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His Secretary's Surprise Fiancé
Joanne Rock
Her boss wants her in his office—and as his bride!Adelaide Thibodeaux grew up with Dempsey Reynaud, and she's worked for him for years. But when the billionaire football coach springs a surprise engagement to keep her from resigning, it's a low blow. Just as she's ready to strike out on her own, she's stuck in a fake relationship with her boss, biding her time…But soon Adelaide faces a second blow: she's actually falling for the man! Can a relationship founded on a lie become the real deal? Or will they fumble before the end zone—and stay in the friend zone?


“I am not an actress.
“I can’t make this engagement believable. I won’t be the only one who finds our decision to marry a total farce.”
She reached for the door as if to end the conversation on that note.
He reached for her, bracketing her with his arms. Stopping her from exiting the vehicle.
“No one is going to doubt that you have my attention.” The space around them seemed to shrink. He noticed she remained very, very still. “That much is going to be highly believable.”
She swallowed hard.
“Do you believe me, Adelaide?” He wanted to hear her say it. Maybe because it had been a long time since someone questioned his word. “Or shall I prove it?”
Her eyes searched his. Her lips parted. In disbelief? Or was she already thinking about the kiss that would put an end to all doubts?
“I believe you,” she said softly, her lashes lowering as her gaze slid away from his.
* * *
His Secretary’s Surprise Fiancé is part of the Bayou Billionaires series— Secrets and scandal are a Cajun family legacy for the Reynaud brothers!

His Secretary’s
Surprise Fiancé
Joanne Rock


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
While working on her master’s degree in English literature, JOANNE ROCK took a break to write a romance novel and quickly realized a good book requires as much time as a master’s program itself. Today, Joanne is a frequent workshop speaker and writing instructor at regional and national writer conferences. She credits much of her success to the generosity of her fellow writers, who are always willing to share insights on the process. More important, she credits her readers with their kind notes and warm encouragement over the years for her joy in the writing journey.
To Catherine Mann, my longtime critique partner, for inviting me to dream up a Mills & Boon Desire series with her. We’ve brainstormed many books together over the years, but this was a special treat since we both got to write them! Thank you, Cathy, for being a creative inspiration and a wonderful friend.
Contents
Cover (#ubc437be9-5e80-5606-9292-9b427bbc8bb0)
Introduction (#u0b66dddb-bcb8-52b7-bb69-2a38c66f6740)
Title Page (#u1c734dc8-d82c-5947-96cb-80e716188cc5)
About the Author (#uc1b95044-9b58-5d6d-a705-e11361d7d923)
Dedication (#ucb1d71b5-2443-56d9-a2b7-3bd7666a399e)
One (#ulink_6033512e-fb31-576c-af77-17aa82367a25)
Two (#ulink_1d37a7f8-1958-5ddd-aa0f-086add94655e)
Three (#ulink_6af9d6e0-69eb-5b3c-b75a-60768d936980)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ulink_2a063c57-f70f-5ff7-bdca-4eae76464791)
Dempsey Reynaud would have his revenge.
Leaving the football team’s locker room behind after losing the final preseason game, the New Orleans Hurricanes’ head coach charged toward the media reception room to give the mandatory press conference. Today’s score sheet was immaterial since he’d rested his most valuable players. Not that he’d say as much in his remarks to the media. But he would make damn sure the Hurricanes took their vengeance for today’s loss.
They would win the conference title at worst. A Super Bowl championship at best.
As a second-year head coach on a team owned by his half brother, Dempsey had a lot to prove. Being a Reynaud in this town came with a weight all its own. Being an illegitimate Reynaud meant he’d been on a mission to deserve the name long before he became obsessed with bringing home a Super Bowl title to the Big Easy. A championship season would effectively answer his detractors, especially the sports journalists who’d declared that hiring him was an obvious case of favoritism. The press didn’t understand his relatives at all if they didn’t know that his older brother, Gervais, would be the first one calling for his head if he didn’t deliver results. The Reynauds hadn’t gotten where they were by being soft on each other.
More important, his hometown deserved a championship. Not for the billionaire family who’d claimed him as their own when he was thirteen. He wanted it for people who hungered for any kind of victory in life. For people who struggled every day in places like the Eighth Ward, where he’d been born.
Just like his assistant, Adelaide Thibodeaux.
She stood outside the media room about five yards ahead of him, smiling politely at a local sportswriter. When she spotted Dempsey, she excused herself and walked toward him, heels clicking on the tile floor like a time clock on overdrive. She wore a black pencil skirt with gold pinstripes and a sleeveless gold blouse that echoed the Hurricanes’ colors and showed off the tawny skin of her Creole heritage. Poised and efficient, she didn’t look like the half-starved ragamuffin who’d been raised in one of the city’s toughest neighborhoods. The one who used to stuff half her lunch in her book bag to share with him on the bus home since he wouldn’t eat again until the free breakfast at school the next morning. A lot had changed for both of them since those days.
From her waist-length dark hair that she wore in a smooth ponytail to her wide hazel eyes, framed by dark brows and lashes, she was a pretty and incredibly competent woman. The only woman he considered a friend. She’d been his assistant through his rise in the coaching ranks, her salary paid by him personally. As a Reynaud, he wrote his own rules and brought all his resources to the table to make a success of coaching. He’d been only too glad to create the position for her as he’d moved from Atlanta to Tampa Bay and then—two years ago—back to their hometown after his older brother, Gervais, had purchased the New Orleans Hurricanes.
There was a long, proud tradition of nepotism in football from the Harbaughs to the Grudens, and the Reynaud family was no different. They’d made billions in the global shipping industry, but their real passion was football. An obsession with the game ran in the blood, no matter how much some local pundits liked to say they were dilettantes.
“Coach Reynaud?” Adelaide called to him down the narrow hallway draped in team banners. Her use of his title alerted him that she was annoyed, making him wonder if that sportswriter had been hassling her. “Do you have a moment to meet privately before you take the podium?”
She handed him note cards, an old-fashioned preference at media events so he could leave his phone free for updates. He planned to brief the journalists on his regular-season roster, one of the few topics that would distract sports hounds from grilling him about today’s loss in a preseason contest that didn’t reflect his full team weaponry.
“Any last-minute emergencies?” He frowned. Adelaide had been with him long enough to know he didn’t stick around longer than necessary after a loss.
He needed to start preparing for their first regular-season game. A game that counted. But he recognized a certain stiffness in her shoulders, a tension that wouldn’t come from a defeat on the field even though she hated losing, too. She’d mastered hiding her emotions better than he had.
“There is one thing.” She wore an earbud in one ear, the black cord disappearing in her dark hair; she was probably listening for messages from the public relations coordinator already in the media room. “It will just take a moment.”
Adelaide rarely requested his time, understanding her job and his needs so intuitively that she could prepare weeks of his work based on little more than his daily texts or CCing her on important emails. If she needed to speak with him privately—now—it had to be important.
“Sure.” He waved her to walk alongside him. “What do you need?”
“Privately, please,” she answered tightly, setting off alarms in his head.
Commandeering one of the smaller offices along the hallway, Dempsey flicked on a light in the barren, generic space. The facilities in the building were nothing like the team headquarters and training compound in Metairie, where the Reynauds had invested millions for a state-of-the-art home. They played here because it was downtown and easier for their fans. The tiny box where they stood now was a fraction the size of his regular work space.
