“Sorry, Jordan.” She tore the card once, twice, a dozen times until pieces of white cardboard confetti littered her scarlet pencil skirt. “Go play on someone else’s field. I’ll figure out a way to win this game without you.”
Problem was, deep inside her brain, a shadowy voice kept saying he was right.
JORDAN HUDDLED OUTSIDE the gated alleyway. The rain, a light drizzle all afternoon, had become a deluge. Sheets of icy water streamed from the black sky, carving a path between the collar of his raincoat and his shirt, dousing his back until fabric stuck to his skin like pilot fish on a shark.
Thunder rumbled overhead and seconds later, a spear of lightning pierced the night. Great. Just what he needed. New York City, particularly this stretch of Manhattan’s Upper West Side, was a pain in his butt. With no parking available on the street, he couldn’t sit in his van. Thanks to the mayor’s Clean Streets Initiative, loiterers were quickly (and quietly) arrested before the hoity-toity residents might clap eyes on them. God forbid their sensibilities become offended by having to look upon the huddled masses.
Of all the stupid ideas he could’ve acted upon...
He supposed his name and past triumphs would have gained him entry into the honorary dinner tonight. If he’d attended the awards gala, he probably would have found an opportunity to corner her alone in some quiet alcove, instead of here on the street. But there, he’d also have to contend with a host of angry pro football players acting as bodyguards.
The players from the New York Vanguard, both active and retired, considered Cameron Delgado their lucky charm, their mascot, their Little Orphan Annie. Long before the wreckage of Duke’s plane was discovered, his daughter was a media magnet, based on her birth alone. After Duke’s demise, however, his former teammates immediately went into protective mode, closed ranks, and blocked her from the spotlight, with Bertie Wallace the biggest Papa Bear of all.
Fifteen years later, when the foundation held its annual Duke Awards ceremony and fundraiser for the Delgado Foundation, there was the fatherless waif, now fully grown and controlling the reins of Duke’s massive financial empire. With a shiny new MBA from Wharton and a corral of young and old football players surrounding her, Cameron Delgado claimed her place as the league’s princess. And there she remained.
While struggling to make a name for himself in the pros, Jordan had been so focused on his career he hadn’t given much thought to some dead has-been’s foundation for needy children around the world. But he’d noticed her, and he’d done everything he could think of to get her to notice him. They’d been the perfect couple—until he’d gone for broke and proposed. That was when it all went to crap.
Tires hushed over wet pavement, and a black limousine pulled to a stop outside the sleek, modern building.
Thank God. He pushed himself forward out of the shadows, but remained far enough back that he stayed invisible to anyone standing on the sidewalk.
The green-coated, white-gloved doorman reached for the handle of the passenger door while simultaneously opening a black umbrella. Out stepped a pair of shapely legs, tanned and supple, shod in strappy black shoes. Rhinestone clips near the toes glinted beneath the streetlights.
Time to get this show on the road.
Rolling forward, he held out his hand. “Darling! I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was brutal.”
Cam stood on the sidewalk, the car door yawning open behind her. Crap, he’d forgotten how tall she was. An average woman’s height worked against him these days, thanks to the chair, but in comparison to Cameron Delgado, he might as well be a Lilliputian. Yet, despite her six-foot frame, she always looked delicate and lovely in dresses and heels when he knew damn well she was meaner and stronger than a linebacker.
Judging by the disgusted expression that crept over her face, she saw him as a pile of dog crap on the bottom of her shoe.
“You should have called, honey,” she purred.
Without missing a beat or disclosing any revulsion in her tone, she leaned low enough to kiss his cheek. Her cologne, lightly floral with a hint of musk, tickled his nostrils and evoked memories of long ago days filled with laughter.
A sharp pang of regret pierced his chest. Maybe she had run scared that afternoon, but he’d screwed the follow-up—badly. If he had stayed with her, had never left for Houston, would they have found their way back together by now? Would he still have the use of his legs? A thriving football career? Hell, for all he knew, she might have already discarded him for another husband, following in the footsteps of her illustrious mother.
The doorman, hovering with the umbrella, also leaned closer, and the rainwater flowed over the convex edge directly onto Jordan’s head to shock him back to the here and now.
“When you didn’t show,” Cam added, straightening to her full height again. “I made other plans.”
As a final insult, she ruffled his sodden hair through her fingers before turning away, effectively dismissing him. Her familiar laughter, this time filled with derision, rang over the clack of her heels as she strode into the apartment building, the doorman running to keep up with her fabulous, long, perfect legs.
Chapter 4
The elevator whooshed Cam up to the penthouse suite while she struggled to rein in her skittering nerves and remain on her feet.
Oh, God. Jordan. Here. Outside her building. Waiting for her...
The door slid open into her living room, and she stumbled to the couch, peeling off her raincoat along the way. By the time she collapsed into the plush gray cushions, the trembling in her
