"Tell Mom to stop ha.s.sling me, Gwen. I'm not bringing an inappropriate date to Tricia's wedding because I won't be bringing a date at all. Problem solved," Brody snapped at his sister.

It was Monday evening and he was testy after the Blaze were narrowly defeated by the Patriots the night before; the loss resulting from a controversial play with seconds left in the game. The winning touchdown should have been his, had it not been for a defensive player's hand glued to Brody's back, knocking him off his route. A hand that was apparently invisible to the referee because interference hadn't been called. Adding salt to the wound, the Blaze players watched in disgust as the scene was replayed on the jumbotron, the infraction glaringly obvious, as the Patriots trotted off the field in victory.

"Do you think going dateless is such a smart idea?" The humor in Gwen's voice traveled through the cell phone mounted in the dash of Brody's Range Rover. "You'd be fair game for every woman there. I think Mom just wants to make sure you don't detract attention from the bride. Like when one of the Kennedy kids tried to bring Taylor Swift to his cousin's wedding. She's worried you'll bring Candi the p.o.r.n star or someone equally scene-stealing."

Brody gritted his teeth. "For the one millionth time, Candi is an adult-film actress."

"There's a difference?" his sister teased.

Braking at a red light, Brody ma.s.saged his left shin where another player's cleat had left a painful bruise. He'd spent the last couple of hours with several of his teammates at the practice facility letting the training staff administer to his various aches and pains. "Do you have anything work related to discuss? Because, if not, I'm gonna hang up now."

Gwen laughed. "You are such a poor loser."

"Bye-bye." He reached out a hand to disconnect the call.

"Wait! I do have some decisions I need your okay on. I'll be nice, I promise."

Twelve years and three sisters separated him from his oldest sibling. But Brody felt closer to Gwen than he did to his parents; probably because while he was growing up, she'd been the one to intervene when his other sisters insisted on using him as their own personal plaything. The mother of two school-age children herself, Gwen was responsible for handling Brody's personal correspondence and other publicity issues. It was a job she could do from her home in Boston, which suited them both perfectly. Brody loved his four older sisters. He just loved them more when they were eight hours away.

"Get to the point," he said as he punched on the gas, merging with the cars on Central Avenue. "I'm on my way home to watch Monday Night Football."

"I know tomorrow's your day off, but please go over the proposal for the charity auction. You have a meeting with the board next week and they'll want your agreement."

"More like they want my money," he grumbled. Brody didn't mind sharing his wealth with those in need, but lately he was beginning to feel like a blank check, autonomous in the whole operation of his own charity.

His sister ignored his comment. "Menswear magazine wanted you to do a resort spread on your bye weekend, but I had to nix that since Tricia's wedding is the same day. They won't give up. They were wondering if you'd do a shoot for their holiday issue, but it would have to be before the end of this month. And they'd need you in New York. Should I tell them they'll have to come to Baltimore if they want you?"

Brody scrubbed a hand down his face. One of his other sisters, Ashley, was a buyer for Nordstrom. She'd been dressing Brody his entire life. Fortunately for him, he'd outgrown her doll clothes by the time he was eighteen months old. Ash was talented, though, and thanks to her critical eye, he knew he always looked his best, unintentionally finding his way onto many best-dressed lists. But he was getting tired of being known as just another pretty face.

"No." Time to draw the line on the turf. "Tell them I'm not interested in doing any more photo shoots. I'm done modeling."

"Crikey, Brody, you are grouchy today."

He remained silent, easing up on the gas as he entered a school zone.

Gwen blew out a breath. "Okay, as you wish. I'll tell them the holiday spread is a no, but I'm not closing the door on future shoots in case you're less hormonal tomorrow and you change your mind. Now, about this personal chef person you want; are you serious? It's not like you to be so pretentious as to want someone to cook your meals for you. Did I misunderstand your text? I already order all your groceries for you every week. Is there a problem with the delivery service?"

"No, Gwen, you're the perfect mommy. I just want someone to actually prepare the food you have sent in."

"Well, jeez, Brody, if you're that lazy, I'll tell the company to deliver the food already prepared. They can do that, you know. It just gets a little pricey, but, hey, if that's what you want."

It wasn't what he wanted. Because then he'd have to tell his sister about his blood sugar issues. If his coven of motherly sisters found out, he'd be toast. And that was before they'd rat him out to their mother. Just the thought gave him the w.i.l.l.i.e.s.

