by Mara Jacobs
Text copyright ©2014 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Nyree Belleville, Oak Press, LLC. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements of Game For Love remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Nyree Belleville, Oak Press, LLC, or their affiliates or licensors.
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Declan Tate has just thrown his last pass.
Or has he?
On the night of his last football game as a pro quarterback, Declan Tate meets Marlee Reeves and can’t seem to see anything beyond…well, her. He’s supposed to be spending the next week prepping for his upcoming broadcasting auditions. But all he wants to do is spend the week trying to…read her coverage.
Will he score? Or fumble?
Marlee Reeves is at the point in her life where she’d like to settle down, but her only experience with a pro athlete broke her heart. She’s not sure Declan has enough game to break down her defense.
Will she complete Declan’s pass? Or be intercepted by her past?
They have one week to pass the goal line.
Will they put points on the board?
Or be left scoreless in love?
For every quarterback crush I’ve ever had…
And there have been many!
Chapter One
“Oh my God, it’s nothing but naked men in here!” Marlee said on a bit of a squeak. Which was unusual, because calm, cool Marlee Reeves never squeaked.
“Where? Where?” Marlee’s friend, Anna Taylor, peeked around Marlee’s tall shoulder, looking past the foyer where they stood, and down into the sunken living room.
“Everywhere. There, and there.” Marlee pointed out the men in question to Anna.
“Marlee, if that’s your idea of naked men, you’ve been in the classroom way too long.” Anna chuckled and shook her head at Marlee.
Anna was one of the few people Marlee knew who didn’t think of her as uptight, because Anna had seen her when Marlee let her hair down, both figuratively and literally, when they’d been roommates at Stanford. But most people when meeting Marlee—for the first, second, and even third times—came away thinking of a stereotypical cool, buttoned-up priss. And that was fine with her.
She supposed it didn’t help that she perpetuated the stereotype by wearing nothing but severely cut business suits, her auburn hair always bound up in a tight chignon, and the requisite glasses. The suits were designer, as were the glasses, and very fashionable, but still.
Anna had told her to dress casually for the football game they’d gone to earlier that day, and she had…or so she’d thought. Anna, upon seeing her, had laughed and asked her if she even owned jeans. Marlee had only smiled and told her friend that she would be fine in what she was wearing.
And Anna hadn’t said a word at the looks Marlee received as they’d walked through the crowd at Liberty Field to watch the Pumas lose to the Jets, taking them out of the playoffs and ending their season. Amidst the face-painted, bare beer-bellied Pumas diehards sat Marlee, in a gray Donna Karan paint suit with cream silk blouse underneath, all covered by a camel hair coat and cashmere scarf.
A large whoop from the crowd in the living room in front of them brought Marlee back from her musings on her wardrobe, and she once again concentrated on the wardrobes of the people in front of her.
Or, rather, lack of wardrobes.
“Semi-naked, then,” Marlee amended. It was still an awful lot of flesh. It was wall-to-wall bodies, mostly female. Anna and she were descending into the living room of the home, had just passed the foyer, when the visual Technicolor of the outfits and the overwhelming aroma of nearly fifty different designer perfumes assaulted Marlee’s senses.
There were probably thirty men. They were all huge. A true rainbow coalition. The skin tones ran the gamut from palest white to blackest black, with every hue in between represented. Marlee assumed that these men were the players she had watched earlier today.
Tried to watch. The game moved faster than she’d imagined. She’d left the game with a headache, hoping for a quiet dinner with her friend Anna and her husband Cole. This loud, body-filled house was not what she had in mind.
The men at the party all wore either muscle shirts or no shirt at all, and nylon running pants. Maybe regular pants just wouldn’t fit over thighs like theirs, though it seemed to Marlee that surely these men’s salaries would allow them some custom tailoring. The huge biceps on most of them would cut glass, they were so hard. That must be the reason for the sleeveless shirts—to show off the bulging muscles. It certainly wasn’t to stay cool. Not in January in Boston. Marlee looked, but was hard-pressed to find a neck on any of them. It seemed their burly chests blended right into their massive heads.
The women were just as scantily dressed. Halter tops, tank tops, and even a sprinkling of tube tops. Lots of them in lamé. All worn a size too small. In the dead of a Boston winter. Marlee shivered just thinking of how cold the women must be. They didn’t act cold, though, unless their close proximity to all the men in the room was an effort to bask in the collective body heat. Marlee wasn’t sure which was more plentiful at first glance: big hair or nearly bared breasts.
Marlee hadn’t seen so much cleavage since the time she had inadvertently gone to a strip joint with some male colleagues after a conference, thinking that “The Trim Club” was a new workout place.
Anna had taken her to the football game—Marlee’s first—and now they were at an after-game party at a home belonging to one of the players. Marlee and Anna were there to collect Anna’s husband Cole, who was a former teammate of the man who was hosting the party.
Cole played for the San Francisco Outlaws, and their season had ended a week earlier. He’d wanted to come to a game of a former teammate of his who was retiring. As it happened, with the loss today, it turned out to be his final game.
