"Stop that," she said, pointing at his mouth.

"Stop… what?"

"Smiling."

"Why? Do I have something in my teeth?"

He knew he didn't. A guy like this knew exactly how good he looked. "Okay, listen. I'm going to be honest with you right from the get-go."

"Please."

"I have a long, horrible, nasty history with blind dates, and I'd talked myself into lumping you in with the worst of them, but I can't do that when you smile."

The grin only spread. "Really? Well, same goes. I have an idea. Why don't we start over." He stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Jack Knight."

"I'm not going to commit to starting over, not yet. You might still turn out to be a blind-date disaster."

"Yeah." He rubbed his jaw. "You might be right."

She climbed into his Escalade. "I usually am."

His soft laugh scraped low in her belly. "Something tells me this is going to be a much more interesting night than I could have imagined."

"Is that good or bad?"

He came around and slid his long body in behind the wheel. He looked at her as he started the engine. "Not sure yet."

"So we'll leave that up in the air as well." With that, Sam put on her seat belt and braced herself for the evening ahead.

But she had a little smile of anticipation on her face.

2

Once upon a time, scandal had been Jack's middle name. Jack Scandal Knight.

Not that he'd asked for such a rep. Nope, he'd been tried and convicted in the court of the tabloids, without a jury of his peers. But that was in the past.

Tonight, he'd pulled out his tux with a simple goal in mind-get the evening over with as fast and painlessly as possible. No scandal. No surprises. No nothing. Just show up, raise more money for his sister's beloved charity that helped underprivileged kids, then go on his merry way.

Should be easy, given that over the past year he'd become the master of fast and painless, at least as far as public appearances went. The trick was to be visible, but not approachable. Pleasant and professional, but not particularly nice. This talent had been hard-earned, costing him unknown amounts of heartache and grief, but it was a rule he assumed every celebrity eventually learned, one way or another.

All he had to do was arrive at the country club with a date in tow, and his sister would stop pestering him, at least for the evening. Maybe even by some miracle the press would stop hounding him, but he wouldn't hold his breath on that one.

He'd never really been out of the media's spotlight, but that went back to that Jack Scandal Knight thing. He'd have figured no one was interested now that he was no longer in the public eye, but just last week he'd gone to a Dodgers game with a group of friends, where for a few blissful hours he'd eaten hot dogs and had a few beers. After the game, he'd stopped to take a leak and a reporter had come up next to him at the urinal, shoved a camera in his face, blinding him with the flash, and, oh, by the way, could he sign an autograph as well? Jack had looked down at the offered pen, and then farther, to where his hands were busy, and had little choice but to laugh. Before or after I finish here, he'd wanted to ask. Five days later, it was splashed all over the rags that he'd been rude and refused to give out autographs.

That was the problem with being a basketball icon known for flying down the court, averaging thirty plus points a game. There was no privacy anywhere. It had been a year since his bum knee had taken him out of the NBA, and his San Diego Eels contract. A year.

The paparazzi had been all over him at first, following his every sneeze, apparently not noticing or caring that the difficult decision and subsequent announcement of his retirement had nearly destroyed him.

And still they stalked him, given a chance. He didn't know if that was because the Eels hadn't made the championships without him, or because reporters had caught Jack coaching some local kids and thought he might come out of retirement.

Not going to happen. His knee was shot to hell. Two surgeries had left it usable, but not NBA material. And quite honestly, he'd been put through so much by the press, the public and his coaches that he no longer missed playing enough to worry about it.

This charity event tonight, carefully and meticulously planned by his philanthropic sister, would be a nightmare for him. And yet he'd agreed to come because, as asinine as it seemed, just his presence would guarantee money for the kids Heather worked so hard to help. This year, she was raising money for a new rec center, and he wanted to do what he could because he was all for getting those kids into sports and after-school programs, where he'd been volunteering as a coach.

