by Erika Kelly
Grant eyed her phone but didn’t say anything. He fiddled with the panel. And, then, when he was ready, he said quietly, “Use it.”
The fact that he understood the unrelenting doubt that cycled through her, the agonizing conflict of loving a man who wasn’t good for her, just made all the excuses she kept telling herself collapse. Why did she feel the need to keep validating her choice to leave him? She should just accept that she wanted him but couldn’t have him. Not at this point in her life.
And she could channel all those complex emotions into music.
This time when she sang, she immersed herself in her loss. She believed they were connected in a unique and special way, but she also knew he couldn’t stop trying to win people over. Like throwing these over-the-top parties for the guys and flirting with women…helping Amie untie a knot. I mean, come on. As long as he did things like that, they didn’t stand a chance.
And drama was the one thing her career with Clean Beatz wouldn’t allow.
Forget my record label. She didn’t want that kind of drama. It was the same kind of madness she’d had with him in high school, always wondering who he was with, what he was doing. Always having to deal with the smug looks from the girls he took to dances.
She couldn’t go back to that. It was the kind of distraction that sucked her creativity dry.
With the last note, Grant yanked off his headphones. “Damn.” He grinned. “Nailed it.”
“We’ve got a song.”
He gave a deep nod. “We’ve got a hit.”
As they shut down the studio, she thought about her earlier conversation with her manager. “You know I can’t do anything with it until my contract with Clean Beatz is over.”
“Girl, this one’s timeless.” His guitar case snapped shut, he headed out of the studio, and she followed. “It’s also got great crossover potential. So, when you’re ready, we’ll release it. I’m in no rush.”
Grant was on a self-imposed hiatus from the industry. Not only did he want to be strong enough to stay sober on his next world tour, but he harbored a hope of reconciliation with his ex-wife.
“You want something to drink?” she asked, as they crossed the living room of her cottage.
“Nah, I’m going to head out.”
“You’re going to see her?” His ex lived in LA.
“I’m having dinner with some old friends. Jimmy Clutch, Bailey Havoc, Desiree Olander.” He tipped his chin to the guitar she’d set on her kitchen table. “We’re gonna jam, if you want to join us.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun, but I’m not going to be good company tonight.”
“Another time then.”
She nodded. “Definitely.”
At the door, he stopped and turned to her. “I’m the last person to give advice about relationships but let me just say one thing. After three marriages, I’ve learned that people get divorced because things get tough. They have some idea in their head about what love should look like, so when it turns ugly, when it gets hard, they want to quit.” He scraped a hand through his scruff. “Thing is, you gotta do the work in all your relationships, even the best ones. And if you don’t, if you go right to calling the lawyer, you miss out on the best stuff. The stuff on the other side of trouble. That’s the stuff worth fighting for.”
“It’s just…I’m not sure I’m cut out for the kind of drama that comes with Cassian.”
“What about the drama that comes with you? As long as you’re in the spotlight, the press is gonna catch you out doing something. When you’re on tour, you think it’ll be easy for him? I guarantee it won’t. You’ll be in a bar, letting off steam, and some man will come up and put his hand on your butt, and the whole world will think you’re cheating. Including the people who’re supposed to trust you. The point I’m making, though, isn’t about the particular kind of trouble. Because you walk away from this guy and pick up with someone else, you’re going to have a whole new set of problems. My point is that if you find a love worth fighting for…then fight for it. Figure things out together.”
“You’re absolutely right.” She gave the lean, rugged man a hug and kissed his bristly cheek. “Thank you. For everything.” He’d given her a lot to think about.
Grant opened the door, and they both reared back at the sight of large man sitting on the top step of her porch.
“Cassian.” Grant slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Nice to see you, man.”
“Hey.” Cassian stood, but he only had eyes for her.
And in those eyes she saw hunger.
Grant headed down the steps and opened the back seat of his rental car. He slid the guitar case inside and shut the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”
A wild tumult of energy flowed between them, but neither said a word until Grant backed out the driveway and took off.
The ocean-scented air riffling his hair, Cassian swung around to her. “Hey.” He looked haggard, like he’d had some rough nights.
“What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at camp?”
“You need to know two things. One, I’m not fucking around with us. You come first—you’ll always come first—and until we’re right, nothing else matters. Secondly, I’ve made some changes.”
His intensity thrilled her. “What…what kinds of changes?”
“I sent Amie away. She still runs the camp but from a condo I rented for her. She’s not coming near me or the guys again. Also, I’ve changed the trip.”
“Oh, brother.” She ushered him inside her little cottage a block off the Venice Beach boardwalk.
He was such a huge presence, his charisma and strength, taking up all the space in her cozy living room. “The guys are welcome to stay in Calamity after camp ends. We’ll set up some outings…white water rafting, heli skiing, things like that.” He sounded matter-of-fact, like he didn’t care what the guys thought of the new plans.
And that was…interesting.
“They’re going to love that.” But he didn’t react to her sarcasm.
