by Liz Crowe
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Caught Offside
Copyright © 2011 by Liz Crowe
ISBN: 978-1-61333-181-1
Cover art by LFD Designs
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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www.decadentpublishing.com
Also by Liz Crowe
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Caught Offside
A 1Night Stand Story
Liz Crowe
~DEDICATION~
For Dominick
Prologue
Jackson Castillo sighed and threw a stack of sales charts on his desk. Turning so his view aimed out over the pink and orange Las Vegas dawn skyline, he sipped his espresso. He enjoyed the few quiet hours he actually had—before the many duties as manager of one of the most exclusive resorts in the world could pin him down.
Worry furrowed his brow. Not with concern about sales figures. In these days of bankrupt and multi-owner group takeovers for long-famous casino resorts, the Castillo chain operated in the black and had no sign of doing otherwise. His concern lay with his cousin, Ramon, who languished in one of the larger suites a few floors below the penthouse office. Although he’d agreed that the final stages of physical rehab could occur there, under his watchful eye, Jackson’s plans for him had been thwarted at every turn by intransigence. He wanted more than anything to be able to take some of the wounded hurt out of his adopted cousin’s eyes, if the stubborn man would simply allow it. He sighed. As if conjured by his thoughts, Madame Evangeline’s name appeared in a text message.
Bonjour, my dear.
Good morning, Madame.
Any luck with our little project?
No. He turned us down yet again yesterday. Although his doctor tells me he’s nearly ninety percent restored to normal, he still limps, claims the pain keeps him from being interested in our offer.
Well, he is your relative. But my unsolicited advice is to keep trying. He needs this. Poor boy.
He is no boy, Madame. Jackson ran a hand down his face. He’s a grown man, used to the spotlight and now that it’s off, he has no idea how to act. But it is not keeping him from gambling too much, in my pit boss’s expert opinion.
Have some sympathy, my dear. Let’s try once more, before it’s too late. He’s leaving us Monday, is he not?
Jackson leaned back in his chair, pondering the dilemma. A simple date, a lovely woman to take his cousin’s mind off his current situation, that’s all Madame proposed. Ironic really, given the kid’s reputation with females in his heyday as an internationally famous soccer star. But Jackson knew his cousin’s heart. He gave too much of it, while all those women wanted was a piece of his fine ass and the spotlight that followed him.
Flipping open his laptop, he mulled over Eve’s insistence that one of her encounters would solve all his wounded friend’s problems. Her enchantments often found a home at the Castillo hotel and resort, where she arranged exclusive and sometimes positively magical dates between people who contracted for her services. Only known in highly select circles, the 1Night Stand service went a long way toward Jackson’s healthy bottom line. He resisted the urge to force the man he’d known nearly his whole life to take her up on it. It maddened him, the way Ramon resisted their help.
A message popped into his inbox from Gillian, a good friend who managed banquet services at the MGM. Jackson knew she’d finished her night shift at the resort’s massive wedding chapel. The nature of the town demanded twenty-four hour services and the “Vegas Wedding” options were no exception. As a manager of one of the largest banquet operations on the Strip, she wouldn’t normally have to take a shift personally, but he knew why she did. When sleep is haunted by horrible nightmares of loss, one might as well work instead of staring at the ceiling.
She had a question about tickets for the pro soccer showcase coming up next month. Could he get a ticket to the sold-out event for her son? The nine-year-old boy played the game year round and had become a complete fanatic. Jackson smiled at the thought of the boy’s bright red hair and freckled face as he watched his heroes in action. All of them of course, except his favorite…the one whose replica jersey his mother could hardly keep clean, he wore it so much. Number seventeen from the US National Team.
“Holy shit!” Jackson yelled into the empty room and nearly fell backward off his chair.
His assistant opened the large door between them, concern in her eyes. He stalked around his desk, pumping his fist like a maniac, typing a text message into his phone with the other hand.
Madame—I have it! I officially have it. Christ! Why I didn’t see this before…. I need your approval to be the instigator this time. I think I can pull it off!
He didn’t have to explain any further. Eve would instantly know his mind and heart, and would approve. She’d put the wheels of fate in motion and he would place the players. The rest was up to them. But if he knew Ramon and his good friend like he thought he did, it would be, as they say, a no brainer.
A quick call to the sports massage specialist at the MGM and the wheels were officially in motion. He had his assistant buzz his cousin’s suite, to inform him of the therapy venue change for the day. Then, one last detail, as he had to keep the woman in place for another hour. Another call, and her assistant had arranged a banquet staffing screw up that she would have to handle before heading home.
Jackson leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face. How in the name of heaven hadn’t he thought of this before? He hoped it wasn’t too late. One last text to Eve and the scene would be set.
Bon chance, mon ami. This is a perfect arrangement. I am so happy I can be of assistance. Let us hope your players cooperate. I will be watching.
