Nice Girls Finish Last. Natalie Anderson

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?’

      ‘To a crisp,’ she whispered breathily.

      ‘The whole team, huh?’ Something danced in his eyes.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ she sighed. And then she smiled, because she suddenly had it, the way in which she was going to teach this guy the lesson he so badly needed. She reached two inches forward and took hold of his beautifully tailored, no doubt horrifically expensive, jacket. She lifted her face nearer to his as she confirmed breathlessly, ‘I had my hands on every single one of them.’

      ‘Did you, now?’ He didn’t pull back; in fact he leaned closer. Which was just perfect, because she could smooth her hands on him without him really seeing.

      Her oily, slippery hands.

      ‘You’ve no idea, the excitement …’ She gazed at him, not realising she’d trailed off. His smile had widened, sparkling up his expression, and the effect was frankly mesmerising.

      ‘You know what?’ His voice dropped as he leaned to a mere millimetre away and full out mesmerised her even more.