On the Line

by Liz Lincoln

  “It was so hard. And I’m an idiot for doing it.”

  She smiled. “You already said that.”

  “It bears repeating.” He slid his hands into her hair and tilted her face up to his. “I’ve cared about women I’ve dated before, but you’re the first woman I’ve ever loved. And I threw it away because of a teenage tantrum.”

  Her heart sputtered. Had she heard him right? “First woman you…”

  He leaned his head toward hers, and when the hard plastic of his mask knocked her forehead, he made another frustrated sound. He ripped the mask off his face, letting it hang behind him like a hood. His loose hair spilled around his shoulders.

  Looking deep into her eyes, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I love you, Carrie. I am so madly, crazy, wildly in love with you. I’ve been miserable since you left. I thought I had to let you leave to make Maddie happy, but she hasn’t been happy either. And I realized that sometimes I have to take what I want. Not just what Maddie wants.”

  She couldn’t form words to go with all the thoughts and feelings inside her, so Carrie went on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. Seth’s hand fisted in her hair, holding her in place as his tongue slid into her mouth, tasting and exploring everything they’d denied themselves for the past month.

  They clung to each other, slowly walking backward until Carrie’s back touched the wall. Seth pressed into her, his big body stroking hers, turning her on in a way only he could.

  Ripping his mouth away, Seth stared down at her, panting. “Say you want this too. Say I didn’t screw up too badly.”

  Carrie’s chest ached at the vulnerability on his face. That she could do that to such a solid, strong man made it easy to be vulnerable herself. “You didn’t screw up. I want this too.” She cupped his cheek, loving the scratch of his whiskers on her skin. “I love you too. So much.”

  He made a desperate sound as his mouth took hers again. Hunger filled Carrie, a need to have what she’d denied herself for a month. Judging from the erection pressing into her, Seth matched her need.

  “No codpiece this time?” she asked as he trailed his lips down her neck.

  He chuckled against her skin, making her shiver. “No, I had limited options for overnight delivery. It was this cheap version or the $1,400 one.”

  “Why Batman?”

  He lifted his head and made a confused face. “Maddie insisted I needed a grand gesture to make you forgive me. And got it in her head that wearing a costume was the best way to achieve that.”

  Carrie laughed. In teenager logic, it made an odd sort of sense. “But why not use the Iron Man costume you have?”

  “Something about mixing worlds and Poison Ivy belongs with Batman.” Seth shrugged. “It was all kind of over my head. But I figured she understands how female brains work better than I do. Especially women who love comic books.”

  “I like it. But for the record, it’s the loving me part that won me back, not the costume.”

  “Noted.” His mouth took hers again, and as they kissed, she walked them until they reached Jason’s couch. She tugged off his cape and helped him peel off the one-piece polyester outfit. Underneath, he wore a Dragons tee and sweatpants with a pronounced bulge in front.

  “Please tell me Jason won’t be back soon, because I desperately need to make love to you.”

  “He’ll be back Tuesday.” Carrie gave Seth her best seductive smile as she lay back on the couch.

  “Thank God.” He came down on top of her, pulling down the cup of her corset on one side. His mouth found her hard nipple and sucked.

  Carrie squirmed and cried out. Desperate to feel his skin against hers, she tugged at his shirt until he pulled away to yank it off. He made quick work of the rest of his clothes, then Carrie’s. He lowered himself back to her, and she moaned at how good it felt to have him warm and naked against her.

  “I didn’t think we’d have this again.” Her voice came out a whisper. “I—” She broke off, unable to say more.

  “Come home with me.” Seth used his thighs to press hers wider. His erection teased her, making it hard to think. “Not as Maddie’s nanny, not as our housekeeper, not any of those things. Come home with me as my girlfriend. As the woman I love. As the woman I want to fall asleep with and wake up to every day. As the woman who makes my house a home.”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  A strained smile teased Seth’s lips as he shifted his hips to enter her.

