Foolish Games (An Out of Bounds Novel)

by Solheim, Tracy

  He pushed a lock of hair off her face. Unease dimmed her bright eyes.

  “I’m going to have to trust you on this, Julianne,” he said gruffly.

  Her face glowed as she leaned down to kiss the corners of his mouth. “You won’t regret it. You’ll see.” And she proceeded to show him just how magnificent trust can be.

  Epilogue

  “You look amazing, Julianne. Like an actual princess,” Sophie said reverently from where she sat at Julianne’s feet, the skirt of her own dove-gray bridesmaid gown flared out around her on the floor.

  They were in the large Glasgow suite of the Tide Me Over Inn, dressing for Julianne’s wedding to Will. He had been adamant there be a real wedding, one with all the trimmings, including a wedding dress of her creation. This time, when they said their vows to one another, it would be for keeps.

  Julianne stared at her own reflection in the floor-length mirror. The woman gazing back at her did resemble a princess, a look of faint wonder on her face. The gown had come to her one night, her fingers numbly sketching what would be her wedding dress, her mother’s voice in her ear adding the subtle, artistic details of ruching and delicate beading. The result was so stunning, Julianne was very nearly transfixed by her own reflection.

  Smoothing her hands down the skirt, she inhaled a deep, cleansing breath to calm her nerves. She couldn’t figure out why she would be anxious. They were already married, after all. Nicky had even performed a private marriage mass the night before. Today was for show. A day to celebrate with their family and friends.

  “And the necklace looks magnificent with it, if I do say so myself,” Sophie added.

  Sophie was at that awkward stage in life where she couldn’t decide whether to be an artsy girl or a sophisticated socialite. Today, the teenager was all glamour. The pink highlights long gone, her cinnamon hair was curled loosely around her face, her apple-green eyes shimmering with delight. Her flair with jewelry was uncanny, and Julianne was looking forward to watching Sophie flourish as an artist. If only because the teenager reminded her a little of herself a decade ago.

  “It is a lovely piece. Thank you for making it for me.” Julianne smiled at Sophie’s reflection in the mirror.

  “Hey, I’m just glad you’re having a real wedding this time. Unlike some people who get married on the beach, forcing me to make their jewelry out of pukka shells.” Sophie scoffed with indignity.

  “Really, Sophie, your father and I could have just hauled off to Las Vegas and gotten married. But we wanted to include you. So sorry you had to suffer through a week in Aruba. But you have to admit, your tan does complement the dress beautifully,” Annabeth teased as she reached a hand down to her new stepdaughter, helping her to her feet. She wrapped an arm around both Sophie and Julianne. “What an incredibly lucky woman I am today. Two new daughters in one week.” The last was said in a whisper as Annabeth’s eyes misted over.

  “No crying!” Julianne and Sophie chorused.

  The three women stood arm in arm facing the mirror, with smiles ranging from bemusement to rapture adorning their faces.

  “The flowers are here,” Carly, dressed in a gown similar to Sophie’s, called as she entered the room. “And the flower girl, too.”

  Julianne’s four-year-old niece, Ariel, danced into the suite, a wreath of roses wrapped precariously around her blond curls, dipping below one eye. Her miniature dress was adorned with the same beadwork as Julianne’s, making her look like a fairy princess, too. She gave her aunt an impish smile.

  “Daddy says to hurry up because his tummy is rumbly.”

  Smiling fondly, Julianne reached down to adjust the wreath on her niece’s dainty head. The young girl’s cheeks were already flushed with excitement.

  “Well, we can’t have the senator’s stomach rumbling throughout the ceremony, can we?” Gathering up her skirt and bouquet with one hand and Ariel’s tiny hand in the other, she led the way down the grand staircase toward the garden where the wedding would take place.

  Reconciling with her brother was also something Will had been adamant about. He’d insisted Julianne give Stephen a second chance. Considering the man had almost ruined Will’s career, Julianne figured if he could cut Stephen some slack, she could, too. In the end, she realized Will and her brother were determined to protect her like the domineering alpha males they both were, and it was better to just accept it rather than fight it.

  Stephen bent and chucked his daughter under her chin as they arrived at the vine-covered arbor leading to the garden. His eyes sparkled as they met Julianne’s.

