Knowing the Score Read Online Free PDF Page A

couldn’t relax in a pub knowing his granddad lay in a hospital bed. Not to mention that his sex drive had taken a nosedive the second the nurse had called him.
    Liar. Caitlyn had certainly kicked up his hormones. He glanced at her again. Not his usual type. She didn’t look like she spent hours at the gym honing her muscle tone and building a six-pack to rival his. In fact, she looked soft and warm, and he could imagine cuddling with her after going a few rounds in bed. His hands would have nice, plump places to rest instead of scrambling for purchase against tight skin.
    Perhaps that explained his attraction. He desperately needed comfort right now, and she looked comfortable. Sexy with all that red hair and her wicked laugh? Fuck yeah. But also caring and gentle with a superhuman strength of character that had led her to put her mouth on a dying old man’s and breathe life into him. Spencer’s blood stirred, his own breath quickening as admiration flared.
    “So, what do you do for a living?” Caitlyn asked.
    Surprise hit him. He’d made the connection between her being American and knowing fuck-all about rugby. Of course she wouldn’t know much about his career. But he’d flashed his goods on enough adverts that many Londoners could at least recognize him. His groin tightened at the novelty of getting to know a woman without his minor celebrity status—both the accolades and humiliations—getting in the way. “What would you guess I do?”
    Her gaze roamed over his body, warming him everywhere it touched.
    “Mmm...nightclub bouncer?”
    He froze. He resembled a bouncer to her?
    A cute smile tipped the corners of her mouth. God, she had dimples. Fucking hot.
    “No? Okay, let me think...pro wrestler?”
    “Please tell me you’re having a laugh.”
    She did laugh then and snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! You’re a florist.”
    He shook his head, unable to contain his smile, and they started walking again. “Not a florist. That was my second choice of careers.”
    They neared the Highway. Once they crossed it they’d have left the crumbling public housing estates of Shadwell behind and entered a different world, one populated mostly with professionals and suits who worked in financial services. They would also pass the massive billboard with Spencer’s picture on it. He had seconds of anonymity left. Strange how disappointing that felt.
    “You really don’t recognize me?” If she lived in Wapping, she must pass that billboard every day.
    She stared hard into his face before shaking her head. “Sorry. Are you on TV? I don’t watch a lot of British TV, except the news. I’m not a big fan of reality—” she jerked to a halt with a soft gasp, her wide eyes focused on the billboard behind Spencer, “—TV,” she finished rather lamely.
    Spencer’s heart sped, as if he were racing toward the try line as the game clock ticked down to zero. He knew what she saw— him in all his glory. Most of his glory, anyway. Naked except for the black boxer briefs he advertised, his abs, chest, arms and thighs oiled and sprayed with droplets of water to give the impression of sweat as he ran a hand through his hair—showing off his flexed triceps—and smoldered at the camera. The slogan Hard men wear Woody’s was scrawled beneath his package, which the pants cupped and accentuated.
    The makeup artist who’d greased him up had been thrilled she didn’t need to stuff the front; he’d stretched the pouch on his own.
    “Oh, my,” Caitlyn whispered. “Yep. I recognize you now. I guess I’d never really looked at your face up there before.”
    He grinned, the tip of his tongue smoothing over his suddenly dry lips. “You’re probably not supposed to.”
    The sun must’ve dipped behind the billboard because she blinked into the changing light. Her breathing had gone shallow, a sure sign of arousal if Spencer ever saw one. The tilt of her head elongated her neck, leaving plenty of nibble room for Spencer’s