He shrugged. “I’m done. I’m not going another day without you in my life, so I’m doing everything in my power to be good for you. Even if that means quitting football.”
Quitting…what? “Okay, hang on. This is not—”
“I have enough money, so I don’t need the income. I can coach. I like coaching. And that means I can live wherever you are. I can coach anywhere.”
She threw herself into his arms. “Oh, my God. Slow down.” She kissed him, this man who truly couldn’t live without her. She wasn’t crazy—this feeling that she was missing some critical part of herself. He felt it, too. “You’re not quitting. For god’s sakes, you’re the best quarterback in the league. You don’t have to give anything up to be with me. We just have to figure things out. We need time.”
“You can have all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.” He eyed her cautiously. “I just need to know that you’ll give me another chance.”
“Yeah.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “Of course I will.” This man. To be loved like this…it was overwhelming and utterly beautiful.
“Thank Christ.” He reached for her, and he just…held her. He tucked his face into her neck and breathed her in. Heat radiated off his body, and she felt a tremor in his arms. He turned slightly and kissed her jaw, and then pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth.
But she couldn’t take teasing. Not now.
Needing more, she met his lips in a hungry, desperate kiss. He licked inside, and that first touch of tongues gave her a delicious shiver. His fingers curled into the flesh of her ass as he held her tightly against him.
She couldn’t stop kissing him, couldn’t get close enough. It was like she had to make up for all the hours they’d been apart, to ease the heartache that had nearly crushed her.
And that was when she knew she was a liar. All her big talk—I’m fine without him, I have to focus on my career—it was all baloney. The stark emptiness of life without Cassian ve
rsus this?
Forget it.
Grant was absolutely right. She needed to fight through the hard times. Talk through their issues. They needed to fight for each other.
So far, he’d been doing all the fighting.
Still kissing her, he backed her up against the wall. His familiar scent enveloped her, his powerful arms supported her, and the sweep of his tongue set off a shower of sparks.
Relief crashed through the flimsy walls she’d erected. She’d talked herself into believing she was better off without him—convinced herself she’d be just fine with half a life.
But a life without his deep, carnal kisses, his devotion, his passion meant existing. Not living.
She had to try to make it work. Had to.
“Bedroom.” His voice was sexy growl.
On wobbly knees, she reached for his hand and led him down the cool hallway. She’d left the sliding glass door wide open in her room, and it ushered in a lemon-scented breeze. Quietly—urgently—she pulled her T-shirt over her head and peeled off her leggings.
Tension crackled between them, and he watched her with a hunger that thrilled her.
He unbuttoned his jeans, exposing tan, muscular thighs. When he lowered his boxers, he gave his thick, hard cock a squeeze. God, she wanted him in her mouth, but the pulsing between her legs demanded he fill her right now.
As soon as she kicked off her panties, he said, “Get on the bed.”
She’d never heard that voice, commanding, sure, but also gentle, tender. Desire coursed through her, and she needed to get her hands on all that warm skin and hard muscle. Laying down, she rested her head on a pillow, so alive, so aware of him, she could barely stand it.
He came at her, all coiled strength and burning intensity. He was going to take her, and she wanted it—wanted him—with a fierceness that had her practically levitating off the mattress. Hovering over her, he gazed into her eyes with a look that somehow made her feel like the most precious woman in the world—and the sexiest.
Lifting the back of a knee, he hitched it over his hip and palmed her ass. “I love you, Gigi Cavanaugh. You’re my heart, my soul, and I want to be good for you more than I want anything else.” He lined his cock up at her opening. “You ready for me?”
Too lost in him, all she could do was nod. He pitched his hips forward and thrust deep. A current of electricity lit her up, making her tremble. All she could do was hang on, her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, as he drove into her.
Again and again, harder, faster.
Yes. God.
Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead, and he never once took his eyes off her.
This feeling crashed over her—warmth, affection…love.
I love him.
I completely and totally love Cassian Ellis.
Tell him. But right then he reached between them, found her clit, and her hips shot off the bed. The jolt of sensation careening through her body had her crying out.
God, it was so good. So much pleasure. Her head tossed on the pillow, her hips thrust and twisted to get him deeper, and she dug her fingers into his back.
“Oh, fuck.” He lost his rhythm, lost all finesse. The sounds he made—desperate, urgent, like he couldn’t take one more second, yet needed it to last forever—inflamed her.
And then…her climax hit. She exploded into a shower of sparks and dazzling light. Desire crackled and flashed, a wildfire raging out of control. Back arching, fingers fisting in her comforter, she cried out.
His strokes grew tighter, more erratic. With a grunt he slammed into her, holding himself tight against her. With quick snaps of his hips, he shouted, “Fuck, Gigi. Fuck.”
And then…he collapsed on top of her, his breath hot at her ear. Rolling off, he wrapped an arm around her waist and cuddled up close.
Heart still pounding, she caressed his arm. “I’m so glad you came for me.”
“I will always come for you.”
“Grant told me to keep fighting. He said, if you love someone, you work through the tough times.”
“He’s a smart man.”