  “That gown is stunning, Julianne.”

  “Daddy,” Ariel singsonged, hopping on her toes. “Aunt Jules said I get to wear it when I get married.”

  A look of severe angst gripped Stephen’s face. “That’s great, sweetheart, but let Daddy get used to you going to preschool before you start talking about getting married, okay?”

  Julianne laughed at her brother’s discomfort. He wrapped her hand around his arm, elegantly clad in a gray morning coat.

  “I guess it’s never too early for me to start practicing walking the bride down the aisle,” Stephen said with a grin.

  Brody came through the arbor looking devastatingly handsome in his own morning coat. Catching sight of Julianne, he immediately clutched a hand to his chest. He looked back up the aisle toward the gazebo where Will presumably stood waiting for her. When he turned his head back, bright mischief burned in his eyes.

  “I’ve come for the mother of the groom, but Julianne, it’s not too late. Run away with me. Now. You’re too good for that big ugly caveman.”

  Sophie giggled as Carly let out a long-suffering groan.

  “She’s marrying Will!” Ariel stomped her foot. “He’s Owen’s daddy and they love each other.”

  Annabeth grinned as she laced her arm through Brody’s. “You heard the child, Brody. You’re stuck with me.”

  Brody winked at Julianne before leaning over to gently kiss her cheek. “He’s one lucky guy,” he whispered.

  Before he could step back, Julianne pulled him in for a tight hug. “There’s some lucky girl out there who gets you, Brody,” she murmured next to his ear. “The real you. Just be patient.”

  She squeezed his hand just as the harp began to play. Ariel gave a little squeal of excitement.

  “That’s our cue.” Annabeth blew a kiss to Julianne as she took Brody’s arm and headed through the arbor and down the aisle.

  Sophie was next, her face radiant as she turned the corner and glided toward the gazebo.

  “Okay, Ariel,” Carly instructed as she handed Ariel her basket of flower petals. “Your turn. Carefully drop the petals just like we practiced.”

  A chorus of ahhs greeted Ariel’s appearance through the arbor.

  “Air kiss,” Carly whispered as she hugged Julianne before taking her turn down the aisle.

  The harpist began the wedding march and Stephen stiffened beside her.

  “Last chance,” he said. “You’re sure about this? This is truly what you want?”

  Julianne yanked on her brother’s arm. “Yes, Stephen. I’m positive.”

  He grinned. “Brody’s right. Will’s a lucky guy.”

  She kissed her brother on the cheek, leaving a lipstick mark that she didn’t bother to wipe off.

  As they turned the corner, Julianne caught a glimpse of Will, superbly outfitted in his gray morning coat, standing stoically at the gazebo, Gavin and Brody beside him. He swayed slightly as she came into view and their gazes connected. A hint of a smile formed on his lips as his heated emerald eyes followed her path down the aisle.

  Julianne barely noticed Will’s teammates and the townspeople seated in the white folding chairs. She passed by Sebastian, Nigel, and Nicky without so much as a glance, her eyes fixed on those of her husband, the hum of desire burning deep within her.
Her face nearly ached from the widespread grin she couldn’t hold back.

  The music stopped once she and Stephen reached the gazebo.

  “Definitely a princess,” Will said softly.

  Julianne’s knees nearly buckled at the heat of his stare. It was ironic, she thought; around the league it was believed that Will had ice running through his veins. One look into his eyes and Julianne saw only hot passion there.

  “Your very own crazy princess,” she whispered back.

  The minister cleared his throat.

  “Who gives this woman to be wed?” he asked in a booming voice.

  There was a speculative pause as Stephen looked from the minister to Julianne. She held her breath, wondering what her brother was up to now.

  “No one,” Stephen stated, deviating from what they’d rehearsed the night before. “This woman comes of her own free will out of love for this man. And with the support and love of her family.”

  A tear rolled down Julianne’s cheek. Stephen wiped it away before kissing her forehead and taking his seat beside his wife in the front row.

  Owen chortled in delight as Julianne and Will said their vows for real this time, signifying their love for one another with matching wedding bands and sealing their promise with a kiss.