“One more espresso,” Jackson called into the hall. He glanced at his watch. Six AM. One more hour to savor his plan before watching it unfold. He grinned out into the Vegas skyline once again, hands in his suit pockets, skin prickling in anticipation of the day ahead.
Chapter One
Ramon Castillo limped into the lobby of the MGM Grand Casino hotel, mind closed and dark with frustration. His leg ached from knee to ankle, although it had been a short walk down the Strip from his cousin’s resort where he’d been mending—and hiding—for the last three months. His jaw already clenched in irritation at his apparent inability to walk a few blocks without sitting down.
He eased himself onto the bench at the huge lion fountain, stretching the bum leg out beside him. He glanced up, brain fuzzy with pain. Managing to accomplish the usual blanket ignore of the human sea that ebbed and flowed around him, his eyes lit on a striking woman as she ripped the desk clerk a new asshole.
Dressed in a black pencil skirt and killer high heels, her auburn hair fell in waves halfway down the bac
k of her crisp, cream blouse. She held a tablet computer in one arm and gestured wildly around with her other while the employee on the receiving end looked chastened. Ramon’s eyes traveled along the pleasant landscape of her curves, his hands gripping the bench’s edge with suppressed lust. He could almost feel the comfortable swell of her hip and ass under his palm. He tore his gaze away, shifting on the hard surface as his cock swelled under the loose training pants. He winced, conjuring Inge, the torturous bitch who pummeled him to keep his muscles from losing their tone.
When a hand gripped his bicep, he nearly fell backward into the fountain. A small voice yelped in his ear.
“Wow, is that really you? Mom! Mom! Hey, Mom! Oh, my gosh, Mooooooom!”
The small, redheaded boy continued jumping up and down and screeching, his little hand clutching Ramon’s sleeve. His gut clenched at the sight of the boy’s shirt—a dark blue replica of his national soccer team jersey—and he’d be willing to bet the number seventeen adorned the back. He sighed, forcing away the nightmare memory of himself, lying on the pitch during the final game of the World Cup championship, his shin a white-hot center of utter agony. A compound fracture from a cleats-high, red-card foul had ended his career in a matter of seconds.
To his surprise, the woman who had provided him with the tent pole in his sweatpants appeared right in front of him, the toe of her black patent leather shoe tapping with impatience. He looked up, straight into a pair of the most beautiful deep green eyes he’d ever seen. But they weren’t happy to see him. She yanked the boy’s hand away and bent her knees to meet his eager face. He couldn’t help but grin as the kid kept staring, ignoring his mother in the way unique to small boys.
“Harrison Joseph Winter, leave the guests alone.” She gave him a nudge then finally gripped his chin and pulled his face to hers. “How many times….” She sighed when he wiggled out of her grasp and sat back down, short legs swinging.
When she drew up to her full height, the vision was stunning. He barely heard her speak at first, and had to consciously clamp his mouth shut. He hoped to hell he hadn’t drooled. The woman must be a former athlete of some sort. Easily six feet plus in four-inch heels, with a classically feminine shape, her toned legs, arms, and shoulders undisguised by the suit.
“I’m sorry, can you hear me?” He realized he’d been ignoring her as blatantly as the kid, who at that moment had climbed up into his lap in excitement. He registered her tone as one usually reserved for small children or deaf uncles.
“Uh, sorry.” He winced, trying to get to his feet and ease the boy off. “It’s okay. I, um, needed to rest a minute before….” She put a hand on his shoulder to indicate he should stay seated. The spark that flew from her touch made him blink. He sat quickly to hide the embarrassing bulge in his crotch.
“Harrison, come here,” the lovely creature snapped. The boy jumped down. “Mr. Castillo, I am so sorry. I know you’re here to recuperate anonymously. He won’t bother you again. Please let me know if you need any help from our staff.” She tugged the boy beside her before he could get the, but mom…out, turned and gave him an incredible rear view. He groaned under his breath.
Gillian punched in a phone number she’d memorized. Jackson Castillo managed the most exclusive resort casino on the Strip and had tried like hell to get her to come work for him, claiming she would be a real coup as an employee. Barring that, he tried even harder to get her to agree to one of Madame Eve’s dates. He’d struck out completely on both counts—more than once. He catered to millionaires and celebrities, but kept a low profile on the fact that prearranged trysts were consummated there almost daily.
Jackson’s smooth voice filled her ear. “So, have you come to your senses? Have you decided to let Madame work her magic?”
Her face flushed. Only very select circles could afford the high end dating service run by Madame Evangeline. Because she handled the catering and wedding services at one of the larger resorts, Gillian knew of Eve and had been a big fan of hers for a while. “No, you know better than that.” Her throat tightened at the thought of an actual date. Two years widowed at thirty-six, her nights were still tormented by dreams of Joe Winter, her husband, former coach and soul mate. “I saw your cousin at my place today. I, um, didn’t know he…well….” She trailed off, words failing her.
