Not only did everything she was saying make sense, she had a unique way of presenting it that appealed to him. That alone ruffled his nerves. “How exactly are we going to date and manage to be civil to each other?”
Like that was the biggest issue.
“Who said we were?” Her blue eyes glowed as she caught his gaze. “Part of what sizzles about us is the way we clash. It translates really well on camera. Didn’t you watch the clip?”
He might have watched the video a few times, and there wasn’t a good way to pretend she was wrong. Nor could he forget how arguing with her had exploded into the heat of that kiss. “So not only are we supposed to fake date, but we’re also supposed to have knock-down, drag-out fights in public, too?”
That was way over the line. Logan and his temper were old enemies, and bad decisions followed when he allowed his emotions off the leash. He’d left his hothead days behind him when he bought the Mustangs. A team owner had to play it cool, and thus far, he’d call his newfound calm a success.
Until Trinity.
She was the only person of his acquaintance who threatened his composure on a minute-by-minute basis.
She shrugged. “Let me be clear. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to agree to this. If you want me to be nice and sweet and smile at your fans, I will.”
Waltzing closer, she let her fingers trail down the front of his shirt, reminding him of the last time she’d done that—right before he’d tested out kissing a woman with a bar through her tongue.
As if she’d read his mind, her gaze instantly caught fire and swept him with a thousand licks of heat as she let her eyes wander down his body in a slow perusal that almost had him squirming. But he had far more control over his body than that—any athlete worth his salt had enormous discipline. Losing his pitching arm hadn’t become an excuse to sit on the couch and get fat.
“Logan,” she murmured throatily, splattering his control to hell and back as his lower half went hard. “If you want me to wear leather and carry around a whip because you like the bad-girl persona that Exec-ution coated me with, I would be happy to oblige. Tell me what it will take.”
Now that was an interesting proposition. His imagination took off at a brisk trot, and it was nearly impossible to rein it back in. “We’d have to make it look real.”
Guess it was too late to pretend he wasn’t considering it.
“Sure. Lots of public kissing. Affection. Lots of making up after a good fight. Maybe you pop the question at an event with a huge diamond ring that sparkles.”
Not for a thousand percent increase in ticket sales would he do something so sacred unless he meant it. “I’m not proposing to you no matter how fake it is. That’s reserved for the future Mrs. McLaughlin. She deserves to be the only one to have that experience.”
Something flashed in her gaze. Longing, maybe. But it was gone before he could process it and her expression hardened. “Fair enough. You play this however you want.”
“You realize we have to spend time together doing things. You’re going to have to pretend to like baseball. No glazed eyes when I wax poetical about Nolan Ryan.”
Actually, he might do that on occasion just for fun.
“Only if you listen with rapt attention when I mention Estée Lauder,” she countered with a sly smile. “I need you. Make me an offer.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He didn’t have to. There was no way he could say no. The part he had to think about was how deep this fake relationship would ultimately go. How deep he’d be willing to admit he wanted it to go. And whether he could, in fact, hold on to both his temper and his sanity while dating Trinity Forrester.
She swept from his office on a cloud of femininity and something spicy that he suspected he’d smell in his sleep for a long time to come.
Before he could remind himself of the million and one reasons it was a dangerous, horrible idea, he texted her: I’m in.
Three
Trinity sat on Logan’s text message for two days. Mostly because she had no idea what to do with a fake boyfriend. Boyfriends of any sort vexed her on the whole, but one she wasn’t sleeping with broke all kinds of new ground.
What did you do with a man outside of bed?
Should she hit a club with him? Stand at the red rope and hope someone took pictures? That seemed too chancy, and frankly, the idea of Logan McLaughlin at a techno bar with lots of smoke and pulsing lights made her laugh. And he’d probably laugh at her if she suggested it.
While it might lead to an argument that would be delicious on camera, they’d have to actually be in public for that to generate maximum publicity. She couldn’t think of anything that would work, though. Her lack of creativity lately was bleeding into the social arena as well, and it was bothersome. Almost as bothersome as the fact that she had a marketing presentation to give to her friends and business partners on Monday and it still didn’t exist.