Taking A Shot (43 page)
He’d never give up on her.
Now all he wanted to do was show her how much he loved her.
“Do you have some tissues in that purse?” he asked as he held her while she finished crying.
She dug them out, blew her nose, and laughed. “I don’t make the prettiest picture of a woman you wanted to propose to, do I? My nose is red and runny and my eyes probably look like something out of a horror movie.”
He looked at her face. She was beautiful. “You’re right. I should reconsider.”
She punched his arm. “Smart-ass. You’re going to be waking up to bedhead and this face for the rest of your life.”
“This was not in the disclosure agreement.”
“And you are not funny.”
“Yes, I am.” He drew her against him and kissed her. “That’s one of the reasons you love me.”
She threaded her arms around inside his coat and snuggled against him. “You’re right. You make me laugh.”
“Is that all I do for you?”
“No. You do a lot of things for me.”
He looked around at the space, already envisioning the future, what this place would look like when it was fixed up. “You know, now that you’ve decided this is the place for you, we should officially christen it.”
She tilted her head back to look at him. “In what way?”
“You know what way.” He shrugged his coat off and laid it on top of the bar. “I’ve always wanted to have you on top of the bar.”
“One of these days we’re going to have to do it in the bed.”
He turned to her and held out his hand. “What fun would that be?”
She followed him to the bar. “You’re right. We’ll do it in the bed when we’re old and our bones are creaky.”
He laughed. “I doubt that.”
“What? That we’ll ever be old and creaky?”
He pulled her coat off and slid his hands down her arms. “No, that we’ll be doing it in the bed then, either.”
When he kissed her, she sighed against his lips.
Yeah, he knew the feeling.
It was fucking perfect again, because she was back in his arms again. He moved his hands over her body, roaming all over as if he hadn’t felt her against him in years rather than days.
He’d missed her. Being without her left a void in his life, an emptiness he never wanted to feel again.
Torn between wanting to linger and wanting to be inside her, he pressed his lips to her neck and inhaled her scent, then dragged his tongue across her throat, loving her shuddering response. She
clutched his shoulders and fell against him, limp as he pulled down her loose sweater and pressed kisses to her collarbone and the swell of her breasts.
He scooped her up in his arms and sat her on top of the old bar.
“When we get this place fixed up,” he said as he pulled off her shoes and socks, “I’m going to put you on the shiny new bar and make love to you again. And on the stage, too.”
She smiled down at him, brushed his hair away from his eyes. He undid the clasp on her jeans and pulled them off her hips, drew them down her legs, then swept his hands up, loving the silkiness of her skin. His hands were scarred and rough, so different from her buttery soft body. But she didn’t seem to mind his hands, especially when he palmed her sex through her panties.
She gasped and arched against him, clutching his coat in her fingers when he rubbed her pussy back and forth, using the barrier of the silk to tease her. She was wet, her musky sweet scent making his dick throb.
He pulled her legs to the edge of the bar and pressed his nose against her panties, drowning in her fragrance. He drew her panties aside and licked her, and she moaned, leaning her palms down on the bar for support as she thrust her pussy against his face.
One of the things he loved most about Jenna was her pure joy in lovemaking. She had no inhibitions, and she loved to come. And he loved giving her an orgasm, loved seeing her face when she let go.
He swiped his tongue over her clit, toying with the piercing before enveloping the bud between his lips and sucking on it. He palmed his cock, massaging it and giving it a squeeze as he slid his tongue between Jenna’s plump pussy lips. Her salty sweet flavor made his cock tighten. Just the thought of sliding between those soft lips of hers making him want to unzip his pants and thrust inside her.
He lapped her pussy and clit up and down until she squirmed
against him, until he knew she was ready to come. Then he applied pressure to her clit and she let go, crying out with wild abandon and shoving her pussy against his face. He brought her down easy, kissing her thighs and belly before climbing up onto one of the old chairs and unzipping his pants.
He slid her panties down her legs and shoved them in his pocket, then went for a condom. She stilled his hand.
“No. No condoms anymore. It’s just you and me, now and forever.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I want to feel you in me.”
His cock quivered at the thought of feeling her silky wetness rounding him. That one night had been heaven. “I want that. I want you, just you, wrapped around my cock.”
“Make love to me.”
He pulled her off the bar and onto his lap. She straddled him and he watched his cock disappear into her pussy. She planted her feet on either side of the slats of the chair and rose up, then down on him.
“Oh, babe, you feel so good.” He tangled his fingers in her hair and brought her mouth to his for a deep, penetrating kiss. He slid his tongue inside and fucked her mouth with it the same way he fucked her pussy, with long, deliberate strokes.
