Unknown - Driven_589066

they see.” Bearing yellowed teeth in a leering grin, he takes a long, slow look down her body and back up again, not quite meeting her glaring eyes.

“Why is it that every time I deal with you I feel like a street corner whore?”

He cocked his brow. “You don’t really want me to answer that do you.”

Her jaw was clenched so hard she feared for her teeth, but she managed to keep her hands unfisted and hanging limp at her sides, though in her mind,

those same hands were wrapped around the bastard’s throat, squeezing the last ounce of life from his flabby body. “Fine,” she ground out. “Are we through

here?”

Horace held out a folder. “All the details are in there. You be a good little coach and keep me happy, and I’ll stay away from the dyke.” His smile was

brutal. “Send the wife in here on your way out.”

Dylan ground her teeth all the way home. Horace Johnson was an insufferable pig, and it was days like today when she wondered why in the hell she was

still working for him.

Can’t back out now, Dylan. Too many people count on you.

As she pulled in the driveway, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw Cat’s truck idling. The blonde was sitting in the driver’s side with the window

down and the radio louder than it needed to be. Pulling in behind the truck, she could tell she hadn’t been noticed.

Silencing the engine, she slipped out of the car and rose to her full, commanding height, the grin on her lips that of a hunter stalking prey. Quiet as a

shadow, she moved to the truck and slid around so that she was standing before the open window. Bending so that her head came level with the in-theclouds driver, she took in a breath, and expelled it in a gentle stream in the direction of Cat’s ear.

“Holyshit!!” Cat shouted, jumping in her seat and banging her head against the cab’s ceiling.

Dylan’s laughter only increased in volume at the black look Cat gave her as she rubbed her suddenly tender noggin. “You trying to kill me or what?”

“Sorry,” Dylan said, not sounding very sorry at all. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“You wish,” Cat replied primly, reaching for the key and turning off the engine. Silence descended as she reached across the seat and grabbed a thick

playbook. “The play diagrams you asked for, Coach.”

“Ah, back to that again, are we?”

“Hmmph.”

Opening the door, Dylan sketched a grand bow. “Would the Madame care to repair to the house? A lovely plum wine awaits her fine attentions.”

Unable to even pretend to be angry anymore, Cat finally cracked a smile and slid from the cab, hooking her arm through Dylan’s and allowing herself to be

led into the cool confines of the large and beautiful house.

“Be good you two.”

Siegfried gave a very human sigh of disappointment and stalked back into the living room, head hanging. Brunhilde looked regally on, sitting still as a

statue until Dylan gave her customary scratch behind the ears. Only then did she deign to join her brother in the other room.

Tossing the folder and the playbook on the table inside the door, Dylan turned to Cat, drew her into her arms, and kissed her long and deep. When they

finally separated, she grinned down at Cat, who looked like she was trapped in her own dream world.

“I needed that,” the blonde finally managed as her eyes slowly opened.

“Me too. I had to spend part of my afternoon with Horace-the-bloodsucker-Johnson.”

“Eww.”

“Eww is right. God he makes my skin crawl. I want to take a hot shower.”

“That could be fun,” Cat offered with an evil grin.

“Yes, it could.” Dylan grabbed Cat’s wrist and headed the toward the bathroom. “Let’s go.”

*****

Dylan laid on the floor, propped up on several fluffy pillows. Cat was lying with her head in the tall woman’s stomach, drawing lazy designs on a corded,

naked thigh only inches away. She was completely relaxed, filled with the kind of blissful lassitude that only a hot shower and a bout of enthusiastic

lovemaking could inspire.

Dylan was leafing through pages of the playbook, obviously impressed.

“These are really good, Cat. You may have the makings of a decent coach.” Looking over the top of the playbook, she playfully narrowed her eyes at her

lover. “You’re not gunning for my job, are ya?”

“Hell no. You think I want to deal with the slug who walks like a man any more than I absolutely have to? No thanks. I’ll stick to playing. The coaching job is

allll yours.”

Dylan let her fingers slip through Cat’s silky hair as she put the papers aside. “Thanks.”

“So what did the smarmy little bigot want this time?”

“His spies caught me having dinner with you and your folks last night.”

Cat rolled up to a sitting position, eyes wide. “Shit.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I convinced him it was harmless.” She sighed. “But that convincing came with a pricetag attached.”

Cat’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of a price?”

“He wants me to do some print ad for Nike. Gratis for me, lots of nice shiny new equipment for him.” She sighed again, shaking her head. “Manny is gonna

shit bricks when he hears.”

“I don’t understand. Doesn’t your contract specify that you get a percentage of all those endorsement deals?”

“Yeah, but if you read between the lines, I need to scratch his ass for him when he asks.”

“Or?”

Dylan hesitated, but something in those flaring emerald eyes convinced her that the truth would be the only thing Cat would accept. “He comes down on

us.”

“You mean me, don’t you.”

“Cat, it’s okay….”

“No it isn’t, goddamnit!” Jumping to her feet, Cat began to pace. “Dylan, I will not have you whoring yourself just to protect me. It’s not right, damnit!”

Rising, Dylan put a tender hand on Cat’s shaking shoulder and gathered her into an embrace. Cat struggled for a moment, her anger overwhelming, but

Dylan’s hold didn’t loosen, and after a moment, she gave into the inevitable, finally resting her hot face against the silken skin of her lover’s chest.

“Sweetheart,” Dylan murmured in a low, soothing voice, “when I said it was alright, I meant it. This…whoring…isn’t anything new for me. It’s all part of the

game I’ve been playing since High School. It was just a lot more discrete back then. Do you think anyone was paying me to be seen at oh-so public events

with Thad Hunter or any one of the legion of men I’ve been seen with over the years?” When Cat didn’t answer, she continued. “If he couldn’t use you as

an excuse, he would have come up with another one, or even none at all. It’s part of the game, and I accept that.”

“It’s not fair,” Cat mumbled, her anger slowly leaking away in the strength of Dylan’s embrace.

“No, it isn’t. But if it keeps him off my back, and lets me have some peace in my life, it’s worth it. I have no regrets.”

Cat slowly lifted her head, eyes shining with tears not-quite dried. “None?”

“None.” And with that, Dylan lowered her head and gave Cat a kiss that erased every single doubt—and every single thought—from Cat’s head.

An hour later, they were back in their same positions on the floor, sipping the promised plum wine as their heated bodies slowly cooled. With an idle hand,

Cat flipped open the folder that Dylan had dropped on their nest when she came back with the wine. What she saw caused her to choke on that wine, and

she sat up, eyes glued to the glossy print in front of her. “Jesus Christ!!”

“What?” Dylan asked, startled out of her pleasant daze. “What is it?”