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Game for Trouble
by Karen Erickson

Copyright © 2013 by Karen Erickson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

Willow Cavanaugh entered the property management office at precisely five minutes before the scheduled meeting time. The receptionist who greeted her led the way to a small, empty conference room, encouraging Willow to have a seat, make herself comfortable, and did she want anything to drink while she waited?

Considering she might barf from even a few sips of water, she was so nervous, Willow offered a polite no thank you and a smile, watching the very young, extremely chirpy receptionist bounce out of the room.

The moment the receptionist shut the door behind her, Willow collapsed in a chair, placing her sleek black leather portfolio on the table in front of her. She was a wreck. She’d hardly slept last night, no thanks to her worry over today’s meeting. How much her life could change if things actually went her way…

This appointment could be the most important of her career. Of her entire life. She’d finally found the dream location for her catering business: a storefront with tiny rooms she could use to consult with clients and a large room in the back of the building where she could create and package all of her product.

The location was prime. The size of the space—perfect. And the cost of the lease was pretty close to ideal. She couldn’t afford to let this location get away from her. There was nothing else on the market that fit her needs more perfectly than this building.

She was running out of room at her little house—her business was growing so fast she could hardly keep up. Five years ago, she’d been drifting, wondering what the heck she was doing with her life. Never could she have imagined creating a variety of both artificial and organic flavors of cotton candy and making them available for birthday parties, wedding and baby showers, graduation parties, and just for fun with her friends could turn into something so much bigger than she’d ever hoped. Not to mention her cotton candy cocktails, which were becoming a major hit at bachelorette parties.

Now she was booked months in advance with a variety of parties. She turned people away and had wait lists, which blew her mind. She needed more space, more employees, more…

Everything.

Tapping her foot against the floor, she checked her phone and saw that it was one minute past the scheduled time. She hated being late. Sorta hated those who were late even more. There was nothing worse. She flat out didn’t have the patience for being kept waiting. Had little patience for anything lately, really.

Including a certain man who drove her insane. Why did everything have to circle back to him?

Damn Nick Hamilton and his charming, no-good ways. Her former lover and, if she were being honest, the first real love of her life always knew how to barge right back into her life and mess with her head.

Six years ago, for a few blissful months, the summer he’d been in training before he started as a tight end with the San Jose Hawks football team, they’d had a momentous, life-changing affair. She’d fallen madly in love with him. And he’d left her in his dust—a hard, painful life lesson that still hurt every time she saw him.

God, she’d had her hands all over him that night at the restaurant with the team, when she’d been there as a sort of wing-woman for Sheridan after she married the Hawks’ quarterback, Jared Quinn. One look at Nick and she’d wanted him. He’d dragged her outside and next thing she knew, she’d been in his arms. His mouth on hers, how he kissed her…her stomach fluttered just thinking about it. That he could still work her up into a complete frenzy with only a few words, a touch, and a kiss infuriated her. She should hate his guts forever for how easily he made her want him.

But she didn’t. More like she feared if he walked into the room at this very moment and demanded she give him a blowjob with that dangerously sexy smile of his, she’d probably do it, no questions asked.

Clearly, her last encounter—hell, all of her encounters—with Nick left her thinking like an idiot.

Nick Hamilton was bad for her. Unhealthy. An addiction.

She’d really not even thought of Nick for years. Fine, the Hawks came to the Monterey area for their summer training, but she never saw him around. But then Sheridan had to go and marry Jared, throwing Willow right back into Nick’s path.

He’d been hotly pursuing her ever since.

The door swung open, and a man appeared, dressed in khakis and a white button-up shirt, his wheat-colored hair buzzed short. She automatically stood when he came at her with his hand out.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Cavanaugh. I’m Frank Benson.” He gave her hand a hearty shake before he sat across from her at the table.

She settled in her chair and offered him a pleasant smile. This was the property management representative who she’d made the appointment with, but she’d been told the owner of the property would be in attendance as well. “Is the owner coming?”