She whimpered against his mouth, held on to his shoulders, and lifted, then slid down, grinding against his cock in a way that made him groan.
His balls were on fire, quivering in anticipation of erupting inside her.
Buried deep like this, he pulled back, looked into the beautiful blue depths of her eyes, watched her lids partially close as her pussy clenched around his cock, all that wet heat surrounding him.
And when she quickened the pace, rocking back and forth and grinding against him, he was going to lose it.
“Come for me, Jenna,” he whispered, licking her earlobe as he held on to her butt and pulled her tighter against him, grinding himself along her clit.
“Oh, God, yes, that’s going to make me come so hard,” she said.
When she dug her fingernails into his shoulders, he knew she was ready, and he thrust deep, holding her there while she fell apart. He felt her, felt her walls convulse around him as she came. She bucked against him in a wild frenzy as her climax tore her apart.
He couldn’t hold back as the roaring freight train of his orgasm slammed into him. He jettisoned his come inside her, emptying everything he had and holding her tight while he poured over and over until there was nothing left.
Christ, that had been intense. It had always been that way with Jenna, and now that he held her again, it was as if the world had turned right side up again, and everything that had been wrong had been corrected. Something hadn’t been right ever since that night he’d walked out on her. He’d pushed it all to the back of his mind because he’d had to concentrate on playing hockey, but his first thought had always been Jenna.
Work would always be work, but his first priority would always be the woman he loved, the woman he intended to make a life with. And now that he held her again, now that he could breathe in that unique scent that made her who she was, he realized he’d never be whole without her. That’s what love was. He’d spent his whole adult life wondering what love was about, and now he knew. He’d never chased it, never wanted it, but it had found him anyway.
He lifted her off him and set her on the bar.
“Your coat,” she said.
“Is fine. I want to look at you. Your body is flush and pink and beautiful.”
He traced his tongue between her sex and hip.
She giggled. “What are you doing?”
“I think right here would be a perfect spot.”
“For what?”
“Your next tattoo. I can envision a script pattern.”
“Of?”
“My name, of course. Right near my favorite spot of your body.”
She was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Done.”
He lifted his head. “Yeah?”
“Of course, as long as you get
Jenna
tattooed on your arm.”
“You got it. Make an appointment with your tattoo guy next week. I want your name on me.”
“Really? You’d do that?”
He stood. “I’m going to marry you, Jenna. I wasn’t kidding about the forever part.”
She leaned forward, threw her arms around him, and kissed him, then searched his face. “But ink really is forever.”
“And so am I.”
Jenna sighed as she looked down at Ty, reading the truth on his face.
This was all real. Him, the new club, her new life.
Facing her fears had given her some of the greatest gifts, the most important one this amazing man.
She’d put all her dreams on hold for so long. But now, thanks to Ty, his love, and a lot of courage, all her dreams were coming true.
KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM THE NEXT PLAY-BY-PLAY NOVEL BY JACI BURTON
AVAILABLE SOON FROM HEAT BOOKS
COLE RILEY HAD BUILT HIS REPUTATION ON BEING tough, especially on the football field. He didn’t yield, and when he had the ball in his hands, there was only one thing on his mind—the end zone. He was hard-headed and single-minded, and he liked to win.
Same thing with women—once he had a target in mind, he went for it until he scored.
So even though this was a target-rich environment, and more than half the sexy women at the party tonight were giving him the once-over, he hadn’t hooked up with anyone in the few hours he’d been here.
Which was unusual for him. He liked the ladies. The ladies liked him. No ego on his part, he just enjoyed women. He loved being around them. They were sweet, fun to be with, they smelled great, and they made him feel good. There was nothing bad about that. In return, he showed them a good time, spent money on them, and never lied to them or tried to be anything other than who he was.
Women liked honest men. His mother would slap him sideways if he ever lied to a woman. He might be a little on the wild side, but he wasn’t dishonest. He never promised a woman anything he wasn’t willing to deliver.
Which meant he steered clear of women looking to hook a husband. He gravitated toward the party girls, like the hot redhead and the statuesque brunette who’d been hovering near his radar all night. Those were the women who wanted to have the same kind of no-strings-attached fun he did.
So why did his focus keep drifting to the cool blonde sitting all by herself at a table in the corner? She wasn’t his type at all. She wasn’t wearing a skin-tight spandex dress that showed off a lot of tits and ass. She wore a simple, short-sleeved dress that went to her knees, though she did have killer legs—legs he’d like to see a lot more of. She just wasn’t showing off her assets.
