Holding Holly (Love and Football Series)
Page 9
“Let go of me.” She was still trying to grab the remote, without success.
“You’ll fall,” he warned.
“What’s your point?”
“Here.” He stuck the remote down the side of the couch cushion so Emily couldn’t grab it. He grasped her upper arms, righted her with no effort at all, and looked into her eyes. “All better. Shouldn’t you be resting, anyway?”
Emily tried to take a breath. Their bodies were frozen. He held her, and she gazed into his face. His dimple appeared, vanished, appeared again. She licked her lips with the microscopic amount of moisture left in her mouth. He was fighting a smile, but even more, he dipped his head toward her. He was going to kiss her.
“Yes,” she said.
Her voice sounded weak, but it was all she could do to push it out of lungs that had no air at all. He continued to watch her, and he gradually moved closer. Their mouths were inches apart. Emily couldn’t stop looking at his lips. After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, he released her and dug the remote from the couch cushion. She felt a stab of disappointment. He had changed his mind.
“Turns out you have the NFL Network, so I think I can handle another twenty-four hours here,” he announced as he stopped on a channel she’d never seen before.
“You might not be here another twenty-four minutes. Don’t you have a TV at home?” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. She wished she could come up with something more witty and cutting to say. She was so sure he would kiss her, and then he hadn’t.
An Excerpt from
RUSHING AMY
Love and Football, Book Two
Available Now from Avon Impulse!
For Amy Hamilton, only three F’s matter: Family, Football, and Flowers. It might be nice to find someone to share Forever with too, but right now she’s working double overtime while she gets her flower shop off the ground. The last thing she needs or wants is a distraction . . . or help, for that matter. Especially in the form of gorgeous and aggravatingly arrogant ex-NFL star Matt Stephens.
Matt lives by a playbook—his playbook. He never thought his toughest opponent would come in the form of a stunning florist with a stubborn streak to match his own. Since meeting her in the bar after her sister’s wedding, he’s known there’s something between them. When she refuses, again and again, to go out with him, Matt will do anything to win her heart . . . But will Amy, who has everything to lose, let the clock run out on the one-yard line?
THE WEDDING WAS over, and Amy Hamilton stood among the wreckage.
Every flat surface in the Woodmark Hotel’s grand ballroom was strewn with dirty plates, empty glasses, crumpled napkins, spent champagne bottles—the outward indication that a large group of people had one hell of a party. A few hours ago, Amy’s older sister, Emily, had married Brandon McKenna, the man of her dreams.
Three hundred guests toasted the bride and groom repeatedly. Happy tears flowed as freely as the champagne. The dinner was delicious, the cake, even better. The newlyweds and their guests danced to a live band till after midnight. The hotel ballroom was transformed into a candlelit fairyland for her sister’s flawless evening, but now all that was left was the mess. The perfectly arranged profusion of flowers was drooping. So was she.
Amy arranged flowers for weddings almost every weekend. Doing the flowers for Emily’s wedding, though, was an extra-special thrill. She’d seen it all over the past few years, first as an apprentice to another florist, and then after opening her own shop a little over a year ago. It meant long hours and hard work, but she was determined her business would succeed.
Amy took a last look at the twinkling lights of the boats crossing Lake Washington through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the west wall. She couldn’t help but notice she stood alone in a room that had been packed with people only an hour or so ago. She’d been alone for a long time now, and she didn’t like the feeling at all. She picked up the black silk chiffon wrap draped over yet another chair, and the now-wilting bridal bouquet Emily had tossed to her. Obviously, she’d stalled long enough. She wondered if the kitchen staff would mind whipping up a vat of chocolate mousse to drown her sorrows in.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind Amy on the ballroom floor, and she turned toward them. The man she’d watched on a hundred NFL Today pregame broadcasts strolled toward her. Any woman with a pulse knew who he was, let alone any woman hopelessly addicted to Pro Sports Network.
Matt Stephens was tall. His body, sculpted by years of workouts, was showcased in a perfectly tailored navy suit, but that didn’t tell the whole story. The wavy, slightly mussed blue-black hair, the square jaw, the olive skin that seemed to glow, and the flawless, white smile were exactly what Amy saw on her television screen each week during football season. Television didn’t do him justice. After all, on her TV screen he didn’t prowl. He locked eyes with her as he crossed the ballroom.
She glanced around to confirm she was still alone in the ballroom, and the beeline he was making was actually toward her. She couldn’t imagine what he wanted.
She knew a lot about him. Matt was a former NFL star, and a good friend of her new brother-in-law. When Matt got tired of playing with the Dallas Cowboys (three Super Bowl rings and six visits to the Pro Bowl later), he’d played in Seattle for the last two years of his career, afterward embarking on the wide world of game analysis and product endorsements. Guys wanted to be him, and women just plain wanted him.
Well, women who were still on the playing field wanted him. She was putting herself on injured reserve. After all, once burned, twice shy, and every other cliché she’d ever heard that reminded her of salt being poured on the open wound that was her heart.