Marlee didn’t care about any of that, but she was thrilled to see her old roommate Anna and meet her husband. When they’d married so quickly after meeting last year, Marlee had been concerned. But even just spending this short amount of time with them, she could see the couple was deeply in love.
But now, Marlee just wanted to collect Cole and go to dinner. The thought of spending any more time in this place made her extremely uneasy. She felt like she did in high school when the football team strolled down the hall, slamming the nerdy boys into lockers, and the cheerleaders trailed after them, all twittering and giggling. It made her feel insignificant and out of place, even a little nervous. Those nerdy boys had been her friends, her fellow chess club members. And she had never had anything in common with the cheerleaders.
As she looked around the room, she pushed her glasses up her nose (a testament that she hadn’t left her nerd roots totally behind). She wasn’t sure if it was the huge men or the scantily clothed women that bothered her, but this was not her cup of tea. Nevertheless, she held herself with her usual poise and dignity, as if large men tossing a tiny woman above their heads and passing her across the room was an everyday occurrence.
She turned her attention away from the people and to the décor of the room. It was lovely. Marlee had assumed that they’d be going to an ostentatious mansion furnished in lots of black leather and chrome with big-screen TVs, quadraphonic stereo systems, and trophies lining every available inch of wall space. Possibly some zebra-skin rugs. But this place was no mansion, though it was definitely an expensive home.
The room they were in was what Marlee assumed was the great room. Through the throng of people sh
e could see one wall was dominated by a gorgeous stone fireplace. Another wall was painted a Tuscan gold that set it apart from the rest of the room.
She’d done something similar in her home, painting one wall a dramatic salmon color. This player’s wife and Marlee had similar tastes, and she debated trying to stay at the party long enough to meet the woman and to see the kitchen. She was a kitchen connoisseur.
The house was in the quiet, family-oriented, affluent Boston suburb of Brookline, one that Marlee had driven through many times, mentally adding it to her list of places she would look into when she settled down and had a family.
She wondered now, as she looked around the warm, homey decor, if she wouldn’t be better off spending more time trying to find someone to share a home like this with than looking at neighborhoods.
“Look at all those glorious bare chests, all those muscles. Man, these guys are sculpted. Of course, none can hold a candle to my Cole. We better find him and get the heck out of here; looks like this place is about to get out of hand. I’m thinking this party is for the single players. I don’t see too many wife-looking women here. Besides, I don’t want him comparing me with all those nubile young groupies.”
Anna joked about her husband of just over a year, but Marlee knew that they were deliriously happy together. Cole’s grandmother was staying with their baby in San Fransisco while the couple took the quick trip to Boston so Cole could wish his friend well.
Cole had felt he should at least make an appearance at his friend’s party, so he went right after the game, and Anna and Marlee were to pick him up and the three would go out for dinner. Marlee had something she wanted to discuss with Cole, and she didn’t want to do it with Metallica blasting in the background and young girls in spandex giggling in her ears.
As if Marlee had conjured him up, Cole stepped forward from the crowd and started walking toward them. He walked quickly, making several moves worthy of his football god status—just to avoid making contact with the huge men who were in various stages of dancing, drinking, flirting with the groupies, and lamenting the loss that had ended their season.
Cole wasn’t alone. Beside him walked the most handsome man Marlee had ever seen. He was smaller than Cole, and was dwarfed by the behemoth football players who seemed to part like the Red Sea to allow the men past. He was dressed more like Cole too, in khakis, a crisp white dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up his tanned forearms, and very expensive loafers. Marlee, a shoe freak from way back, noticed the loafers first, made a note of the designer and the probable cost, and wondered if this man with Cole might be a team member’s agent.
Marlee’s chest tightened just from looking at the man coming their way. God, he was handsome. A physique to die for. He must work out a lot. If he was an agent, he had players for clients and maybe wanted to look good when he was next to them. And boy did he look good.
It was his size that was most attractive to Marlee. Big, strong, broad shoulders, but not hulking, overbearing strength, no oversized neck like the other men here had. This man was in perfect proportion. Deep brown hair and green eyes, a combination that Marlee always particularly liked. Being nearly five feet, ten inches herself, she was drawn to tall men. Not enough that she had to strain her neck to look up at them, but if her estimation was close, his six-foot frame would be perfect for her.
Perfect for her.
The idea breezed through Marlee’s brain. Gorgeous, good dresser, most likely an agent or somebody in the Pumas’ front office, so good employment and would be staying in the area. She stole a glance at his hand to see an absence of any wedding ring.
The night was looking up. The thought of staying at this party just got a whole lot more desirable. She could get to know this man and maybe get to see the kitchen as well. She could avoid meeting any of the football players by having Anna, Cole, and this other man to talk to.
She didn’t delude herself into thinking that any of the players would be falling all over themselves to meet her when there were so many other flashier, younger, and obviously more eager women in the room.
“Marlee Reeves, Declan Tate. Declan, Marlee. And this,” he said, while swinging a large arm around tiny Anna’s shoulders, “is my sweet Anna. Declan’s bored here so he’s going to join us for dinner, if that’s okay with you ladies?”
