new stadium would all be for naught.”
She waited patiently for him to run out of steam, but when she glimpsed the time on the clock, she decided to cut in. “We better get going,” she suggested, putting down her empty mug. “We don’t want to keep Wonder Boy waiting, now do we?”
* * *
Down the hall in a bright airy room off the main office, Terrence Franklin sent a text message to his financial adviser. Buying stocks in the auto industry sounded risky. Sure he had the money, but he hadn’t become a millionaire by making impetuous decisions. Maybe later, after his meeting with Kyra, he’d give it some more thought.
An image of Kyra, as he remembered her from their college days surfaced. Had it really been ten years since he’d seen her? It seemed like just yesterday they were walking through the halls of Hollington, hanging out in “the quad” with their friends and sharing their first explosive kiss.
He had been just another college student, juggling school, football and an active social life. Then he’d met Kyra. He knew from speaking to her sorority sister, Tamara Hodges, that she was a sheltered good girl, shielded from the temptations of the world by her minister parents. Before meeting the vibrant management student, he was a boozing, partying misfit who didn’t take his education or his future seriously. But after their first date, he realized he’d have to clean up his image if he wanted to be with a girl as special as Kyra Dixon.
Intent on having her, he’d quit drinking and stopped clubbing with the guys. A year later, he proposed. He’d been the one to break things off, but Terrence knew if it wasn’t for Kyra’s unwavering support, he never would have made it to the NFL.
Terrence turned away from his memories. He wasn’t going there. Not today. It was bad enough he’d had another dream about her. Since returning to Hollington he’d thought of nothing else but Kyra and the love they’d once shared.
Smiling ruefully, he shifted in his chair. Well, that’s a lie. She’d crossed his mind over the years, too. Times when he’d least expected it. The day he’d signed with the Cowboys. The afternoon he’d moved into his beach condo. And every time he smelled exotic fruit.
Footsteps pounded in the hallway. Then, the door swung open and a flabby, silver-haired man, who he guessed was Walter Morrow, burst into the room with more exuberance than Richard Simmons. Terrence stood, hand outstretched, game face on. He took a step forward, but his legs buckled like a folding chair.
Momentarily speechless, his gaze swept over the woman with the familiar scent. Walter welcomed him to Hollington, but Terrence didn’t respond. His eyes were glued to Kyra and the longer he stared, the harder it was to think. She had a fresh, modern look that was sexy but not overdone, and seeing her again after all these years made his heart race a hundred miles an hour. He was known to say, “You’ve seen one pretty face, you’ve seen ’em all!” But today, Terrence was prepared to eat crow. Kyra wasn’t the typical beautiful woman. She was infinitely more. More natural, more graceful, more sophisticated. There was a simplicity about her, something warm and compelling and, though it was hard to believe in this day and age, genteel.
“Terrence Franklin, the pleasure is all mine.”
He felt a sharp pop in his shoulder and snapped out of his daze. Mr. Morrow was pumping his hand so hard, his knuckles cracked.
“It’s good to be back at Hollington.” His decision to return to his alma mater had been twofold. He’d make some plans for the future and reconnect with Kyra. He’d never forgotten the sacrifices she’d made for him, and he was going to make things right with her if it killed him. Staring at her now, he said, “This school holds a lot of special memories for me.”
“That’s right. You rushed for ninety-three yards against the Wildcats in your first game!” Mr. Morrow’s face clouded with nostalgia. “I wasn’t president of Hollington back then, but I was in the bleachers that night. You were incredible and the energy in the stadium was electric!”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Excuse me, but I just have to ask. What’s Terrell Owens really like? He’s a hothead, isn’t he? A real live wire, I bet,” he speculated. “Come on, you’re out of the league now, you can tell me. I promise it won’t leave this room.”
Football had been his life since he picked up his first pigskin at the age of nine, but Terrence didn’t want to discuss his teammates, his endorsement deals or any of the other usual crap fans liked to talk about. Uninterested in the conversation, he stared at Kyra, desperate to make eye contact. Why wouldn’t she look at him?
As if remembering Kyra was standing behind him, Walter turned and gave her a hearty push forward. “This is the little lady I’ve been chatting up over the phone. Terrence Franklin, I’d like you to meet—”
“Kyra Dixon,” he finished smoothly. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Mr. Morrow’s cheeks sagged when his jaw fell open. “You guys know each other?”
“We took a few classes together,” she was quick to say, “and we knew a lot of the same people on campus.”
Her smile was polite, guarded, filled with manufactured warmth. He’d been haunted by her face for all these years and he knew forced emotion when he saw it. “Welcome back to Hollington, Mr. Franklin. We’re glad to have you.”
Disappointed by her lukewarm greeting, he dug his hands into his pockets and shook off feelings of frustration. He wasn’t doing play drills in the scorching Dallas heat or working out with his trainer, but he needed a moment to catch his breath. This was insane. He’d dated models, dancers and an impressive collection of singers and actresses, but he’d never been more nervous than he was right now.
“I wish I could stay, but I have a board meeting in fifteen minutes,” Mr. Morrow explained. “I’d cancel, but everyone’s expecting me.”
Thank God. I thought he’d never leave. While Terrence waited for the man to disappear, he studied Kyra closely, carefully, examining every aspect of her appearance. Light eyes, plump glossy lips, curves stacked on top of curves. Her hair had a soft sheen to it and was cut in a dramatic, cheek-grazing bob. The reddish-brown hue was a sharp contrast to her coffee-with-cream complexion and played up her soft, pale eyes. Underneath her mustard blazer was a white blouse and a belted skirt that emphasized her soda pop bottle shape.
Terrence licked his lips. He’d just finished a bottle of vitamin water, but he was suddenly thirstier than a Kenyan marathon runner. High-heeled sandals gave Kyra height, and reminded him of those clunky shoes she used to wear back in the day. The PR manager hated her diminutive height and still did everything in her power to appear taller. Five feet four inches was listed on her driver’s license, but she used to swear on a stack of bibles that she was five-six.
“Terrence, we’ll talk later this week,” Walter promised, pausing at the door. “If you need anything, anything at all, just let Kyra know. She’ll take good care of you.”
“What was that all about?” he asked, when they were alone. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?” He added, half-teasing, “You’re not embarrassed of me, are you, Kyra?”
The corners of her lips tightened. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together in the coming weeks and I’d like if we could put the past behind us.”
Her eyes were so pretty, so deep and incredibly bright, he couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. Kyra was all business, but that didn’t stop Terrence from wanting her. He wanted to touch her, hold her, feel the delicious heat of that shapely body. But he knew better than to touch her. Not yet, anyway. After, when she’d loosened up and quit being so tense, he’d show the public relations director that he was a changed man.
The sound of his name on her heavily painted cherry-red lips brought him back to the present. “Fine. If that’s what you want, I’ll go along with it.”
On the football field he was flashy, brazen, daring even, but here,