When the Cameras Stop Rolling.... Connie Cox

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      Which explained why the Hispanic hottie in front of him captured more of his interest than he wanted to give her.

      Time for a date night. What did he do with that cute little history teacher’s number?

      Eva pointed her clipboard at him. “I’m only doing this for the numbers.”

      “What numbers?”

      “Ratings.” She looked out at the field then back at him. “Let’s get this right out in the open. It wasn’t my idea to partner with you, but I’m a professional and intend to make the best of it. I’m hoping you’ll extend me the same professional courtesy.”

      Mark knew what she was referring to. “Professional courtesy like acknowledging your medical degree?”

      “That’s a start.”

      “I looked you up. You’re legitimate.”

      “I looked you up, too.” She gave him a hard stare up and down. “You do a lot of volunteer work for the local high schools, this school in particular. You’re well respected among the educators and the coaches in the area. I’m impressed with your work.”

      He hadn’t been expecting a compliment. “Thanks.”

      “But you need to understand from the beginning that I’m the lead on this project. Got it?”

      “Got it.” Mark gritted his teeth. It went against his nature to follow anyone’s lead. But his years in sports had taught him how to be a team player even if he couldn’t always be team captain.

      Apparently, his tone didn’t convince her, because Eva put her hands on her hips, straining the fabric across her breasts as she drove her point home. “Those tricks you learned for getting through those five-minute press-release interviews you did when you were in high school won’t always save you when you have to fill a thirty-minute segment.”

      She was a lot of woman. Swimsuit model came to mind—not the über-skinny kind selling women’s fashions but the kind that made it into men’s sports magazines, the kind that were substantial enough for a real man to put his hands on.

      Women had always complimented his large hands.

      He concentrated on her mouth instead. But those full red lips were as much of a distraction as the two buttons that threatened to pop.

      Eyes, Mark. Look in her eyes and no lower.

      “Are you listening to me, O’Donnell? This is a topic I’m very passionate about.”

      Those flashing black eyes echoed her words. Yes, she was a passionate woman.

      “Don’t worry, Dr. Veracruz. I’m a big fan of passion.”

      Her brow furrowed, warning him she was readying herself for another impassioned lecture. As much as he would enjoy watching her deliver it, he also respected what she’d said.

      “Give me a chance to try again with a better reply.” He was usually quicker thinking on his feet than this. He held up a hand, buying time as he gathered his thoughts.

      “I have to admit, if you hadn’t stepped in and helped when I was explaining the heart-attack symptoms, I would have been sunk.” Mark always gave credit where credit was due. “To do this series the way it needs to be done, I’m going to need your experience.”

      Eva was a sucker for a man who admitted he needed her. But Mark O’Donnell would be her exception. He was one of those kinds of men all smart women avoided, the kind of man who would scramble your brain and break your heart.

      And she hadn’t yet got her mind straightened out from the last man she’d given her heart to.

      Automatically her fingers felt for the missing wedding band that held a special place in her jewelry box. Almost two years.

      The pain had finally become a dull thud instead of a sharp ache.

      “Bad break-up?” Mark noticed her hands. He seemed to notice everything.

      “You could say that.”

      But she wasn’t about to trip down memory lane with this man in front of her.

      “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

      Maybe she would talk about it one day, but not today and not to this man.

      Her camera crew awaited her signal as they sat in their steaming van on the coaches’ parking lot. Mid-September with both the temperature and humidity in the high nineties didn’t make waiting a pleasure.

      She gave them a big wave and they tumbled out, dragging equipment with them.

      Mark glared at them. “What’s this?”

      “We’re here to get filler video, get the feel of the environment, maybe do an impromptu interview or two, that kind of thing.”

      “I just agreed to do this show with you. How have you come already prepared?”

      “It was happening with or without you.”

      “So should I think of myself as expendable or as a bonus?”

      “Whatever floats your boat, baby.” There went the sarcasm again.

      He arched his eyebrow at her. “Baby?”

      The second she’d called him “baby”, she’d known she shouldn’t have. But she knew how to handle men like this one. She looked him straight in the eye, challenging him. “You’re not going to file a sexual harassment complaint against me, are you?”

      “Not if you promise to kiss me next time you call me ‘baby’. After all, if you’re going to sweet-talk me, I think I should get the whole benefit of it.”

      “Fine.” She shouldn’t have said that. But it had been a while since she’d done anything she shouldn’t. And the man intrigued her. Few men did.

      She widened her eyes and leaned forward, knowing he would respond to her body language. “Anything to get out of all the paperwork your complaint would cause me.”

      Without waiting for his retort, she turned towards her crew, who were setting up with a good view of the practice field in the background.

      A bead of sweat rolled down her cleavage, tickling her sensitive skin. With a clear conscience she could blame it entirely on the heat. She had always been a cool one with men and this man would be no exception.

      But they’d need make-up to cover the effects of the temperature on both of them. Sweat beaded on his brow. She could feel similar beads on her upper lip. How would Dr. Mark O’Donnell feel about heavy-duty face powder?

      She saw the crew’s make-up artist walking towards him, and saw Mark wave the woman away. This could get interesting.

      Instead, Mark walked toward the canopy set up at the end of the practice field just as one of the coaches blew his whistle.

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