Saint
The Nighthawk Series Book One
Lisa Lang Blakeney
Writergirl Press
LISA LANG BLAKENEY
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Copyright © 2016 Lisa Lang Blakeney.
Second Edition Copyright © 2020 Lisa Lang Blakeney.
All rights reserved.
Published by: Writergirl Press
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License Note
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.
To My Guy
Contents
Book List
FREE BOOK
Introduction
Gunslinger Defined
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
BONUS EPILOGUE
Wolf Prologue
Book List
Where You Can Find Me
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Book List
The Masterson Series
Devour this addictive series about the possessive bad boy, Roman Masterson, who falls hard and fast for the girl he’s promised his family to protect.
Masterson
Masterson Unleashed
Masterson In Love
Masterson Made
Joseph Loves Juliette
The King Brothers Series
Dive into this series of interconnected standalones featuring 3 alpha hot brothers and the women they lay claim to without apology.
Claimed - Camden & Jade
Indebted - Cutter & Sloan
Broken - Stone & Tiny
Promised - All King Brothers
The Nighthawk Series
Sexy & sweet sports romances set in the professional world of football. All standalones.
Saint - Saint & Sabrina
Wolf - Cooper & Ursula
Diesel - Mason & Olivia
Jett - Jett & Adrienne
Rush - Rush & Mia
The Valencia Mafia Series
Coming Soon. Get Notified!
MASTERSON
Meet Alpha Roman Masterson
Free For A Limited Time!
“Our passion is incredibly intense. The connection between us borders on the possessive. Our feelings are absolutely forbidden. The question now is…what the f*ck are we going to do about it?”
DOWNLOAD NOW
Introduction
"You will laugh, swoon, and your girlie parts will sing once you meet down and dirty quarterback, Saint Stevenson, the Gunslinger!"
He’s the ultimate player. I’m the ultimate professional. We don’t make any sense at all, until we’re in bed…
I hate sports, and he is football royalty. I like quiet and predictable, but he's sex and swagger personified. I didn't particularly care for Saint Stevenson the first moment I laid eyes on him, but his warped brain seemed to process our initial meeting as foreplay.
I have a meticulous five year plan in place for myself and my career, but now this huge, cocky, self-absorbed quarterback who I've been assigned to at work is seriously f*cking it up.
He's the ultimate player on and off the field, and it doesn't make any sense that I'm falling hard and fast for the arrogant baller; but there doesn't seem to be anything about our love story that makes any sense at all.
Gunslinger Defined
Gunslinger |ˈɡənˌsliNGər|
noun informal
Term for a quarterback who plays in an aggressive and decisive manner by throwing deep, risky passes. These quarterbacks usually possess the strong arm needed to throw deep effectively.
Chapter One
SABRINA
A foolish person doesn't always recognize when she's crossed paths with someone she is destined to meet...
I slide myself back into my seat at the dinner table and begin nervously playing around with my order of shrimp scampi, which was left for me while I was in the restroom. I'm fidgeting around, because I'm a little uncomfortable in such a romantic setting like this with my coworker Jason. The man who I've been pining over pathetically for years, yet there's nothing even remotely romantic going on between us.
He looks up briefly to acknowledge my return, but then mouths the word "sorry" and continues a very spirited conversation on his cell phone. One that he's been having, for I swear, the last fifteen minutes, and frankly I'm bored out of my mind.
While everything about this restaurant screams date night: the lighting is low, the tables are meticulously decorated with fine, modern details, and there are affectionate couples all around me. This has ended up being more of a working dinner (for him) rather than anything resembling a date. When am I ever going to learn to stop fantasizing that one day the two of us will fall in love and become the company's power couple? We work, and he definitely flirts, but nothing romantic happens past that. Like him asking me out on an actual date.
To pass the time I return a few emails on my phone, and soon become distracted when I notice a sudden shift in the energy of the restaurant. An energy which rises high above the low frequency buzz of casual dining in the room.
The faces of the waitstaff become more animated.
Their eyes enlarged.
Their whispers growing to the level of dense chatter.
I look around and notice what or rather who the cause is. A man has entered the restaurant, and he walks into the place with distinct purpose.
