Line of Scrimmage (30 page)

“Be right back,” he told her.

When he returned, she realized it was his turn to tend to her, with a warm cloth that eased her pussy and her ass. When he was satisfied, he dropped it on the carpet, turned her over, and pulled her into his arms.

“Mine,” he said, stroking her hair. “All mine.”

The words sent an unaccustomed warmth through her and settled the last of her nerves.

“All yours,” she agreed.

“I love you, Erin, and I want you. I’ve never said that to another woman.”

She snuggled against him. “I will always be here for you.”

“But more than that I need you, to ground me and to help me realize my value.”

“And I need you, too. You’re very valuable to me,” she told him. “And you always will be. I love you, too, Jake Russell.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.”

“Good, because I’m going to be saying it for a lot of years to come.”

It was a typical night in central Texas, the air just a little brisk, the stars like crystal in a black velvet sky. Every seat in the stands at Granite Falls High School was filled, and the sidelines were jammed with people with VIP tags hanging around their necks. The local San Antonio television channels had sent reporters and cameramen to cover this as did the major networks. Jake Russell was a big name in football, more so because the story of his injury and subsequent retirement had fed the media all week since the announcement was made.

Jake stood on the sidelines with Joe Reilly and Coach Fenelli, Erin close to his side. Joe had done the majority of the interview earlier in the high school, his cameraman capturing footage of the trophies in the showcases and the banners on the walls. Joe had talked to Fenelli and some of the other players from that team who were here for the big night. They, too, had VIP passes and were excited for this event.

Big night.

Jake grinned to himself. Tonight the Coyotes were retiring his number, and apparently, even though he was now out of the game, it was still a big deal to everyone. He looked around at all the people who were here to meet him, and Erin’s words, her mantra that she repeated daily, flooded his brain.

“You are so important to these people,” she’d told him over and over. “Jake Russell, the person. That’s who they want to know and who they admire.”

He was even beginning to believe it, although it had been a long hard row to hoe.

The week had been productive in many other ways. He told Erin he wanted to put the money he’d earned to work doing something important, and she’d been on board with that. They kicked around a lot of ideas and came up with two. One was to set up a permanent trust for Good Shepard House and the other was to set up a foundation that would entertain grants for shelters and programs for abused women and children. Erin was going to be the foundation director and Jake would spend a lot of his time lecturing on the subject of domestic violence and helping communities form groups and programs to deal with it.

“Mom would have loved this,” Ivy told him. “I’m so proud of you.”

Ivy had taken on the pro bono job of developing a public relations plan for the foundation, which would be named for their mother, and she was already tossing ideas at him.

Everything had been taken care of except the one thing that to him was the most important. Tonight he planned to take care of that.

Now they were waiting for everything to begin. Jake had requested they have the ceremony before the game in order to not take anything away from the players at halftime. Everyone had agreed, and now he was just waiting for the signal to start. The players, the fans, everyone else was excited about the ceremony. Jake was, too, but he had something else planned, something that was even more important to him. He slid his hand into his jacket pocket to make sure what he needed was still there.

Okay. Good to go.

Now they needed the band to stop playing. But when they did, they did not march off the field the way they usually did. They played the Granite Falls fight song, and when they finished their marching formation, he saw that on the field they spelled out
Jake
and his high school number
, thirty-one.

“Ohmigod, Jake.” Erin was jumping up and down. “I hope Ivy is getting all this on camera because I’m too excited to take pictures.”

Holy shit!

Joe nudged his arm. “We’re ready.” He had his own camera crew standing by.

Jake walked out to midfield with Coach Fenelli, Principal Andrew Reinsdorf, and the team co-captains.

Reinsdorf took the mic.

“Good evening,” he boomed.

“Good evening,” everyone shouted back.

“You all know why we’re here today, to honor one of the finest young men ever to come out of Granite Falls High School. Jake Russell!”

The crowd chanted, “Jake! Jake! Jake!”

He could see Erin beaming on the sidelines.

“I’m going to turn the microphone over to Coach Fenelli, since he is far more acquainted with Jake than I am. Coach?”

Fenelli stepped up and took the mic. “When Jake Russell moved to Granite Falls with his mother and sister, I saw a young man who desperately needed goals in life and a place to belong. He found it in football, in the discipline required to excel. And excel he did, in academics and in football, here as well as in college and finally in the NFL, where he set the standard for behavior very high. He continues to make us proud.”

He spoke of Jake’s injury, his forced retirement, and finally the establishment of the Valerie Russell Foundation.

“He is an icon that I hope every young man who passes through these walls will strive to copy. It gives me great pleasure to retire with honor jersey number thirty-one.” He held out his hand and Reinsdorf handed him the box he’d been holding. Fenelli took out the jersey and held it up for everyone to see, turning so both sides of the stadium got a view. “Let’s hear it for Jake Russell.”

Again there were thunderous chants of, “Jake! Jake! Jake!”

Fenelli held out the mic to Jake who stepped forward and took it from him. He held up his hand for silence.

“I will never be able to thank the town of Granite Falls and Coach Fenelli in particular for giving me the opportunity for the life I now have, and for the way it embraced me, my mother, and my sister. You helped us in more ways than you will ever know and as a small thank you, the Valerie Russell Foundation is setting up a permanent trust for athletic scholarships for deserving graduating seniors.”