“What is it?” He closed the door behind him, sealing them inside the glorified cubicle with a cheap metal desk, a corded phone from another decade and walls so thin he could hear the lockers slamming and guys shouting in the team room next door.
“Dempsey, I apologize for the timing on this, but I can’t put it off any longer.” She tugged the earbud free, as if she didn’t want to hear whatever was going on at the other end of her connection. “I’ve tried to explain before that I couldn’t be a part of this season but it’s clear I’m not getting through to you.”
He frowned. What the hell was she talking about? When had she asked for a break? If she wanted vacation time, all she had to do was put it on his calendar.
“You’re going to do this now?” He prided himself on control on the field and off. But after today’s loss, this topic was going to test his patience. “Text me the dates you want off, take as long as you need to recharge and we’ll regroup later. You’re invaluable to me. I need you at full speed. Take care of yourself, Adelaide.”
He turned to leave, ready to get back to work and relieved to have that resolved. He had a press conference to attend.
She darted around him, blocking the door with her five-foot-four frame. “You aren’t listening to me now. And you haven’t been listening to me for months.”
The team owned tackling dummies for practice that stood taller than Adelaide, but she didn’t seem to notice that Dempsey was twice her size.
He sighed. “What did I not hear?”
“I want to start my own business.”
“Yes. I remember that. We agreed you would draw up a business plan for me to review.” He knew she wanted to start her own company. She’d mentioned it last winter. She’d said something about specializing in clothes and accessories for female fans. She hoped to grow it over time, eventually securing merchandising rights from the team with his support.
He worried about her losing the financial stability she’d fought so hard to attain and figured she would realize the folly of the venture after thinking it over. He thought he’d convinced her to reevaluate those plans when he’d persuaded her to return for the preseason. Besides, she excelled at helping him. She was an invaluable member of the administrative staff he’d spent years building, so that when he finally had the right football personnel on the field, he could ride that talent to a winning year.
That year had arrived.
“I’ve emailed my business plan to you multiple times.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts, an unwelcome reminder that Adelaide was an attractive woman.
She was his friend. Friendships were rare, important. Sex was...sex. She was more than sex to him.
“Right.” He swallowed hard and hauled his gaze upward to her hazel eyes. “I’ll get right on reading that after the press conference.”
“Liar,” she retorted. “You’re putting me off again. I can’t force you to read it, any more than I can make you read the messages and emails from your former female companions.”
She arched an eyebrow at him, her rigid spine still plastered to the door, blocking his exit. It had never pleased her that he’d asked her to handle things like that from his inbox. But he needed her help deflecting unhappy ex-girlfriends, preventing them from talking to the press and diverting public attention from the team to his personal life. Adelaide was good at that. At so many things. His life frayed at the edges when she wasn’t around.
Plus, he was devoting every second possible to the task of building a winning team to secure his place in the Reynaud family. It wasn’t enough that he bore his father’s last name. As an illegitimate son, he’d always needed to work twice as hard to prove himself.
And Adelaide’s efforts supported that goal. He was good at football and finances. Adelaide excelled at everything else. He’d been friends with her since he’d chased off some bullies who’d cornered her in a neighborhood cemetery when she was in second grade and he was in third. She’d been so grateful she’d insinuated herself into his world, becoming his closest friend and a fierce little protector in her own right. Even after the time when Dempsey’s rich, absentee father had shown up in his life to remove him from his hardscrabble life in the Eighth Ward—and his mother—for good. His mom had given him up for a price. Adelaide hadn’t.
“Then, I’ll resume management of the personal emails.” He knew he needed to deal with Valentina Rushnaya, a particularly persistent model he’d dated briefly. The more famous a woman, apparently, the less she appreciated being shuffled aside for football.
“You will have no choice until you hire a new assistant,” Adelaide replied. Then, perhaps realizing that she’d pushed him, she gave him a placating smile. “Thank you for understanding.”
Hire a new assistant? What the hell? Was she grandstanding for something, like a raise? Or was she actually serious about launching her business right now at the start of the regular season?
“I don’t understand,” he corrected her, trying to talk reason into her. “You need start-up cash for your new company. Even without reading your plan, I know you’ll be depleting the savings you’ve worked so hard for on a very long shot at success. Everyone likes an underdog but, Addy, the risk is high. You have to know that.”
“That’s for me to decide.” Fierceness threaded through her voice.
He strove to hang on to his patience. “Half of all small businesses fail, and the ones that don’t require considerable investment. Work for one more year. You can suggest a raise that you feel is equitable and I’ll approve it. You’ll have a financial cushion to increase your odds of growing the company large enough to secure those merchandising rights.”
And he would have more time to persuade her to give up the idea. Life was good for them now. Really good. She was an integral part of his success, freeing him up to do what he did best. Manage the team.
The voices and laughter in the hallway outside grew louder as members of the media moved from the locker-room interviews to the scheduled press conference. He needed to get going, to do everything possible to keep their future locked in.
“Damn it, I don’t want a raise—”
“Then, you’re not thinking like a business owner,” he interrupted. Yes, he admired her independence. Her stubbornness, even. But he couldn’t let her start a company that would fail.
Especially when she could do a whole hell of a lot of good for her current career and for his team. For him. He didn’t have time to replace her. For that matter, as his longtime friend who probably understood him better than anyone, Adelaide Thibodeaux was too good at her job to be replaced.
He reached around her for the doorknob. She slid over to block him, which put her ass right over his hand. A curvy little butt in a tight pencil skirt. Her chest rose with a deep inhale, brushing her breasts against his chest.
He. Couldn’t. Breathe.
Her eyes held his for a moment and he could have sworn he saw her pupils widen with awareness. He stepped back. Fast. She blinked and the look was gone from her gaze.
“I’m grateful that working with you gave me the time to think about what I want to do with my life. I got to travel all over and make important contacts that inspired my new business.” She gestured with her hands, and he made himself focus on anything other than her face, her body, the memory of how she’d felt pressed up against him.
He watched her silver bracelet glinting in the fluorescent lights. It was an old spoon from a pawnshop that he’d reshaped as a piece of jewelry and given to her as a birthday present back when he couldn’t afford anything else. Why the hell did she still wear that? He tried to hear her words over the thundering pulse in his ears.
“But, Dempsey, let’s be honest here. I did not attend art school to be your assistant forever, and I’ve been doing this far too long to feel good about it as a ‘fill-in job’ anymore.”
He didn’t miss the reference. He’d convinced her to work with him in the first place by telling her the position would just be temporary until she decided what to do with her art degree. That was before she’d made herself indispensable. Before he’d started a season that could net a championship ring and cement his place in the family as more than the half brother.
He’d worked too hard to get here, to land this chance to prove himself under the harsh media spotlight to a league that would love nothing more than to see him fail. This was his moment, and he and Adelaide had a great partnership going, one he couldn’t jeopardize with wayward impulses. Winning wasn’t just about securing his spot as a Reynaud. It was about proving the worth of every kid living hand-to-mouth back in the Eighth Ward, the kids who didn’t have mystery fathers riding in to save the day and pluck them out of a hellish nightmare. If Dempsey couldn’t use football to make a difference, what the hell had he worked so hard for all these years?