To be seen.
I try to look away and mind my own business, but like others around me, I can't help myself as I continue to track the man's movements.
I'm inexplicably drawn to him.
With confident strides he follows the hostess with complete bravado towards the bar in a pair of well-fitting jeans, a black tee, and a pair of aviator shades on. His outfit perfectly complimenting his muscular frame.
There are two other behemoths flanking both sides of him as if he's someone important. Someone in need of security. Although I'm not totally sure why he'd need them, because the man looks like he could probably knock them both out or anyone else who got in his path for that matter.
Being in the business that I am, and living in New York City, my first inclination is to assume that he's some sort of celebrity, but then I s
econd-guess that theory. With my experience, I think I would recognize him if he was one, even though he's hiding himself behind his sunglasses.
The colossal stranger stops just short of a couple of feet from our table and speaks with the two men who are with him. All three of them start laughing, but the rumble of his laugh specifically echoes through my chest.
I quickly turn and stare back into my scampi. His proximity makes me feel uneasy. So uneasy that my heart begins rapidly beating inside of my chest, like a skittish small animal that recognizes when a predator is nearby.
I continue searching my bowl of scampi for shrimp, as if I'm digging for gold, but can still see the man's legs out of my peripheral vision. Denim clad, muscular, powerful legs.
I'm not sure how I know, but I can sense him watching me. Maybe because he's stood completely still for the last few seconds. Almost as if he's watching and waiting for me to look up at him. I know I shouldn't, but I go ahead and raise my eyes anyway. Just for a moment.
I don't know exactly what's going on behind those shades of his, but a slow almost disquieting grin spreads across his face, when he catches me looking. Then he starts walking.
He walks behind me with heavy, considerable strides and as he passes by, I swear that I can feel one of his fingers briefly skimming the back of my neck, close to my hair. The brazen nature of his act startles me, and my spine is on fire. It's as if he's branded me with just one slight touch.
My fork drops from my hand with a clank on the table in surprise as my heart continues to thump powerfully. I gingerly place my hand on my chest to calm myself. For a split second, I wonder if I'm having a panic attack until I realize how ridiculous that is. How ridiculous this whole thing is. I don't even know this man.
I look across the table at Jason wondering if he notices what's going on. Thinking that maybe I've screwed up the possibility of this whole evening by taking such obvious notice of another man. I mean the whole point of me being here is to hopefully have Jason see me as more than just the "girl at work," but as usual, he's still in the middle of a heated discussion on his phone, completely unaware of anything going on around us. So that's why I decide that it might be okay if I turn my head for a moment to catch a glimpse of the intoxicating stranger one more time, and I'm amazed at the sight of him when I do.
He's magnificent. Even from the back.
And everyone in here knows it.
Including him.
Women who are sitting with each other or are with their significant others are all gawking at him. Repositioning themselves. Poking out their chests and sucking in their stomachs. Men who evidently seem to recognize his face are giving him respectful head nods. Even the hostess seems to have an extra hitch in her step knowing that this majestic beast is watching her walk from behind.
Who the heck is this guy?
"How's your scampi?"
Yikes. I didn't even notice that Jason's call was finally over.
"Oh," I fumble over my words. "Umm, it's okay."
"Just okay? You don't like it?"
"Well they were a little skimpy on the shrimp."
"I can order you something else," he offers apologetically.
"No, I better get going. I have some work to finish at home."
"Crap, I'm sorry, Sabrina. I wasn't much company tonight was I? I've been a little distracted for the past few days with a new account, which is already a pain in my ass. That's what that call was about."
Jason is always distracted with work. It's really nothing new, but it's also why he's such a great business manager. The best one at the company in my opinion. He's always going above and beyond for his clients.
"Anyone I know?"
"Some new alternative band out of Cali."
"Oh yeah, I heard a little about them from Marisol and none of it was good."
"Exactly. They're already giving me a headache and the ink is barely dry on their paperwork. I'm thinking about passing them over to Abby."
"Would you like me to handle them?"