  “Yes,” Carrie breathed again.

  “Yes to sex or yes to moving in with me?” Seth groaned as he pressed in farther.

  He felt so good, filling her in all the places that had been empty for the past month.

  “Both,” she moaned as he reached the hilt. She wrapped her arms and her legs around him and used her nose to nudge his face up so she could see his face.

  Opening herself completely, putting everything she had on the line, she looked deep into his eyes. “I want that too. I love you. You are my heart.”

  He was everything she wanted. He was home.

  For my amazing stepdad Peter, who instilled in me a love of football. I miss you every day.

  Acknowledgments

  First off, thank you to my agent, Jessica Alvarez, for loving this book and championing it so we could find it the very best home. To my editor, Junessa Viloria, and the whole Loveswept team, for loving Seth and Carrie and the whole Dragons team as much as I do.

  I am so grateful to my friend Ashley Hearn, who met me at a coffee shop in the suburbs and helped me conceive of this book. This series has been in my head for more than a decade, and without her guidance, it might have stayed there.

  My critique partner and good friend Liz Czukas, I owe you endless thanks for helping me plot this book, walking me through the “I hate this book” phase, and just generally being a fabulous support system.

  All my other writer friends—way too many of you to list by name, sorry!—thank you for all the love, support, and free guidance you offer. Writers kick ass.

  Thank you to my mom, who has been my biggest champion since I wrote my first book at age ten.

  Thank you to my therapist for keeping me from being eaten alive by my anxiety. And to my many doctors and the meds they prescribe to keep me mostly functioning.

  There are so many other people and I’m sure I’ve forgotten more than one. If that’s you, I’m so sorry. I thank you too.

  And always, always, thank you to my family. To my kids for letting me work when they wish I could play, for celebrating my accomplishments with me, and for just being great kids. And Dan, for being an amazing father to our children, an understanding writer-spouse, my biggest support and cheerleader, and my very own happily ever after.

  BY LIZ LINCOLN

  On the Line

  PHOTO: © ANDY TARNOFF

  LIZ LINCOLN has been concocting stories as long as she can remember, and from the beginning they involved two people falling in love. When she’s not writing, she spends her time rooting for the UW Badgers and the Green Bay Packers (or yearning for the return of football season), cross-stitching sassy sayings or nerdy characters (Wonder Woman is her favorite), and drinking too much Diet Coke. She lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with her husband, two kids, two cats, and a turtle.

  Want to connect with Liz Lincoln?

  lizlincoln.com

  Twitter: @TheLizLincoln

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  Read on for an exciting sneak peek of the next Milwaukee Dragons book

  Swagger

  by Liz Lincoln

  Available from Loveswept

  Oh no, oh no, oh no. No no no nononononoooooo.

  Panic bubbled up the back of Bree Novak’s throat. Her graphs couldn’t be gone. She’d spent the past six hours cleaning the data and configuring the damn things.

  She smacked th
e side of her computer monitor. “I hate you, you stupid antique.” The ancient desktop in her office was glitchy as hell, which was why she usually brought her much newer, much more reliable laptop to work. But of course she’d been in a rush finishing her lesson plan notes, and left it at home.

  Frustrated tears burned the backs of her eyes and clogged her throat. And of course, the ever-present anxiety, pressing on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  She was not going to have a panic attack. She couldn’t afford to. She just had to get through the last twenty minutes of office hours, then she could go home and recreate six hours of work from the comfort of her couch.

  “Fuck you,” she told the blank spreadsheet glaring at her.

  The low sound of someone clearing their throat startled her, making her snap her head up and let out a startled noise.

  A new sort of panic sizzled over her nerves. She was hallucinating; that was the only explanation. She’d cracked from the stress. Because there was no way in hell that Marcus James, star tight end for the Milwaukee Dragons and the hottest player on the team, was standing in her office doorway leaning on a pair of crutches.

