Joel had no plans to make this easy on me. I ground my teeth because I refused to get into a word war about rugby that I would hands down lose. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I've never played a sport in my life beyond what was forced on me in PE. As a matter of fact, I have two left feet and the hand-eye coordination of a dinosaur with flappy arms. What I am good at is research and I spent many hours preparing myself for this interview. Is there anything else you'd like to know or do you think you could explain sevens to me?"

God I was a bitch, but I could see the twitch of his lip as he fought a smile. He held it back and I sighed internally. Hostility with this brother and sexual pressure from the other. I wasn't sure which one was worse. Both took me far outside my comfort zone.

"Sevens is played with seven players and the rules are vastly different than league ball or union ball. Sevens, league, and union have separate rules similar to the differences in NFL football and arena football." He let the words sink in for a few seconds. "The stadium you speak of, Sam Boyd, is for sevens. I own and play in a fifteen-man league team. The Slam has the largest league stadium in the U.S."

I gave him a small smile for answering my question. I saw no end to the research I needed to do. Chances were good I'd never understand the nuances of rugby, which frustrated the hell out of me. "Whose idea was this stadium?"

He didn't hesitate. "It was mine. We found some local investors, the city also helped fund some of it to bring business in, and my brother and I put up the rest."

"I was told your father invested."

Joel's face tightened imperceptibly, but he answered. "He put up some of the money in the beginning, but he's been paid back." Joel's fingers tightened and released, drawing my eyes.

He made it obvious I shouldn't continue this line of questioning. My focus returned to his eyes. "You're what, twenty-eight?"

"Twenty-seven. You're what, nineteen?" he asked blandly.

He was purposely egging me on. "Twenty-three."

His eyes quickly ran over my bodyagain assessing. He shook his head. "You look much younger."

No, I didn't, and for some reason, this was a game to him. "You look much older." Holding back a smile was becoming harder as I tried egging him on too.

He didn't like that. "Next question, Ms. Avesque."

"Please call me Cami." For some reason I began enjoying our game. Maybe it was because I knew he didn't like me. It could be all reporters in general, but something made me think specifically that it was me. Joel's non-sexual animosity had my confidence soaring. This made absolutely no sense, but maybe I was getting the hang of the investigative journalist thing.

The eyebrow on the unmarred side of his face lifted. "Next question- Cami."

I settled into my chair actually appreciating the sound of my first name passing his lips. "Thank you, Joel. Tell me what you dream of in regards to your future in rugby."

He folded his arms in front of him and leaned forward a bit. I wondered if he was attempting stronger intimidation tactics. Stupid man, he had no idea that his hulking muscles had the exact opposite effect on me.

"I'll only be on the playing side for another few years. I love the sport, but I'm interested in managing the team and doing both is difficult. Most of our players have full-time jobs and that's hard when you play at our level. They're here for the love of the game and not the money, though a little more would be nice. Our guys work their asses off. On tour, their pay is about one-hundred dollars a day. Their employers support our team by giving them time off to play. Without all the help," he pointed around the room, "this wouldn't be possible."

To love something that much. I didn't love my job at all, but had to pay my dues. I understood that. Joel's teammates played with little hope of greater reward and the thought humbled me. "Is rugby in your blood?"

He unfolded his arms and sat up straight. "It's all that runs in my veins." His eyes dared me to question that statement, but I couldn't help looking at his bare arms and chest. It's not like the sight of them left my mind since we began talking. "Would you like a closer look at my veins, Cami, so you can see if I'm telling the truth?" The rough words were soft, tempting, and sexy as hell. When had Joel flipped his curmudgeon switch?

Darn my light skin and blushing cheeks. Damn my affinity to muscular men and athletes in general. I gazed back into his eyes, ignoring my rising temperature. "Several people have mentioned that rugby is in their blood, but no one gives a good explanation. Do you think you could try?"

His eyes continued to challenge me. "I can only imagine what Van told you," he said with a touch of disgust.

My cheeks grew hotter and the shy part of me came charging to the forefront when I least wanted it. I wanted to hide under his desk.

"It's about passionthe fans, the match itself. More importantly it's about the camaraderie and deep commitment by everyone. The men and women who play rugby respect each other. The fans are loyal to their color but have respect for the opposing team. There isn't another sport that rivals a rugby player's or fan's passion." He ran his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, subtly flexing his muscles. His sexuality wasn't on purpose like Van'sJoel's moves were completely natural.

Maybe that's why my shyness dissipated and I suddenly wanted to feel Joel's bulging arms around me.

Seemingly knowing where my thoughts were heading, his voice grew huskier. "I'm not explaining it well enough because it isn't about words; rugby just is."

God, his passion. And damn my raging sexuality. As this realization hit, Joel smiled. It wasn't like the previous one. This was full out and uninhibited. His scar ran from the outer corner of his lower eyelid to the edge of his upper lip; jagged edges that pulled the skin of his cheek tight. Scar tissue made the ridge of the scar more pronounced. I wanted to touch it. Touch him.

I realized he watched me closely, his smile fading. "Next question..."

How many times could I ask myself what the hell my problem was? I looked down at my notebook to give me some time. When I glanced back up, Joel's gaze was glued on my face and I could barely think. "What position do you play?" Lame, but it was all I could come up with. My notes made no sense whatsoever.

"Full back."

At my blank, or maybe it was a sexually dazed look, he described his position. "I'm the last line of defense. When I'm not on attack, it's all about the hands."

"Hands?" His were monstrosities double the size of mine, and I couldn't help staring and imagining his hands smoothing along my skin. I think he was internally laughing at me. It was something in his eyes. He seemed to know I was fascinated with every part of his body.

"Good hands are important in rugby," I choked out.

"Good hands make a rugby player."

Not a glimmer of teasing came with the words. So why did I feel a sexual pull to find out exactly what those hands could do off the field? I was having trouble concentrating and happily didn't push when Joel said he needed to get back to the gym. He didn't walk me to my car, only opened the door at the front entrance to the stadium.

"Cami?"

I gazed up as I ducked under his arm to get out.

"My brother is bad news. I love him, but he doesn't treat women well." His blue eyes appeared darker with the warning, or maybe it was the shadowed entrance.

I moved away before speaking because under his amazing arm was not a place I could linger. "Thank you. I've received that specific warning from several people." I felt his gaze burning into my back as I walked to my car.