Nice Girls Finish Last

Jimmy nodded and held up a bottle. Baby oil. ‘All over the torso.’

‘You can rub it on each other.’ She bit back an add-on comment about them liking grappling each other out there in the mud. She never let sassy snark out in the stadium; professionally polite was how she played it. Once she got to know the newbies she was friendly in a sisterly way, but, until then, pretty frigid.

‘We’ve got ball shots coming up straight after.’ They glanced at each other and smirked. ‘We’d lose our grip if we get that oil on our hands. Too slippery.’

Slippery, huh? With balls. Oh, they were appalling today.

Lena might not be interested but she was human and being surrounded by nineteen nearly naked, extremely buff sports stars would make any woman break into a sweat. Lena point-blank refused to sweat but, even so, her temperature slid up a notch. ‘Just wash your hands,’ she slowly stated the obvious solution.

‘It doesn’t work.’ Ty rubbed the tips of his fingers in her face as if to show how slippery they still were.

‘You have to help us,’ Max, one of the props, pleaded with puppy-style eyes. ‘I mean, we could get the photographer to do it but …’ He trailed off.

She knew these ultra-competitive jocks liked to tease. She had their respect. They always listened to her work requests and refrained from the worst of their laddishness around her, but she also knew they urged any new recruit to have a crack at asking her out. It seemed being shot down by her was some kind of initiation ritual for the young bloods. So she never failed to disappoint and said no to everyone. Truthfully, gorgeous as they were, she didn’t want to date any of them. Driven, elite demigods never prioritised girlfriends, and in her next relationship—which would be years from now anyway—she was totally being the top priority. Not to mention, the only woman. Three was so a crowd.

Besides, it wasn’t as if they actually wanted to date her. She wasn’t some to-die-for babe, it was simply another game for them, not anything to take seriously or be flattered by.

But facing this prank now, she refused to be flustered, wouldn’t blush or giggle or do anything girly. She knew what they were waiting for—the usual clipped brush-off. But they’d just gone a step too far and for once she wasn’t going to play the way they expected. They wanted her to rub baby oil all over their torsos?

‘Sure, no problem.’ She held her hand out for the bottle. ‘Who’s first?’

Their eyes widened.

‘You will?’ the guy in front gasped.

Yeah, they’d never have thought she’d say yes. Not when it was her personal policy never to get within two feet of any of them.

‘Of course.’ She flipped the lid of the bottle and squirted oil into her hand. ‘Other duties as required, right?’ She stepped up. ‘But of course I could sue you guys for sexual harassment….’ She paused for effect, then slapped her palm hard on the first broad chest in front of her.

She felt the wince, registered the sudden total silence and suppressed her smile. Yeah, now they were worried.

‘It’s not like you’re the one having to pose almost nude for pictures for people to pin up on their wall,’ the puppy-eyed prop managed to wheeze. ‘If that’s not sexual harassment I don’t know what is.’

Lena raised her brows. She squeezed the bottle again. ‘That’s the price, boys. Fame costs …’

‘And we’re paying.’ The next in line winced as she smacked her oil-slicked hand onto him.

With ruthless efficiency she slapped and swiped oil over the broad bare skin in swift strokes. It took mere moments to get through each in total scary-school-nurse fashion.

‘Are you guys ready yet?’ The photographer appeared from the tunnel entrance, accompanied by Dion, the stadium’s new CEO.

‘Almost,’ the last one croaked.

‘Right,’ Lena said briskly, glancing around. They stood silent and wide-eyed. She saw one of them pressing a hand to his chest where she might have slapped him a little too hard. She tightly pulled in her mouth to stop from laughing, because despite her efforts to prove the contrary, she was human and she had to react to this. But she had to be alone before she could.

‘What are you waiting for?’ She blasted through the stunned tableau to get to the door she’d come through. ‘I’ll be back with the shirts in a mo.’

She walked then, her high heels clipping quickly on the concrete floor, because she was a breath away from losing it.