He glanced over at his date as he drove them down the Pacific Coast Highway, the cool air-conditioning blasting out at them. If his presence was going to earn Heather money, then Sam's presence was going to earn him kudos from his sister. Heather would find no obvious flaws in Samantha O'Ryan. She had sparkling green eyes and glossy lips, with honey-blond hair piled prettily on top of her head. The long tendrils hanging down made him want to touch. The look was sophisticated and elegant, yet slightly messy at the same time, almost as if she wanted people to know she could lose the image at the drop of a hat and get down and dirty. Incredibly sexy, if you asked him. The rest of her slender body fit into her little black dress, which clung so perfectly to her curves-and very nice curves they were-that he decided he definitely had come out ahead on this deal tonight.

Thank you, Cole. "I appreciate you doing this," he said.

She shrugged and leaned into the AC vent, letting the air blow over her face, which caused a sigh of pleasure to slip out of her that somehow reverberated through him. "A lovely drive and a free dinner. It's no problem."

"And yet you didn't want to come." He smiled, still a little bowled over by the fact she'd had no idea who he was and still didn't. That might have disturbed another man so used to everyone being aware of him, but not Jack. He found it extremely amusing, and oddly refreshing. "You've already alluded to the fact you were worried I was going to be your worst nightmare."

She shot him a wry look. "And what exactly would that be, in your opinion?"

"I don't know… maybe an old guy, with a potbelly and a bad toupee."

"I don't discriminate against age or shape."

She had her cute nose in the air, and he laughed. "Come on. You were worried about something. Bad breath? Someone too short? Be honest."

"You could still have bad breath, for all I know." He arched a brow and slanted her another glance. "Not going to admit it could have turned out worse?"

"Hey, the evening is young yet."

"What could go wrong now?" Well, besides being grilled by his sister, and possibly being stalked by the paparazzi guaranteed to be waiting at the front door of the club…

"You could chew with your mouth open," she said and lifted a shoulder. "Or have an extra toe."

He shook his head. "An extra toe?"

"No ugly feet allowed."

"You can't date a guy with ugly feet?"

"Not once I find out about them."

Inside his shoes, he wriggled his toes, thankful to have only ten, but not sure whether they were ugly. He'd never thought about it. "Tough cookie, aren't you?"

"Yep."

He nodded. He could appreciate tough. He was rather tough himself.

But not with a woman. He'd never kicked a woman out of his bed for ugly feet, that was for damn sure.

"Why did you need a blind date anyway?" She shot him a curious look. "You're not exactly hard on the eyes, or an obvious raving lunatic."

He laughed at the backhanded compliment. "Let's just say I've been out of the dating pool this year, and if I don't show up with a woman tonight, my sister is going to bring out the cavalry."

"Cavalry?"

"Her friends. And their friends. And their friends, and so on." He shuddered. "Trust me, it's awful."

"Ah."

Her understanding smile stopped him in his tracks, and he nearly gaped because she had great eyes, and when she smiled like that, they could slay a man at ten miles. "So…" He struggled for something to say, something that would please her and keep that beautiful grin in place. "You own Wild Cherries?"

"Yep."

"Must be nice to be cooked for every day."

Now she laughed, the sound light and genuine. "The cook is moi. I serve, too, and we've been exceptionally busy, so I guess I should ask myself for a raise. My best friend, Lorissa, helps out, but still, we're usually crazed."

"I'm impressed," he said, loving the sound of her laugh as much as he'd enjoyed her smile. "I usually dial out for my meals. How do you do it all?"

"The café is small, as you saw, and we're only open for the midday and afternoon crowd, so it's not that hard."

"Which leaves you time to…"

"Oh, that's enough about me, I'm not that exciting." She cocked her head at him. "Let's hear about you."

It was a fact of life that women wanted to hear about him, but the thrill of the adoration had worn off years ago. He was the last thing he wanted to think about, much less discuss. "Trust me, I'm really not that exciting, either."

"Somehow I doubt that." She eyed the interior of his SUV. "You live well, you dress well. I'm guessing you also do something for a living pretty darn well."

"Not lately."

She took her eyes off the road and looked at him. "So you're rich and you do nothing?"

"Yeah."

She lifted a shoulder, unimpressed.