Chasing Jillian: A Love and Football Novel (21 page)

About the Author

JULIE BRANNAGH
has been writing since she was old enough to hold a pencil. She lives in a small town near Seattle, where she once served as a city council member and owned a yarn shop. She shares her home with a wonderful husband, two uncivilized Maine Coons, and a rambunctious chocolate Lab.

When she’s not writing, she’s reading or armchair-quarterbacking her favorite NFL team from the comfort of the family room couch. Julie is a
USA Today
bestselling author, a Golden Heart finalist and the author of contemporary sports romances.

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Also by
Julie Brannagh

Holding Holly
(novella)

Covering Kendall

Catching Cameron

Rushing Amy

Blitzing Emily

An Excerpt from

by T.J. Kline

Jessie Hart has a soft spot for healing the broken, especially horses and children, but her business is failing. The one man who can save Heart Fire Ranch is the last man she wants to see, the man who broke her heart eight years ago . . .

J
essie heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway and stepped onto the porch of the enormous log home. Her parents had raised their family here, in the house her father had built just before her brother was born. The scent of pine surrounded her, warming her insides. Even after her brother and sister had built houses of their own on either end of the property, she’d remained here with her parents, helping them operate the dude ranch and training their horses. She inhaled deeply, wishing again that circumstances hadn’t been so cruel as to leave her to figure out how to make the transition from dude ranch to horse rescue alone.

Leaning against the porch railing, she sipped her coffee and enjoyed the quiet of the morning. When a teen girl walked toward the barn to feed the horses, she lifted her hand in a wave. The poor girl was spending more time at the ranch than away from it these days, since her mother had violated parole again, but Jessie loved having her here. Aleta’s foster mother, June, had been close friends with Jessie’s own mother, and she understood the healing power horses had on kids who needed someone, or something, just to listen. Now that Aleta was living with June again, she was spending a lot of time at the ranch.

Jessie looked down the driveway as Bailey drove her truck closer to the house. She could just make out Nathan through the glare on the windshield. The resentment in her belly grew with each ticking second at the sight of him. Clenching her jaw and squaring her shoulders for the battle ahead, Jessie walked down the stairs to meet Justin’s former best friend and the man who’d broken her heart.

The truck pulled to a stop in front of her, and Bailey jumped from the driver’s seat wearing a shit-eating grin. Jessie narrowed her eyes, knowing exactly what that meant—she was in for a week of hell from this pain-in-the-ass, penny-pinching bean counter.

She didn’t understand why he’d insisted on returning to the ranch. If Justin hadn’t begged her to give Nathan a chance to help, she would have been perfectly content never to speak to his lying ass again.

She watched him turn his broad shoulders to her as he removed his luggage from the back seat. When he faced her, Jessie was barely able to contain her gasp of surprise. After he left, she’d avoided any mention of Nathan Kerrington like the plague, going as far as changing the channel when his name was mentioned on the news. She’d been praying that the past eight years had been cruel, that he’d gained a potbelly, or that he’d developed a receding hairline. She pictured him turning into a stereotypical computer geek.

This guy was perfection. Well, if she was into muscular men who looked like Hollywood actors and wore suits that cost several thousand dollars. Every strand of his dark brown hair was combed into place, even at six in the morning, after a flight from New York. There wasn’t a wrinkle in his stiffly starched shirt.

His green eyes slid over her dirty jeans and T-shirt before climbing back up to focus on her face. Memories of stolen kisses and lingering caresses filled her mind before she could cast them aside. His slow perusal sent heat curling in her belly, spreading through her veins, making her feel uncomfortable. Was he just trying to be an ass? If so, it was working. She felt on edge immediately, but she wasn’t about to let him know it. She crossed her arms over her chest and kicked her hip to the side.

“Nathan Kerrington. You’ve got some brass ones showing up here.”

An Excerpt from

by Tiffany Clare

Amelia Grant has just escaped her lecherous employer with nothing but the clothes on her back. In the pre-dawn hours of London, a horse and carriage comes barreling down on her, and a stranger rushes to her aid, sweeping her off her feet . . .

“W
hy did you kiss me?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but a part of her needed to know. And talking was safer right now.

“I have wanted to do that since you first stumbled into my path. Do you feel something growing between us?”

She’d been ignoring that feeling, thinking and hoping it would pass with time. She’d assumed she’d developed hero worship after Mr. Riley had rescued her and then taken care of her when she’d been at an ultimate low.

She couldn’t deny the truth now. She did feel something for him; something not easily defined as mere lust but a deep desire to learn more about him and why he made her feel so out of sorts with what she thought was right.

Not that she would ever admit to that.

Who was she to garner the attention of this man? Women probably threw themselves at his feet and begged him to ruin them on a regular basis. That thought left her feeling cold. She eyed the door, longing for escape.