I volunteer to take on Jason's group, not because I really want another client on my roster, but because I'm a little concerned that the first person he thought to throw extra work to was Abby and not me.
"I have no interest in you giving me the evil eye in the office everyday," Jason smiles. "And I know that would happen if I gave you this headache."
"But you'd give them to Abby?"
Jason tilts his head thoughtfully. "Only because I know one of her clients are about to jump ship to go with the Frazier Group. That's the only reason, Sabrina. I know you would do a good job with them if they were yours."
"Oh, okay." I say a little embarrassed that I even questioned him about it. Like I'm fishing for approval.
"You know you can email me anytime with whatever questions you may have about your accounts. You don't have to wait for these random dinner meetings of ours. I know it seems like I'm hectic right now, but my door is always open to you."
"I know, Jason, or what I mean to say is thank you. I will definitely reach out to you if I need to." I fumble awkwardly over my words as Jason looks at me as if I'm some sort of adorable little puppy or cute little sister.
Not an ounce of heat in his eyes.
In two seconds, I think he was about to pat my head.
"It's a shame your food wasn't good and mine is cold. This place was so highly Zagat rated." He frowns. "We'll have to pick a different location next time."
Jason's polite words don't impact me like they normally would. Not when he's just given me the big brother/little sister look just now, not to mention that I've been set a tad bit off kilter by the hot mystery man who I'm pretty sure just touched me on purpose.
"Okay," I reply, knowing very well that I don't need a repeat performance of tonight. Not only did we not get any work done, but we aren't even remotely close to a love connection. What the hell is the point of another dinner like this one?
At some point, I'm going to have to throw up the white flag, but unfortunately I'm a creature of habit. Day after day I eat the same things, listen to the same music, talk to the same friends, watch the same television shows, and yearn for the same man. That's just the way I'm built.
Especially when I have friends like Marisol. She's my superior at work and it was she who came up with the bright idea of having Jason mentor me as a way to ramp things up a notch. Since executing her plan he and I have been on three "working" dinners. Unfortunately none of them have produced many results, romantically or professionally for that matter.
"I'm going to go talk to the manager about your dinner, pay the check, and then go get the car. You wait here okay? No need for us both to walk that far."
"Sounds good," I nod with a smile.
It's not easy finding parking in the middle of Manhattan on theatre night, or any night in the city for that matter, but Jason refuses to pay parking lot prices after seven. He's thrifty like that. So we drove around for fifteen minutes to find a parking space on a street that is at least six city blocks away from the restaurant. That's why it's going to take him a good while getting the car.
It's such a gorgeous night though, it would have been kind of romantic if we had walked together to get it, but that's me trying to wish this into a date when it's anything but. For the few minutes that Jason and I did speak with each other, prior to him receiving his phone call, all the two of us managed to discuss tonight was work. Nothing personal. And I'm not sure, regardless of how much I wish it were different, we ever will talk about anything more than what we do for a living. It just may be all that we have in common.
While I wait for Jason to return from his long trek, from the shadows of the private rooms in the back of the restaurant, I see the tallest man on the planet moving towards my location with great purpose.
His shades are now off.
And his mesmerizing titanium colored eyes are locked on mine.
Eyes that look somewhat familiar, but I just can't quite place where I've seen them befor
e.
"He left?" Are the only two words he gruffly asks. His tone suggesting that we've known each other all of our lives, or that he has the right to ask me anything he wants.
"Umm, no."
"So then where's your date?"
Coworker not date, but there's no need to expound on that touchy subject with a total stranger.
"He's getting the car."
Wait–why I am answering this guy's questions?
"Short dinner," he observes with that same pompous grin across his face I saw when he first entered the restaurant.
"I didn't like my meal."
"He's all wrong for you, you know."
"What are you talking about?" I ask incredulously.
This guy has some nerve. Jason was barely out of the door before he came barreling over here crashing my dinner. No manners. No class. The only thing he has going for him are his looks. Too bad he totally knows it.
"I said he's completely wrong for you. Too short. Too inattentive. Too full of himself. And he took his eyes off of you. Big mistake."
Saint: A Football Romance (The Nighthawk Series Book 1) Page 1