  Turn the page for a preview of Tracy Solheim’s next novel

  RISKY GAME

  Coming in May 2014 from Berkley Sensation!

  Prologue

  From the blog:

  THE GIRLFRIEND’S GUIDE TO THE NFL

  It’s that time again, girlfriends! Kickoff weekend in the NFL. Men in tight pants fighting over a ball. Yum. And while those macho talking heads on cable are breaking down the plays, we’ll be giving you all the stats you really want to know: the inside scoop on your fantasy players. Ladies, forget about the games, because we all know the real scoring takes place off the field. So let’s get right to it.

  Rumor has it Miami running back Al Stephens and his estranged wife are reuniting—in court that is. According to sources, Stephens will spend his day off next Tuesday in a Dade County courtroom answering to his wife’s claims of infidelity. Prepare yourselves, ladies, because it’s about to get nastier than an episode of The Real Housewives. My spies tell me Stephens’s wife, Jackie, will be naming the girlfriend of one of his Miami teammates as the other woman. Wouldn’t you just looove to be in that locker room next week?

  Speaking of other women, a little bear told me that Chicago head coach Ray Clooney has not one, but two new ladies in his life—besides his wife, of course. Clooney is apparently the secret father of a daughter with a certain Chicago-area restaurant hostess. No word on Clooney’s wife’s reaction, but I think it’s a safe bet he’ll be dining out for the foreseeable future.

  Finally, the return of the pigskin brings back the fine tight end of Baltimore’s Brody Janik, every girlfriend’s favorite fantasy player. Brody and his sexy baby-blues have been laying low this off-season. Apparently, he’s lost interest in a certain flavor of Candi. One has to wonder how—and with whom—he’s been spending his free time.

  Got some football fantasies to share? Maybe a photo of our favorite guys of the gridiron doing something naughty? Send it to us at TGFGTNFL@TWITTER.

  One

  Shannon “Shay” Everett had been in some compromising positions in her life. Many of them even of her own doing. Growing up in a small town in Texas as the daughter of a down-and-out rodeo rider and a beauty salon owner, the rebellious tomboy had gotten into more embarrassing scrapes than she could reckon. That being said, she never envisioned herself stuffed into a cubby inside an NFL locker room late at night. A locker room that was supposed to be empty. Only it wasn’t.

  Hell’s bells.

  Shay would have kicked her own butt for this little escapade if it wouldn’t call attention to her presence. The guilt she felt over her task had already swayed her to abort the whole thing the minute she’d entered the players’ domain. Not to mention that she was risking her internship with the team and her scholarship along with it. She’d just have to keep riding her bike to work and the bus downtown to campus because the money to replace her car’s muffler wouldn’t be coming from some mystery Internet blogger who paid handsomely for personal information on professional football players. Shay was ashamed for even attempting it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Now she just needed to quickly extricate herself from her perch in a dark corner of the Baltimore Blaze’s state-of-the-art locker room. Unfortunately, her punishment was to endure painful pins and needles in her legs and feet as she waited out the room’s other two occupants, both of whom seemingly had all the time in the world. Not that any woman would complain, given the view. Standing twenty feet in front of Shay was Blaze tight end and all-American heartthrob Brody Janik.

  A deliciously naked Brody Janik.

  Shay willed her stomach not to growl at the sight before her, but Brody was a spectacular example of Grade-A Prime athlete in all his physical glory. Her mouth watered as she took in six-foot-three inches, two-hundred-ten pounds of perfectly sculpted muscle standing beneath a single shaft of light, the scene reminiscent of a statue of a Greek god on display in a museum somewhere. All that was missing was the pedestal for him to stand on.

  Not that she hadn’t seen nearly this much of his perfect body before. The whole world had. As the spokesman for an international designer’s line of men’s underwear, pictures of Brody wearing nothing but his sparkling blue eyes and his skivvies had been plastered all over billboards and buses for months now. Except tonight, those skivvies were noticeably absent.

  She licked her lips as he scrubbed his neatly trimmed brown hair with a towel, the muscles in his broad back rippling. Her eyes drifted lower to the two fine dimples on his backside—a backside that saw a lot of sun based on the lack of a discernible tan line. She slammed her eyelids shut as he turned to reach for something out of his locker. Surely this was an invasion of his privacy and she ought not to be looking. Except when would she get another chance like this one?