“Do not leave, Amelia.” He stepped closer to her, near enough that she could kiss him again if she so desired. She ignored that desire. “Work for me as we planned. Just stay.”

There was a kind of desolation in his voice at the thought of her abandoning him. But that was impossible. And she was reading too much into his request. Logically, she knew she couldn’t feel this sort of attachment to someone she had just met. Someone she didn’t really know.

“I am afraid of what I will do,” she admitted, more for herself than for him.

“Then do not think about it. Go with what your instincts tell you. If there is one thing I have always done, it is to follow my first inclination. I would not be in the position I am today, had I ignored those natural reflexes.”

He caressed her cheek again. She nearly nestled into his palm before realizing what she was doing. With a heavy sigh, she pulled away from him before she made any more mistakes. This was not a good way to start her first official day as his secretary.

She couldn’t help but ask. “And what do your instincts say about me?”

“I do not need my instincts to tell me where this is going. It is more base than that. I desire you. And there is nothing that can stop me from fulfilling and exploring what I want. You will be mine in the end, Amelia.”

Her heart picked up speed at his admission. Her breathing grew more rapid as she assessed him. She desired him too. She, Amelia Marie Somerset, who wanted nothing more than to escape one vile man’s sick craving to marry her and claim her, was willing to let the man in front of her ruin her, only because she felt different with him than she had with anyone else.

What would she lose of herself in the process of courting dangerous games with this man? Focusing on the hard angles of his face and the steady expression he wore, one thing was certain.

This man would ruin her.

And more startling was the realization that she would do nothing to stop him.

An Excerpt from

A Save the Date Novella

by Cara Connelly

In the next Save the Date novella, mousey Jan Marone finally allows herself to live, laugh, and love . . . with a sexy fireman during a weekend wedding in Key West!

“I
’m sorry, ma’am, there’s nothing I can do.”

Jan Marone wrung her hands. “But I have a reservation.”

“I know, I’m looking at it right here.” The pretty blonde at the desk tapped her screen sympathetically. “I’ll refund your deposit immediately.”

“I don’t want my deposit. I want a room. My cousin’s getting married tomorrow, and I’m in the wedding.”

The girl spread her hands. “The problem is, when one of the upstairs tubs overflowed this morning, the ceiling collapsed on your room. It’s out of service for the weekend, and we’re booked solid.”

“I understand,” Jan said, struggling to remain polite. Hearing the same excuse three times didn’t make it easier to swallow. “How about a sister hotel?”

“We’re independently owned. Paradise Inn is the oldest hotel on the island—”

Jan held up a hand. She knew the spiel. The large, rambling guesthouse was unique, and very Old Key West. Which was exactly why she’d booked it.

“Can you at least help me find a room somewhere else?”

“It’s spring break. I’ll make some calls, but . . . ” A discouraging shrug and a gesture toward the coffeepot.

The girl didn’t seem very concerned, but Jan smiled at her anyway. “Thanks, I appreciate you trying.”

Parking her suitcase beside the coffee table, she surveyed the lobby wistfully. The windows and doors stood open, the wicker furniture and abundant potted plants blurring the line between indoors and out. The warm, humid breeze drifted through the airy space. Her parched Boston skin soaked it up like a sponge.

To a woman who’d never left New England before, it spelled tropical vacation. And it was slipping through her fingers like sand.

Growing ever gloomier, she wandered out through a side door and into a lush tropical garden—palm trees, hibiscus, a babbling waterfall.

Paradise.

And at its heart, a glittering pool, where six gorgeous feet of lean muscle and tanned skin drifted lazily on a float.

Ignoring everything else, Jan studied the man. Thick black hair, chiseled jaw, half smile curving full lips. And arms, perfect arms, draped over the sides, fingers trailing in the water.

He seemed utterly relaxed, the image of sensual decadence. Put him in an ad for Paradise Inn, and women would flock. Gay men would swarm.

As if sensing her attention, the hunk lifted his head and broke into a smile. “Hey Jan, getcha ass in the water!”

Mick McKenna. Her best and oldest friend.

He rolled off the float and jacked himself out of the pool. Water streamed from gray board shorts as he crossed the flagstones.

Stopping in front of her, he shook his hair like a Labrador.

“Geez! Don’t you ever get tired of that?” She brushed droplets off her white cotton blouse.

He laughed his big, happy laugh. “Never have, never will. Get your suit on. The water’s a perfect eighty-six degrees.”

“I can’t. They don’t have a room for me.”

The grin fell off his face. “What the hell?”

“Water damage.” She shrugged like it wasn’t tragic. Like she hadn’t been anticipating this weekend for months.

“They must have another room.” Mick started to go around her, no doubt to raise hell at the desk, McKenna-style.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I tried everything. They’re digging up a room for me somewhere else on the island.”

He tunneled long fingers through his hair. “Take my room,” he said.