"No, I want someone to cook the meals fresh. Someone who understands nutrition. I'm trying to eat a more balanced diet to keep my body at its peak." As lies went, his was easily sustainable.

His sister let out a snort, which Brody ignored.

"Just figure out how I hire such a person, Gwen."

The laughter was back in her voice. "Are there any other specifications you have? Blond? Brunette? Maybe a redhead? Ooh la la, should she be French?"

"Hanging up now." Brody punched the disconnect b.u.t.ton, silencing his sister's laughter.

All the talk of food made his stomach growl. He'd ventured into the commissary at the practice facility earlier to grab a snack, telling himself he wasn't looking for a certain whiskey-eyed, leggy woman in a hairnet. But when he didn't see her there, he'd left without eating anything. Now he wanted a sandwich. A meaty concoction from Santoni's deli.

It was dinnertime in suburbia and the parking lot of the gourmet market-deli was full. Navigating his SUV into a spot, Brody tried to stroll inconspicuously into the store, but a buzz went up immediately as he was recognized by the shoppers.

"Tough game last night."

"d.a.m.n refs. They're all blind."

Brody acknowledged the comments of the Blaze faithful with a head bob and a slight smile as he made a beeline for the deli counter.

"Hey, hey, number eighty, where you been?" t.i.to, the deli manager, greeted Brody with a booming voice. "Those freakin' refs were all a bunch of homers last night. They need binoculars, for sure. You want your usual?" He was already slicing the bread before he'd finished his question. Despite the fact he liked celebrities in his store, t.i.to knew Brody didn't want to stand around and field questions from fans after a loss.

Trying to look busy, Brody was scanning his cell phone screen when a pair of familiar legs, decked out in formfitting yoga shorts, pa.s.sed through his peripheral vision. His heart rate sped up as he followed her with his eyes. Unfortunately, his weren't the only ones trailing the cafeteria ladybartender. He watched as three college-age twerps tailed her down an aisle, their body language shouting they were up to something.

"Be right back," he said to t.i.to as he rounded the corner of the endcap stacked with Goldfish crackers.

"Aww, come on," one of the frat boys was saying. "I know you were into us the other night at the bar. Why don't you come by our place tonight and hang with us. We can do some shots and watch some football."

Brody could only imagine what the three idiots wanted to do to her once they'd gotten her drunk. Whiskey Eyes-he thought he remembered Nate calling her Shannon-was tougher than she looked, though; something he'd already figured out about her. Sporting a "Don't Mess with Texas" T-shirt, she kept her stance casual even as the three boxed her in.

"Sorry, fellas. I have cla.s.s tomorrow. But thanks." Her s.e.xy drawl lulled two of the boys into dazed adoration.

Frat boy number three wasn't taking no for an answer, though. Belligerently shifting closer, he reached out and grabbed her elbow. Before she could yank her arm free, Brody was heading down the aisle. He grabbed a random box from the shelf and stepped around to her other side.

"Babe," he said as he slipped the box-a brownie mix-into the handbasket she was carrying. "Do we have any eggs? I thought we could make these tonight." Placing his palm on her lower back, he pulled her closer toward him, the gesture a universal signal of possession among males.

Brody wasn't sure who was more startled, the bartender or the three guys hounding her. Her eyes dilated briefly before her long lashes blinked closed. When she opened them again, she seemed to recover a bit of her equilibrium.

"Umm . . ." Her tongue darted over her lower lip, and Brody's whole body went on alert. "No. No, we, um, we need eggs."

Giving her back a rea.s.suring rub, he took her basket and guided her away from the three, treating them to the cat-ate-the-canary grin he gave defensive players when he'd beaten them to the football. Once they'd rounded the corner, she blew out a breath, stepping away from his hand at her back.

"Whoa there, Texas." Brody wrapped his arm across her shoulders. "Keep playing along until they leave," he said quietly as they made their way toward the dairy section. She kept her eyes down, avoiding the rest of the shoppers who'd begun to take notice of him again.

"That's Brody Janik," college boy number three yelled out to his friends. "No way he's tapping someone like her! Not when he's got hot models and p.o.r.n stars to choose from."

He felt her cringe beneath his arm.

"Ah, h.e.l.l. Now I'm gonna have to hit that guy," Brody muttered, his body teeming with anger.

She turned on him, those whiskey eyes filled with alarm. "No! You're not going to fight over me," she cried as her hands clenched on to his shirt, the tips of her fingers brushing his chest. Heat surged through him.

