Not last night, though. Savannah had been eager, and damn, had she been wet. She couldn’t deny she’d been ready. But then she’d stopped and he’d read the fear in her eyes. That was professional fear. He understood her not wanting to f**k with her job. He of all people respected that. That’s why he was here working with her.

Though he’d rather be doing something else with her.

He knocked at the door and she answered, dressed in tight black pants and a black-and-white-striped top that hugged her br**sts and did all kinds of things to his imagination, none of them good nor professional. How was he supposed to keep his distance when she dressed in clothes like that?

“Good morning, Cole. Come in.” She looked friendly enough, but he noticed she was wearing her professional mask again.

“Thanks.”

Her dining room table was packed with food. A lot of food. He turned to her. “Are there other people here?”

She shook her head. “It’s for both of us. I thought you might want to eat after your workout.”

“Thanks.” He wandered around the table, wondering if she cooked to fill the void left by lack of sex. But no way was he going to mention that. He was already trying to forget last night. Unfortunately, his hand up Savannah’s dress was a hard memory to ignore.

He filled his plate with sandwiches and salad.

“Iced tea?” she asked from the doorway to her kitchen.

“That’d be great.”

“Have a seat in the living room. Make yourself at home.”

When he set his plate down, he noticed she’d had the television on. She must have been watching something, because it was paused. And it was his face on the screen.

“What are you watching?”

“Game films from last season.”

He looked at her as she brought the drinks in. “Why?”

“Research.” She grabbed her plate, then picked up the remote. “Do you mind if I continue?”

He shrugged. “Go ahead. Always happy to see myself on television.”

She pressed the button.

It was the playoff game last season between Green Bay and New Orleans. They’d won that game. He’d played well. The play she was watching was a key third down and seven. Keller, Green Bay’s quarterback, was lined up in the shotgun. Cole was set up on the left, the other receiver on the right.

At the snap, Cole took off, sprinting past the cornerback to run his route. He dug his cleats into the turf and headed downfield, only to cut to the center of the field, leaving the defensive back scrambling to catch up. He turned and waited the fraction of a second it had taken for the pass that had come sailing his way.

It had been perfect. The ball landed in his hands and he’d been off to the races, outrunning the safety for thirty-five yards all the way to the end zone. The game had been in New Orleans, and the touchdown had put Green Bay ahead and had silenced the crowd.

Savannah pressed pause on the video. “It was a good play.”

Cole nodded. “It was a great play. Too bad Minnesota kicked our asses in the next game, ending our Super Bowl hopes.”

She ate and they watched more film, highlights of his season. After they finished eating, she grabbed their plates and put them in the sink, then came back with refilled glasses.

“You had a great season last year.”

He stretched his legs out. “Yeah.”

“In that game against New Orleans you caught nine passes for over two hundred yards. Last season you had over twelve hundred yards for the year. You were Green Bay’s top receiver and were never out with an injury.”

“Right. So what’s your point?”

She lifted her gaze to his. “A player with your qualifications, with the kind of season you had, and they traded you anyway. Why?”

He planted his feet on the floor and cocked his head toward her. “Number one, I was too expensive. Number two, they’d drafted some guy out of Stanford who’d been a Heisman candidate. Younger, quick feet, great hands, a stellar future player. The team was hyped about this kid.”

“You’re talking about Cale Lefton.”

“Yeah.”

She stood, stretched her back, and folded her arms. “What you aren’t saying is that the major difference between you and Lefton is that he’s a lot less trouble on and off the field.”

Cole shrugged. “He got plenty of media attention.”

“Of course he did. The media was all over him, but in the right ways. He was an All American, a recipient of the Biletnikoff Award, plus the Campbell Trophy for the top scholar-athlete.”

“Uh-huh. He probably walks on water and raises the dead, too.”

Savannah laughed. “I doubt that, but he does have a few things you don’t, and the number one thing he does have is a positive image. A player like that—someone who not only plays well, but presents well—can do a lot for a team.”

“He’s young. Give him time.”

“Not every player will damage his image like you’ve done.”

“Well aren’t you all sweetness and light today?” If anyone needed to get laid and lighten up, it was Savannah. It would improve her mood.

“I wasn’t hired to kiss your ass, Cole. I was hired to clean up your image. We can only do that if I tell it to you with honesty. Straight-up, and regardless of you being on what you might consider your best behavior at the club last night, your image isn’t clean. We have to fix that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my image. My stats show what kind of a player I am.”

He could tell she wasn’t buying it. She didn’t even blink. “That’s not enough and you know it. If it was, you’d still be playing for Green Bay.”

Logically, he knew she was right. It had been a shock to get cut from Green Bay, and an even bigger blow to be fired by yet another agent. Especially when he felt like he hadn’t deserved it. When Liz signed him, he’d wanted to kiss her because he’d been damn scared no one would pick him up, not that he would have admitted that to anyone. He owed it to Liz to give this image rehab thing a chance.

“Okay, so what do you suggest I do?”

“Well, there’s obviously nothing wrong with your play on the field.”

His lips curved. “Obviously.”

“Or your ego, for that matter.” She got up and grabbed the remote, rewound it back to his touchdown at the New Orleans game. “But look here. This was a go-ahead touchdown. A game changer.”

She replayed him charging into the end zone. After the touchdown, his teammates cheered. Mostly with each other. He got a few obligatory high fives, but it wasn’t like they all ran to the end zone and surrounded him like a hero.