“You can’t leave now.” He didn’t have time to hash this out. And he would damn well have his way.
“I’m going after the press conference. I told you I would come back for the preseason, and now it’s done.” Frowning, she twisted the bracelet round and round on her wrist. “I shouldn’t have returned this year at all, especially if this ends up causing hard feelings between us. But I can send your next assistant all my files.”
How kind. He clamped his mouth shut against the scathing responses that simmered, close to boiling over. He deserved better from her and she knew it.
But if she was going to see him through the press conference, he still had forty minutes to change her mind. Forty minutes to figure out a way to force her hand. A way to make her stay by his side through the season.
All he needed was the right play call.
“In that case, I appreciate the heads-up,” he said, planting his hands on her waist and shuffling her away from the door. “But I’d better get this press conference started now.”
Her eyes widened as he touched her, but she stepped aside, hectic color rising in her cheeks even though they’d always been just friends. He’d protected that friendship because it was special. She was special. He’d never wanted to sacrifice that relationship to something as fickle as attraction even though there’d definitely been moments over the years when he’d been tempted. But logic and reason—and respect for Adelaide—had always won out in the past. Then again, he’d never touched her the way he had today, and it was messing with his head. Seeing that awareness on her face now, feeling the answering kick of it in his blood, made him wonder if—
“Of course we need to get to the conference.” She grabbed her earpiece and shoved it into place as she bit her lip. “Let’s go.”
He held the door for her, watching as she hurried up the hallway ahead of him, the subtle sway of her hips making his hands itch for a better feel of her. No doubt about it, she was going to be angry with him. In time, she would see he had her best interests at heart.
But he had the perfect plan to keep her close, and the ideal venue—a captive audience full of media members—to execute it. As much as he regretted hurting a friend, he also knew she would understand at a gut level if she knew him half as well as he thought she did.
His game was on the line. And this was for the win.
* * *
That went better than expected.
Back pressed to the wall of the jam-packed media room, Adelaide Thibodeaux congratulated herself on her talk with Dempsey, a man whose name rarely appeared in the papers without the word formidable in front of it. She’d made her point, finally expressing herself in a way that he understood. For weeks now, she’d been procrastinating about having the conversation, really debating her timing, since there never seemed to be a convenient moment to talk to her boss about anything that wasn’t directly related to Hurricane football or Reynaud family business. But the situation was delicate. She couldn’t afford to alienate him, since she’d need his help to secure merchandising rights as her company grew. And while she’d like to think they’d been friends too long for her to question his support...she did.
Somewhere along the line they’d lost that feeling they had back in junior high when they’d sit on a stoop and talk for hours. Now it was all business, all the time. That didn’t seem to bother Dempsey, who lived and breathed work. But she needed more out of life—and her friends—than that. So now she was counting down the minutes of her last day on the job as his assistant. Maybe, somehow, they’d recover their friendship.
She hated to leave the team. She loved the sport and excelled at her job. In fact, she’d grown to enjoy football so much she couldn’t wait to start her own high-end clothing company catering to female fans. The work married her love of art with her sports savvy, and the projected designs were so popular online she’d crowd funded her first official offering last week. She was ready for this next step.
And she was very ready for a clean break from Dempsey.
Her eyes went to him in the bright spotlight on the dais where coaches and a few key players would take turns fielding questions. The sea of journalists hid behind cameras, voice recorders and lights, a wall of devices all currently aimed at Dempsey Reynaud, the hard-nosed coach and her onetime friend who’d unknowingly crushed most of her dreams for the past decade.
He was far too handsome, rich and powerful. Dempsey might not ever see himself as fully accepted into the family, but the rest of the world breathed his name with the same awe as they did the names of the other Reynaud brothers. All four of them had been college football stars, with the youngest two opting for NFL careers while the older two had stepped into front-office roles in addition to their work in the family’s business empire. Each remained built like Pro Bowl players, however. Dempsey’s broad shoulders tested the seams of his Hurricanes jersey, his strong biceps apparent as he leaned forward at the podium to provide his perspective on the game and give an injury report.
With his dark brown hair and eyes a bit more golden than brown, there was no mistaking Dempsey’s relation to his half brothers. But the cleft in his chin and the square jaw were all his own, his features sharp, his mouth an unforgiving slash. He spoke faster, too, with his stronger Cajun accent.
Not that she’d spent an inordinate amount of time cataloging every last detail about the man she’d swooned over as a teen. There was a time she would have done backflips to make him notice her as more than just his scrawny, flat-chested pal. But the only time she’d succeeded? He’d ended up noticing her as a tool for increasing his business productivity. He had honestly once referred to her in those exact terms. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d ceased being much of a friend to him—forgoing personal exchanges in favor of taking care of business.
That hurt even more than not being noticed as a woman.
“Adelaide?” The voice of the PR coordinator sounded in her earpiece, a woman who had quickly seen the benefits of a coach with a personal assistant, unlike some of the front-office personnel in other cities where she’d worked. “I’m receiving calls and messages for Dempsey from Valentina Rushnaya. She’s threatened to give some unflattering interviews if she can’t arrange for a private meeting with him.”
Adelaide’s skin chilled. Dempsey’s latest supermodel. The woman had been rude to Adelaide, unwilling to accept that her affair with Dempsey was over despite the extravagant diamond bracelet he’d sent as a breakup gift. Occasionally, Adelaide felt bad for the women he dated. She understood how it hurt to be kept at a distance after experiencing what it felt like to be the center of his attention—if only briefly. But she had no such empathy for Valentina.
Stepping to the back of the room, Adelaide spoke softly into her microphone, momentarily tuning out of the press conference as Dempsey wound up his opening remarks.
“I talked to Dempsey about this and he’s agreed to handle it.” She didn’t see any need to share her plans to vacate her position. “Anything she says would either be old news, or blatant lies.”
“Should we schedule a meeting to come up with a response plan, just in case?” Carole pressed. The woman stood on the far end of the room, her arms crossed in her navy power suit that was her daily uniform, her blond bob as durable as any helmet in the league. “Dempsey’s new charity has their first major fund-raiser slated for next week. I think he’ll be disappointed if this woman succeeds in deflecting any attention from that.”
Adelaide would be equally disappointed.
The Brighter NOLA foundation had been her idea as much as his, a youth violence prevention initiative where Dempsey could leverage his success and influence to help some of the more gang-ridden communities in New Orleans. Like where they’d grown up. Or, more accurately, where he’d lived briefly and where she’d been stuck after he got out.
She’d had her own run-ins with youth violence.
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” She would honor those words, even if it meant communicating with Dempsey after she walked away from the Silver Dome today. “She signed a strict nondisclosure agreement before she started dating Dempsey, so going to the press will be a costly move for her.”
Dempsey had communicated as much to Adelaide in a one-line email when she’d mentioned it to him two weeks ago. He’d typed, She has no legal recourse, and attached a copy of the confidentiality agreement the woman had signed as part of his megaromantic dating procedure. In Adelaide’s softer-hearted moments, she recognized that the single life could be difficult for an extraordinarily wealthy and powerful man in the public eye. He had to be practical. Careful. But the nondisclosure agreement, complete with enforcement clause and confidentiality protection, seemed over-the-top.