"Fine, we'll do this the pacifist's way," he said, just before he dropped the basket and pulled her in for a kiss.

His timing was impeccable, the pests rounded the corner just as Brody took a hold of her toned a.s.s. Not that he was paying attention to the three stooges anymore. He was too busy enjoying the soft mouth of the pliant female in his arms. She was tall enough that he didn't have to bend himself like a pretzel to kiss her, his body parts meeting up nicely with hers. Her lips parted easily and Brody took advantage, exploring her wide, sweet mouth. A soft moan escaped the back of her throat and her fingers gripped his shirt a little tighter, but she didn't engage in the kiss. Too bad, because Brody could have kissed her all night. Her skin was warm beneath his touch and he realized she was flushed with embarra.s.sment. Jesus, he was mauling a stranger in a grocery store. Reluctantly, he broke contact, resting his forehead against hers as he tried to get his breathing-and his body parts-under control.

"That ought to do it," he whispered.

"If you say so."

Her eyes remained closed-probably from shame-and he was disappointed that the s.e.xual attraction was so obviously one-sided.

Brody Janik was kissing her, exploring her mouth with a delicacy and tenderness that belied the power of his muscled body. Shay was so stunned by the events of the previous five minutes, that all she could do was stand there. Stand there and enjoy it. Truth be told, she was enjoying his kiss right down to the tips of her toes, not to mention everywhere else south of the border. Her fingers, furled in his shirt, itched to feel the sculpted chest she knew lay beneath the soft cotton, but she couldn't summon the strength to move them. The masterful stroke of his tongue against hers held her entire body transfixed.

And then, just as suddenly as the kiss began, it ended. Shay kept her eyes closed in an effort to retrieve her scattered wits. The murmur of the shoppers surrounding them began to penetrate her senses, but it was Brody's words that brought her crashing back to reality.

That ought to do it, he'd murmured.

Shay's eyelids snapped open to see Brody's trademark baby blues inches from her own face, his forehead resting against hers. His pupils were bright with mischief and that's when it hit her: Brody Janik wasn't kissing her to kiss her. He'd kissed her as part of some sort of male-posturing ego trip; the big steer in the herd a.s.serting his dominance. The flush stinging her cheeks, originally brought on by potent desire, was now fueled by embarra.s.sment. And anger.

Closing her eyes again in order to calm the bitter sting of reality, she uttered something. What words she spoke, she wasn't sure, but her tone was enough for Brody to break the contact between their foreheads. When she pried her eyelids open once again, his own eyes had dimmed and his body was rigid. Shay forced her fingers to release their death grip on his shirt.

"Don't blow it with a knee to my groin, Texas," he murmured. "I think they've bought it and they'll leave without any more nonsense."

Her gaze locked with his. "Does that mean your hand can leave my person now?"

The warm caress of his palm on her left b.u.t.t cheek relaxed and Shay felt a little bereft as he slowly lifted it away. Her glute muscle twinged in protest.

"Sorry." His apology stung further, but she still couldn't seem to walk away, to put some distance between their two bodies. They stood in the crowded market, inches apart. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the sweet scent of freshly showered skin, and taste the mint left from his tongue. Which meant he could probably smell and taste the chlorine on her. Argh! Shay took a giant step back, just then noticing the eyes of the shoppers who didn't bother hiding their interest in Brody's activities. Her face felt like it was on fire now.

One of the deli workers slipped a sandwich wrapped in white butcher paper into the handbasket Brody had retrieved from the floor. Her handbasket!

"Enjoy your dinner, Brody." The man grinned, wagging a bushy eyebrow at her before he slipped back behind the counter.

The three men who'd tried to pick her up were no longer within sight. Shay reached over to take her handbasket back, but Brody tightened his grip; his other hand taking a firm hold of her elbow.

"We need eggs, remember," he said as he steered her toward the dairy section.

Shay tried to pull out of his grip, but it was no use. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because someone needed to help you back there."

Planting her feet firmly, she watched Brody's face war with whether to make a scene by pulling her along or to stop and answer her.

"I could have handled them." She jerked her chin up in victory when he finally ceased pulling.

A lazy smile spread across Brody's face, igniting a firestorm in Shay's belly.

"Yeah, Texas, you could have," he admitted after a speculative pause. "One of them. Maybe even two. But not all three. That third guy was after a lot more than just a few beers and an episode of The Hills on MTV. He was all set to take advantage of you."