“Absolutely.” Frank nodded, opening and glancing over the manila folder he’d brought in with him. “He just called and said he’d be here in ten minutes.”

Fuming quietly, she pasted on her best fake smile. Didn’t they realize her career was on the line here? Her future depended on this new location. She couldn’t expand if she didn’t have the space, and she couldn’t afford any other space. “Perhaps we could start the meeting without him?”

Frank flicked his gaze up to meet hers. “Of course. I could answer any questions you may have in regards to the property, though regarding any financial dealings, the owner stated specifically he wanted to be here before we get to those discussions.”

Right. Those discussions. Problem? The lease amount was still a bit high for her rather limited budget, though still cheaper than what she’d looked at in the recent past. The location was perfect, the biggest selling point in her eyes. And she refused to ask her dad for help. Walter Cavanaugh was a successful sports attorney who represented many famous athletes, including plenty of Hawks players. He had more money than he knew what to do with, and he always stressed how much he wanted to help her.

But there would be no more “loans” from Daddy. She needed to do this on her own.

She’d hoped to knock the owner down a bit, even as little as a few hundred a month, though she preferred more, especially since the location had sat empty for a while. She’d done her research, gathering every piece of information she could about the building. The only bit of info she couldn’t figure out was who the owner could be.

A secret investor had been brought in well over a year ago to fund and refurbish the entire shopping center. The location she wanted had an interior structure that wasn’t what the average business owner was looking for. In her eyes, it was ideal. Perfect. A wedding and event planner’s office was located in the same shopping center. A bakery that specialized in wedding cakes was across the street, right next to the bridal gown and accessory store. It was like the four corners of wedding central. She needed to be in this location just to increase business.

Yet she couldn’t quite afford it.

Letting her smile grow, she adjusted her thick, black-framed glasses. She wore them when she worked, when she wanted to be taken seriously. There was no getting around it—people took one look at her face and judged her. Too pretty, too spoiled, too…everything.

Fine. She was pretty. She had been destined to be from the moment she was born—her mother had been a beauty-queen-slash-supermodel. Her father had exquisite taste. All of his ex-wives were gorgeous.

Sometimes Willow’s pretty face got her nothing but trouble, so she downplayed the looks. She didn’t want to intimidate men and make women hate her.

“I have no problem waiting for the owner before we discuss the financials, but I would like to know a few more details.” She opened her portfolio, thumbing through the lists she’d scribbled on a notepad when the door cracked open and the receptionist stepped into the room, all flushed cheeks and dreamy-eyed.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the owner has arrived.” Giggling, the receptionist stepped aside…

And the very bane of Willow’s existence strode into the room, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Horror rendered her still for one infinite moment. She stared at him, saw the smug smile on his face, and her fist instantly curled. If she had the balls to slug him, she would.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Willow snapped the moment the receptionist shut the door.

“Uhhh,” Frank mumbled but she ignored him. Her eyes were focused on stupid, irritating Nick Hamilton standing there, larger than life, gorgeous as all get out, clad in jeans and an untucked black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to reveal those strong, sexy forearms that shouldn’t do a thing for her.

Nope, not a damn thing.

“Well, I’m a little late but not enough to have you cursin’ at me.” He smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. The tingles that swept over her at the sight of his irritating-as-hell smile irritated her further. “I’m here for my appointment. With you.”

…

Willow gaped at him, those ridiculous black glasses she wore somehow making her look cuter. She pressed her full, luscious lips together then opened them again, though not a sound came out.

Look at that. He’d just rendered her silent. A miracle he needed to note with the date and time because he never thought he’d see the likes of Willow Cavanaugh at a loss for words. She’d given him an unending rash of shit since they came back into each other’s lives a few months ago.

When they weren’t lip-locked, that is. Kissing Willow was his only guarantee he could shut her up.

He’d been following Willow Cavanaugh around for what felt like fuckin’ forever, though it had only been a few months. Chasing after her like a dog with his tongue hanging out, tripping over it every time she gave him the finger, both literally and figuratively. Plenty of that sort of rejection had been going down since the moment he set eyes on her again, after they’d done everything to avoid each other for the past six years.