Typical.

She fast forwarded. “But look here. When Harrell scored on a running dive from a yard out, they surrounded him. Same thing with Mohan’s catch. They were celebrating with him, patting him on the back, banging his helmet. You mostly celebrated your touchdown alone. You ran the ball in and scored, got a few pats, but then the rest of the team went off to the sidelines to celebrate the touchdown—the touchdown you scored. You weren’t part of that team.”

“I was never part of that team. I never felt welcome.”

She leaned back in the chair. “And whose fault was that? Theirs?”

“I didn’t say that.” He’d never noticed it before she pointed it out, but now that she had, there’d been other instances. He’d kept to himself, worked his magic with the ladies, did the PR gigs he was required to do, but never got involved with any of his team members. It had always been like that. He’d been a one-man wrecking crew, but he never bonded.

It was just the way he operated. He knew what it was like in the NFL. You went from one team to another. No sense in making close friends. And a lot of those guys were assholes, anyway. He got a lot of media attention and they resented it. What was the point in him trying to explain it was part of his job? He owed nothing to them.

“Look. Everyone’s out for their own game. That’s the way it is.”

She arched a brow. “Really. That’s how you see it?”

“Yeah. You do your job and leave it on the field. You want best friends, you find them elsewhere.”

“Like at the clubs?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t think even you believe that, Cole. Those people at the clubs aren’t your friends. Not the kinds of friends you get close to.”

“How would you know? You don’t know who my real friends are.”

“Then show me. Introduce me to them, and to your family. Let me see who the real Cole Riley is.”

“Is this how you want to do your job? Just follow me around and talk to my friends and family?”

“That’s part of it. I told you already that part of me reworking your image requires me to know who you are.”

“So you can change me.”

“I don’t intend to change you.”

He stood, raked his fingers through his hair, and paced in front of the television. He stopped and faced her. “I don’t get this. I thought maybe you were going to change what kind of clothes I wore or something like that.”

“That’s not the kind of image we’re talking about and I think you know it. This is going to be a deep evaluation into who you are. It’s a journey, a discovery not just for me, but for you, too.”

“See. You are some kind of shrink.”

She laced her hands together in her lap. “I already told you I wasn’t hired to psychoanalyze you. I’m here to help.”

“You don’t need to meet my family and friends.”

“Do you have something to hide?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“There isn’t one, except I like to keep my personal life separate from my business life.”

“That’s an odd statement coming from someone whose picture has been on so many magazine covers.”

“With women I party with? Sure. At the clubs? Fine. But with my family? Other than that paparazzi who stalked me when I took my parents out, I keep that life separate.”

“But it’s part of who you are.”

“No. We’re not going there.”

“That’s your choice. But holding a part of yourself away from me isn’t going to help me figure you out.”

He gave her a sly grin. “Just redo my image as Cole Riley—man of mystery.”

Savannah sighed. “More like Cole Riley—major pain in the butt.”

“Hey, call me whatever you want. I’m used to it.”

“Then we might as well get started with part two, and I’ll have to wing it.”

“You’re the pro. I’m sure you can handle it.”

“Fine. We’ll get started tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

He wasn’t going to enjoy this. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone and let him do his job? Why wasn’t his performance on the field ever enough?

SIX

SAVANNAH HAD MADE ARRANGEMENTS FOR THEM TO meet the next night around seven. She told him to dress decently, because they were going out to dinner.

He had no idea if they were going to meet with some PR people or not, but he wore a pair of black slacks and a button-down shirt, figuring he should be ready for anything.

He picked her up at her place. She opened the door, taking his breath away with her simple summer dress—strapless, to show off her shoulders. It hit her just above the knee, too, and she wore heels, accentuating her sexy, beautiful legs. He was stunned at all the available skin she showed.

It was going to be a long night.

She smiled. “Hi. You look nice.”

“Thanks. You do, too.”

He focused on her legs as he led her to his car and helped her in.

“So where are we going?” he asked as he started the car.

She gave him the name of a downtown restaurant.

“Fancy.”

“Yes,” was her only reply.

“Are we meeting someone there?”

“No. Just the two of us.”

He frowned. “Is there something I should know?”

“I’m winging it, remember?”

“Okay. Wing away.”

When they got to the restaurant, he pulled up to the curb and gave the keys to the valet, then led Savannah inside.

Sure he was about to be blindsided by some marketing or PR gurus, or even worse, the media, he was surprised when they were taken to a quiet table in the corner of the dark restaurant.

Near the windows, the restaurant gave a great view of the St. Louis arch and the riverfront.

“Nice place for tourists,” he said.

“I chose it because the food is great, and so is the extensive wine list. You like steak, I assume.”

“You assume right.”

When the waiter brought the wine list and laid it on the table, Savannah picked it up.

“Would you like to go over the wine list with me? We could make a selection together.”

Cole arched a brow. “I’m not much of a wine guy.”

She nodded. “I can teach you. Wines are fascinating.”

He shrugged. “What if I’m not all that interested?”

“It would probably help if you learned at least a little bit about wine. That way, if you take a woman out who does like wine, you can make suggestions, or even order for her.”

“Is this a date?”

Her lips lifted. “No. But if it were, and I were your date, it’s possible we could be selecting wine from this list.”