The stadium wasn't hard to find. Its size surprised me. I expected a field, a few buildings, and some bleachers. What I got was a top-notch sports complex.

Home of The Slam in big bold letters rested above the front doors next to the box office. According to signs, if lines were too long, you could walk around and use side entrances if you pre-purchased tickets. A separate set of double doors immediately to the side of where I stood was marked for season ticket holders.

Rugby was a hotter commodity sport than I realized. I looked through the doors, but couldn't see anyone. I took out my cell to message Van, but thought to try the door first. It opened.

The stadium lobby was huge and deathly quiet. I started searching for the locker rooms with the sound of my shoes echoing off the walls. A few minutes later, I found a hallway marked with arrows pointing to my destination. The long brick walkway took me to an open area complete with lockers. It didn't smell like the sweaty locker rooms I remembered from my youth. No showers that I could see and I figured they were through one of two sets of doors on the side of the room. A low groan, coming through the closest door, had me walking in that direction. The door was propped open a few inches. With the next groan, I stopped without going inside. My stomach clenched. Who the heck was on the other side?

I was on time for my interview, but maybe I was interrupting an early morning quickie. Or God forbid he was in there by himself. I straightened my shoulders, nervously ran my hands down the sides of my unfitted navy jacket, and timidly approached the door. He was only a jock after all, and my expectations weren't too high.

Eye contact, eye contact, I repeated to myself for the hundredth time since leaving my hotel room.

I peeked around the room until I saw two menone lying face first on a table with nothing on but a small towel across his butt cheeks. The other man dug into the naked guy's oiled muscles with his fingers and palms. Oh my. I couldn't look away and practically drooled over the raw muscle lying on that table. Who was I kidding? All my lady parts came to instant attention at the display of pure dazzling brawn. Dammit, not again.

"I think your reporter's arrived," said the man giving the massage.

The naked man lifted his head. Our gazes locked. I'm sure my jaw fell to the floor, because no picture did those eyes justice. They were baby daddy gorgeous.

"I'm good, Curtis. Thanks." He gave another low moan as Curtis dug one last time into his back.

Curtis added a small series of chops, picked up a towel to wipe his hands, and walked around me on his way to the door. He gave a small nod and then it was only me and a naked Van Stelson alone in the room. Van rolled to his side before dropping his feet over the table. Somehow the towel slid forward and pooled between his legs. I gulped.

He grinned, and his eyes took a quick scan of my body. "I'm walking to the shower and I'll be out in two. Your choice if you wanna watch, but the towel isn't going with me."

His low voice sent a shiver across my skin. As his words sank in, heat raced to my cheeks. I spun so fast I lost my balance and had to use a side table to keep from falling on my ass. Van's husky chuckle sent shivers clear to my toes. What was I supposed to do now? I answered my own question; stay upright and absolutely do not turn around. I heard the water turn on. Though I couldn't peel my eyes from the naked man when I walked in, I had noticed the entire back of the room was tiled and had shower heads and nozzles interspersed. Nothing blocked the showers from view and now all I could think about was water sliding over oiled muscles. I fought a groan. If I was smart, I'd walk out of the room immediately. It was happening again, and something wild was taking over intelligent, practical Cami and turning her into a ball of hormonal lust.

The water shut off.

I stayed frozen until he spoke again. "I'm decent if that's what you're waiting for."

I turned around and pushed up my glasses. No, the man was far from decent. A pair of dark shorts was all that covered him. Conner had been lean with teenage muscle, Maddux's body a little more mature. The god standing before me was all hot, gorgeous, muscular, adult man.

"You're not so bad yourself." A fuck-me smile flashed. He was lying through his teeth, but made me feel far from the plain-Jane I tried to pull off.

Then it hit me: not so bad myself? Crap, I was staring like an idiot. My cheeks scalded. Taking several deep breaths, I knew I had to somehow gain my composure. I needed to be professional Cami. I released the table's edge and walked forward on unsteady legs while extending my hand. "Mr. Stelson, I'm Cami Avesque with the Cleveland News and Journal. I have press credentials if you wish to see them." I wrapped every bit of competence I could find into the words.

His hand closed around mine, bringing me a wobbly step closer. Close enough to smell the soap from his shower and see the small beads of water dripping from his hair and down his chest.

"No, I don't need to examine your- credentials."

I swear he could see through my clothes. He turned the words into a sexual innuendo. The heat in my cheeks matched the temperature of his hand that wasn't releasing mine. I glanced down at his overly large fingers. His thumb smoothed over the top of my hand as my legs clenched together. My panties were damp and I had no idea when it happened.

"May I have my hand back, please?" Why did my voice sound so strange?

A small squeeze and he released me. His grin made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I'm sure the man did it to every woman over the age of eighteen and under the age of eighty.

"Let's go into my office so we can talk." Now he held my forearm, guiding me to the main locker room through the other door I'd noticed earlier.

Breathe, I told myself. I had to gain control of my rapidly surging pulse. He's a good-looking jock, nothing more.

Inside there were two large desks with equally large chairs behind them and two more chairs sitting in the corner. Van pulled out one of the corner chairs for me and took the other for himself. His six-pack plus rippled just a bit more in his sitting position, and I realized where my eyes were. My head snapped up and he chuckled. Why hadn't he put on a shirt? I would never survive this.