“W-what are you talking about, your appointment with me? We d-didn’t have an appointment,” she stuttered. That smooth, glossy composure he caught a glimpse of when he stepped into the room was gone—shattered by his presence. And damn if he didn’t love that.

“The building you’re interested in. I own it.” He held his hand out as if he wanted to shake hers. Really, he wanted to take that slender hand with the perfectly polished pink nails in his and yank her to him. Whisper in her ear all the dirty, wicked things he wanted to do to her. With her.

That first sight of Willow after having her absent from his life had nearly knocked the wind clean out of him. He’d gone to some local festival thing with Jared, shocked all to hell to see Willow Cavanaugh in the flesh, working a catering booth. She owned the business, she’d told him.

With her rich-as-hell bastard of a father, she could have anything she wanted, but she was running her own catering business. Talk about a surprise. The Willow he remembered had no problem playing the spoiled rich girl role.

She’d looked different. More…grown up. Besides the obviously gorgeous curves that were more defined and made his hands itch to explore, there was that woman’s face. Skeptical, with narrow dark brown eyes and an expression that said she’d seen it all and wasn’t impressed.

Damn if that expression didn’t make him want to work his hardest to wrap her around his little finger. She’d been so easy the first time; hell, so had he. They’d fallen foolishly in love—yes, he wasn’t afraid to say the word love, damn it. She’d been the one for him.

Then Walter Cavanaugh had come to him and warned Nick to stay the fuck out of his daughter’s life. Insulted him up one side and down the other, insisting his daughter was too good for the likes of some no good dumbass football-playing hick from Texas.

Thinking about that little speech Walter gave him all those years ago still hurt like hell. His chest ached with the memory.

He still remembered that first moment he came to Monterey for his rookie season of summer training camp. The area was nothing like the dusty little town he’d grown up in, smack dab in the middle of Texas.

He’d been in awe of the pretty little thing he first caught sight of hanging around the football field, with those long, tanned legs, long, dark hair and a smile that she flashed special just for him.

Well, he’d tossed that right in the can, hadn’t he?

An idea had bloomed in his mind a few days ago when he’d discovered he owned the very building she wanted to lease for her growing business. She wanted it real bad, too. For whatever reason, word on the street was Ms. Independent refused to take any money from her father to help with her business. She’d been such a daddy’s girl back in the day, this surprised Nick. But no, she was looking for a reasonable business space to lease, and she was having a hell of a time finding it, especially since she wanted to move her business into a specific area of town.

Nick had invested in a few properties in the Monterey Bay. He happened to own a shopping center in that area—with the space she was interested in. Very interested in, though she would die if she knew he was the owner. And wouldn’t that just eat at her daddy’s soul if he knew Nick Hamilton was his daughter’s landlord?

But damn it, he truly believed Willow was worth the aggravation. Which meant Nick had a fight on his hands. He loved a fight. Lived for the damn fight. Look at what he did for a living. Went to war against another team over a stupid ball. Fighting was in his blood. Miss Sassy and Gorgeous-as-hell Willow Cavanaugh did not scare him.

Well. She might scare him a little bit.

“You’re lying. How do you know about my interest in the building?” she asked after clearing her throat.

“Considering I’m the owner like I just said, I know exactly who’s interested in leasing my building.” He settled into the seat next to hers, barely able to restrain the laugh that wanted to escape when she scooted her chair away from him. It was almost entertaining, the lengths she took to keep a certain amount of distance between them.

“Please. I don’t know how you found out about this, but quit trying to trick me. I’m rattled enough. I don’t need you here trying to shake me up further,” she said.

Interesting. So he shook her up, huh? And here she seemed cool, calm, and collected every time he came around. Well, sorta. He’d shaken her up a few times. Always when he touched her, laid a big kiss on her that left her in a near stumbling state. She usually composed herself quickly, though. She was damn good at that.

