Tim, the PR director, stepped forward. “I’m leaning toward the one with the more playful edge first. If it gets a good reaction, we’ll keep the momentum going and put the other one up in a month.”
Faith was not a graphic artist, nor did she have a degree in anything, but she agreed with Jules. “If we’re going to put these up back to back a few weeks apart, it makes sense to go with the picture of me standing in front and Ty behind me looking mad and belligerent.”
“I wasn’t mad,” Ty said as he walked in and the room felt suddenly smaller. He wore jeans and a black turtleneck with a Nike swoop on the throat. Unlike the rest of the guys on the team, who looked shaggy from their good-luck beards, Ty was still clean-shaven. His hair was wet, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. She really hadn’t expected to see him. She’d been told the team was practicing, and she figured Ty would skip the meeting.
His electric-blue gaze met hers for several heart beats before he moved to stand before the mock-ups. He folded his arms over his chest and stood with his feet a shoulders’ width apart. His shirt fit loosely about his wide back and was tucked into a pair of Levi’s so worn the back pockets softly cupped his muscular butt. He pointed to the photo with her foot between his thighs. “This looks like Mrs. Duffy has her stiletto on my nuts.”
Jules laughed and Faith bit her top lip to keep from laughing.
Bo pulled a rubber band from her stubby ponytail. “It tells a story.”
“Yeah,” Ty agreed. “The story of her foot crushing my nuts.”
Bo looked like she wanted to crush him with her clunky Doc Martens.
“Well, we certainly don’t want that to be the image we project,” Tim assured the Chinooks captain.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Faith said as Ty turned to face her. “I think there are probably more than a few women who’d like to see that image.” Her gaze landed on his flat stomach and the bulge behind the five buttons of his fly. She ran her gaze up the hard muscles of his chest, over the scar on his chin, to his blue eyes. She thought of last night’s game and his time in the sin bin. “More than a few men, too.”
“Yeah,” Jules jumped in, “but that isn’t the point of this campaign. It’s to create an image of conflict, but we don’t want it to look like Faith is busting the Saint’s balls.”
“Thank you, Jules.”
“You’re welcome, Saint.”
Faith ducked her head and hid her smile. Men were so weird about their balls.
“It’s too sensuous and playful to convey that,” Bo argued as she gathered up her short auburn hair and stuck it back in the ponytail. And while Bo and Jules argued about the photo and Ty’s balls, his gaze locked with hers. Fine lines creased the corners of his beautiful eyes and she thought he just might crack a full-blown smile.
Of course, he didn’t, but that didn’t keep something hot and sensuous from sliding down her spine and spreading across her skin. “I guess I don’t want to bust the Saint’s balls. At least not today,” she said. “I need him to win me the cup.”
First his sac and now his balls. He was really going to have to stop having these conversations with Faith. Especially with other people in the room. In some sort of sick, twisted way, it turned him on.
“I think we’ll go with this one first,” Tim said, pointing to the poster of Faith standing in front of Ty. “We’ll use the locker-room shot at another time. Or choose something else from that shoot,” he added, sounding suddenly exhausted as he headed for the door. “I need some Tylenol.”
“Tim, wait,” Bo called after him as she followed him out the door. “You didn’t hear my ideas for the captions.”
“I feel sorry for that guy,” Jules said as he stood.
“I like her.”
“She’s like an aggressive Chihuahua who thinks she’s a pit bull.”
“I think that’s what I like about her.” Faith stood and Ty lowered his gaze from her lips to the pink long-sleeved T-shirt with a heart and angel wings covering her breasts. Gone were her black pants or loose beige skirts. She wore a pair of jeans that hugged her waist and thighs, and had on a pair of furry Pocahontas boots. Without her loose, dark clothes, she looked younger. Softer and definitely less uptight.
“She’s bitchy.”
Faith grabbed a big leather purse with a gold chain strap. “She’s spunky. Kind of marches to her own beat.”
“Your mom marches to her own beat, but I don’t see you embracing her spunkiness.”
“My mother’s not spunky. She’s got problems.” Faith cast a glance at Ty before she headed toward the door. “The biggest being that she acts like she’s sixteen.”
“Mrs. Duffy,” Ty called out to her. “Can you stay a minute?” He needed to settle things between them.
“Sure,” she said over her shoulder as she stopped just inside the door. “I’ll be right with you.” As she spoke to her assistant, Ty’s gaze lowered from her blonde hair and back to the metal buttons closing the back pockets of her jeans. Kissing her had been a massive screwup. He could pretend it hadn’t happen, but Ty liked to confront potential situations before they became real big problems.
Faith turned and left the door slightly open. “Is this about the other night?” she asked as she moved toward him.