Katherine Garbera - His Seduction Game Plan

“Dude, it’s early.”

“But I know Conner had you up early.” Kingsley’s son was two so he didn’t sleep late. There had even been times when Hunter had been woken by the kid, who also happened to be his godson. They were close and since Kingsley traveled so much, Conner had learned to use his iPad to FaceTime Hunter. Conner felt he could call at all hours to tell Hunter things such as when he read a new book at bedtime or saw something cool in the night sky.

“He did. That’s why I’m complaining. Just got him off to his playdate and Gabi and I are finally alone.”

Hunter laughed. “Sorry, dude. I’ll keep this short. Coach has had two strokes and a heart attack. He wouldn’t really talk to me or give me permission to go through his stuff. I’m working another angle.”

“What angle?”

“Coach’s daughter.”

“Coach has a daughter?”

“Yeah. She’s...smart and funny.”

“Pretty?”

Pretty? “She’s got eyes the color of the water around Aruba—remember that old wreck we went scuba diving in?”

“Yes.”

“Well, her eyes are that color.”

“Dang, Hunter, you sound—”

“Like an idiot,” he said. “I know. But she’s different, King. Not what I expected.”

“So you’re working her to get to the files?”

Was he? He had a plan. Seduce her and get what he wanted. Last night the plan had been screwed up by the wine and her defiant attitude in eating with him while gossips looked on. But this morning he was back on track.

“Yeah. It’s complicated, though.”

“Women always are. You want me to talk to her. That way you don’t have—”

“No. I’ll do this. When have I ever asked you to do anything for me?”

“Never. We each carry our own weight but we’re teammates. We’re like brothers, Hunter. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, King. Same. I got this,” he said. “I’m going for a run and then...how do you feel about hosting Ferrin and me for dinner?”

“Why?”

“I want her to know you and me. To understand that we’re not asking for the files for any reason other than to clear our names.”

“Okay. I’ll check with Gabi and let you know when we can do it.”

He hung up with King and went for his run. The mountain paths he ran on out here in California were very different from the “hills” near where he’d grown up in Texas. Back home, they had gently rolling slopes; he never used to strain when he went uphill the way he did here.

He rounded the last bend and ran up to his front door past a car he didn’t recognize. He stopped short on the bottom step that led to his porch. His interior designer had furnished the patio with two large California cedar deck chairs.

Ferrin sat in one of them. She had a foam cup in one hand, her sunglasses were pushed up on her head and she had her legs delicately crossed. She wore a pair of faded jeans—they looked soft. She had on a pair of flip-flops and her painted toenails were a deep red color.

“Hello.”

“Morning,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind but I thought maybe we could spend the day together.”

He ran through his schedule in his head. He had a meeting with his assistant this morning and a fundraising briefing in the afternoon with a local small-town peewee football league that he was sponsoring. They needed gear for the league.

“I’ve got a couple meetings, but otherwise I’m free,” he said. “Want to come inside? We can figure this out.”

“You work?”

He gave her a look over his shoulder. “My dad would disagree because I’m not out on the ranch helping him. But yeah, I work.”

“What do you do?”

“I run a foundation that encourages kids to participate in sports and funds sporting groups in low-income areas. Trying to level the playing field.”

“Wow,” she said. “I had no idea.”

“I know. My involvement in the foundation is low-key. It’s easier to give away the money if we don’t associate me with it.”

“That’s not fair. You were cleared of any wrongdoing back in college. I’d think that having a former NFL player would be something they’d publicize.”

“But that’s not how the world sees it,” he said, unlocking the door. Still, his work with the foundation made him feel a little less empty after everything that had happened surrounding Stacia’s death. “You coming in? You can wait on the deck in the back or in the kitchen while I take a quick shower.”

“I’ll wait on the deck. I like being outside. We don’t have to do this today,” she said.

“I want to. Spending the day with you is what we need.”

“We?”

“Yes, so you can trust that I’m not going to do something to hurt your dad. And so that I can remember the man I used to be.”

He went up the stairs two at a time. In the shower he pretended that her presence in his home fit his plan, but she’d thrown him. She was a linebacker he’d missed when he was running his route, and though she seemed like a lightweight, she was capable of bringing him down before he reached the end zone.

* * *

Ferrin had no real agenda when she’d decided to come to Hunter’s house. She must be here to try to figure out if she should give Hunter access to her father’s files. To get answers.

Or at least that was what she told herself.

It wasn’t because of the kiss that had plagued her dreams all night. Or the fact that for the first time she thought she might be experiencing lust. Real lust. Not the kind that she could explain away as mating instinct or her biological clock. She wanted Hunter. There was nothing logical about it. It was all white-hot lust. They had nothing in common; it was just the way he looked. That big, muscly body of his and the fact that he was focusing all of his attention on her. She wished it bothered her but it didn’t.

She was a thinker. She had never been attracted to any of her dad’s players...at least not since she’d turned eighteen and started to make a life for herself as an adult. She prided herself on being above her animal instincts, and one dinner with Hunter had made her question all of that.

One dinner.

Why was she here?

“You look way too serious for this gorgeous sunny morning,” Hunter said, stepping out onto the porch. He’d changed from his running clothes into a white linen summer suit paired with a pastel-colored shirt. On anyone else it would have looked as if he was trying too hard, but on Hunter it fit. His hair was artfully styled, his beard neatly trimmed and he smelled fresh and clean.

“We’re not all used to dancing our way through life.”

“Ah. So you’re tasting a little bit of regret this morning,” he said.

“Why would I be? We didn’t do anything last night.”

“Is that the problem?” he asked, sitting down next to her in one of the deck chairs.

“I don’t know,” she said. Honesty—it was one of the tenets of her life. “Maybe.”

“Me, too,” he said. “But we can always rectify that. We would never have been able to fix it if we had moved too fast and had regrets this morning. Would you like to join me for breakfast or have you eaten?”

“Breakfast would be great. What did you have in mind?” she asked, getting to her feet. In her mind she had a checklist. Kind of like when she did a psych evaluation at work. Her mother had told her more than once that relationships wouldn’t work if she filtered through theories, but she really had no other way to figure out what made Hunter tick.

“I’m meeting my assistant at a little diner off the Five. She works in my main office in Malibu and is driving up to give me some papers to sign and other stuff. So it’s a forty-minute drive.”

“Sounds good. Dad’s not expecting me until dinnertime.”