Holding Out for a Hero (26 page)

“I’ve made up my mind,” Trish said to Ella about ten minutes into the second half. “After the match, I’m going to the police to press charges against Tony.”

Ella gaped. She admired Trish’s guts but she’d didn’t think suicide was the answer. “Are you sure? This many years down the track it would be so hard to prove. Even with Jake’s evidence.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “If they throw it out of court, it doesn’t matter. Anything I can do to see to it that Tony Winchester isn’t allowed to coach minors again, I’m prepared to do it.”

Ella grimaced. “That’s very noble of you but you know how messy these things can get. You may well live to regret it. What about Miranda?”

Trish shrugged. “You and Cameron are still here, aren’t you?”

Ella smiled. Yes, they were. And no doubt better for having all their dirty linen hung out to dry.

A cheer exploded from behind her and Rosie leaped to her feet, yanking Ella with her. Trish rose too and they all hugged and cheered as Hanniford ran in another try. When Ned converted it, his third in a row, the cheer became a roar and Ella grinned as a puce-faced Tony Winchester went apoplectic on the other side of the field.

Karma, baby. Karma!

Five minutes later, however, the high they’d been riding took a sudden nosedive. A collective gasp rang around the field at a sickening spear tackle perpetrated on Ned by two of Chiswick’s fullbacks. The referee blew his whistle as Ned lay crunched in a heap on the ground.

Simon flew to his feet. “They’ve targeted him.”

Jake and Pete were running onto the field, followed by a stretcher bearer and a medic. Ella looked back to see Ned’s parents on their feet, their faces screwed up into anguished masks. She turned in time to see Tony Winchester smiling and patting the shoulder of one of the Chiswick boys who’d been responsible for the dangerous tackle.

A minute later, Ned was on his feet but very groggy, being supported by the medic and Jake. The referee blew his whistle for a penalty but Ella knew that Tony Winchester’s mission had been accomplished—they’d taken out Hanniford’s best kicker.

They took Ned into the locker room and his worried parents followed. “Is he okay?” Ella asked as Jake joined her and play resumed.

Jake gave a stiff nod. “A little concussed. They’ll take him to hospital, probably keep him under observation overnight.”

Tactically it was the worst thing Tony Winchester could have sanctioned, because now the Demons were just plain mad and they played the remaining fifteen minutes like they’d been born with their boots on. With one minute to go, the Demons had passed the Chiswick score and knew they were unbeatable.

Ella and Rosie had tears streaming down their faces as the hooter sounded and Ella laughed as the cameras caught Tony Winchester mid-tantrum, stomping off the field in the worst case of bad sportsmanship since a well-known rugby league player had stuck his finger up an opposition player’s ass to put him off his game.

This time, Ella fought tooth and nail to get to Jake and Cameron in the scrum of well-wishers. Jake had done it. She’d asked him to annihilate Tony Winchester and he had. And with Trish’s second salvo, the man was going to be utterly destroyed.

“Let me through,” Ella called, elbowing and pushing, keeping Jake firmly in her sights. “Let me pass.”

Jake spotted her battling her way toward him and he surged into the crowd to meet her halfway. He grinned at her as she flung herself into his arms. She smiled.

“Let me be the first to kiss the coach.”

“I hate to disillusion you,” Pete said, “You ain’t the first.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ella cocked her eyebrow and pulled Jake’s head down for a full-on X-rated smacker.

“Okay,” Pete admitted. “You’re the first one to kiss him like
that
.”

“So, Jake, does it feel good to beat your old nemesis?”

Jake dragged his gaze away from Ella’s gorgeous flushed face into John Wells’s shrewd gaze. “I thought that was you?”

Wells laughed. “I think you know who I’m talking about.”

Jake smiled. “It felt fucking unbelievable.”

The reporter laughed again. “Can I quote you?”

Jake chuckled. “I’d be amazed if you didn’t.”

*

Later that night, Ella and Jake lay in bed in a post-coital drowse that was better than drugs. “You suppose it’s always going to be like this?” Ella mused, stroking her fingers down his arm.