Given the number of women who still lobbied to be in his life, however, it must not deter many.
“Valentina is wealthier than some of the ladies he’s dated,” Carole pointed out. “But I hope she’s just stirring trouble with us and not—” She stopped speaking suddenly and leaned forward. “Wait. Did he just say he has a personal announcement? What is he doing?”
From across the room, Adelaide noticed all of the PR coordinator’s focus was on the lectern where Dempsey was facing down the media.
The audience sat in stillness, making her wonder what she’d missed. In the hushed moment, Dempsey held the room captive as always, but more anticipation than usual pinged through the crowd. She could see it in their body language, as the journalists sat straighter in their seats, all dialed in to whatever it was the Hurricanes’ head coach was about to say.
“I got engaged today.” He announced it as matter-of-factly as if he’d just read the latest update on a linebacker’s injury report.
Murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd of sportswriters while Adelaide reeled with shock. Engaged?
The floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. She reached behind her, searching for something to steady herself. He’d never mentioned an engagement. Her chest hurt with the weight of how little he trusted her. How little he cared about their old friendship. How much this new betrayal hurt, not to even know the most basic detail of his personal life—
“To my personal assistant,” he continued, his gaze landing on her. “Adelaide Thibodeaux.”
Two (#ulink_58d3687d-60f2-5891-85b7-1c3497d0f7f4)
Adelaide reeled back on her high heels.
Dempsey had just publicly declared an engagement. To her.
The man who was so cautious about every aspect of his personal life. The man who trusted her never to betray him even though he’d betrayed her in a million little ways over the years. How could he?
In her ear, Adelaide heard Carole squeal a congratulations. A few other members of the press who knew her—women, mostly, who were still vastly outnumbered in the football community—turned around to acknowledge her. Or maybe just study her to see what renowned bachelor Dempsey Reynaud would find appealing in the very average and wholly unknown Adelaide Thibodeaux.
Of course, the answer was obvious. She had no appeal other than the fact that Dempsey didn’t want her to leave the team. And he was a man who always got his way.
She’d naively thought she could just turn her back on her job as his assistant and start a company that would rely upon good relations with the Hurricanes and the league in general for securing merchandising rights down the road. Something she couldn’t afford to jeopardize if she wanted her company to be a success.
If she stood up and challenged him, she’d lose team support instantly. She didn’t dare contradict him. At least not publicly. And no question, Dempsey absolutely knew that, as well.
Realization settled in her gut as smoothly and firmly as a sideline pass falling into a wide receiver’s hands. She’d been outflanked and outmaneuvered by the smartest play caller in the game.
Her brand-new fiancé.
She needed time to think and regroup before she faced him and blurted out something she would regret. Adelaide darted out of the press conference just as a reporter began quizzing Dempsey about the quarterback’s thumb. She didn’t know what else to do. She lacked Dempsey’s gift for complicated machinations that ruined other peoples’ lives in the blink of an eye. Storming off was the best she could come up with to relay her displeasure and give herself time to think.
She tore off her earpiece even though Carole currently informed her she needed to stick around the building for any follow-up interviews.
Like hell.
Adelaide picked up her pace, heels grinding out a frantic rhythm on the concrete floor as she burst through a metal door leading to the stairwell. She headed down a flight to the custodial level of the dome, taking the route where she was least likely to encounter media.
The sports journalists hadn’t really known what to do with the story about the Hurricanes’ coach getting married. Sure—they would recognize the news value. But in that he-man room full of sports experts, no one would quiz the tersest coach in the league about his love life. They would hand that off to the social pages.
Who, in turn, would eat it up. All four of the Reynaud brothers had been in People magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive list for two years running. The national media would be covering Dempsey’s engagement, too. While she ran away.
She stumbled as her heel broke on the bottom step because her shoes were meant for work, not sprints. Hobbled, she shoved through the door on the ground level just as her phone started vibrating in her bag. She ignored it, trying to think of the most discreet way to reach her car two floors up.
A car engine rumbled nearby. It was the growl of a big SUV—a familiar SUV that slowed as it neared her. Dempsey’s Land Rover, although it had probably never been operated by the owner himself.
Evan, his driver, lowered the tinted passenger window. He could have passed for a gangster with his shaved head, heavily inked chest and arms and frightening number of face piercings; his appearance gave Evan an added advantage in his dual role serving as personal security for their boss.
“Miss Adelaide,” he said, even though she’d told him a half dozen times it made her feel like a kindergarten teacher when he called her that. “Do you need a ride?”
“Thanks, Evan,” she huffed, out of breath more from runaway emotions than the mad dash out of the dome. “My car is on the C level, if you don’t mind bringing me up there.”
Relief washed through her as she limped over to the side of the vehicle. Before she could get there, Evan jumped out the passenger side and jogged around to help her, all two hundred sixty-four pounds of him. Before he blew out a knee, he’d been a top prospect on the Hurricanes’ player roster, one she knew by heart.
She’d worked so hard to impress Dempsey over the years, memorizing endless facts and organizing mountains of information to help him with his job.
Only to be rewarded like this—by having him ignore her notice of resignation, refuse to discuss her concerns and announce a fake engagement to the very industry whose respect her future work depended upon.
“No problem.” Evan tugged open the door and gave her a hand up into the passenger area of the vehicle specially modified to be chauffeur driven, complete with privacy screen. “Happy to help.”
She waited for his knowing grin, certain he’d been listening to the press conference in the garage, but his face gave nothing away, eyes hidden behind a pair of aviator shades.
“I appreciate it.” She tried to smile even though her voice sounded shaky. “I parked on the west side today. Close to the elevators.”
Ticket holders had cleared out after the game, leaving the lot mostly empty now, save for a few hardcore fans that stuck around for autographs. The press parking area was separate, three floors up.
“Got it.” Evan shut the door with a nod and she settled into the perforated leather seats. The bespoke interior was detailed with mother-of-pearl and outfitted with multiple viewing screens that Dempsey used to watch everything from game film to feeds from foreign stock exchanges to keep up with the Reynauds’ family shipping business in the global markets.
Sadly, she knew the stats of most of the ships, too.
Her phone continued to vibrate in her bag, a hum against her hip where her purse rested, a reminder that her life had just fallen apart. Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt the Land Rover glide into motion and wished she could seize the wheel and simply keep driving far, far away from here. As if there was anywhere out of reach of the Reynauds, she thought bitterly.
Out of habit, she touched her right hand to the bracelet on her left wrist to feel the smooth metal that Dempsey had heated and shaped into a special present for Adelaide’s twelfth birthday. The jewelry was worth far more than any of the identical diamond parting gifts he’d doled out to lovers over the years. Maybe she’d been foolish to see so much meaning in those years they’d spent together when his life had gone on to change so radically. She’d always thought she would do anything for him.
But not at this price. Not when he stopped being her friend and started thinking he was the boss of every aspect of her life. He couldn’t dictate her career moves.