She was beautiful, sure, with a face that would stop traffic. And the way she was dressed screamed money and high society. Maybe she was related to the team owner. But he hadn’t seen anyone come within ten feet of the table in the past two hours. She was no wallflower, but she wasn’t giving off vibes that said “Come talk to me.”
Wasn’t his problem. He didn’t know her and he intended to have fun tonight. Team parties were always a blast, and media free. He could hang out with his new teammates, down a few drinks, chill with the ladies, and just have a good time.
There were plenty of women here to have the kind of fun he was looking for. The blonde wasn’t the right type. He could tell from the rigid set to her shoulders and the stick-up-her-ass way she sat that she wasn’t a partier. She surveyed the room and gave off definite “keep the fuck away from me” signals, which was likely why no one approached her.
Still, he hated seeing anyone sitting alone. He went up to the bar and nudged Grant Cassidy, the Traders quarterback.
Grant turned, then nodded. “Hey, Riley. What’s up?”
“Do you have any idea who that blonde is sitting by herself over in the corner?”
Grant followed the motion of Cole’s head, then frowned. “No. Who is she?”
“No idea. I figured you know everyone on the team. Is she related to the owner?”
Grant shook his head. “Ted Miller’s daughter is a brunette. And she isn’t here tonight. I have no idea who the blonde is. She looks mean.”
Cole laughed. “That’s what I thought, too.”
He should ignore her and concentrate on the hot brunette or the sexy redhead. But for some reason the lonely blonde in the corner kept grabbing his attention and wouldn’t let go.
Maybe it was because she kept looking at him. Not in the way that other women looked at him—the take-me-home-with-you-tonight look. Her look was different. Cool and assessing, an occasional brief glance and then she’d look away.
He wasn’t a game player. Maybe she was.
This was bullshit. He pushed off the bar and headed her way. She could throw off all the stay-away signals she wanted, but he was curious now. Someone that beautiful was alone for a reason.
He stopped at her table and her gaze lifted, slowly studying him. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t frown, either.
“You here alone?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
Southern accent. It fit her. She was all peaches-and-cream complexion, full lips, and the prettiest eyes…like whiskey.
He slid his hand out. “I’m Cole Riley, wide receiver with the Traders.”
She slipped her hand in his and finally gave him a smile, the kind of smile that made a man glad to be a man.
“Hello, Cole. I’m Savannah Brooks. Won’t you sit down?”
Bingo.
LORD HAVE MERCY, BUT COLE RILEY’S PHOTOS AND videos did not do the man justice.
In person he made a woman go weak in the knees. Savannah was glad she was sitting down, because now she understood the mystique she’d read about in the tabloids and all the articles about him as a lady-killer.
She certainly felt the heart palpitations when he slid his very large hand in hers and graced her with one look of his drop-dead-sexy gray blue eyes. When he looked at you it was as if everyone else in the room fell away, and you were the only woman on earth. Which she knew wasn’t true, because she’d studied him all night long, and there were at least twenty women focused on him like they were starving and he was meat.
He wasn’t meaty at all. He was perfect and absolutely delicious. About six-foot one, two hundred and fifteen pounds of sex on a stick would be her guess.
If she were out scouting for a man, which she most certainly wasn’t, she’d pick him out of a crowd. He stood out, with his inky black hair and gorgeous, well-toned muscled body, even if he did wear his hair a little long and shaggy. There was a certain presence to him. Arrogance, maybe, though she was surprised after reading his file that he wasn’t standing on top of the bar or involved in a brawl or wrapped around two or three women in a dark corner.
Maybe the media had blown his off-the-field antics out of proportion. Maybe his reputation was more hype than anything.
“So, Savannah Brooks. Why are you sitting here all alone?”
“I’m observing.”
He cocked a brow, his defenses obviously up as he bent forward,
perched on the edge of the chair like he was ready to take flight. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”
She smiled at him. “No. I’m definitely not a reporter.”
He relaxed and leaned back against the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Okay, then.”
“You don’t like reporters.”
“Nope.”
“And why is that?”
“They lie.”
“About you.”
“All the damn time.”
“What kind of lies have they told about you?”
“I don’t want to talk about me. Let’s talk about you. You have a beautiful southern accent, Savannah. Where are you from?”
Not at all what she’d read about him. That he was an egomaniac, that every conversation centered around him, his stats, his prowess in the bedroom, that he hit on women as a second career, pressuring them to go home with him.
Maybe the media did lie.