He had no idea he’d been blowing her ever-lovin’ mind these last few months. This sort of information could only help, not hinder, his plan.

“I’m not playing any sort of trick on you, Will,” he murmured, leaning in so only she could hear him. He inhaled her sweet-like-candy scent and let his gaze wander over the length of her elegant neck. Her long, silky dark hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and he had the sudden urge to grab hold of it, jerk her head back, and kiss her until they were both stupid with wanting each other.

She’d probably nail him in the nuts and leave him writhing on the floor if he so much as touched her.

He was so lost in his thoughts of how he could actually get his hands on Willow, he didn’t notice her penetrating stare until it was too late. Moving away from her, he slowly shook his head. “It’s not what you think.”

“You own the building.” She didn’t phrase it as a question. “You. You’re the mystery owner.”

It was like she had to reiterate that he was indeed the owner so the information would sink into her stubborn brain.

“I didn’t realize I was such a mystery you were hoping to solve.” He smiled, but when she only scowled back, he let the smile drop.

He was lying. Hell yeah, he’d made sure no one knew who he was when he bought the property. Not that he’d been trying to entice Willow in any way—that ended up pure dumb luck. His favorite place in the whole damn world was the Monterey Bay.

Funny how he owned exactly what little Miss Spitfire was trying to move into at this very moment. Lease price was too high, though. He knew her problem with it, since Frank called him last week letting him know what the meeting was about. She was here in the hopes she could try and talk him down.

Nick had come prepared with just the solution. He knew Willow was going to hit the ceiling when she heard his idea, but he had to try. Had to.

His methods might be controversial but fuck it.

“If I could hit you right now, I so would.”

Willow’s voice tore him straight out of his thoughts. Blinking, he focused on the angry woman sitting beside him. She did look ready to punch him, if her clenched fists were any indication.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he drawled, sounding a lot more sure than he felt.

She nodded furiously, all that pretty dark hair sliding down her back. Damn, she captivated him like no other. “Don’t tempt me.”

He arched a brow. Rather apt choice of words. “Listen, I’m not trying to pull something over on you or anything. It’s a coincidence, pure and simple.”

“Coincidence.” She spit the word out. “Feels more like a set up.”

“Not quite. I consider myself lucky you fell so spectacularly into my lap.” He grinned.

“If you pull me into your lap, I swear to God I’ll punch you so hard in the balls you’ll see stars,” she threatened.

His grin falling away, he turned his attention to Frank, who sat silent, gaping like a fish as he watched them, his head bouncing back and forth as if he were at a tennis match. “Frank, my friend, could you do us a favor and let us have a private moment, please?”

“Absolutely. You two take your time.” Frank hightailed it out of the room so fast the door shut behind him before he could get the last word out.

Willow stood the moment Frank was gone, staring down at Nick with so much irritation in her gaze he wondered if she’d burn him on the spot. “How dare you play games with me. This is my business, my future. And here you sit, as rich as can be, holding everything I could ever want in your hands without a care in the world.”

He leaned back in his seat, sprawling his legs in front of him so that his feet were planted on either side of Willow. He wanted her closer. He wished he could jerk her into his lap and drown in that sweet-tasting mouth of hers but she’d cut him where he sat, so he kept a semi-safe distance between them. “You’re just as rich,” he pointed out.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, gimme a break. Daddy Cavanaugh cut you off or what? You got money, Will. I know you do.” He cocked a brow and twisted his lips in a shitty little smirk that she’d most likely hate, deliberately provoking her.

“I refuse to accept any help from my father. I want to do this on my own.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, lifting her nose in the air—all haughty, gorgeous princess. “I started this business with nothing. On a total whim, I might add, as a favor to friends. How was I supposed to know I could make a career out of making cotton candy? But I did. And it just took off. Trust me, he’s tried to help, but I refused him. More than once.”

“Why would you do that?” Nick had always admired her spunk. She found something she wanted, she went after it. Once upon a time, he’d been the one she wanted, and she came right after him—not that he’d given her much of a challenge. He still wasn’t a challenge when it came to Willow.