"Recognize something of yourself in him?"

Brody pulled back as if she'd slapped him, his grip tightening on her elbow.

It was a cruel thing to say and he didn't deserve it. Shay wasn't sure why she'd even said it, except that she'd enjoyed his kiss and the knowledge that he'd only done it as a lark hurt.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but she was interrupted by one of the seniors from the water aerobics cla.s.ses she taught.

"Oh my, Shay," Mrs. Goldberg was saying, her silver curls bobbing with excitement as she stepped in their path. "No wonder you left the pool in such a hurry today. What a nice hunk of beefcake you have for yourself."

"Stella!" Mrs. Benvenuto, a retired school teacher who was forever trying to keep her outspoken friend in line, parked her shopping cart next to Shay. "You're embarra.s.sing the poor girl. Look how red she is." Still, the woman managed to smile coyly at Brody.

Shay didn't need her geriatric clients to tell her that her skin was flaming, her entire body felt like she was about to self-combust. The firm grip Brody had on her arm wasn't helping matters.

Mrs. Benvenuto tapped Shay's free arm. "You've been holding out on us, honey." Her gravely pack-a-day voice was laced with awe before she fixed her attention on Brody. "You may be some hotshot football player, but if you break our girl's heart, you'll have to answer to us and the rest of her aqua clients. We may look frail, but thanks to our Shay, we're tough."

Shay didn't know whether to laugh out loud at Mrs. Benvenuto's misperception-did anyone really think Brody Janik would look twice at her-or to shed a few tears at the loyalty of a group of arthritic angels she worked out in the pool three times a week. She wasn't given the chance to do either, though, as Brody wasted no time unleashing another one of his devastating smiles, its impact nearly vaporizing both grandmothers into puffs of the Shalimar perfume they wore.

"Have no fear, ladies," he said, the effortless laid-back charm oozing out of his pores practically steaming up Mrs. Goldberg's gla.s.ses. "I have no intention of breaking any hearts tonight. Just cracking some eggs. We're making brownies." He lifted up the handbasket for their inspection. "If you'll excuse us, we need to grab a dozen so we can get these in the oven. It was a pleasure seeing you both."

Mrs. Goldberg sighed l.u.s.tfully as Brody tugged Shay around the two ladies.

"Brownies from a box? Doesn't he know the woman is practically a gourmet cook," Mrs. Benvenuto said to Mrs. Goldberg. But Brody wasn't paying attention and, judging from the tense grip he still had on her elbow, he was apparently as eager to get out of the store as Shay was.

"Bye-bye, Shay!" Mrs. Goldberg called. "We want to hear all about those brownies in cla.s.s tomorrow!"

Laughter from the two ladies echoed through the small store as Brody and Shay finally reached the dairy aisle. Releasing her elbow, he grabbed a dozen eggs and gingerly tossed the carton into the basket. Shay rolled her eyes.

"You need to make sure none of them are cracked." She opened the carton and inspected the eggs, gently fingering each one.

Brody stared as she carefully closed the carton.

"Is there anything you don't do?" he asked. His voice held a bit of reverence, the tone making Shay's knees a little wobbly.

She held his gaze, letting the moment stretch. There were quite a few things she didn't do, but she didn't think he needed to know about them.

Mistaking her silence for misunderstanding, Brody continued. "If I'm to believe everything everyone says about you, you're a grad student, a food worker for the team, a bartender"-he gestured toward Mrs. Goldberg and Mrs. Benvenuto- "and a water aerobics instructor. Where do you find the time for all of that?"

Lack of time wasn't her problem, lack of money was, but Shay doubted Brody would ever be able to relate to that. He was financially independent, his future secure while Shay was still trying to claw out from under her family's fiscal crisis. Not that Brody needed to know her life's history.

"Some of us are just more industrious than others, I guess." It was the second time she'd hit him with a stinger and Shay felt a little guilty, but she needed to maintain some distance, some sense of control here because if Brody turned his magic on and kissed her again, she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep from throwing herself at him.

He dragged his fingers through his hair. "I'm not even sure I know your name." His soft voice sounded as perplexed as Shay felt.

The words left her body on a breath, almost as if he were pulling them out of her. "Shannon. Shannon Everett. But my friends call me Shay."

And then he smiled; that slow easy grin she'd been dreaming he'd direct her way. And suddenly Shay couldn't recollect why she needed to maintain a safe distance at all.