Or her choice of fiancé, for crying out loud. The funny part was, there had been a time in her life when she would have traded anything to hear him announce their engagement. But she’d grown up since the days she’d harbored those schoolgirl hopes. Once his father’s limo had arrived to take him out of her world and into the rarefied air of the Reynaud family compound in Metairie, things had never been quite the same between them. Sure, he’d checked up on her now and then when the family was in Louisiana and not one of their other homes around the globe. Yet he always seemed acutely aware of the expectations of his family, and they did not include hanging out with a girl from the old neighborhood. For that matter, Dempsey had put all his considerable drive into becoming a true family heir, increasing his workload at school and throughout college. Eventually, he’d dated women in his same social circles, and Adelaide had remained just a friend.
Peering out the dark tinted windows, she noticed that Evan had exited onto the wrong floor of the parking garage. She reached for the communications panel to buzz him even as the SUV slowed by the east side elevators a floor below where she needed to be.
“Evan?” she said aloud when he didn’t answer right away. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Miss Adelaide?” His voice sounded different. Sheepish?
Maybe he knew he’d made a mistake.
“We’re in the wrong spot—”
She stopped when the elevator doors opened. Dempsey strode out, a building security guard on either side of him.
“Sorry, ma’am. The boss called.”
Of course Evan hadn’t made a mistake. He’d come here to pick up the man who called all the shots. Or had he been sent downstairs earlier to retrieve her? Either way, she was screwed. Her escape plan was over before she’d even gotten it off the ground.
At almost the same time, the stairwell door opened and a small throng of reporters raced out, camera lights spearing into the parking garage gloom as they shouted Dempsey’s name and called out follow-up questions he must not have addressed in the televised press conference.
“Coach Reynaud, have you set a wedding date?”
“How do you think this will affect your team?”
“How long have you been dating your assistant?”
The last question came from a thin woman who reached him first, her voice recorder shoved toward his face. One of the security guards warded her off easily enough, opening the door of the Land Rover so Dempsey could step up into the vehicle.
“Does Valentina know?” the skinny reporter shouted, banging on the window of the SUV as Dempsey closed the door and locked it behind him.
Adelaide scooted to the far end of the seat as he lowered himself beside her, the soft leather cushion shifting beneath her as the vehicle started into motion again.
“Hello, Adelaide.” He made the greeting sound like so much more than it was, his deep voice tripping along her senses the way it sometimes did when he used her whole name.
She hated that he could inspire those feelings even now. It was as if he’d sucked all the air out of the small space so she couldn’t catch her breath. She watched in silence as he tugged off his team jersey, tossing the Hurricanes gear onto the opposite seat and leaving him clad in a simple black silk T-shirt with his black pants. He looked like a very hot hit man.
A hit man who’d targeted her business. Her future.
All for his own selfish ends.
“Can you call Evan and remind him my car is on the C level?” She glared at him, reminding herself with every breath not to get too emotional. Not to let all the anger fly, as much as she wanted to do just that.
She’d seen him in action for years, knew him well enough to understand that no one won battles with him by acting on feelings. Dempsey ran right over adversaries who couldn’t negotiate with the benefit of cool reason.
“It might not be wise to drive when you’re angry.” He set aside his phone and stretched an arm along the back of the seat.
Almost touching her. Not quite.
Not the way he had back in that vacant office before the press conference when she’d inserted herself between him and the door. When she’d felt the warmth of his hand on her hip. Brushed up against him chest to chest in a moment that had almost caused cardiac arrest. She swallowed hard and refused to think about all that wayward attraction, which had always been one-sided.
“It might not be wise to kidnap the assistant you’re dating either.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“We’re not dating. We’re engaged.” He reached to tug a lock of her hair, as easily as if she still had pigtails. As if she would still follow him anywhere just because he said so. “I’ll send someone back for your car later. It will be safer to stick together.”
“Safer for who exactly?” She tried not to wrench away from him, would not let him see how much this cavalier treatment got under her skin. Even now, despite the anger inside, another heat simmered right along with it. “And who made you lord of what I can and can’t do? Turn the damn car around.”
Being trapped beside his powerful presence in the back of a private luxury vehicle only stirred to life those other potent feelings she’d tried so hard to stamp out long ago.
“I don’t think either of us wants to create a firestorm around the team right now,” he reminded her.
“Seriously? Which is why you chose to announce an engagement to the press when you knew I couldn’t contradict you.” She clenched her fingers tight and contained her temper as Evan drove the SUV out of the parking garage and into the early-evening traffic heading west, away from her home.
Toward the Reynauds’ private compound in Metairie. She didn’t need to ask where they were headed, any more than Evan needed to ask. The world simply moved according to Dempsey’s wishes.
“I realize you think I did this just for me. For the team. But I did it for you, too.” His golden-brown eyes remained on her even when the viewing screens built into the overhead console flipped to life with game updates from around the league.
Being the focus of his undivided attention had the power to rattle any woman.
“We’ve been friends for too long for you to trot out that kind of BS with me.” She folded her arms tight across her chest, her body reacting all kinds of erratically around him today. “Can we at least be honest with each other?”
“I am being honest.” He shifted in his seat, turning toward her. Moving closer. “Adelaide, I don’t want to see you fail at anything. Ever. And I promise you, if you stick this out with me—just this one more season—I will ensure that your company gets off the ground with all the benefits of my connections.”
It was a lot to promise her. Worth a heck of a lot more than those diamond bracelets he passed out like consolation prizes.
“I don’t want a company that is a glorified Reynaud hand-off. I want the satisfaction of developing it myself.” There had been a time when he would have understood that. “Don’t you remember what it feels like to want to build something that is all your own? Without the benefit of—” she waved her arm to encompass his custom-detailed world in a vehicle that cost more than most people’s homes “—all this?”
His phone rang before he could answer her. And worse?
He held up a hand to indicate that he needed to take it.
“Reynaud,” he growled into the device.
Tuning him out, she fumed beside him. This was precisely why she needed to leave. She understood that he worked eighteen-hour days every day and that he took his business concerns as seriously as his team. But it had been too many years since he’d even pretended to make time for her or the friendship they’d once shared. He spoke to her as his assistant, not like the girl who had once been privy to all his secrets.
He had no idea about the strides she’d made in her business over the past few weeks—the way she’d pulled off funding for a short run of her first clothing item. He hadn’t been there to applaud her unique efforts or otherwise acknowledge anything she did, and she was sick of it. Sick of his whole world that could never pause for one moment. Even for the conversation they’d been having.
By the time Dempsey disconnected his call, she could barely hold on to her temper.
Enough was enough.
* * *
Setting aside his phone after clearing up some problems in Singapore, where it was already Monday morning, Dempsey hoped the time-out from the confrontation with Adelaide had helped her to cool off and see his side. She sure had backed him into a corner by quitting out of the blue.
What else was he supposed to have done when she’d forced his hand like that? The engagement was simply a countermove.
“Adelaide,” he began again, only to have her swing around in the seat to glower at him.
“How kind of you to remember we were in the middle of a conversation.” Her clipped words suggested her temper wasn’t anywhere close to cooling down. “Do you need a refresher on what we were discussing? One, our ridiculous engagement.” She ticked off items on her fingers. “Two, your sneak attack of having Evan lying in wait for me in the garage so I couldn’t make a clean break from the stadium today. Three, your inability to understand why I want to build my own company from the ground up, without the almighty Reynaud name behind me—”
“How can you, of all people, suggest I don’t understand what it’s like to want to develop your own company? To build your own team?” His voice hit a rough note even as his volume went softer. “You know why I went into coaching. Why it means everything to me to win a championship for this town.”