“I’m originally from Atlanta.”
“But you don’t live there now.”
“No.”
He smiled when she didn’t offer any more information. He had an amazing, off-kilter smile that made her stomach flutter. She had to stop being such a girl about him. He might be flirting but she was here on business.
“Do you want me to guess?”
“Not at all. I live in Los Angeles.”
“You don’t look like the L.A. type.”
She arched a brow. “There’s an L.A. type?”
“Yeah. And you’re not it. You’re a Georgia peach. All southern re-fined, laid-back beauty. Not fast paced, get famous and noticed L.A.”
“I have many clients in Los Angeles. That’s why I live out there.”
“But you travel—for your job? Is that why you’re gone a lot?”
He listened. A good quality. “Yes.”
“And what do you do for a living, Savannah?”
“I’m a consultant.”
“Broad concept. What kind of consultant?”
“An image consultant.”
“What does an image consultant do?”
“I assist clients who need help either boosting their image or changing it.”
“That must be an interesting job.”
“I love my work. To have a positive impact on people’s lives is very rewarding.”
He grinned. “Good for you.”
“And what about your job, Cole?”
“I’ve played football since I was a kid. To be able to do this for a living? It’s a dream come true. I’m very grateful.”
He was poised, confident and polite. Why didn’t he come across like this in interviews? Why was he portrayed in such a negative light? There was more to Cole Riley than what she’d read about in his file.
“Would you like a drink, Savannah?”
“No, I’m fine with the sparkling water, thank you.”
“Okay. You still haven’t told me what you’re doing at this shindig.”
“I’m meeting a new client.”
His eyes widened. “Yeah? About to redo someone’s image?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Huh. I wonder who screwed up and needs a makeover.” He looked around the room, studying all the players in attendance. “Couldn’t be our star quarterback. He eats, drinks and pisses charm.”
She resisted the laugh. It wouldn’t be appropriate.
He looked at her, then around the room again, zeroing in on a
group of players clustered in the middle of the room. “It’s Moose Clements, isn’t it? That guy couldn’t give a decent interview if you gave him a personality implant. Or maybe Kenny Lawton, the Traders other wide receiver. You want to talk about attitude issues? That guy has serious problems. He’s your new client, isn’t he?”
She stood, smoothed out her dress. “Unfortunately, it’s time for me to go. It was very nice meeting you, Cole.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m afraid so.”
He grabbed her hand. “Wait.”
She paused.
“I want to see you again.”
“Oh, you will.” She smiled as she walked out of the room. This was going to be very interesting.
COLE WATCHED SAVANNAH WALK AWAY, STRUCK BY HER elegant beauty. Definitely no stick up her ass. She walked with a slight sway to her hips—nothing obvious or attention grabbing about her, but she was all woman.
And dammit, he’d just stood there like a tongue-tied teenager and let her get away.
He should have gotten her number, or asked her out. Instead, he’d acted brain dead.
That wasn’t his style. He moved to go after her, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to see his agent, Elizabeth Darnell, looking up at him.
He frowned. “Liz. What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
He frowned and looked at the door. “Not now.”
“Definitely now. Did you forget the meeting we agreed to?”
He might have forgotten, or maybe ignored Liz’s edict that they
had some important business to talk about tonight. Since he’d signed with her a few months ago, there’d been a lot of orders. He didn’t like being given orders.
“Come on, Liz. We’re at a party.”
“You have plenty of time to party. And we had an agreement when I signed you,” she said, giving him that steely eyed gaze. “Remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. I remember.”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
“We’re leaving?”
“Just across the hall. It’s too noisy in here. When we’re finished you can get back to the party.”
Hopefully it wouldn’t take long. Maybe Savannah was still around somewhere and he could hook up with her again.
Elizabeth led him to a room across the hall. It was a small meeting room with rows of tables.
“Have a seat.”
“I’d rather stand.”
She gave him the look, the one that meant she was going to argue until she won. He was just as stubborn, but time was important right now, so he grabbed a chair, spun it around and straddled it.
“What did I do now?”
“Tonight? Nothing so far. But I want to talk about your attitude.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s what you wanted to meet about tonight? We’ve already had this discussion.”
“I know. And we’re going to talk about it again. The hometown crowd likes a winner. They also like someone who isn’t constantly in the tabloids for an overindulgence of partying, for treading on his fellow players like they’re the shit beneath his Nikes, for running up more speeding tickets than the national debt and for throwing very expensive paparazzi cameras into a fountain. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you followed it up with a punch to the guy’s jaw.”
