Hank didn’t flinch. “Golf, then. I’m meeting Greg Norman at his course at Folly Beach. Come with me.”

Annabeth shook her head.

“Fine. Parasailing or a ferry ride to Bald Head. Pick one.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no.”

Hank reached over and fingered the bracelet she was wearing, one designed by his daughter. The warmth of his finger on her skin sent a shot of desire through her body.

“Are you afraid, Annabeth?” he asked softly. “Because you shouldn’t be.”

She had to work to swallow the lump in her throat. “I’m afraid that you’re offering more than an apology.”

He didn’t deny it. “And what if you deserve more than an apology?”

“I don’t.”

His hand moved from her wrist to her jawline. It was all she could do not to lean into his caress.

“I couldn’t disagree more, Annabeth. I’ll be in town through the holiday weekend if you change your mind.”

Annabeth gripped the countertop as he slipped past her. She didn’t dare move until she heard the chime of the doorbell indicating he’d left the shop.

* * *

“I’m not talking to anyone, Roscoe,” Will barked into his cell phone. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

Roscoe sighed on the other end of the line. “We both know that’s a lie, Will. And they have ways of compelling you to talk.”

“You’re my agent, damn it. Can’t you do something? I don’t want to be involved in this.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing no one wants to be involved in this. Look, let me make a few discreet inquiries on your behalf. We need to find out what they’ve got so we can plan a strategy before this all blows up.”

Will paced the wide verandah, the breeze from the ocean ruffling his hair. Roscoe was right, they needed information. “Okay, sure. But discreet is the operative word here. I really don’t want to get dragged into this.”

“Your name’s already being mentioned, Will. I think now we’re looking at damage control.”

He wanted to throw the phone through a wall. It was guilt by association, just as Brody had feared. After seven years in the pros with a sterling reputation, he was going to be tarnished by someone else’s mistake.

“How are things going down there?” Roscoe asked. “Are you and your baby mama getting along?”

Will flinched at Roscoe’s nickname for Julianne. His agent had been opposed to the marriage, believing it would leave his client more exposed to potential financial claims. Roscoe would blow a gasket if he knew Julianne no longer had an income coming in from her company.

He peered in the kitchen window. Julianne stood on a step stool, reaching into one of the cabinets for something. Her long shirt wrapped around her body, accentuating her fine backside. She was having a conversation with Owen, who was strapped into his swing, seemingly chattering back to her. The kitchen was, not surprisingly, a mess. Julianne was a one-woman wrecking crew who’d in two weeks destroyed his neat, orderly home. She stepped from the stool, her bare feet padding across the room, and began mashing bananas in a bowl. Will licked his lips as her pink tank top showed off her well-toned arms to perfection. Her hair was done up in a messy knot but one strand came loose, forcing her to blow on it to keep it out of her face. The action was so sensual, Will was hard in an instant. Knowing that he was married to the woman but couldn’t act on it made him angry.

“She’s a mess,” he growled into the phone. “And freaking moody. It’s like living with a bipolar tropical storm.”

Roscoe laughed. “It isn’t any easier to live with a woman when you’re crazy in love with them, either. It’s only temporary. Hurricane Julianne will be out of your house in a couple of months. The separation papers take effect the week before training camp. I should have the custody details worked out by then, too.”

Will leaned up against one of the columns and watched as Julianne laughed at Owen, suddenly uncomfortable that this would be over so soon. This morning, in the gym, when she’d touched him, pretending they were a happy family, he’d wanted nothing more than for it to be real. But that meant trusting her and Will wasn’t ready to take that leap.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem working out custody. Julianne’s been reasonable so far.”

“So far being the key words, Will. Don’t forget, her brother is on the committee investigating this whole Bountygate mess. I don’t trust her, and neither should you.”

“Hey, he promised to keep me out of it if I gave Owen my blood,” Will argued. “I did more. I married his little princess of a sister. If I get anything out of this mess, it should be immunity.”

“Never trust the word of a politician, Will. And don’t think you can hide behind the shield of being family.”