The noise now was thunderous, as in addition to shouting his name the crowd stomped in rhythm on the bleachers. Finally he held up his hand again.

“I have one more thing that’s not exactly on the agenda, but it’s special to me and I want to share it with a very special community. I’d like you to meet Erin Bass, an extraordinary woman who saved me from despair and helped me get my life back on track. Erin, will you come out here, honey?”

He could see, even at this distance, she was blushing furiously, but unwilling to embarrass him, she walked slowly out to center field. He saw Joe motion to his cameraman who moved into position. Apparently this was also going to end up on Fox Sports.

“I’m going to kill you,” she mouthed to him, but she pasted on a big grin.

“My sister, Ivy, who knew how pigheaded I was, concocted a scheme that threw Erin and me together, and for that I will always be grateful.”

“I won’t let you forget that,” Ivy yelled from the sidelines.

Shifting the mic to his left hand, he reached into his pocket, flipped open the little box, and took out its contents. Then he went down on one knee and held out the ring that he’d managed to sneak away to buy.

“Erin Bass, you are the sunshine of my life, the beat of my heart, and the woman who helps me make it through each day. I love you more than life itself. Will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

She was grinning broadly even as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Yes, yes, Jake Russell, I will marry you.”

He slipped the ring on her finger, handed off the mic, and pulled her into his arms for a kiss.

Fenelli took the mic back.

“Well, I’d say the center has snapped the ball and it’s time to cross the line of scrimmage. I know you all join me in wishing Jake and Erin the very best life has to offer. And now I think it’s time to play some football!”

Referred to by
USA Today
as the Nora Roberts of erotic romance,
Desiree Holt
is the world’s oldest living published erotic romance author. A graduate of the University of Michigan with double majors in English and History, her earlier careers include agent and manager in the music industry, public television, associate vice president of university advancement, public relations, and economic development. She is three times a finalist for an EPIC E-Book Award (and a winner in 2014), a nominee for a Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award, winner of the first 5 Heart Sweetheart of the Year Award at The Romance Studio, as well as twice a CAPA Award winner for best BDSM book of the year, and winner of the Holt Medallion for Excellence in Romance Literature.

She has been featured on
CBS Sunday Morning
and in
The Village Voice
,
The Daily Beast, USA Today, The (London) Daily Mail, The New Delhi Times, The Huffington Post
and numerous other national and international publications. She is also the Authors After Dark 2014 Author of the Year. Readers can visit her at
www.desiremeonly.com
.

In case you missed it, keep reading for a sample of the first book in the Game On series

by Desiree Holt:

Get Ready to Play Rough

Shay Beckham grew up idolizing her brother’s best friend, star quarterback Joe Reilly. There was no one in their Texas town who had the moves to match Joe on or off the field. Years later, he’s still a player who has what it takes to drive any hot-blooded woman wild. But Shay isn’t a kid with a bad case of hero-worship anymore. She’s grown-up and independent, with her feet on the ground and a serious head on her shoulders. If she could just say the same for Joe.

It’s been fifteen years, but Joe Reilly hasn’t forgotten the skinny little kid who used to follow him around like a shadow. What he can’t get over is that the skinny shadow has grown into one hell of an incredible woman. One any man in his right mind would kill to get his hands on. And one who seems to be completely immune to him. He knows he and Shay could have something special together. If he could only convince her he’s about more than just the game.

A Lyrical e-book on sale now.

Learn more about Desiree at

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/31606

“Damn it, Hank. Why don’t you answer?”

Shay Beckham pressed End on her cell phone yet again and sighed. She and her brother had been playing telephone tag for two days. When he called, she was in meetings. When she called, he was out of signal range. The only voices talking to each other were their voice mails. How godforsaken could it be in Wyoming, anyway? It was still in the United States, right?

And why was he trying so hard to reach her? They exchanged texts now and then, but they were both so busy they only called each other in case of emergency. The places he went, cell reception was spotty at best and talking to him was like playing leapfrog. Wait! Was he okay? Her heart stopped for a moment at the thought he might be hurt, but then she relaxed. If something had happened to him, his boss would have reached out to her. So what was on his mind that had generated this flurry of aborted phone calls? Obviously, he wanted something because he was the one who’d initiated this current game of phone tag.

She leaned back in the taxi as it turned from the airport access road onto the interstate. Less than half an hour and she’d be home, thank God, and she could get out of her sweatshirt and jeans that wore the remnants of her diet cola from the plane.

With the way her luck was running, maybe she shouldn’t have accepted her complimentary beverage. On the flight out to New York a week before, a little turbulence had been responsible for her arriving with a huge coffee stain on her favorite yellow sweater. Maybe she should carry a bib with her. Or a large tarpaulin.

On today’s flight, she had just set up her iPad and lifted her glass gingerly to take a sip when the plane hit an air pocket and everything bounced. Her iPad. The purse beneath the seat. Worst of all, her drink. Her hand flew up, with it her diet soda and, most importantly, the ice cubes. Up in the air. Over the back of her seat. Into the seat behind her.

She could still hear the man behind her growling. “Shit!”

Then, “Damn it anyway.”

She’d used the miniscule courtesy napkin to blot up what she could from her sweatshirt and jeans. Shay had cringed as the man behind her continued to mutter under his breath.