshirt.
“Hello.” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Do I still have your attention?”
“Do you want it?” He asked the question before he thought of the consequences of a reply.
She immediately blushed.
“Don’t answer that,” he quickly told her in an effort to give her an out. “And if you think this gift will be something personal, I can turn my head the other way.”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on now. Please. I’ve just told you my adult life story.”
Kara opened the box and peered inside. Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned bright red. Given her expression, Zak believed there was a whole lot of story left to tell and a few blank pages they could fill.
Eight
Back in Los Angeles, Kemper and Carly boarded Kemper’s private jet at around nine-thirty pacific time. After multiple attempts to reach Kara failed, Kemper was frantic and Carly was at her wit’s end.
Thanks to the mounting stress and the paparazzi following them from their hotel to the airport, they’d been snappy with one another. By all accounts, they were approaching a real knock-down-drag-out, spare no punches kind of argument.
“This is your fault,” Carly bit out, yanking at her seatbelt and growing more and more frustrated as she fought to free the strap caught between the seat and leather back sofa. “And why in the bloody hell do we have to use these damn things during takeoff when we both know they’ll come off as soon as we’re in the air?”
“Let me help you,” Kemper said gently.
Smacking his hands away, she shook her head and defied those tears already pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t need your help right now, Kemper. Kara knows. I feel it in my gut. She knows or she would’ve responded to your texts. If not yours, she would’ve at least sent me one of her notorious “Fuck off” messages.”
“I thought of that, too.”
“Praise be, the man actually has a brain and it functions under pressure after all.”
“That was an ugly thing to say, Carly,” Kemper said, grabbing a sports magazine from the nearby bookcase.
“I just can’t stand this. What if she does something crazy?”
“She won’t.” Kemper raised then lowered his periodical. “What do you want me to do? You tried to call friends. No one answered. I don’t have anyone I can call in Cincinnati and if I did, I’d be rather embarrassed to use professional contacts. I can hear that conversation now. ‘Would you mind going to check on my girlfriend and reassuring her that I didn’t marry my other girlfriend? Oh and while you’re at it, please tell her we’re on our way now so she can rest easy.’ How would that look, Carly?”
“Will you ever stop worrying about appearances?” she asked, finally snapping her seatbelt in place. “I mean, this could’ve been avoided. All you had to do was admit to the press that you were involved with both of us. Then they would’ve backed off.”
“It’s none of their business.” Kemper lifted the magazine in front of his face again.
“No?” Carly slapped her hand across his and removed his reading material and her distraction. “When you make millions per year working in the public eye, you sort of sign on for this kind of thing.”
“Says who?” Kemper’s gaze darkened. “You? The other women out there who want a little notoriety for sleeping with an athlete?” He snarled. “Do you really think it’s all that great living in front of a snapping camera? It’s not, baby. I swear, it
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