“Okay? Okay? Of course it’s okay. God, it’s great to meet you,” Anna said as she shook Declan’s hand. Marlee thought she was going a little overboard. Yes, the man was good looking, but Anna had seen handsome men before—was married to one!—and had never gushed like this.
“Mr. Tate, nice to meet you.” Marlee held her hand out to Declan. He took it, and piercing green eyes met Marlee’s as he held her hand. His hand was rough and warm on her soft and cold one. She had not fully warmed up from being outside for the game, even though she’d had the car’s heater at full blast on the ride over. Her palm, and then fingers, rapidly warmed as Declan held them.
Everything seemed to slow down to Marlee. The sounds from the party—which before had been grating—dulled, so that she could almost hear her heart beating. Faster. The perfume that had pervaded the air was now drowned out by the subtle hint of musk that emanated from the man still holding her hand.
“Please, call me Declan, Mrs. Reeves,” he said.
Marlee would later try to analyze the waves of feelings she had as Declan held her hand. Exhilaration, excitement, definite attraction, but mainly confusion at the onslaught of emotions from simply shaking the man’s hand.
Marlee was a respected professional. But she was also a woman, and emotion—more succinctly, lust—was overriding any logical thought that tried to occupy her brain.
Thunderbolt. That was how Declan described it. Plain, old-fashioned thunderbolt.
And just what he needed tonight.
He’d been feeling out of sorts. These parties were not his usual after-game ritual, but this one was unavoidable. All he’d wanted to do tonight was soak in his hot tub, have a glass of wine—his first in months—and sulk. Well, maybe not sulk. Reflect…yeah, he wanted to reflect.
Reflect on his life, his past, and, more important, his future. He’d wanted to be alone, to let emotions pour over him unnoticed, to let the weariness of the last sixteen years finally rest on his shoulders.
To admit his life, as he had known it, was over.
That had been his plan. But here he was surrounded by men and women. Some, like his former teammate Cole Taylor, he’d known for years, some for only six months. Some he didn’t know at all. He thought the party might get him out of his funk, but it had just drawn him in deeper.
Until he’d seen her. The most conspicuous person in the room, if only because she had the most clothes on.
He’d seen her come in as he’d watched from across the room. He assumed one of the women was Cole’s wife, because they certainly didn’t look like all the other women who came to the after-game parties. For one thing, they were older. Not old, probably only thirty—which was still considered young to thirty-nine-year-old Declan—but still much older than every other female there.
They were dressed much more conservatively than the rest, as well. The one Declan had hoped was Cole’s Anna was in jeans and a Pumas jersey. She was the shorter of the two, maybe five-four, cute as a button with long hair and a fresh-faced good-girl look. Her slight frame was dwarfed by the jersey.
The other one, the one Declan hoped was not Cole’s wife, meaning she might be unattached, sported a look that had never crossed the threshold of this house. And Declan liked it. He liked it a lot. He could honestly say he found himself drawn to it. Drawn to her.
Business suit, glasses, and a bun. She was beautiful. No makeup. Surely the only woman in the room, other than Anna, to have on at least two layers. A perfectly formed oval face, with cheekbones that seemed even more pronounced due to her glasses. Declan glanced around and wondered how many people in this packed room, male and female, wore contacts and would rather die than be seen
in glasses. Probably more than half. She was definitely refreshing. Just then she pushed the glasses up higher on her nose and the movement seemed almost alluring to Declan.
He couldn’t tell much about her figure through the severely cut suit, but she was tall and nicely shaped from what he could see. He’d sure like to get that jacket off of her. Maybe she wasn’t wearing anything under that cream blouse. Was it real silk? What would it feel like under his hands to unbutton it? Would it slip out of his grasp, take him several attempts to bare her skin? Declan wondered how sheer it was, if he’d be able to see the outline of a camisole, or a lacy bra, or maybe just the outline of the woman herself. He was a sucker for fancy lingerie. Not the bawdy stuff like animal prints, or anything obvious like black leather cut-outs. But soft, expensive, sweet, barely there bras and panties undid him.
Declan’s only intention had been to walk Cole to the door, meet the wife that Cole never stopped talking about when the two men talked on the phone, say goodbye, and return to the party. The party was in his honor, and it would be rude to spend too much time with any one guest, but this woman made Declan quickly change his mind. With an eerie sense of knowledge, he knew that she could pull him from his self-imposed funk.
He had to get to know her better, and if the look of distaste on her face as she watched one of his teammates openly grope some girl meant anything, he didn’t think he could talk her out of skipping the restaurant and staying at the party with him.
As if calling an audible at the line, Declan had hurriedly changed the play. “I’m coming to dinner with you guys, if that’s okay,” Declan quietly said to Cole as they had neared the women.
“Sure. Of course. That’d be great, but…yeah…okay, whatever. Great,” Cole said, obviously surprised at Declan’s announcement.
Now, still holding her hand, Declan thought that maybe that was the best play he’d called all day. Yes, it was definitely a thunderbolt that went through Declan. He slowly released Marlee’s hand and gave her his best killer smile. Her hand had been cold, probably from just coming in, and it had warmed in the small amount of time that Declan had held it. He regretfully let it slip from his, making a silent promise to himself to not let this woman get cold again tonight.