  “Can I—” she managed to squeeze out, but it sounded like a mouse who’d sucked helium. She swallowed hard and tried again. “Can I help you?”

  She was talking to a Marcus James look-alike. Even that was too surreal. Maybe her entire day was a bizarre dream. At least then she wouldn’t have lost all her work. God, the tedium of going over all those data points a second time was depressing.

  “Yeah, I’m looking for Bree Novak.” The man’s voice was rich and smooth, and his dark eyes shined with good humor. That voice was familiar, since she’d watched a zillion interviews with him.

  Marcus James, her celebrity crush, was standing in her doorway. Looking for her. She needed some smelling salts so she wouldn’t faint.

  “I’m Bree.” She even managed to sound human rather than fangirlish. Score one for Bree.

  Marcus’ full lips curled into a devastating smile, showing just a hint of his white teeth. The dark brown skin around his eyes and mouth creased into deep lines. Yeah, he was definitely the real deal and not a doppelgänger. Those smile lines were part of what she found so sexy about the athlete. And since shaving off his signature dreadlocks last spring to raise money for charity, she found him even hotter. She was a sucker for his new look.

  He came toward her desk, favoring his left leg. He’d torn his right ACL a few weeks ago during the Dragons’ final preseason game, landing him on injured reserve for the entire season. Bree had been seriously bummed when she read that news, but figured it was better if her favorite player was out, since she needed all her focus this semester to be on finalizing her doctoral dissertation. She was scheduled to graduate in December.

  Now, instead of catching passes on her TV, Marcus James was lowering himself into the ugly, battered chair facing her desk.

  “I need to take your Introduction to Physics for non-Science Majors class,” Marcus explained. “And since classes started last week, the registrar said I need your signature on this form.” He held out a piece of paper.

  Bree took it and scanned the page. Sure enough, right there at the top of the drop/add form, the student name field read “Marcus L. James.”

  Because she was a pathetic nerd of a fan, she knew the L stood for Leroy, after his father. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from blurting out that knowledge. Yeah, she’d read his Wikipedia page.

  “Yeah, I hear you were busy last week,” she said, then instantly regretted it. Way to admit she was a big fan. Which she normally wouldn’t care about, except if he was going to be her student, she needed to maintain some level of objectivity around him.

  Oh God, Marcus James was going to be her student. She shouldn’t even be teaching this semester, but the research grant she’d been paid from had run out of money, so to earn her final semester’s salary, she had to go back to it. During teaching assistant orientation two weeks ago, all the first-year grad students had looked at her like she was some kind of flunky.

  Marcus gingerly bent, then straightened his right leg a few times. “Yeah, not my best week.”

  Bree didn’t know what to say, so she picked up a pen and quickly scribbled her name on the line for professor signature. Even though she was only a grad student TA, Dr. Bryant had decided to make her essentially the professor for the class. Which meant she gave the lectures and supervised the labs. Which was swell. She didn’t have a PhD to finish or anything.

  “How’s it feeling?” She knew he’d had surgery the previous week. And she was pathetic enough to have asked her athletic trainer older brother what the timeline for ACL recovery was. Hank had of course teased her mercilessly for her crush on an NFL player.

  Who was sitting in her office. Talking to her as if they were both regular people. “It’s better.” Marcus bent and straightened it again. “Mostly working on simple mobility right now. Making sure I can do this.” He indicated his movements.

  “That’s good. Does it hurt?” He probably thought she was a weirdo, a nosy stranger who needed to mind her own business.

  “Not as much as I expected. I can’t put weight on it yet, but if I stay off it and take ibuprofen, it’s not too bad.” He gave her a half-smile that did funny things to her belly. Warm fuzzy things that made her want to squirm in her chair. “I take it you’re a Dragons fan?”

  She frowned at him. How did he know?

  His smile deepened and he tipped his head to indicate the calendar on the wall behind her. The Dragons. September’s picture was of quarterback Matt Baxter and running back Jaron Edmonds bumping fists in the end zone.

