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  “Especially when it hasn’t even been forty-eight hours since I fucked you all up with what I told you.” I say what he won’t, ignoring the twinge it gives me deep inside.

  “You didn’t fuck me up.”

  I look at him, all bristling male aggression, his fury barely banked. And almost let him get away with the lie. Until I compare this to the guy who came in here a few minutes ago, all smiles and bad jokes. I hate that he felt the need to hide this from me, even more than I hate how he refuses to accept that I can take care of myself.

  “You sure about that?” I ask.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, you look it.” This time, I’m the one who crosses to him. The one who puts an arm around his waist and holds him close.

  “You didn’t fuck me up,” he repeats again. “What he did to you fucked me up. And the fact that I can’t get to him, can’t make him pay for how he hurt you. That really fucks me up.”

  “It was a long time ago—”

  “Don’t. You can say a lot of things to me here and I’ll accept them, but don’t play the time card. Don’t try to pretend that it’s an old wound that doesn’t hurt anymore because we both know that’s bullshit.”

  I think about that for a second, feel a pang deep inside myself. Then say, “Maybe it is bullshit. Maybe it’s not. But if it is, it’s my bullshit and it’s been working for me for quite a while now. So, I need you to not take that from me, okay?”

  “Fuck.” He closes his eyes, rests his forehead against mine. Takes several deep breaths. “I’m sorry. Somehow I managed to make this all about me and it’s not. It’s about you. It won’t happen again.”

  When he opens his eyes, the rage is banked. Not gone, but a lot more removed than it was just a few minutes ago. “I get it,” I tell him, running my fingers through his dreads. “I do. For me, it happened years ago. For you, it happened last night. But Tanner, I need you to listen to what I’m saying and I need you to hear me. Really hear me, okay?”

  He nods.

  “I know you want to protect me. I know you want to help me. And I’m so grateful for that. I swear, I am. The way you care for me is…magical. It warms a part of me that I didn’t even know was cold until you showed up with your sunflowers and your weight machines and your gigantic heart. But—”

  “There’s always a but,” he says with a groan.

  “But,” I reiterate, “it’s really important for me to be in control of my life and how I live it. I spent my whole childhood being forced into a mold I couldn’t fit into, of dainty dresses and lace socks and tea parties with the girls when all I wanted was to be on the court with the boys.

  “And when I finally got out from under that, when I finally got to play, my mom spent years punishing me for not being the pretty little girl that she wanted. It hurt, but I made my own way. And then I ended up in a really shitty relationship where I had all kinds of choices taken from me without my knowledge or approval. When I found out what was going on, when I kicked his ass and walked away, I promised myself that I was never going to let someone else control what I did or who I was ever again.”

  “I don’t want to control you. I just want you to be safe. I need to keep you safe.”

  “What you need is to trust me to keep myself safe. And to ask for help from you when I need it.”

  He shakes his head. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “I know it’s not easy. At least not for you. But I still need you to do it. Otherwise this thing between us isn’t going to work.”

  “Don’t say that. This not working isn’t an option for me.”

  The words warm something deep inside me, tell me that what’s happening between us really is as important to him as it is to me. But that just makes what I have to say more important, not less. “It’s true, though. If that’s not something you think you can do, we should probably break it off now, before either of us is in too deep.”

  “I’m already in too deep, Elara. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you are, too.”

  He’s right. I don’t want him to be, but he is.

  “Then we need to solve this.”

  “Fine.” He sighs heavily. “I will do my best to consult you before I step in and try to solve a problem for you—even if rabid reporters are nipping at your heels. And you will come to me if you even think you might need help with something. Agreed?”

  “That’s not quite what I said.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s called compromise. And it’s the best you’re going to get from me. Take it or leave it.”

  I think about it, I really do, for several long seconds. But there’s only one answer when I feel the way I do about him, only one thing I can say and be true to the burgeoning sense of hope deep inside me. “I’ll take it.”

  His breath leaves him in a whoosh. “Thank God.”

  He wraps his arms around me, lifts me up and twirls me around a couple of times before putting me back on my feet. And then he’s kissing me until my head is spinning and my knees are weak.

  When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are glowing that crazy green that seems to see all the way through me. “I want to go with you to Knoxville.”

  I lift a brow at him even though his words make the whole world look as sparkly as his unicorn cup from the other night. “It’s customary to wait until you’re asked.”

  “I know. But no one ever gets ahead by waiting around. And I want this, badly.”

  It’s a valid point, especially considering who he is, who I am. Who we’ll probably be together.

  “I was going to ask you tonight. It’s a three-day thing, so I don’t know if you can get the time off training camp before the weekend. I’m flying in on Friday morning for the reception, then the induction is Saturday, followed by another reception, which—from what I understand—will be followed by one hell of a party. I’d really love it if you could come.”

  “Of course I’m coming. I may have to fly in Friday night and miss the opening reception, but I’ll be there for the induction on Saturday—and the party afterward. Does that sound okay?”

