That was what he liked about her. Laid-back. Accepting. And for the first time in years, years, he found himself relaxing, just letting himself be, because with her there seemed to be no preconceived expectations. She wasn't a groupie, she wasn't trying to leech off his stardom, she wasn't anything but a woman just trying to make the best of a blind date.

He loved that. "I'm retired," he admitted. He waited for her to laugh, or drill him for more answers; in truth, she probably deserved them.

But she just nodded. "Must have been a good run before you called it quits."

"Yeah." A hell of a good run. His team had been infamous for being a tight-knit group and, of course, for their fondness of all things wicked. Sex scandals, gambling scandals, police scandals-name it, and his team had been there, done that. As team captain, Jack had taken the brunt of the fallout. The press had loved the Eels' antics, and they'd loved that Jack had hated them. In fact, after several libel lawsuits that his attorneys had filed and won, they'd joyfully labeled Jack Scandal Knight a prima donna.

He could bike twenty miles a day, bench-press another player and held numerous NBA records. Yet what did everyone remember him for? A frigging prima donna.

It had gotten so bad that the owners and coaches had clamped down on the team, punishing the players with curfews and brutal practices for even a hint of trouble.

It had been a year since Jack retired, and three years since there'd been any so-called scandal.

And still, even now, after all the hiding out, the press loved to hang him.

For being a prima donna.

That just killed him, truly killed him.

Retired life was definitely simpler than being in the NBA. He could avoid most things media-related-except when his sister needed his name to raise money. And since he'd gotten over the initial shock and letdown of not playing professionally, he'd been happier. Content.

And maybe just a tiny bit bored, he admitted.

He pulled off the Pacific Coast Highway and onto the plush grounds of the country club where tonight's event was taking place. Palm trees lined the half-mile-long driveway which skated past acres of perfectly groomed rolling grass hills overlooking the ocean. The sun was setting on the horizon like a half ball.

His date took one look at the country club as it came into view-the sprawling southwestern-style building set in an impressively lavish garden-and let out a sound that could have been either annoyance or amusement.

"Problem?" he asked, coasting into a parking space and turning to look at her.

"Are you kidding? It's gorgeous. Pompous, but gorgeous." She sounded the same, but her glow was gone, her voice quiet. "I'm sure the food's great." She smiled then, a self-deprecating grin. "Let's just say I'd feel more comfortable in the kitchen than the dining room."

Not expecting such a comment from the woman he'd thought confident and strong-willed, he felt taken aback, and oddly… protective.

But before he could say a word, Sam got out of the car into the warm evening, shutting the door and leaving him to hurry after her. Not easy to do with his knee aching like a son of a bitch-he'd overdone it this week playing with a bunch of hotheaded tenth graders. He came around the car, reaching for her hand to slow her down. "I was thinking maybe we could arrive together," he suggested with a smile.

"Yeah. Okay." She shot him a small smile back. "Sorry."

"Don't be." God, those eyes of hers. They leveled him. "Look…" He turned her to face him. "You seem uncomfortable. How can I change that?"

She stared at him for a second, then smiled. "I think you just did."

He touched her cheek, just one light stroke over her soft skin, a little startled to find himself feeling so… happy. "Good."

"Excuse me, Mr. Knight, could I get an autograph and picture?"

The man with the large camera and press badge had come from nowhere, and Jack steeled himself. "No problem on the autograph," he replied. "But if we could skip the picture-"

A bright flash went off in their faces. Nice. When Jack could see again, the guy was gone. "Sorry," he said to Sam who stood there blinking, and took her hand.

"Who was that?"

"A pest. Come on." A white-carpeted porch led into the club, while the deck above was covered with white awnings, from which hung planters dripping with colorful flowers. At the top of the carpet milled a group of paparazzi, no doubt waiting for the "celebrity" listed on the roster.

Him.

His skin began to itch, an old reaction to bad experiences. He knew he'd have to give them a sound bite once he got inside if he wanted any peace at all. "Stick with me in there."

"What's going on, Jack?"

"In a sec." He pulled her off the walk into the thick grass. Sam gasped and wobbled as her heels sank right in. She lifted a startled gaze to his.

"Piggyback, or in my arms?" he asked.

