Because he was famous, he couldn’t take Miranda out in public. And because he was trying to help out his brother, he couldn’t take Miranda to the privacy of his own home.
Something was screwed up about this picture.
As the evening had worn on, Trainor’s and Miller’s presence had made the wager more and more real. Before, it had seemed an abstract concept waiting in the distant future. But the way Trainor and Chloe looked at each other and touched each other was a powerful illustration of what he needed—hoped—to find.
When he had gone to drop some more money in the charity’s coffers by bidding on an auction item or two, his eye was caught by a Cartier necklace. It was a gold chain with a tassel at each end clasped at the front with a ring of pink diamonds. He could see it around Miranda’s graceful neck, the two tassels nestled just at the top of the valley between her breasts. It would tantalize him as she sat across a dinner table from him, and then he would take off everything except the necklace when they were alone. He’d almost picked up the pen to scribble down a bid, but he realized she wouldn’t accept it.
As he stalked into the private elevator to the penthouse, the vibration of a powerful bass beat began throbbing through the car’s walls. When the door slid open on his floor, a wave of pounding rock music smashed into Luke’s ears.
Luke leaned against the elevator wall and put his hand to his forehead. “Well, hell.”
Trevor had decided to have his own party—presumably without the jocks or socialites he scorned.
Luke shoved himself off the wall and into the entrance foyer. If he just walked down the hall, he might be able to get to his bedroom unnoticed. However, he wouldn’t be able to sleep with the music at that volume. Maybe he should go to the gym and set up a bed like the one he and Miranda had shared. The memory sent a jolt of arousal through him.
He hesitated a moment too long.
A woman wearing skintight black leather pants leaned out into the foyer. “That you, Leon?” She blinked unfocused eyes at him.
He recognized that glassy look. It wasn’t liquor; it was drugs. Anger ripped through him, and he started past the woman, who threw out her tattooed arm. “Hey! You can’t go in there.”
“I live here,” he ground out, giving her one of his cold stares.
She pulled her arm back to her side and cradled it as though he’d hit her. “Don’t get pissy. Trev said he lived here.”
Luke didn’t bother to respond. He stalked into the living room and stopped, scanning the bodies gyrating to the blasting music or sprawled on chairs, couches, and even the floor. The sliding door was open to the terrace, and the silhouettes of more guests flickered in the city lights. But Luke didn’t care about that. His gaze zeroed in on the white powder scattered over his coffee table while his nostrils flared at the smell of pot. Some empty bowls indicated there might have been amphetamines on offer as well.
Trevor was nowhere in sight. Luke turned on his heel and walked right back out of the living room to the entrance foyer. Spinning left, he jogged down the stairs that led to the gym floor of his complex. Once he’d shut himself in with the exercise machines, he yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and hit a speed-dial number.
“Escobar Security. That really you, Archer?”
“Yeah, Ron, it’s me,” Luke said, massaging his temples with his free hand. “I need you to clean up a mess my brother has made at my place. He decided to throw a party while I was out, and it’s one I can’t be at.”
“I hear ya. How about Trevor? Do I give him a scare?”
“Wouldn’t hurt, but leave him here. He and I need to talk.”
Ron whistled. “Based on your tone, he’s gonna wish I’d taken him with me.”
“Thanks, Ron. I owe you another one.”
“You don’t owe me nothin’, and you know it,” Ron said. “But since you’ll send me tickets anyway, don’t send them for this week’s game since you ain’t playing in it. I don’t want to watch that second-stringer Pitch. Next week is good.”
“You got ’em.” Luke headed for the elevator as he talked. For the first time all evening, he felt a genuine smile at the corners of his lips. “You’re a good friend, man.”
“The best.” Luke could hear the answering smile in Ron’s voice. “I’ll call you when it’s clear.”
Luke disconnected and slumped against the elevator car’s wall as he rubbed his palms over his face, thanking his lucky stars for Ron. Escobar had been a defensive tackle on Luke’s team at the University of Texas. He’d been good enough to go pro, but he’d chosen to serve his country instead. After a couple of tours with the Army in the Middle East, Ron decided to move into private security, and Luke had bankrolled him. It had been one of the best investments of his life, because Ron had extricated him and more than a few of Luke’s teammates from some sticky situations before the police could get involved.
Now, Luke allowed fury at his brother to flood through him. Trevor knew Luke had to stay miles away from drugs of any kind. There could be no whiff of suspicion that the quarterback used any chemical substance to enhance his performance. And illegal drugs were off-limits for so many more reasons. So his selfish screwup of a brother had brought the drugs right into Luke’s home.
He wanted to slam his fist into something, but he couldn’t take the risk of hurting his hands when he was this enraged. He shoved them into his pockets and muttered a long, creative string of curses.