Talking Dirty With the Player(27)

“Oh…ah…I took some photos.” The best reason she could come up with. “Of you and that kid. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No. I don’t mind.” He looked away again, over to where a small group of hardy fans were standing, clearly waiting for him. It did not escape her attention that some of them were women. Correction: girls. Very young girls.

“I see you have some more fans,” she couldn’t help pointing out. “They look kind of excitable.”

Caleb frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Familiar irritation slid under her skin and she tried not to let it show. “Don’t let me hold you up. That one in green looks like she might wet her pants if you don’t get there soon.”

His frown disappeared, one corner of his mouth quirking. “It’s raining. Her pants are already wet.”

She didn’t want to smile at him, she really didn’t. Neither did she want to look into his dark eyes and see the heat burning there. She’d wanted professional and professional was what she’d got. Any unfortunate physical chemistry was her problem to deal with and deal with it she would.

Swallowing, she tore her gaze from his and made some minute adjustments to her umbrella. “I might go back to the car,” she said, her voice gone oddly thick. A burst of cheering erupted from the gathered crowd. “Before I get trampled by the ravening horde of Abs of Steele fans.”

“I won’t be long.”

“Take your time. I know, hands to shake. T-shirts to sign.”

Caleb’s gaze rested on her. “Do you want me to sign your T-shirt, Jude?” he asked softly, a sensual edge in his tone.

He’d slide his hands under her top, pulling it out to keep the fabric smooth. Then he’d lean in, pressing gently against her as he slid the pen against the softness of her breast. He’d be so close. Within kissing distance… “What? This? Are you mad?” The words came out breathless, tumbling over each other. “It’s vintage Vivienne Westwood.”

His smile widened, as if he knew exactly what was going on in her head. “I’ll meet you at your car after I’ve changed then, okay?” He gave her a wink and turned away, striding over to where the group of girls stood.

Judith bit her lip and cursed herself. She was an idiot. A complete idiot. What was she doing looking at him like that? And getting all breathless like she was one of his silly fans?

She glared at the group he was talking to, unreasonably aggravated by their eager comments, their excited giggles. Like they’d never seen a soaking wet, gorgeous, sexy rugby player before. Then, sure enough, one of them got out a pen from somewhere and pulled out the hem of her T-shirt.

A strange, hot mass of emotion tangled up inside her and refused to go away. Almost like she was jealous or something. Which was ridiculous because why would she be jealous of a bunch of teenage girls?

Judith turned her back on them sharply, walking fast toward the parking lot.

Stupid man. Stupid girls. Stupid rugby.

She felt wet and cold and she wasn’t going to wait around out here while his so-called fans slobbered all over him. No way.

Clenching her fists, she went over to her car and, after a brief battle with her umbrella when it wouldn’t go down, finally managed to chuck it into the back seat. Then she sat in the driver’s seat, slamming the door after her.

The rain battered on the roof, obscuring the field. The windshield started to mist up.

Judith gripped the steering wheel. What was with her? Why was she so suddenly angry with him? And where the hell were all these weird, jealous feelings coming from? It didn’t make any sense.

Oh, sure it doesn’t. Keep telling yourself that.

The breath went out of her. Of course it made sense. She just didn’t want to look too closely as to why.

Because it was ridiculous to be annoyed with him for being totally and utterly adorable with that kid. To be irritated because he hadn’t called her babycakes or honey pie, or any other of his asinine endearments. To be jealous of his fans.

Ridiculous to be mad with him for treating her like everyone else.

Judith cursed. What on earth was going on in her head? She didn’t want him to treat her differently. She didn’t like the patronizing names or the flirtatious teasing. Or the attention she got from him. Did she?

Of course you do, you idiot.

Furious with herself, Judith hit the steering wheel. But no amount of hitting things or fierce denials was going to change the fact that she did like it. And she was mad because she didn’t want him to treat her like everyone else.

She wanted more of the silly names. Of being taken care of like he had after she’d gotten so drunk with Marisa. Of having her breakfast cooked for her and being made to drink her orange juice. Things she suspected he wouldn’t do for just anyone.