Mostly, guys who looked like Matt weren’t looking for someone like her: A woman more interested in being independent than being some guy’s arm candy.
Matt stopped a few feet away from Amy. The deep dimples on either side of his lips flashed as his mouth moved into an irresistible grin.
“Hello, there.”
“You’re late.” The words flew out of her mouth before she realized she’d said it aloud.
An Excerpt from
CATCHING CAMERON
Love and Football, Book Three
Available Now from Avon Impulse!
Star sports reporter Cameron Ondine has one firm rule: she does not date football players. Ever. She tangled with one years ago, and it did not end well. Been there, done that. But when Cameron comes face to face with the very man who shattered her heart—on camera, no less—her world is upended for a second time by recklessly handsome Seattle Shark Zach Anderson.
Zach has never been able to forget the gorgeous blonde who stole his breath away when he was still just a rookie. They’ve managed to give each other a wide berth for years, but when he and Cameron are suddenly forced to live in close quarters for a TV stunt, he knows he has to face his past once and for all. Because the more time they spend together, the less he’s focused on the action on the field and the more concerned he is with catching Cameron.
ZACH ANDERSON WAS in New York City again, and he wasn’t happy about it. He wasn’t big on crowds as a rule, except for the ones that spent Sunday afternoons six months a year cheering for him as he flattened yet another offensive lineman on his way to the guy’s quarterback. He also wasn’t big on having four people fussing over his hair, spraying him down with whatever it was that simulated sweat, and trying to convince him that nobody would ever know he was wearing bronzer in the resulting photos.
Then again, he was making eight figures for a national Under Armour campaign for two days’ work; maybe he shouldn’t bitch. The worst injury he might sustain here would be some kind of muscle pull from running away from the multiple women hanging out at the photo shoot who had already made it clear they’d be interested in spending more time with him.
He was all dolled up in UA’s latest. Of course, he typically didn’t wear workout clothes that were tailored or ironed before he pulled them on. The phot
o shoot was now in its second hour, and he was wondering how many damn pictures of him they actually needed. There were worse things than being a pro football player who looked like the cover model on a workout magazine, was followed around by large numbers of hot young women, and got paid for it all.
“Gorgeous,” the photographer shouted to him. “Okay, Zach. I need pensive. Thoughtful. Sensitive.”
Zach shook his head briefly. “You’re shitting me.”
Zach’s agent, Jason, shoved himself off the back wall of the room and moved into Zach’s line of vision. Jason had been with him since Zach signed his first NFL contract. He was also a few years older than Zach, which came in handy. He took the long view in his professional and personal life, and encouraged Zach to do so as well.
“Come on, man. Think about the poor polar bears starving to death because they can’t find enough food at the North Pole. How about the NFL going to eighteen games in the regular season? If that’s not enough, Sports Illustrated’s discontinuing the swimsuit issue could make a grown man cry.” Even the photographer snorted at that last one. “You can do it.”
Eighteen games a season would piss Zach off more than anything else, but he gazed in the direction the photographer’s assistant indicated, thought about how long it would take him to get across town to his appointment when this was over, and listened to the camera’s rapid clicking once more.
“Are you sure you want to keep playing football?” the photographer called out. “The camera loves you.”
“Thanks,” Zach muttered. Shit. How embarrassing. If any of his four younger sisters were here right now, they’d be in hysterics.
CAMERON SMILED INTO the camera for the last time today. “Thanks for watching. I’m Cameron Ondine, and I’ll see you next week on NFL Confidential.” She waited until the floor director gave her the signal the camera was off, and stood up to stretch. Today’s guest had been a twenty-five year old quarterback who’d just signed a five-year contract with Baltimore’s team for seventy-five million dollars. Fifty million of it was guaranteed. His agent hovered off-camera, but not close enough to prevent the guy in question from asking Cameron to accompany him to his hotel suite to “hook up.”
Cameron wished she were surprised about such invitations, but they happened with depressing frequency. The network wanted her to play up what she had to offer: fresh-faced, wholesome beauty, a body she worked ninety minutes a day to maintain, and a personality that proved she wasn’t just another dumb blonde. She loved her job, but she didn’t love the fact some of these guys thought sleeping with her was part of the deal her employers offered when she interviewed them.
An Excerpt from
COVERING KENDALL
Love and Football, Book Four
Available Now from Avon Impulse!
Kendall Tracy, general manager of the San Francisco Miners, is not one for rash decisions or one-night stands. But when she finds herself alone in a hotel room with a heart-stoppingly gorgeous man who looks oddly familiar, Kendall throws her own rules out the window . . . and they blow right back into her face.
Drew McCoy should look familiar; he’s a star player for her team’s archrival the Seattle Sharks. Which would basically make Drew and Kendall the Romeo and Juliet of professional football . . . well, without all the dying. Not that it’s an issue. They agree to pretend their encounter never happened. Nothing good can come from it anyway, right?