Tell him.
She hesitated, because there was this small but vibrant piece of her that still wasn’t sure.
He said he’d quit football to be with me. And he separated himself from Amie, for God’s sake.
“So, what happened with Amie? You didn’t find out she’s behind the photographs, did you?”
“Hell, no. I’d have fired her if I had. We still don’t know who it is.”
“Then why move her into a condo? Don’t you need her on-site?”
“What I need is to take control of my life. If I want to stay out of the tabloids, I have to stop feeding them. If I want you, I have to make changes. I don’t give a shit about the trips or the parties.”
Something didn’t feel right, but Grant’s voice in her head made her push past the doubt. They had issues to work on, but it was worth it. He was worth it, because…she loved him.
Say it. She knew she was holding back because she was afraid, if she said it now, tomorrow there’d be a new picture in the press of him with Amie.
She was afraid of being a fool.
But he needed to hear it in order to feel safe with her. And they didn’t stand a chance if they didn’t put their hearts on the line for each other.
Cupping, his jaw, she gazed up at him. “Cassian…I love you.”
His body jolted. He looked startled at first, but then everything in him melted, softened. He let out a huff of breath. “That’s the best—the only gift—I’ll ever want.”
He covered her mouth with his, a kiss full of passion and love and relief. “There’s one more thing you should know. I’m building you a studio.”
“You’re only in town a few more weeks. That’s not necessary.” Let alone possible.
“I want you to move in with me.”
Oh. She couldn’t keep from smiling. He’s such a passionate man. I love that. But… “I’ve got a meeting with Dale the day after tomorrow, so I can’t come back to Calamity until after that. The thing is, once you leave for training camp, I’ll be coming back here.” She kissed him. “So, let’s just take it one step at a time okay?”
He looked disappointed. “As long as you’re still in this with him, anything’s okay. We’ll go at your pace.” He drew her in even closer. “So, we’re good?”
She pushed past the unease. “We’re very good.”
They’d get where they needed to be.
As Cassian stood on the field watching the quarterback drills, he felt better than he had in…well, ever.
All was right in the world. Best group of kids he’d ever had at camp—and that included Walker. And tonight, after team obligations, he’d catch up with Gigi.
She was giving him a chance, and he wouldn’t screw it up.
Life is good.
The only negative was Xander. After camp ended, he’d confront him. Ask him directly if he was behind the leaked photos. They couldn’t work together if his teammate was trying to screw him over.
It just didn’t add up, though. That’s not how you become the franchise quarterback for a team. Hard to imagine he’d go to such weird lengths.
If you want to replace me, be better than me.
There were plenty of other possibilities, though. Could be just some paparazzo who’d followed him around or bribed hotel staff to get access to him.
This seems more planned, though. Targeted.
One of the kids lost his footing, and Cassian tapped his shoulder. “Remember you want to end up on your plant foot before you start your progressions.”
“Walker.” Xander’s voice shot out across the field.
Cassian glanced over to find Walker running his own drill. One of his friends was thirty yards downfield, holding up a hula hoop, while another kid reached into a mesh bag full of footballs. He handed them off to Walker, who threw perfect spirals through the hoop.
Xander hadn’t liked the idea o
f Walker switching into his group halfway through the session, but Cassian had seen something in the boy and wanted to try him out in this position.
He was disappointed to see Walker still pulling this crap.
“Get over here,” Xander shouted. “Now.”
From Walker’s defiant stance, Cassian knew what was coming. To avoid an ugly confrontation in front of the campers, he said, “Hey, guys. Take a break. Go grab some water.” And then he turned to Xander. “Can I talk to you a sec?”
Xander was in his face in a hot second. “Don’t tell my kids what to do when I’m in the middle of a drill.”
“Five of your kids are in the middle of a drill. Three of them are running around with no leadership.”
The muscle in Xander’s jaw worked aggressively. “Walker. Here. Now.”
The look of hellfire in the kid’s eyes fizzled out when he saw Cassian standing there. He dropped the football and jogged over. “What?”
“You in my group?” Xander asked.
Walker gave him a look that said, Duh.
“Then why aren’t you doing drills with the others?”
“Your drills are lame.” He gestured to the field. “I just threw thirty perfect passes, while you’re having them practice footwork.”
“Through a hula hoop. A toddler could get it through a hole that size.”
Cassian saw the flinch of embarrassment on Walker’s face, and his protective instincts came out.
“I was doing the five-step drop.” Walker lashed out. “Isn’t that the point of the drills?’
Cassian had already talked to Xander—and all the other coaches—about Walker’s home life, how they needed to find leadership opportunities for him.
“Walker,” Cassian said. “Go get some water. When you’re done, come see me.”
Xander caught the kid’s arm before he ran off. “After you get water, you’re right back here for the next drill. And, if you’re not doing my drills, then you’re going to stay after and clean up the equipment.”
Giving his coach one last hard look, Walker jogged off the field.
Xander turned to Cassian. “Don’t ever undermine me in front of one of my players.”
