She heard a low voice from further down the hallway.
“Really. You are the absolute best,” Derrick gushed.
“You naughty boy.” Her mother tittered from behind a half-closed door. “So many trophies, Derrick. Your mother has turned your bedroom into a shrine. Honestly, how did you do it all?”
He chuckled, and Sydney steamed. Normally her mother waited a while before hitting on her boyfriends. But something had Isabel in a pinch. And hell, Derrick was sexier than sin.
Hadn’t she warned him to watch out for her mother? So what the hell was he doing in a bedroom with her?
Sydney took a quiet step closer and peered through the seam in the doorway, keeping herself hidden. Dylan suddenly stood behind her, but before she could say anything, he put a finger to his lips. They both watched as Isabel thrust herself fully into the game.
Isabel put a hand on Derrick’s forearm and pulled him closer, as if to study one of his trophies. She acted off-balance, one of her signature moves. Then again, with all the wine she’d consumed, she might actually be unsteady. “I can’t believe how many awards you have. An All American? College championships? And your degrees…”
“Just like my old man,” Derrick said with pride. He put an arm around her mother and hugged her.
Hugged her!
Before Isabel could turn her face up andaccidentallybrush her mouth against his, Derrick squeezed her too tight. Isabel coughed. “Sorry,” he apologized then stepped away from her and peered at his trophy.
“Oh wait, this one’s Dylan’s.” He nodded and turned to her again. “You know, my brother had a hell of a right arm in the day.” He proceeded to list stats and names and games, his facts seemingly unending. So much for Isabel’s grand scheme for seduction. He talked to her as if she was a sports groupie or fellow player. Sydney half expected him to slap her on the ass and wish her a good game.
Derrick had handled Isabel just right. He hadn’t offered a challenge, which she would have gone after like a dog after a meaty bone. Instead he played oblivious. Each time her mother tried to move closer and touch him, he shoved a playbook in her hands or gesticulated wildly about a past game.
He started to wind down when Dylan whispered in her ear, “That’s my cue.”
Dylan entered and knocked his brother in the arm. “There you are. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Oh good. I think I was starting to bore Isabel with our old football stats.”
Dylan raised a brow. “Which game?”
Derrick started all over again. This time he and Dylan nodded and laughed as they reminisced, leaving her mother completely out of the loop. Ingenious.
Isabel’s practiced pout turned into an honest scowl. “Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to wash up for dinner.”
Sydney hurried back down the carpeted hallway. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and joined James, Hailey and Barbara in the dining room.
Isabel soon entered and sat down next to Sydney, who sat next to Derrick. Throughout the meal, Isabel remained mostly quiet. Back to her polite, charming self, trying to lull the hapless males into believing her harmless.
Derrick caught Sydney’s attention when Isabel turned to reply to James. He winked, and she knew it would be all right. Her lover had no intention of falling prey to her mother. One worry put to rest at least.
But when Derrick turned the table-talk to Sydney, she didn’t like it in the slightest. He complimented her business sense and laughingly told them what a hard time she’d given him—one he’d earned. She tensed, expecting to hear it any time soon. All day long he’d been throwing it around, using the word in nearly every sentence. So much for a reprieve at the family dinner.
“It’s no wonder I love her. Red hair does lead to a fiery temperament.” He winked at Isabel, who nodded absently.
Ack. TheL wordagain. And in front of his family. A challenge she had every intention of meeting.
Chapter Eleven
Derrick grinned at her with a wicked look in his eye. Oh, she was so going to make him pay later.
“Did you say love?” Barbara just had to rub it in.
Derrick opened his mouth to reply when Isabel interrupted with, “True. But at least the red hair is real. No bottled color on the Fields women.”
Her mother, at least, remained true to form. If the conversation didn’t involve her, she didn’t care.
Sydney expected Derrick to say something back to her mother, but he just smiled and told everyone how he’d ridden the Vortex with Sydney at the fair, and neither of them had thrown up.