Drew’s not so sure. Kendall may be all wrong, but he can’t stop thinking about her and he finds that some risks are worth taking. Because the stakes are always highest when you’re playing for keeps.
“YOU’RE DREW MCCOY,” she cried out.
She scooted to the edge of the bed, clutching the sheet around her torso as she went. It was a little late now for modesty. Retaining some shred of dignity might be a good thing.
She’d watched Drew’s game film with the coaching staff. She’d seen his commercials for hair products and sports drink and soup a hundred times before. His contract with the Sharks was done as of the end of football season, and the Miners wanted him to play for them. Drew was San Francisco’s number one target in next season’s free agency. She’d planned on asking the team’s owner to write a big check to Drew and his agent next March. If all that wasn’t enough, Drew was eight years younger than she was.
What the hell was wrong with her? It must have been the knit hat covering his famous hair, or finding him in a nonjock hangout like a bookstore. Maybe it was the temporary insanity brought on by an overwhelming surge of hormones.
“Is there a problem?” he said.
“I can’t have anything to do with you. I have to go.”
He shook his head in adorable confusion. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more right now than to run her fingers through his gorgeous hair.
“This is your hotel room. Where do you think you’re going?”
She yanked as much of the sheet off the bed as possible, attempting to wrap it around herself and stand up at the same time. He was simultaneously grabbing at the comforter to shield himself. It didn’t work.
She twisted her foot into the bedding while she hurled herself away from him and ended up on the carpet seconds later in a tangle of sheet and limbs, still naked. Her butt hit the floor so hard she almost expected to bounce.
The number-one reason why Kendall didn’t engage in one-night stands as a habit hauled himself up on all fours in the middle of the bed. Out of all the guys in the world available for a short-term fling, of all the times in her life she thought that might be an acceptable option, of course she’d pick the man who could get her fired or sued.
He grabbed the robe he’d slung over the foot of the bed, scrambled off the mattress, and jammed his arms into it as he advanced on her.
“Are you okay? You went down pretty hard.” His eyes skimmed over her. “That’s going to leave a mark.”
He crouched next to her as he reached out to help her up. She resisted the impulse to stare at golden skin, an eight pack, and a sizable erection. She’d heard Drew didn’t lack for dates. He had other things to offer besides the balance in his bank accounts.
“I’m okay,” she told him.
She felt a little shaky. She’d probably have a nice bruise later. She was going down all right, and it had nothing to do with sex. It had everything to do with the fact that if anyone from the Miners organization saw him emerging from her room in the next seventy-two hours, she was in the kind of trouble with her employer there was no recovering from. The interim general manager of a NFL team did not sleep with anyone from the opposing team, especially archrivals that hated each other with the heat of a thousand suns. Especially a star player her own organization was more than a little interested in acquiring. Especially before a game that would mean the inside track to the playoffs for both teams.
Drew and Kendall would be the Romeo and Juliet of the NFL. Well, without all the dying. Death by 24/7 sports media embarrassment didn’t count.
He reached out, grabbed her beneath her armpits, and hoisted her off the floor like she weighed nothing.
“I’ve got you. Let’s see if you can stand up,” he said. His warm, gentle hands moved over her, looking for injuries. “Why don’t you lean on me for a second here?”
She tried rewrapping the sheet around her so she could walk away from him while preserving her dignity. It wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t stop staring at him. If she let him take her in his arms, she’d be lost. She teetered as she leaned against the hotel room wall.
“I’m . . . I’m fine. I—”
“Hold still,” he said. She heard his bare feet slap against the carpeting as he grabbed the second robe out of the coat closet and brought it back to her. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s your decision, but I don’t understand what’s wrong.”
She struggled into the thick terry robe as she tried to think of a response. He was staring at her as she retrieved the fabric belt and swathed herself in yards of fabric. Ju
dging by his continuing erection, he liked what he saw, even if it was covered up from her neck to below her knees. He licked his bottom lip. Her mouth went dry. Damn it.
Of course the most attractive guy she’d been anywhere near a bed with in the past year was completely off-limits.
“You don’t recognize me,” she said.
“No, I don’t,” he said. “Is there a problem?”
“You might say that.” She finally succeeded in knotting the belt of the robe around her waist, dropped the sheet at her feet and stuck out one hand. “Hi. I’m Kendall Tracy. I’m the interim GM of the San Francisco Miners.” His eyes widened in shock. “Nice to meet you.”
About the Author
JULIE BRANNAGH has been writing since she was old enough to hold a pencil. She lives in a small town near Seattle, where she once served as a city council member and owned a yarn shop. She shares her home with a wonderful husband, two uncivilized Maine Coons, and a rambunctious chocolate Lab.
When she’s not writing, she’s reading or armchair-quarterbacking her favorite NFL team from the comfort of the family room couch. Julie is a Golden Heart finalist and the author of contemporary sports romances.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
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