"What?"

"We're going around the back."

Any woman in the history of his dating life would have stopped cold, stared at him as if he were crazy, and quite possibly even pitched a fit. At the very least, she'd have attracted attention by complaining about the ruining of her heels.

Not this woman.

She pulled the long strap of her little black purse over her head and one shoulder, settling it against her back. Then she tugged up the hem of her dress from mid-thigh to high-thigh. "Piggyback."

He could have kissed her. Instead, he turned his back and bent down a little.

She hopped on. He felt her reach behind, probably checking to make sure she wasn't flashing anyone. "Okay," she said.

He gripped her legs at his sides, adjusting her slightly, and now his hands were each filled with a smooth, tanned thigh. They were firm and lean, and so were her arms, which encircled his neck. "Hold on," he said, enjoying the feel of her toned body plastered to his and the loose tendrils of blond hair clinging to his neck and jaw.

"All set," she said in his ear, her mouth brushing his skin.

A delicious shiver slid down his spine, reminding him that it had been a while since he'd indulged in what was too often thrown at him. In any case, the evening was definitely looking up. Despite the warm night, he began to move through the grass at a fast clip, ignoring the occasional twinge in his knee, concentrating instead on the athletic yet somehow perfectly soft body snugged so intimately to his.

They made it to the line of palm trees undetected, and slipped between them. Now they were far enough off the path so that if people glanced over, they'd merely see a couple walking, but would have no idea of their identity.

Perfect. "You okay back there?"

"Mm-hmm."

The sound vibrated from her chest through his back, and his hands involuntarily tightened on her bare legs. What had started out so innocent had turned unexpectedly and pleasantly… hot.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her mouth close to his ear, causing more shivers down his spine.

Was he? He was melting, that's what he was, and it had nothing to do with the weather. "Believe me, I've got the good end of the stick on this one," he assured her, extremely aware of his fingers on her smooth, warm flesh.

They reached the building, and Jack moved alongside it. He headed around to the kitchen entrance. Finally he stepped out of the grass and onto concrete. He slowly-reluctantly-let go of her legs so that she could slide to the ground.

And slide she did. He felt every single inch of her, and when he heard her heels hit the deck, he turned. Before he could say a word, the door flung open and Heather stood there in a floor-length sheath of shimmery gold, her long dark auburn hair twisted in some complicated up-do. "You made it," she said with relief. "Quick, inside."

"You leaked this to the press," he accused.

Guilt flashed quickly. "Yes, but only because this time the stalking little bastards are actually going to get the charity's name out there and do some good, so screw them. Plus I made sure they paid the thousand-dollar price tag for the evening. Each." Heather pulled them both into a large, bustling kitchen. There were servers rushing around, filling their trays from bins on the counters.

Heather shut the door behind them and hugged him tight. "You're a sweetie for doing this."

"Just remember that the next time you're pissed off at me for something." Jack pulled free and reached for Sam's hand. "Sam, this is Heather Knight, my sister. Heather, meet Samantha O'Ryan."

"The date I begged you to find." Heather looked Sam over.

His tough, versatile, intriguing, beautiful beach girl looked right back.

"So. Are you real?" Heather asked.

"Excuse me?" Sam blinked. "Real?"

"Did he hire you, or are you his real date?"

"Hey," Jack said. "Play nice."

"Hire me?" Sam glanced from one to the other, and then laughed at Jack. "Tell me you are not that hard up."

"I am not that hard up." He shot Heather a glare, wanting to strangle her. "She's just insanely bossy. You know, the much older sister routine-"

Heather growled at that. "I'm only eleven months older than you, you big lug."

"So you're admitting to being insanely bossy?"

Heather rolled her eyes. "Okay, yes. That part is true."

"You're both crazy," Sam decided.

"Yeah. I'm sorry." Heather actually even looked it. "I'm just a little protective."

"I guess I can understand that." Sam's gaze hooked and held Jack's. "Just as you should understand, I am your brother's date. Real date."

Servers continued to hurry past them, but all Jack saw was Sam-the adventurous woman with the contagious smile and amazing eyes in the sexy little black dress. "Definitely a real date," he said, not taking his eyes off her.