Stealing Kisses. Harmony Evans

around a row of seats, she caught a glimpse of the popular basketball star and clamped her hand over her mouth in shock.

      Derek was shooting baskets with such ferocity it was as though his whole life depended on making every shot. The man was an island. His eyes were totally focused on the net, on the goal.

      Yet her eyes were all over him.

      He was tall, perhaps six feet six inches, and lean-muscled with rich dark brown skin that glistened with sweat. His shoulder-length jet-black dreadlocks swayed rhythmically with his every movement, teasing her imagination.

      When he grabbed the last ball from the cart, he yelled something she couldn’t understand. His legs, powerfully built and tense with virile energy, sprung into the air, seeming to master space and time.

      She held her breath, her eyes following the arc of the ball to its final destination. But at the last moment it missed the net, slammed the backboard and bounced to the floor, rolling in her direction.

      Derek swung off the rim, landed on the floor, grabbed his knees and howled. The pain in that sound went straight to her heart. She recognized it.

      It was the sound of desperation, of a soul cracked wide open and laid bare to an empty room that couldn’t judge, couldn’t laugh.

      So this is Derek Lansing, Natalie thought. Number seventeen. Star forward for the New York Skylarks.

      She adjusted her purse, checked her watch and smiled. She was right on schedule.

      Time to turn his world upside down.

      Natalie walked out onto the court and stopped the basketball with the heel of her black stiletto boot.

      “Looking for this?” she asked, one hand on her hip to steady herself.

      Derek uncurled his body, slow and easy, like a bear emerging from hibernation. He stood still, chest heaving, and her heart raced as his eyes slid down her legs and traveled back up her body.

      Under the bright lights, her right eye twitched involuntarily and she realized with horror that he probably thought she was winking at him. She dropped the diva pose and almost lost her balance, but quickly regained it.

      He strode over to her, his face like stone.

      “This is a private practice. No fans allowed.”

      He sounded irritated and she realized he was probably embarrassed that he’d missed the shot.

      Yet his eyes, gray and thick-lashed, rounded her face with keen interest. “Not even beautiful ones.”

      Warmth flooded her body at his compliment, although she knew he probably didn’t mean it to sound as intimate as it did.

      “Where’s the guard?” he muttered, looking over her head toward the door.

      She laughed, releasing some of her nervousness. “Do I look dangerous to you?”

      His eyes seemed to take possession of her curves as they roamed her body again, leaving a trail of fire.

      His lips tilted up. “Depends on which part you’re talking about.”

      She crossed her arms over her chest, her stiletto boot barely teetering on the ball. “Excuse me?”

      With no response, he pulled up his shirt and she almost fell off the ball again, but he only wiped the sweat from his face.

      A rush of desire poured through her at the sight of his abdomen, cut deep with muscles, and she wondered what it would feel like if her tongue were to take a slow ride in the deep valleys of his rich brown skin.

      Oh, Lord, it had been so long since she’d touched a man.

      She moistened her lips involuntarily just as he stepped forward, gathering his locks into a low ponytail, and her face heated again.

      “Well?” he said, peering down at her.

      He was so close, only an arm’s length away. The urge to reach out and touch his skin, glistening with sweat, was so strong she barely heard him.

      He poked her on the shoulder. “Are you going to give it to me or am I going to have to play you for it?”

      Caught off guard, her head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”

      Her eyes darted up to his face where amusement danced in his gray eyes.

      He pointed at her foot. “How about a little one-on-one?” he teased. “Fan against man.”

      Her eyes widened and she looked away. The meeting was not going according to plan. It had been a while since a man had rendered her completely speechless, both in his looks and his manner. He’d thrown her for a loop, but now it was time to get things back under her control.

      Trying to avoid looking at his muscular legs, she bent her knees as gracefully as her black pencil skirt would allow and picked up the ball. After adjusting her purse, she placed the ball snugly within the crook of her left arm.

      “Mr. Lansing. We have a meeting that was supposed to start—” she checked her watch and frowned “—two minutes ago. I am not a fan and I am most certainly not here to play games. I’m here to discuss the rules of engagement and the clock is ticking.”

      Derek placed his hand over his chest, his eyes absorbing hers like a secret told under the covers. “I didn’t know we were getting married,” he replied.

      The intimacy in his tone stirred an intense yearning and a long-held dream, neither of which would likely be fulfilled.

      Natalie was used to denying her needs to focus on the task at hand, but she was finding it very difficult to concentrate in front of this way-too-gorgeous man.

      She lifted her chin. “Not married, Mr. Lansing. Organized. Your manager called me this morning and I came right over. He said you needed a little help.”

      Derek burst out laughing. “Wow, when I told Tony I needed a personal assistant, I was just joking. I never thought he’d actually hook me up with one.”

      Natalie clutched the ball tighter, bristling inside. “I am not your personal assistant,” she replied in a terse tone. “I am your life coach.”

      He clasped his hands loosely on his hips. “What’s the difference?”

      She smiled, happy to provide a definition. “Easy. A personal assistant is at your beck and call. She or he runs around doing everything you want. A life coach helps you set goals so you can manage your time and your life more efficiently.”

      His doubtful look irked her to the core, so it was time to break it down to brass tacks.

      “I’m not your go-for, Mr. Lansing. I’m your lifesaver.”

      He raised a brow, and it was clear he was trying not to laugh again.

      “Oh-h. Now you’re talking my language. My favorite flavor is orange. What flavor are you?”

      She exhaled so hard the ball almost popped out of her grasp. Pushing aside her frustration, she looked into his eyes and nearly smiled at what she saw. One twinkled with mischief, the other with mayhem. Clearly the man enjoyed stirring up a fuss, making her crazy with something she’d rather not think about right now.

      “Can you be serious, please?” she huffed, forcing the ball back into place.

      He shrugged indifferently and then walked around her in a circle making imaginary free throws.

      “How can I be serious when you haven’t even told me your name?”

      Now it was her turn to be embarrassed. How could she have forgotten something as simple as an introduction? No wonder things were so out of her control.

      “Sorry. I’m Natalie Kenyon,” she said, fishing a business card out of her purse. “I own a company called StarCoach, Inc. I help my clients with time management, organization and motivation.”

      He