  “That sounds perfect.” I smile at him, because it does. It’s another compromise that takes into account who he is and who I am. And that’s why it works.

  “Is your family coming?”

  “No.”

  His face goes slack with shock. “Seriously? Your parents aren’t coming to see you inducted into the Hall of Fame?”

  When he puts it like that, it stings a little, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. Hasn’t for a while. “I don’t really want them there anyway. Because they won’t get it and my mom will have a ton of passive-aggressive ‘compliments’ designed to make me feel bad about something that I’m really proud of. I just don’t need that this weekend. Not when I want it to be about basketball, and how honored I am that I got to play—for the WNBA, for the U.S. in the Olympics, with a couple of overseas leagues in the off-season. It was a good career, and I am more than proud of it. That’s enough for me.”

  “It should be,” he tells me, pulling me close and kissing me again. This time I have to grab on to him and hold on tight when my knees start to buckle. “It should be more than enough for you—and for them.”

  “Things are what they are. I learned the hard way that sometimes you can’t fight it. You just have to accept.”

  His face goes dark and I know he’s thinking about Jeremy and what he did to me. Which is something I can change. “You know, my office door has a lock on it. And I’ve got half an hour before I have to be anywhere but right here.”

  It takes a few seconds for the murderous look on his face to fade, but it does. Then he flashes me that ridiculous smile of his and answers, “I do know that. And I already locked it.”

  “Lucky me.” I wrap my arms around his waist, pull his body against me.


  “I think you mean lucky me,” he says.

  This time when he kisses me, I don’t care that my knees buckle. I just press myself against him and give myself over to him, to us, and to the fire that burns so brightly between us.

  Chapter 22

  Tanner

  “Are you ready?” I call to Elara from my spot on the bed. I’ve been ready for forty-five minutes, but I haven’t wanted to rush her—this is her day, after all, and she gets to take however long she wants to get ready. But now the clock is getting awfully close to when the ceremony is set to begin and the last thing I want is for her to be late to her own induction.

  “Almost,” she answers. “I just need to get this zipper zipped.”

  “Do you need help?” I get up, start to walk toward the bathroom.

  “No, I’ve got it.”

  “You sure? Because it’s almost time for us to—”

  The bathroom door opens and I break off in the middle of the sentence, whatever I was saying—whatever I was thinking—flying out of my head like so much fluff. Because holy shit. Elara. Looks. Absolutely. Gorgeous. I mean, she’s always beautiful, but this…for long seconds, I forget out how to make sounds, let alone words, as I just look at her. As I soak in all that she is.

  The dress she’s wearing is deceptively simple, a long, straight column of silk the same color as her eyes—and her team’s colors—that falls straight past her knees. It’s got spaghetti straps that show off her strong arms and upper back. The neckline is modest and so is the hem, the only slit a little kick in back to make it easier for her to walk. And still, it might be the sexiest dress I’ve ever seen. She’s certainly the sexiest woman in it that I’ve ever seen, with the way the thin silk skims over her every curve, emphasizing her lush breasts and hips in a subtle, sophisticated way that a dress that hugged or bared her curves could never pull off.

  She’s paired the dress with high-heeled silver sandals—also a team color—and tamed her blond curls into some kind of straight, glossy waterfall that hits halfway down her back. The curls are my favorite, but even I have to admit that the wow factor of the dress goes up by about a thousand percent when you add the bombshell hair to it.

  “What do you think?” she asks, doing a little pirouette so I can get the full effect.

  “I think nobody will care if you’re late for your own induction.” I pretend to reach for my tie. “I mean, you’re last, right? Gives us plenty of time.”

  She laughs like I intend her to, the nervous look on her face giving way to amusement and something more, something solid that has my heart thumping in my chest and my fingers itching to touch.

  “Absolutely,” she says. “No one will even notice if we don’t show up.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. You do need to claim your trophy—and your ring.”

  “Right. My ring. We can match.”

  I shake my head. “Mine’s just for the Super Bowl, baby. Yours is lifetime achievement. There’s no comparison.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Because the Super Bowl is no big deal. Just a nuisance game, really. I’m a little surprised you bothered to show up.”

  We both laugh this time, and then I’m walking over to her, taking her hand. “I wanted to get you flowers—”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she interrupts. “You just got here—“

  “Let me finish. I wanted to get you flowers,” I repeat, “but they don’t last. And this, it needed to last. So, I compromised and came up with this.” I reach for the flat, blue box with the white ribbon I put on the bed half an hour ago, hold it out to Elara.

  Those glorious eyes of hers go wide and for a second I think she’s going to put her hands behind her back in an effort to keep from taking what might be the most recognizable wrapping in the country.

  “What is it?” she asks, voice little more than a whisper.

  “Why don’t you open it and find out?” I whisper back.

  “Because if I open it, this whole thing will either be real or it will disappear like so much smoke.” She smiles softly. “I don’t want it to disappear.”