Six paces along the safe corridor she heard it. The riot as they howled. She stopped to listen. Holding her still oil-slicked hands away from her dress, she leaned back on the cool wall, closed her eyes and succumbed to it herself.

Laughter—the husky, thoroughly entertained, wicked laughter that she’d been holding in too tight for too long.

The rogues. The looks on their faces had been priceless and she wished she’d said what she really thought and given them a sassy smack-down. Still, a literal smack or two had been just as satisfying. Her shoulders and ribs shook and her tummy ached, she laughed so hard. Finally she drew in a deep calming breath and opened her eyes.

‘Hey!’ She flinched, bumping the back of her head on the wall. A stranger was standing right in front of her, closer than the buff rugby boys had been only a few minutes before. She looked at the cool blue eyes boring right through her. Oh, my word. It took less than a second to take in the symmetry of his face, the darkness of his brows above, the curve of the mouth below the vivid, intensely focused eyes … less than a second to clock his height, breadth, strength … less than a second to be overwhelmed by a totally gorgeous stranger … and less than a second for her body to react.

She might have felt a slight warmth in the change room, but her temperature rocket-shot now. A wholly womanly reaction—she burned hot, twitchy, pulsing to life. Which was really, really unusual. She was immune to feeling interest in any of these arrogant athletes, right? She had to be to work here. She pressed harder against the cold concrete, but he didn’t step back.

‘Been having fun?’ It was a drawl. Low, confident, ever so slightly needling.

He was sizing her up. And … she narrowed in on the vibe … disapproving?

Lena’s ability to give her customary ice-cold response left the building. Having this random, dead-sexy stranger look at her as if she were the groupie she sure as hell was never going to be kindled a spark of damn-you defiance. She looked up at him and suggestively curved her mouth.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe,’ she drawled right back at him.

His eyes narrowed the merest fraction. Oh, yeah, she’d just confirmed his worst suspicions. He did think she was a groupie. So wrong. The new boy needed whipping.

‘Should you be down here?’ he asked, still not moving out of her personal space. ‘I thought this was a restricted area.’

‘I guess that depends on who you know,’ she said softly, totally unsubtly.

‘How many do you know?’

‘Oh, I know all of them,’ she answered slowly. ‘Real well.’

She didn’t even have to try to sound husky, her voice just happened that way. The laughter from the change room echoed again—sexually appreciative, masculine amusement.

The stranger’s brows flicked. ‘And a good time was had by everyone.’

Lena parted her lips a hopefully imperceptible amount—just so she could breathe. She touched the tip of her tongue to them, too, because they were drier than wood dust. She still couldn’t break from the prison of his gaze, but he had to be kidding. Did he really think she’d been in there getting an entire rugby team off? Oh, he’d pay for that. She managed another raspy reply. ‘You have no idea how good.’

He stepped closer, putting one hand on the wall beside her head. ‘Tell me.’

Stunned, her senses flaring, she absorbed his taunting, low invitation. The sudden wicked glint in his eye unlocked some dam hidden deep within her. It burst free, the sensation that had long been buried, picking up the pace of her pulse until it pounded and sent heat steaming through her entire system. Her mad moment of tease in the change room was nothing on the temptation before her now. Her inner imp crossed right over from smart’n’sassy, to out-and-out wicked. The urge to shock this one man was irresistible.

‘You know, everyone says that it’s guys who are visually stimulated,’ she said faux thoughtfully. ‘That for women arousal is all between the ears or something.’

‘And that’s not true?’

‘No.’ She shook her head, but still couldn’t break the eye contact. ‘We’re visual. We love to look every bit as much as you do. And a whole room full of beautiful naked men?’ she purred. ‘I haven’t got a brain cell left.’

The corners of his eyes crinkled as his mouth smirked up. ‘Did you ever have a brain cell?’

‘Well—’ she bit her lip and positively batted her lashes at him ‘—only a couple.’

‘And now they’re fried?’