He remembered shared rides home that weren’t in the back of a Land Rover. Shared rides in a cramped bus full of bigger, stronger kids who amped up their street cred by converting new gang members or beating the living crap out of nonconverts. Of course he knew. He was giving back with his foundation. Constructing a positive environment with the Hurricanes for a community that needed an identity. Creating a team to root for that wore football jerseys instead of gang colors.
Adelaide didn’t answer, though. She stared at him with a stony expression. He didn’t have a clue what she was thinking. When had he lost the ability to read her? His gaze dipped to her mouth, set in a stubborn line. He read that well enough. Although, after that brush up against her before the press conference, he suddenly found himself wondering what she’d taste like. He hadn’t let himself think along those lines in years, always protecting their long-standing friendship. Something had gone haywire inside him after he’d touched her today. He couldn’t write it off as passing awareness of her as a woman, the way he had a few times as a teen. This attraction had been fierce, making him question if he’d ever be able to see her as just a friend again. It rattled him. He’d grown to rely on her too much to have an affair go wrong.
And it would. Adelaide was not the kind of woman to have affairs, for one thing. For another? Dempsey only conducted relationships that came with an expiration date.
With an effort, he steered himself back to his point.
“I’ve got controlling shares in businesses around the globe,” he reminded her as they got off I-10 and headed north toward Lake Pontchartrain. “But being CEO of this or vice president of that doesn’t mean as much when it’s handed to you. With coaching, it’s different. I earned a spot in this league. I am putting my stamp on this team, and through it—this town. I’m creating that right now, with my own two hands.”
He pulled his eyes away from her, needing a moment that wasn’t filled with the distracting new view of her as more than just his friend. He did not want to think about Adelaide Thibodeaux’s lips.
“You’re right.” She reached across the seat and touched his forearm. Squeezed lightly. “I’m upset about...a lot of things. But you deserve to be proud of your efforts with the team and with Brighter NOLA.” Her hand fell away, briefly grazing his thigh.
Then she pulled back fast.
He wished he could will away his reaction just as quickly.
“I understand you’re angry.” Maybe that was the source of all this tension pinging back and forth. Passions were running high today between the team’s loss, the start of the regular season and her trying to quit. “But let’s hammer out a plan to get through it. You want to build your own business, fine. Just wait until after the season is over and I’ll at least help you finance it. I can offer much better terms than the bank.”
The moon hung low over the lake as the SUV wound around the side streets leading to the family’s waterfront acreage. The lake was shallow here, requiring boat owners to install long docks to moor their watercraft. Dempsey couldn’t recall the last time he’d taken a boat out, since all his time was devoted to football and business.
“That’s very generous of you. But I can’t stay a whole season.” Briefly, she squeezed her temples between her thumb and forefingers. “I posted a design of my first shirt and won crowd funding for the production. I need to honor that commitment after my followers made it happen for me.”
And he had missed that milestone, even if it was just enough capital for a small run of shirts and not the launch of an entire business. He admired that—how she’d started off things so conservatively that her potential buyers had bought the clothes before she’d even made them. She was smart. Savvy. All the more reason he needed her. He could help her with her business after she helped him solidify his.
“Congratulations, Addy. I didn’t know about that. So give me four weeks.” He did not want to compromise on this. But four weeks bought him more time to convince her to stay longer. To show her that she had a place with the team. “The deal still stands. I’ll help you with the startup costs. You retain full control. But you will stay with me for another month to get the season underway.”
“What about the engagement? What happens to that ridiculous fiction next month?”
“You can break it off for whatever reason you choose.” He trusted her to be fair. He might not have been paying much attention to her for the past few years in his intense drive to lead his team, but he knew that much about her.
When the time came to “break up,” she wouldn’t drag him through a scandal the way Valentina had threatened. Especially since he and Adelaide would still be working together, because no way in hell was he losing her. Four weeks was a long time to win her over now that he understood how high the stakes were. A season like this might only come around once in a lifetime. If he didn’t make the most of it and secure the championship now, he might never get another shot.
“And until then? What will your family think of this sudden news? Will you at least tell them the truth so we don’t have to pretend around them?” She bit her lip as they drove through the gates leading to the Reynaud family acreage along the lake.
She’d never seemed at ease here, not from the first time she’d set foot on the property for his high school graduation party and spent most of the time searching for shells on the shore.
The SUV rolled past the mammoth old Greek Revival house where Dempsey had spent his teen years, now occupied by his older brother, Gervais. Henri and Jean-Pierre split an eleven-thousand-square-foot Italianate the family acquired when they’d bought out a former neighbor. Neither of them stayed with the family for long, since Henri and his wife had a house in the Garden District and Jean-Pierre spent the football season in New York with his team.
Dempsey’s place was slightly smaller. He’d specially commissioned the design to repeat the Greek Revival style of the main house, with four white columns in the front, and a double gallery overlooking the lake in back.
Evan parked the vehicle in front, but Dempsey didn’t open the door. “My family doesn’t need to know the truth about our relationship.” He reached for her hand to reassure her, guessing she would be bothered by the lie. “It will be simpler if we keep the details private.”
Her hand closed around his for a moment, as though it was a reflex. As though they were still friends. But damned if he didn’t feel that spark of awareness again. Whatever had happened between them back at the stadium was not going away.
“Your family won’t believe it.” She shook her head. “We’ve kept things strictly platonic for too long to feel...that way.”
She withdrew her hand from his. Either he was really losing his touch with women, or they’d both been feeling “that way” today. Was it the first time it had happened for her, or had she thought about him romantically in the past?
It bothered him how much he wanted to know.
“It’s none of their business.” He didn’t care what anyone thought. His brothers were too caught up in their own lives to pay much attention to Dempsey outside of his work with the Hurricanes. He’d been the black-sheep brother ever since their father had shown up with him in tow as a scrawny thirteen-year-old. “The engagement is important, since Valentina threatened to cause trouble for the Brighter NOLA fund-raiser by going to the media with some story about my nondisclosure agreements. The announcement of my marriage to you trumps her ploy ten times over. No one will care about her story, let alone believe it.”
“Ah. How convenient.” Adelaide wrenched her purse onto her lap and started digging through it. Finding a tube of lip balm, she uncapped it, twisted the clear shiny wand upward and slicked it over her mouth until her lips glistened.
His own mouth watered. Then he recalled her words.
“It is useful.” He watched her smooth her dark hair behind her ears, the primping a sure sign of nerves. “The engagement helps me to keep you close and prevents Valentina from sabotaging something you and I worked hard to develop. That foundation is too important for her to derail our efforts.”
“Well, I don’t find it useful. Or convenient.” Adelaide’s eyes flashed a brighter jade than normal, her cheeks pink with a hint of temper. “I am not an actress. I can’t make an engagement believable to your family when they’ve hardly noticed me in all the time we’ve known each other.”
“We can address that.”
“If you think I’m going to start tossing my hair—” she exaggerated some kind of feminine hair fluffing “—or slinking around your house in skintight gowns to convince anyone that I’m the kind of female who could capture your attention...”
“You think that’s what I notice in a woman?” He couldn’t say if he felt more amused at her attempt to toss her hair, or dismayed that she perceived him as shallow.