  “It won’t,” I promise her. “You’ve earned this day.”

  “I don’t know if anyone ever earns it. I can’t help thinking it’s just some gift from the gods. But I’ll take it.” She smiles, soft and open. “And I’ll take you.”

  My heart thuds painfully in my chest and shit. It’s getting to be a problem how crazy I am about this woman.

  Elara finally takes the present. She smiles at me while she shakes it, then slowly—slowly—slides the ribbon off.

  “Are you serious, woman? We need to get going as it is and you’re going to take twenty minutes opening a damn box that isn’t even wrapped?”

  “Sorry,” she says in a tone that says she’s anything but. “It’s my first Tiffany’s box. A girl needs to savor these things.”

  “Seriously? What kind of men have you dated up ’til now?” It’s a casual, off-the-cuff comment, one I don’t mean any particular way. Until I see the way she flinches, just a little. And just like that I’m back in it, the fury I’ve spent the last four days trying to climb out of rising up and swamping me.

  Because I know exactly what kind of man she dated before me—the sadistic rapist kind. And though I’m no closer to figuring out if it’s Knox or Bradford who hurt her, I’m going to figure it out. And when I do…

  “Oh, Tanner!”

  Elara’s gasp pulls me back from the edge and I can’t help smiling as she puts the box down on the bed and pulls out the platinum, amethyst and diamond chandelier earrings I picked out to mark the occasion.

  “They’re gorgeous,” she squeals, a very un-Elara-like sound that does a lot to unknot the fist in my gut that came with the reminder of what she’s suffered.

  “I took a chance that you’d be wearing Phantom colors. I’m glad I did.”

  “They’re perfect,” she says, holding one up to her ear with a trembling hand. “Really beautiful. But you didn’t have to do this.”

  “Hell, yeah I did,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close. “This is your moment. You’re the best center the WNBA has ever had—”

  “How would you know? You didn’t even know who I was when we met.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve remedied that in the last week. I watch one of your games every day over lunch.”

  “No, you don’t!” she says, but her eyes go wide and teary.

  “Hell, yes, I do. And Hunter spends a good hour every day telling me all the fabulous plays you’ve made in your career. If he wasn’t absolutely gaga over Emerson, I’d be a little worried.” I pull her close, press kisses to her beautiful eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. “Besides, I’ve got to prepare for the rematch, don’t I?”

  I say the last to make her laugh and it works, even if it is a little teary.

  “Here.” I take the earring from her. “Let me put them on for you.”

  She gives them up and I slide first one into place and then the other, making sure the backs are screwed on tightly.

  “You’re pretty good at that,” she says, a question implicit in her tone.

  “Damn straight I am. I didn’t raise four sisters for nothing.” I step back and look at her. “You look like two million bucks, you know that?”

  She smiles. “As do you.”

  “Excuse me,” I say, pretending to buff my nails on my suit lapel. “But I look like at least three million.”

  Now she’s full on laughing, exactly as I intended. Because if I’ve learned one thing from spending my entire adult life in the spotlight, it’s that it’s hard to be nervous when you’re laughing. Even if your own family decides your induction into the Hall of Fame isn’t important enough to interrupt their lives for.

  I shake my head. No wonder the woman’s got issues.


  “You ready?” I ask, determined to make today as special for her as I possibly can—and to make up for the fact that none of her family made it to one of the most important days of her life.

  “Hell, yeah. Let’s do this thing.”

  “There’s my girl.”

  We make our way down to the limo I’ve got waiting, and once we’re settled, I pop the champagne and pour her a glass.

  But when I go to hand it to her, she gives me a watery smile and says, “Thank you.”

  “For the champagne?”

  “For the champagne and the earrings and the limo and the flowers you brought when you got in last night. Thank you for making everything about this weekend so special for me.”

  “You don’t need to thank me for this, sweetheart.” I put the champagne down and pull her into my lap. “This is your weekend. You deserve all this and so much more.”

  “I do need to thank you,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist and burrowing into me. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before and the fact that you have—even with your insane training schedule—it means more than I can ever say.”

  “Hey.” I put a hand under her chin and tilt until her eyes meet mine. “I’ll always be around to help you celebrate your wins, Elara. And I’ll be around to help you pick up the pieces of your losses. That’s what it means when you love someone.”

  Her breath catches at that. “Tanner—”

  “Don’t tell me it’s too soon. Don’t tell me that I don’t have to say it. Because, honestly, the second I turned around in that locker room, I knew you were someone special. And when you kicked my ass that first day at basketball, I knew just how special. When you slapped that jump ball away from me and then followed it with that dunk? I knew you were the one. I get that it’s fast and you might not be on the same page yet, but I need you to know that I’m not playing you. That you’re important to me. I’m willing to wait as long as—”

  “Shut up.”

  “Excuse me?” My brows hit my hairline even as my stomach drops. “I’m sitting here, pouring my heart out to you and you tell me to shut up?”