Jake smiled. “Honey, grand final sex is my forté.”

Ella laughed. “Well, I guess you’re just going to have to stick around and do it all again next year. Sex like that is definitely worth the wait.”

Jake smiled again. “For you, I’ll make a special effort every night.”

Ella’s hand stilled, reveling in the warm, solid muscle beneath her palm. “Thank you, Jake. For everything.”

Jake heard the wistful note in her voice and shifted so he could roll up on to his side. “No. Thank you. You gave me a direction in my life. You have no idea how much I owe you.”

“Well, lucky for you,” she said, walking her fingers up his arm, “I have a payment plan.”

Jake nuzzled her neck. “I like your thinking.”

Ella shut her eyes as his tongue lapped at her neck and short-circuited the nerve supply to her brain. She angled her neck a little further and smiled when Jake’s tongue seized the opportunity. “The education department is talking about setting up a rugby league school of excellence at Hanniford. They’re talking full funding, new equipment, the works. I’ll be able to pay you. And Pete too.”

Jake stilled, his lips pressed to the steady beat of her pulse at the base of her neck. He raised his head and looked at her. He laughed. “Well, look at Little Miss Football. You’ve certainly changed your tune.”

Ella gave him a playful slap on the arm. “I may not be football’s best advocate but I’d be foolish if I couldn’t see the change it’s spawned in my school. If it keeps the kids coming to Hanniford and getting them an education, then I’m all for it.”

Jake blinked. He sat up. “You’re serious.”

Ella sat too, maneuvering herself behind him, her thighs bracketing his as she pressed against the contours of his broad back, her breasts squashed against his hard ribs and spine. “You’re a marvelous coach, Jake. If you ever doubted it before, then surely you don’t after Tony Winchester.”

Jake stared at the sheet. “I never thought about coaching. Not kids anyway.”

“Then you’ve missed your calling.”

Jake shut his eyes as her lips pressed kisses along his shoulder blade. “Is this coercion?” he murmured.

Ella smiled against his skin. “Incentive.”

“I suppose the pay’s lousy?”

Ella nodded. “Yup. But the perks are excellent.”

Jake chuckled as her perks beaded against his back. “What about the pub?”

“You’re not a publican, Jake. You only bought it because it was something you knew. You’re not your father. Pete practically runs it anyway.”

Ella let the silence build around them for a while before she prompted, “What do you say, coach?”

Jake grinned, cocking his head back so his lips were almost in line with hers. “I say drop and give me fifty.”

The name on the front of
Holding Out For A Hero
may be mine but all writers know that books are rarely solo endeavours. Sure, putting all those words down is up to you but getting it from the hot steaming mess it always is after you’ve typed The End to a sparkly masterpiece and into the hands of a reader involves many more people. 

Firstly, my ever-faithful beta readers and dear writing friends Robyn Grady, Tina Clark, Rachael Bailey and Anna Cleary. You guys not only helped me make the book better but you’ve been rooting for HOFAH during all its ups and downs over the years and I know it goes out into the cosmos with lots and lots of love.  

My sister, Ros Baxter, who is always my first reader and loves and supports me in ways that go far beyond the literary.  She’s an outstanding author in her own right and an even more outstanding human being and I count myself lucky every day to have her on my side. 

My agent, Clare, whose plot suggestions brought a whole new angle to the book.

To the team at Momentum, particularly Joel Naoum who emailed me to tell me how much he loved the book and wanted to acquire it. He made my year and my Christmas Card list forever!

And finally to everyone who’s ever bought one of my books. Thank you. You guys rock! 

Amy Andrews is an award-winning author with 30+ contemporary romance novels to her name.  She’s sold over a million books worldwide as well as being translated into a dozen different languages including Manga!

She loves her kids, her husband, her dogs, men in tool belts and happily ever afters. Do not mess with the HEA! Also good books, fab food, great wine and frequent travel – preferably all four together. 

She lives on acreage on the outskirts of Brisbane with a gorgeous mountain view but secretly wishes it was the hillsides of Tuscany.