Her shrug spoke volumes.
“Your challenge could not be clearer if you’d thrown a red flag on the field.” Something stirred inside him—something deeper than the earlier flashes of attraction.
A bone-deep need to prove her wrong. He was not a shallow man. He’d simply dated women who could go into a romantic relationship with eyes wide-open. He refused to give any woman false expectations.
“I’m not challenging you.” She bit her lip again, her shiny gloss fading as her anxiety spiked. “Simply pointing out what has historically intrigued you about the fair sex. I won’t be the only one who finds our decision to marry a total farce.”
She reached for her door handle as if to end the conversation on that note.
He reached for her, bracketing her with his arms. Stopping her from exiting the vehicle.
“No one is going to doubt that you have my attention.” The space around them seemed to shrink. He noticed she remained very, very still. “That much is going to be highly believable.”
She swallowed hard.
“Do you believe me, Adelaide?” He wanted to hear her say it. Maybe because it had been a long time since someone had questioned his word. “Or shall I prove it?”
Her eyes searched his. Her lips parted. In disbelief? Or was she already thinking about the kiss that would put an end to all doubts?
“I believe you,” she said softly, her lashes lowering as her gaze slid away from his.
He had no choice but to release her then, his argument won. He should be relieved, since he didn’t want to give Adelaide false expectations of their relationship. But as they exited the SUV and headed into the house, he couldn’t help a twinge of disappointment that she hadn’t challenged him on that last point, too.
He’d been all too ready to prove that the attraction he felt for her was one hundred percent real.
Three (#ulink_c6eec0b7-29f4-5414-aedc-4a733c481ca1)
Everything about this day felt off-kilter to Adelaide as she followed Dempsey up the brick steps onto the sprawling veranda of his house. Fittingly, she limped up the steps in her broken heel, unable to find her footing around him.
He’d commissioned the home when he’d first taken the head-coaching job in New Orleans, though it hadn’t been completed until last spring. As if the Reynaud family complex hadn’t been impressive enough before, now Dempsey’s stalwart white mansion echoed the strong columns of the main house where he’d grown up. His place, just under ten thousand square feet, was only slightly less intimidating than Gervais’s historic residence on the hill that had been built in the same style two centuries prior. She could see the rooftop from here, although the live oaks gave the structures considerable privacy. It helped to have the billions from Reynaud Shipping at their disposal, though the generations-old wealth was one of many reasons Adelaide had always felt out of place here.
Today, she had even more reason to feel off her game.
From the erratic pounding of her heart to the all-over tingle of awareness that lingered after their talk in the back of the Land Rover, she felt too dazed to don her usual armor of professionalism. What had he been thinking to focus that kind of sensual attention on her? She’d been so breathless when he’d bracketed her between those powerful arms, his chest just inches from her own, that she hadn’t been able to think straight. Hadn’t been able to question why they needed to enact this crazy charade for his family that had always intimidated her.
She slipped off her unevenly heeled shoes at the door and walked barefoot into his house. Once she shook off this fog of attraction, she would talk sense into Dempsey and leave. She’d wanted a clean break from him, and now he’d changed the playing field between them so radically she didn’t know what to expect. Should she put her product launch on hold? Or should she keep fighting to end her commitment to the Hurricanes? She needed to sort through it all without the added confusion of this new sensual spark between them.
“You might remember from the blueprints that there’s an extra bedroom upstairs and one downstairs.” He led her through the wide foyer past a grand staircase. He used an app on his phone, she realized, to switch on lights and lower blinds as they moved through the space. “Both have en suite facilities. I can send Evan to your place to pick up some things for you when he retrieves your car.”
They paused in an expansive kitchen at the back of the house, connecting to a dining area with floor-to-ceiling French doors that opened onto the yard overlooking the lake. There was another set of French doors in the family room, also accessing the back gallery and lawn. It was a perfect place for entertaining, although she would be surprised if Dempsey had hosted many people here. She certainly hadn’t been invited to any private parties at his home even though she’d helped choose any number of fixtures and had spoken with his contractors more often than he had.
But in all fairness, Dempsey had always spent the majority of his time on the road or at the office. She doubted he’d spent many nights here himself.
“The house is beautiful,” she said finally. “You must be pleased with how it turned out. I know I looked at the plans with you when you first approved the blueprints, but seeing the real thing... Wow.”
She shook her head as she took in the ceiling medallions around matching chandeliers that were either imported antiques or had been designed by a master craftsman. The natural-stone fireplace in the kitchen gave that space warmth even when it wasn’t lit, while another fireplace in the family room had a hand-carved fleur-de-lis motif that matched the ceiling medallions.
“Thank you. I haven’t spent much time here, but I’m happy with it. Why don’t I order some food and we can hash out a plan for the next few weeks while we eat?” He set his phone on the maple butcher-block top of the kitchen island, one of the elements of the house she’d helped choose, along with the appliances.
But when she’d been comparing kitchen options on her tablet, she’d simultaneously been investigating a wide receiver’s shoulder injury and a competing team’s new blitz packages. No wonder she’d all but forgotten the details until now.
“Anything is fine.” She wasn’t in the mood to eat, her body still humming with awareness and a sensual hunger of a more unsettling kind after those heated few moments earlier.
Even in this giant house, Dempsey’s magnetic pull remained as potent as if they were separated by inches and not feet. When he walked toward her, her breath caught. Her heart skipped one beat. Then two. It had been one thing to ignore her reaction to him when he’d always treated her as a friend. But now that he’d opened that door to a different kind of relationship, teasing her with hints of the possible chemistry they might have together...her whole being seemed to spark and simmer with the possibilities. That kind of distraction would not make figuring out her professional life any easier.
First she needed to strategize a method for dealing with him and this fake engagement, then find a way out of the house as soon as possible. She couldn’t survive spending twenty-four hours a day with him, especially when she wasn’t sure if he genuinely felt some kind of attraction, too, or if he’d always known about the feelings she thought she’d kept well hidden. Would he be so cruel as to use that attraction now to his advantage?
“Gervais has a full-time chef at his place now that Erika is having twins.” He gestured in the general direction of the house on the hill where his older brother had settled his soon-to-be wife, a beautiful foreign princess who would fit right into the Reynaud family. “It’s easy to have something sent over.”
“I’m too wound up to eat.” She shrugged. “I would make some tea, though.” She peered around the kitchen, not seeing a kettle or any other signs of basic staples.
“Tea.” He typed in something on his phone and shook his head. “I’ll ask for a few things.” He set the device aside. “Evan will bring it over in half an hour or so. I’ll show you the rooms so you can choose one. You’ll be safer from the press here. You have to know that my family’s security rivals that of Fort Knox.”
The very last thing she wanted to do was choose a bedroom in Dempsey’s house, especially when her pulse fluttered so erratically just to be near him. It didn’t matter to her body that she was angry with him and his high-handed move. Some fundamental part of their relationship had shifted today; a barrier that she’d thought was firm had caved. She felt raw from having that defense ripped away.
He stalked through the family room into the western wing of the house and pushed open the door of an expansive bedroom with carpet and walls in blues and grays, a king-size modern bed with a pristine white duvet and a white love seat in front of yet another fireplace, this one with a gray granite surround.