Roscoe’s words hung ominously in the air even after he’d hung up. Both Will’s agent and his brain told him he couldn’t trust Julianne. But his gut was telling him something else. She was a flighty artist who rode the crazy bus wherever life took her. Formulating a complicated plot to trap him into marriage was beyond her scope of planning. Roscoe’s theory of her being in cahoots with her senator brother seemed even more far-fetched—until he watched through the window and saw Brody stroll into the kitchen and kiss Julianne on the cheek before handing her an envelope. One that looked suspiciously like the one he’d opened in Brody’s room the other day. Will bolted for the door.

“Oh, Brody, this one is perfect!” Julianne reached up to hug Brody as Will charged through the door.

“What is going on here?” he shouted.

Owen laughed, his legs and arms flailing at the sight of his father.

“Jeez, dude, will you stop doing that?” Brody stepped away from Julianne, his hands poised to defend himself. “Relax. I’m just giving her a picture.”

“A picture of what?”

Will saw the moment that realization dawned on Brody’s face. His posture immediately went from defensive to aggressor. Will instantly regretted doubting his teammate. If Brody had wanted to out him, he had the means to do so days ago. He didn’t need Julianne to make it happen. This whole Bountygate situation had him wound up tight as a drum.

“It’s a picture of his sister, for heaven’s sake.” Julianne waved the photo in front of Will’s face. “I need it to work on . . . something.”

Will rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced at the picture of Brody’s sister in a bridesmaid gown. Suddenly, the situation all made sense. “You’re designing?” He wasn’t sure why the prospect excited him so much.

Julianne laid the photo on the desk and began pouring the batter into a loaf pan. “Well, I wouldn’t call it designing yet. More like doodling. And”—she pointed the spatula at Brody—“no telling your sister until I know I can do this.”

“I already promised not to,” Brody said, his mouth a tight line. “And I keep my promises.”

“Okay, if you two are going to show off your muscles again, save it for the locker room. All this macho posturing is really nauseating.” She covered the pan with a lid and stuck it in the fridge, presumably to bake it later, before lifting Owen out of his swing. “Speaking of nauseating, someone needs a diaper change.”

The baby cooed at his mother, grabbing for that lone strand of hair as she carried him upstairs. Will looked over at Brody, who stood grim faced, arms crossed over his chest as he rocked back on his heels.

“Sorry, man,” Will offered. “This whole thing’s got me jumpy.”

Brody didn’t answer for a minute, silently rocking on his heels. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Well, then you’re probably not going to like this. Hank Osbourne checked into the inn this morning.”

He was right; Will didn’t like it. The Blaze front office had been trying to pin him down on his involvement in Bountygate for several weeks now. If what Roscoe said was true and things were heating up, Hank was probably getting anxious about how the scandal would affect the team. If he’d bothered to track Will down in Chances Inlet, the team had to be thinking about its options and where exactly he fit in the future.

Will swore. He loved playing for the Blaze. And he’d never do anything to jeopardize his position or the respect of his teammates. Head coach Matt Richardson was a former NFL player who understood not only the intricacies of the game but a player’s mind. A rare find, especially since the man had been a quarterback during his playing days.

Will needed to think. He wandered over to the desk and picked up the picture of Brody’s sister. “When did she tell you she would design the gown?”

If Brody knew he was stalling, he was wise enough to let it alone.

“She came into the gym today to tell me. She wanted a picture to help spur her imagination.” Brody sat on one of the bar stools. “I already told Tricia it was a no-go, but if Julianne can come up with something, I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic.”

“They both will,” Will muttered.

“Hank invited me to dinner tonight. He’s here with his daughter. Something about her selling some handmade jewelry in town this weekend. Anyway, he wanted me to invite your family to join us. Although I think it might be more summons than invitation.”

“Not happening.”

“Dude, think about it; how much can he grill you with his daughter and your wife and kid at the table?”

“No. Besides, I have the perfect excuse. Owen is too young to be out in public yet. Not after being so sick. You’ll just have to tell him we can’t make dinner.”

“Tell who we can’t make dinner?” Julianne asked as she appeared in the doorway. She handed a drooling Owen to Will and went to wash her hands.