The Sexy Devil. Kate Hoffmann

of his old high school and college buddies envied him. He had everything they’d ever dreamed of having. Hell, he played a game for a living, traveling all over the country. He had more money than he’d ever need. And he was single. The women … well, the supply of beautiful women never seemed to wane.

      Max reached up and rubbed his shoulder. There were a few drawbacks. He was in a constant fight with his aging body. And though he was a little more than a year shy of thirty, his body was already beginning to feel a lot older.

      One thing always made the aches and pains disappear. Sex. And there were probably five or six girls sitting at the bar right now he could charm into his bed. But the prospect of losing himself in the pleasures of a woman’s body didn’t seem all that exciting right now. Lately, his sexual conquests had always been followed by a juicy story in the tabloids. He couldn’t completely trust anyone anymore, outside of his own family.

      And since he’d returned, there hadn’t been a single woman who’d caught his eye. Instead, he’d spent his time reviewing his business investments, rehabbing his shoulder and visiting with family. It’s the injury, he thought to himself. The team doctor warned him he might experience some mild depression, that he’d need to focus more intently on his rehab and his return in the second half of the season.

      Max sat down at the desk and pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through the list of missed calls. Even though he was off the media radar, women were still interested. “Sophia,” he murmured. An Italian model he met last month at a charity event. “Christina.” A flight attendant who’d charmed him on his flight home from Tampa. “Helena.” An actress he’d dated in New York during the off-season. Though a night in bed with a beautiful woman would certainly make him feel better, it just wasn’t worth the hassle.

      Max cursed softly and shut his phone, tossing it on the desk. What the hell was wrong with him? Making decisions about anything had become nearly impossible. He pushed to his feet and restlessly paced back and forth in the tiny office. “Do something,” he muttered to himself. “Pick a lane and hit the Gas.”

      A soft knock sounded at the door and he looked up to see Dave peering inside. “Sorry to disturb, but Greg Wilbern, our liquor salesman is here and he’d really like to meet you. He brought his teenage son. This guy gives us great—”

      Max held up his hand. “Say no more. I’ll tell him his son looks like a future major leaguer.”

      “I wouldn’t go that far. His son showed me how to reprogram our cash registers. I suspect he has a better chance working for Microsoft than in the major leagues.”

      Max followed Dave, closing the office door behind him. He glanced across the bar, scanning the crowd. Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat. She was sitting with a friend, sipping a drink, her warm blond hair softly falling around her face. She looked up and their gazes met and Max had an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.

      He stood, fixed in one spot, staring at her. They’d met before. Or maybe not. Yes, there had been a lot of women, but he remembered all of them—at least he thought he did. But, he’d never forgotten a woman he’d slept with.

      “Are you coming?” Dave asked.

      “Yeah, just give me a sec,” Max murmured. “I’ll be right over.”

      Had he ever touched her … or kissed her? His fingers twitched as he tried to recall the feel of her skin, her hair. What was the scent of her perfume? He had an uncanny memory for smells, but he couldn’t recall hers.

      Max smiled and she returned it, tilting her head slightly. Whoever this woman was, he had to meet her. Maybe he did know her. “Think,” he murmured. If he walked over and introduced himself and they’d already met, she’d be insulted. But if he acted as if he knew her, then she might be put off. “Best to be upfront.” He took a step in her direction, finally picking a lane and hitting the Gas.

      “Max!”

      Max blinked and looked at his brother motioning him toward the bar. He glanced back and the connection was broken. A strange sensation came over him. It was déjà vu. This had happened once before. When? Where had it been? He recalled the odd sense of loss he’d felt at the time.

      Frustrated, Max approached the bar. Dave made the introductions, then handed Max a baseball from the stock they kept handy. “See that woman over there in the green dress? Send her a drink from me.”

      “Champagne?”

      “No,” Max said, as he scribbled his name the ball. “Never mind. That’s too cheesy.” He handed the boy the baseball, then shook the liquor salesman’s hand. “I’ll just go talk to her. Do I look all right? How’s my breath? Shit, I shouldn’t have had onions on that burger.”

      “What is wrong with you? Since when do you worry about your appearance?” Dave looked over his shoulder. “That girl? She’s not your type.”

      “What’s my type?” Max asked.

      “There’s a ten sitting at the end of the bar. Fake hair, fake boobs, fake nails. She’s your type.”

      “Shut up, Dave.”

      Max walked away from his brother and circled the bar slowly. Keeping his gaze fixed on her. Since the connection between them had been broken, she’d gone back to chatting with her girlfriend, a petite dark-haired woman with trendy glasses perched on her nose.

      When he finally reached them, Max slipped into a spot next to her at the bar. But the patrons standing around her thought he’d come to socialize with them, wanting to shake his hand and pose for pictures. When the celebrity posturing was finally finished, he turned back to her.

      “Hi,” he said. Max waited for her to respond and began to think that she hadn’t heard him, but then she slowly turned and faced him. She was even more beautiful up close. She had the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. And her shoulder-length hair, the color of honey, smelled like peaches.

      “Hello,” she said.

      “Do I know you?”

      She paused, then smiled quizzically. “I don’t know. Do you?”

      Max frowned. “I’m not sure. I can’t believe I would have forgotten you if we’d met before.” He held out his hand. “I’m Max. And forget what I just said. It sounded really lame.”

      “Angela,” she said, resting her hand in his. She had beautiful fingers, long and slender, tipped with pretty red polish. No, Max thought. He’d never had those hands on his body. Though they might have met, they’d never been intimate. “And this is my friend, Celia. Ceci.”

      Max reached around to Ceci and shook her hand. “Hello, Ceci. It’s nice to meet you.” He turned back to Angela. “Can I buy you two a drink?”

      Angela held up her margarita. “I have a drink. But thanks anyway.”

      “And I have to go,” Ceci said. “I—I have to drive my mother—I mean, my brother to—shopping. I have to take my mother grocery shopping. She’s completely out of … bananas.” She forced a smile as she slid off her barstool. “Sorry, I forgot.”

      “Stay,” Angela whispered, grabbing her hand. “How will you get home?”

      “I’ll grab a cab,” Ceci said. “You just enjoy your drink.” She picked up her purse, then gave Max a clever grin. “It was nice meeting you, Max. She likes her margaritas unblended, no salt. And she can’t hold her liquor, so make the next one a virgin, all right?”

      Max watched as Ceci hurried to the door. In any other instance, he would have been glad to have Angela all to himself. But he felt strangely nervous. What the hell was that all about? Max Morgan never got nervous around women.

      2

      ANGELA TOOK A QUICK SIP of her drink. This was not part of the plan. Ceci wasn’t supposed to leave the moment Max noticed her. They