The en suite bath on the far end of the room had a stone bathtub the size of a kiddie pool, spotlighted with an overhead pendant lamp on a dim setting. Gray cabinets and white marble were understated accents to the dominant tub.
“You didn’t take this one for your room? I thought you had chosen that tub especially for you,” she asked over his shoulder, realizing as she said it that she’d allowed herself to stand very close to him to better see the whole space. If she leaned forward just a little, she could rest her cheek against his back where broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist.
It didn’t help that she’d been thinking about him lounging in that huge custom tub, muscles glistening.
“The view is better from the suite upstairs.” He turned to face her and it was all she could do not to scuttle backward. She did not need to have both Dempsey and a bed in her field of vision. “I’ll show you the bedroom near mine.”
“No. I mean—there’s no need.” She would sleep downstairs by herself if it meant they could end this tour faster. “I can sleep here tonight.”
She wasn’t committing to spending any more time than that in this house. One night was bad enough, but she had too much to work out with him to leave just yet.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right alone down here?” He frowned. But then, he knew when they traveled she preferred a room close to his. Her house had been broken into as a teenager—after he’d moved away from her. And she felt jittery at night sometimes.
“I’m certain. Your family’s security rivals Fort Knox. Remember?” She nodded, knowing she wouldn’t sleep well under Dempsey’s roof for entirely different reasons than that long-ago robbery where she’d hidden under her bed for half an hour after the thieves had left. “But you mentioned discussing a plan for the next few weeks?” She backed up a step now, out into the hallway away from the warmth of his broad shoulders. “I’ll rest easier once we talk through this. Actually, if we can come up with a plan, I’ll say good-night and leave you to watch your game film.”
She knew his habits well. Understood how he spent most nights after a day on the field, watching the action on the big screen where he could replay mistakes over and over again, making notes for the next day’s meetings so the team could begin implementing adjustments.
“Come upstairs first.” He turned off the light and headed back toward the front of the house, where she remembered seeing the main staircase. “I want you to see my favorite part of this place.”
Something in his voice—his eyes—made her curious. Maybe it was a hint of mischief, the same kind that had once led them into a haunted house, which turned out to be the coolest spot in their neighborhood after she got over being scared of the so-called voodoo curse on the place. Besides, she needed to see hints of her old friend—or even her boss—inside the very hot, very sexy male she kept seeing instead. So she focused on that “I dare you” light he’d had in his eyes as she padded up the dark mahogany stairs behind him, the two-story foyer a deep crimson all around them.
He’d come a long way from the apartment on St. Roch Avenue where he’d battled river rats as often as his mother’s stream of live-in boyfriends, each one more of a substance abuser than the last. His mom had been a local beauty when she’d had an anonymous one-night stand with Dempsey’s father after meeting at the restaurant where she’d waitressed. She hadn’t read the papers enough to recognize Theo Reynaud, but when she’d seen him on television over a decade later, she’d remembered that one night and contacted him.
Adelaide hadn’t been at all surprised when Dempsey’s real father had shown up to claim him. She’d known as soon as she’d met Dempsey—way back when he’d saved her from a beat down in a cemetery where she’d gone to play—that he was destined for more than the Eighth Ward. In her fanciful moments, she’d imagined him as a prince and the pauper character like the fairy tale. He had the kind of noble spirit that his poor birth couldn’t hide.
And even though she wanted to think she was destined for more than her tiny studio still a stone’s throw from St. Roch Avenue, she was determined to make it happen because of her hard work and talents. Not because of all the wealth and might of Dempsey Reynaud.
“Through here.” He waved her past the open door to another bedroom, the floor plan coming back to her now that she’d walked through the finished house. She recalled the two huge bedrooms upstairs and, down another hall, the in-law suite with a separate entrance accessible from outside above the three-car garage.
She didn’t remember the den where he brought her now. But he didn’t seem to be showing her the den so much as leading her through it to another doorway that opened onto the upstairs gallery. As he pushed open the door, moonlight spilled in, drawing her out onto the deep balcony with a woven mat on the painted wooden floor. A flame burst to life in the outdoor fireplace built into the exterior wall of the house, a feature he must have been controlling with the app on his phone. An outdoor couch and chairs surrounded the fireplace, but he led her past those to the railing, where he stopped. In front of them, Lake Pontchartrain shone like glass in the moonlight, a few trees swaying in a nighttime breeze making a soft swishing sound.
“I haven’t spent much time here, but this is my favorite spot.” He rested his phone and his elbows on the wooden railing, staring out over the water.
“If this was my house, I don’t think I’d ever leave it.”
There was so much to take in. Lights from Metairie and a few casino boats glittered at the water’s edge. Long docks were visible like shadowy fingers reaching out into the lake, while the causeway spanned the water as far as she could see, disappearing to the north.
“I wish I had more free time to spend here, too.” He turned to face her, his expression inscrutable in the moonlight. “But someone might as well make use of it. Move in for the next few weeks, Adelaide. Stay here.”
Normally, Dempsey wouldn’t have appreciated an interruption of a crucial conversation. But Evan’s announcement of dinner had probably prevented another refusal from Adelaide, so he counted the disruption as a fortuitous break in the action.
Now they ate dinner in high-backed leather chairs in the den, watching highlights from around the league. They attempted to name the flavors in the naturalistic Nordic cuisine with ingredients specially flown in to appease Gervais’s fiancée’s pregnancy cravings. The white asparagus flavored with pine had been interesting, but Dempsey found himself reaching for the cayenne pepper to bring the flavor of Cajun country to the salmon. You could take the man out of the bayou, but apparently his palate stayed there. Dempsey’s birth mother may have been hell on wheels, but before she’d spiraled downward from her addictions, she’d cooked like nobody’s business.
“I can’t believe you have Gervais’s chef making meals like this for you.” Adelaide took more asparagus, finding her appetite once she’d glimpsed the kind of food prepared by the culinary talent being underutilized by Gervais and his future wife. “That is another reason I could never live in this house. I’d weigh two tons if I could have dishes arrive at my doorstep with a phone call. What a far cry from takeout pizza.”
“I think you’re safe with asparagus.” He’d always thought she’d eaten too little, even before he started training with athletes who calculated protein versus carb intake with scientific precision to maximize their workout goals.
His plan for dinner had been to keep things friendly. No more toying with the sexual tension in the air, in spite of how much that might tempt him. He needed Adelaide committed to his plan, not devising ways to escape him, so he would try to keep a lid on the attraction simmering between them.
For now.
If she moved into his house, he would spend more time here, too. He’d keep an eye on her over the next few weeks, solidify their friendship and learn to read her again. He’d taken her friendship for granted and he regretted that, but it wasn’t too late to fix it. He’d find time to help her with her future business plans, all while convincing her to stick out the rest of the season.
“You don’t understand.” She pointed her fork at him. She’d put on one of his old Hurricanes T-shirts about six sizes too large for her, her dark hair twisted into a knot and held in place with a pencil she’d snagged off his desk. She still wore her black pencil skirt, but he could only see a thin strip of it beneath the shirt hem. “I peeked in the dessert containers while you were finding a shirt for me and I already gained twelve pounds just looking at the sweets. There is a crème brûlée in there that is...” She trailed off. “Indescribable.”

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