Too damn bad she was the one who now challenged him on a constant basis. Frustrated the hell out of him, too. If he could get her to give in one time, he’d be set.

“I want respect. I can do this. All of it. This is my business, all mine. I don’t want anyone, specifically my father, funding any part of it.” She cleared her throat. He knew whose respect she was looking for—her parents’. What with her too busy daddy and neglectful mama, the girl had been surrounded by nothing but shitty role models her entire life. How she turned out so driven and smart, he hadn’t a clue.

“Well, I respect the hell out of you for trying this on your own.” He saw the flicker of pleasure in her gaze at his words. Damn if he didn’t want to see that again.

“Thank you,” she murmured, settling in her chair once again, her knees brushing against his leg. His cock twitched, and he wanted to groan.

She looked at him wrong and he was sporting wood. One innocent touch and he might do something really embarrassing.

“So Will, it looks like I have something you want.” He rested his arm on the edge of the table, contemplating her.

She stared back, her expression neutral. “You do.”

“Well, guess what? You have something I want.” He tipped his head toward her. “And I’m hoping you’ll be real agreeable to my suggestion.”

“What suggestion?” she asked warily.

Even her skepticism was a turn on. He had some serious issues.

But he also didn’t want to do this here. It would be much easier for her to walk out on him if she didn’t like his suggestion—and he knew, without a doubt, she would hate it. In a public place, with people surrounding them, she wouldn’t be likely to throw a fit. They both had a public persona to keep, after all, though him more than her.

“It’s not the sort of offer I want to make in such a sterile environment, if you catch my drift. How about we have dinner tonight? At that amazing little restaurant Charlie owns? I try to eat there every chance I get when I come visit.”

“You want to discuss this over dinner.” She shook her head, huffed out a laugh. Charlie owned both the restaurant and the Hawks. Talk about home field advantage. “I should’ve known you’d try something like this. I’m not going out with you, Hamilton. Hell, no. Bad enough what happened between us last night. If you think you can get me on my knees again, you’re sorely mistaken.” Her cheeks flushed the prettiest pink—the same shade her entire body flushed when she was aroused.

He knew this because he’d seen it for himself. More than once.

Shit. One mention of her on her knees and his cock was stirring to life. Damn thing was ridiculous. “I’m not trying to get you on your knees in front of me at a restaurant, Willow, Jesus. I have more class than that.”

The harrumph that escaped her told him she thought otherwise. “Please. My memories haven’t been erased.”

Oh. Oh. “Are you remembering our fondness for gettin’ it on in public places?” He scrubbed a hand along his cheek. Back in the day, they’d banged everywhere they could. It had been the hottest summer of his entire life, and not because of the temperature—though it was cool in the Monterey Bay, so that saying didn’t hold water.

The woman sitting in front of him had aroused him like no other. Set his blood on fire for her. And then he’d left her.

He was still beating himself up over it. Of course, he’d been forced, so what could he do? Young and dumb and a complete believer in what her father told him, he’d bailed at the first sign of a threat.

She shrugged, trying for nonchalant, but it didn’t work. He could tell when she was faking it. “I think you might’ve had issues.”

“You were just as involved as I was, darlin’, and don’t you ever forget it.” He breathed deep, trying to keep it together. Their conversations always spiraled out of control. Always turned sexual with a look or a simple comment. He blamed it on the chemistry that shimmered between them every time they were in the same room together. “Meet me tonight at the restaurant. Six o’clock. We can discuss my business proposition then.”

“And what if I don’t show up?”

“Then you might lose your chance at this building you want so damn much.” He stared at her for a moment, saw the way those velvety brown eyes went wide for a fleeting moment before they narrowed once more. “My terms, Will. You’ll meet me on my terms, or this deal might disappear.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Willow said with a sigh and a slow shake of her head.

“The hardest.” He chuckled. He was hard as damn steel right now just thinking about it.

By the end of the evening, this woman would be his.

And she’d like it, too.