  Nervously, Bree toyed with the handle of her coffee mug. Which was emblazoned with the Dragons’ logo. She laughed nervously. “I grew up in Madison with a Division II football player dad and three athletic older brothers. It was either become a fan or get disowned.”

  An odd expression flashed across his face. “Yeah, hard to swim upstream in your own family.”

  “So you just decided you’d add to the joy of physical therapy with some light physics reading?” she asked. It was another nosy question, but hell, she had Marcus James sitting three feet away from her. She had nothing else to look forward to for the day except hours of spreadsheets. She was keeping him in that chair as long as she could.

  She leaned across the desk to hand him back the form. As he took it, his fingers brushed over hers, and a sizzle ran up her arm. Momentarily frozen, she couldn’t seem to pull her hand back. Nor did he.

  Her gaze snapped to his to find him looking at her with a faint half smile. His smile deepened, bringing out his sexy dimple and the creases around his dark eyes. Heart thudding against her ribs, Bree couldn’t look away as the moment stretched out between them. She’d never felt such a visceral reaction to a man before and she didn’t want it to end. She loved the way a simple touch made her skin feel alive.

  Dammit, it wasn’t fair. She finally got to meet her long-time celebrity crush and they had clear chemistry, so of course he was her student.

  Too soon, Marcus blinked away their connection, pulling his hand away and clearing his throat. “Been working on finishing my degree. I declared for the draft after my junior year, so I didn’t graduate.”

  It took her attraction-fogged brain a moment to catch up to the conversation. “That’s great.” She knew he’d been a business major at USC, which she’d always found impressive. But she wasn’t saying all that out loud. A business degree would do a lot for him when his football career ended. She knew he’d already invested in a handful of local businesses—God, she really was pathetically nosy. His return to school was also great in that it landed him in her class.

  Where she would spend the semester drooling over one of her students.

  Dammit. Not good.

  Why did her original dissertation advisor and mentor, Dr. Anna Steinman, have to take that position at CERN in France, leaving Bree to get
assigned to Dr. Lewis Bryant, one of the most old-school-boys-club physicists Bree had ever met? And the sciences were filled with them. If Anna were still there, she’d have found additional funding to pay Bree so she wouldn’t have to teach.

  Maybe.

  It didn’t matter. Anna was in France doing fantastic research and dating a sexy French engineer, Dr. Bryant hated Bree, Bree was teaching again, and Marcus James was in her class.

  “Fair warning,” Marcus said. “Science is not my strong suit. Which is why the two classes I have left are science. So I’m pretty much going to occupy this chair whenever I’m not working on my knee or bugging my geology TA.”

  Bree’s stomach tried to squeeze up into her throat. “No problem,” she choked out. Their gazes connected again, but before it could turn into another sizzling Moment, she forced herself to look away. She was barely making it through this conversation. How was she going to endure an entire semester of him, a man she’d had a celebrity crush on since he was drafted by the Dragons? He was twenty-nine, which meant she’d been crushing on him for eight years.

  She was going to be a cliché, the teacher with the hots for her sexy student. At least he wasn’t some nineteen-year-old frat boy.

  Get back on track, Bree. She grabbed a Post-it and a pen. “What’s your email address? I’ll send you the syllabus, which has my office hours. And you’ll have my email in case you need to set up a time outside office hours. But I’m usually here.”

  He recited his email and she wrote it down. “I’ll send that today. My computer’s being a jerk, so it’ll be when I get home and can use my laptop.” She turned the monitor so he could see her blank spreadsheet. “I spent all day filling this in and making charts. Went to refill my coffee and…sorry, you don’t care.”

  “No, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

  She looked at the sincerity in his expression, like he actually gave a shit about her lost data. But she had to be imagining it. She read once that NFL rookies got PR training; he was probably falling back on those skills.

  “Thanks. It’s not like I had plans tonight anyway. My roommate and I will binge Stranger Things and I can redo it.”