  She blinked one eye open. Dang! He’d already pulled on a pair of skin-tight gray boxers, a noticeably abundant bulge hidden beneath the Egyptian cotton.

  “It’s going to be hard to keep this under wraps,” a heavily accented male voice said from the shadows, a few lockers over.

  Ain’t that the truth, Shay thought. She mentally shook herself in an effort to refocus her attention from the sexy scene in front of her and tried to make sense of the conversation. The other voice in the room wasn’t hard to recognize; the distinct accent belonged to Mr. pomegranate-smoothie-with-extra-flax-seed, Brody’s personal trainer whose last name was something Scandinavian and unpronounceable. Shay only knew him by what he ordered in the Blaze commissary each time he visited.

  “It won’t be that hard, Erik.” Brody tugged on a pair of jeans over his well-defined, long legs as Shay stifled a sigh. He sat down on the folding chair in front of his locker and pulled on his socks and sneakers. “The Piss Man only checks for banned substances. He’s not checking my blood sugar.”

  Pardon? She tore her eyes away from Brody’s still nude torso to concentrate on the words coming out of his wicked mouth. She’d heard the phrase “Piss Man” before; it was the players’ nickname for the league representative who tested their urine for illegal steroid use. It was the second part of Brody’s sentence that sent Shay’s brain scrambling. Was something up with his blood sugar?

  “That’s not the point.” The fair-haired Dane moved out from the shadows to stand beside Brody’s chair. “What if you get disoriented on the field again and miss a route or a pass? It was only practice today, but it could happen during a game if you can’t keep your sugar regulated.”

  Brody stood up from the chair, his chiseled body elegant and assured as he peered down at the stocky trainer. Good looks, superior athleticism, and an affluent
upbringing gave him the confidence to believe he could beat anything. Even, apparently, a problem with his blood sugar.

  “Not gonna happen.” He pulled a black Lacoste polo over his head.

  “You can’t beat it by mainlining Pop-Tarts like you did before your training camp physical,” his trainer persisted. “That ended with you nearly comatose two hours later.”

  Shay worried her bottom lip as she considered the implications of Brody’s predicament. As a PhD candidate in nutrition, she knew full well how the tight end’s fluctuating blood sugar could spell doom for his career. She also didn’t want to contemplate the scenario of him trying to regulate it by himself.

  Brody shoved his sweaty clothes into his gym bag. “You worry too much. I’ll take precautions before and during games. Whatever I need, I can have on the sidelines or in the locker room during halftime. My plan worked fine during the opening game last week.”

  His friend shook his head. “I’d feel better if you told the training staff. That way, someone could keep an eye on you during the game. You aren’t always aware that your sugar’s dropping until it’s too late.”

  “No. Nobody knows. Not even my family.” The vehemence in Brody’s voice echoed throughout the empty locker room. “I’m in the last year of my contract and my mom is a diabetic. If the team finds out my blood sugar is a little schizophrenic, the negotiations for a new deal will spin out of control. Besides, Nate the Narcissist is a pain in the ass. The guy’s got a real Napoleon complex. He’d lord it over me and take over my life. No thank you, dude.” Brody shuddered as he zipped up his bag.

  Shay sucked in a breath. Nate, the team’s head trainer, was her boss, and she had to agree with Brody’s assessment of him. As her mama would say, Nate was “all hat and no cattle.” It was a relief to know she wasn’t the only one who suffered under the man’s delusions of grandeur.

  When she’d accepted the internship, Shay was told she’d be working with the training staff on the day-to-day nutritional coaching for the players. The information she obtained would be useful in the compilation of her dissertation, an examination of carbohydrates used during peak athletic performance. Instead, Nate had banished her to the team’s cafeteria, telling her he needed the extra hands to help the catering staff during training camp. Now the season was in its second week and he showed no intention of allowing her to move up from food service. By the time Shay realized she wouldn’t get the experience she wanted, all the other internships had been taken. She needed the credits to fulfill a requirement to receive her degree at the end of the semester. Worse still, she wasn’t even getting paid for the work she did.