Jackson chuckled, a musical sound that made her shiver with the memory of how incredibly hot and somehow vulnerable the young man had looked in her lobby a few moments ago.
“Ah, Ramon, yes. He has been here nearly three months now. His leg is almost fully recovered. But he refuses to go out with any of the beautiful women Eve can line up for him. It’s all the time therapies, swimming, therapies and sleep. He needs someone to look at, talk to, think about other than his career.”
Gillian gulped. She’d been annoyingly weak in the knees ever since walking away from Ramon. His dark chocolate eyes held a pain that went beyond the physical. And his body, hidden under a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, already seemed familiar to her. A former collegiate and pro star goalie herself, she had followed his quick rise to the top of men’s professional soccer. She admittedly nurtured a deep-seated resentment for Ramon Castillo and his ilk—the superboy stars who continued beyond college and actually made a living doing what they loved—playing the game she loved. But the man had been pure poetic beauty on the field.
“Well, of course Harrison went ape shit when he saw the guy. And, well, I wondered…since he’s your cousin….” She let the comment trail away, unable to ask her real question: would the former world champion soccer player, celebrity playboy, sometime model, ruined in front of an international audience a year ago by a Dutch player with a grudge and good aim, come play soccer with her and her nine-year-old son? The very thought seemed ludicrous. She sighed, ready to put an end to the conversation.
Jackson stopped her. “That’s brilliant!” His unusually eager tone should have been a dead giveaway that he was up to something.
She frowned, pouring Harrison into the backseat of the car, ignoring his constant stream of consciousness about the soccer hero he’d just met. Since she could hardly ever sleep without waking, screaming in anguish at dreams of her late husband, she took a couple of night shifts in the wedding chapel at the MGM. The overnight sitter had dropped her son off an hour ago and she’d planned to spend the whole day with him at his favorite activity—soccer.
She switched the phone to her other ear and slid behind the wheel.
“Huh?”
“That’s an amazing idea! He needs this. He’s resisted soccer, women, drinking, and has recently become overly fond of my high stakes blackjack table.”
She took a deep breath, holding down her long held anger at male athletes like Castillo. But the sight of him close up, the honest smile he’d given her and the heat of his dark skin under her palm when she had impulsively touched his shoulder, made moisture pool somewhere in the vicinity of her panties.
The whole thing suddenly seemed embarrassing—and unnecessary. If she could get the guy to pay a little attention to her boy for an hour or so, that would suffice.
“Well, Harrison and I go to Soccer Plus three times a week now that his club is off for the summer. We’re headed there around noon today. Maybe, if you asked him.” She still couldn’t verbalize the thought.
“Done.” Jackson declared. “He’ll be there.”
“But—” she started to protest. She’d read all the gossip rags about how he’d sworn off soccer forever. His plans to finish his engineering degree. She didn’t believe it any more than those writers did. The man had been a dynamo on the soccer pitch—like a ballet dancer, all rippling thighs, strong body, concentration and talent, utterly breathtaking to watch. She gripped the steering wheel when Jackson cut her off.
“Do not doubt me. But I will need your help convincing him to stay. He’s due back in St. Louis with his team in a couple of days. I want him to take over the Black Jacks—take our semi- pro team to the big time. He’l
l never play at his old level again and we all know it. So I’m taking that in trade for me getting him over to you today.” Jackson hung up, leaving her staring out her minivan windshield, silent phone in hand.
Stay? Take over the newly successful semi-pro soccer team out here? What the hell made Jackson think that would fly?
“Mommy?” Harrison’s unhappy voice interrupted her daze. “It’s hot. Can we go? Hey, do ya think he’d play with me? He looked really hurt today, Mom. Mom?”
Gillian sighed and drove out onto the Vegas Strip, pointed her car toward home, and let her son’s monologue continue, unabated and unanswered.
Later, she crept into Harrison’s room as he napped. Watching the living result of the love she’d shared so intensely with Joe had a calming effect on her. She sipped her coffee, and put a hand on his small back.
After about an hour, she rose and drifted into her room. Setting the coffee cup down on the bathroom counter, she appraised herself. Tall, still reasonably fit, although slipping into lazy habits, long red hair scraped back in a familiar ponytail. She had a body meant for sports, and for her husband. She sighed and let a tear slip down her cheek. The ding of a text startled her. Jackson.
He will be at Soccer Plus at noon.
Her face flushed at the thought. Thanks a lot. Harrison will be beside himself.
A slight delay preceded the message that she would later realize signaled a life-changing moment.
I think you and Ramon could heal together.
Chapter Two
“You told her what?” Ramon stared at his cousin in disbelief.
“That you would be meeting her and her son at noon at Soccer Plus.”
