by Desiree Holt
“Do that. I’ll check back with you to see what’s going on.” He disconnected the call in the middle of her thanks, grinding his teeth.
Gina Rivera. High school bombshell. Wild child who’d captured his virtue. He hadn’t seen her, had even forgotten about her, until his third year in the NFL. She’d shown up at a game, waiting for him at the player’s gate, all masses of blond hair and tight clothes. He’d been high enough on the excitement of the win to succumb to her sexiness and spend the night with her.
He hadn’t thought much of it, not even when she showed up twice more. Then he’d discovered her secret, answered her one plea for help and after that he was trapped, just because he was basically a good guy. Occasional contact turned into regular contact. And when he’d stopped taking her calls, she’d had Lisa contact him with a sob story that plucked at his conscience.
How long was he expected to offer aid to a raging alcoholic who didn’t help herself? He should have told Scott Manchin, his agent, about it from the beginning. By now so much time had passed if word got out, the media wouldn’t look at him as doing something kind for a friend. They’d want to know why he’d kept her hidden all this time. Did they have a child together? All that shit. He’d seen it happen to others and hadn’t been smart enough to protect himself. It would be gossip fodder for weeks and kill all the work he’d done to clean up his act. He really had to cut the cord here.
Okay, enough of that.
Following the GPS directions, he pulled off the interstate and into an attractive neighborhood of larger homes and mature trees. A little farther on and the GPS directed him to turn left into the long driveway of a two-story colonial. Nice digs, Hank, he thought. But the guy was making big bucks. He deserved a good place to come home to.
He parked in front of the garage door. Maybe when he got inside he could grab the opener from Hank’s car and use it while he was here. The key was right where Hank had said it would be. He opened the front door, pulled his suitcase inside, and headed toward the room Hank had said was his to use. On the way he passed a room that looked far too feminine to be Hank’s. He wondered briefly whose room it was. Hank hadn’t mentioned anything about sharing the house with someone.
Too much for him to think about right now. He wanted a shower, and then he’d see about ordering some dinner. Less than five minutes later he was under hot, steaming water, washing away the grime of the day.
* * * *
The taxi moved forward with a jerk and Shay’s eyes popped open. She leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.
“Did they clear away the wreck? We’re finally moving, right?”
“Yes, miss.” He shrugged. “But slowly.”
She rotated her neck, trying to work out some of the kinks. She’d been sitting in uncomfortable seats since she got in the shuttle to the airport and every muscle in her body ached. The hot shower was looking better and better. Or maybe she’d fire up the hot tub Hank had installed on the rear deck.
Hopefully, with all this delay caused by the wreck, by the time she got to the house Laura would be packed and gone. They pulled off the interstate and she mentally crossed her fingers and silently chanted, Let her be gone. But bad luck was still with her. When they turned onto her street and she spotted the car parked in the driveway, she swore under her breath. Laura Whoever was still here. Well, she’d better be getting ready to leave. Shay was in no mood to put up with bullshit. Sighing, she hauled her suitcase into the house, closed the door, and headed through the living room to her bedroom.
And stopped.
A hissing sound came from the shower in the bathroom connected to her bedroom and the guest room. Damn it! The least Hank could do was tell his little friends to use the master bath and leave hers alone. He had, after all, promised her that she’d have complete privacy.
“I travel a lot,” he’d told her. Then grinned. “And I’ll keep the sleepovers to those times you’re in New York.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
So how come this female hadn’t gotten the message she was supposed to be gone?
Crap! The door wasn’t even closed. Clouds of steam billowed in the bathroom and obscured the figure in the frosted-glass shower enclosure. Okay, enough was enough.
Shay stepped into the bathroom and banged her hand on the glass.
“This is my bathroom,” she ground out. “I’ve had a tough day and you don’t want to mess with me. Next time use Hank’s bathroom. This one is off-limits. Get your ass out of here in five seconds, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
She turned away, not the least bit interested in a glimpse of Laura Whoever’s nudity. She just wanted her out of the house.
The water stopped and the door slid open.
“Okay. I don’t want to cause you any more stress. But Hank said I should use this one.”
The deep voice shocked her and she turned around before she even thought about it. And nearly swallowed her tongue. A very wet, very naked Joe Reilly stood in her shower stall, grinning at her.
Just when she’d finally made up her mind to stop thinking about him and obsessing over him.
At that exact moment her cell phone chimed. A message from Hank.
“BTW, Joe’s in town. Take good care of him.”
Meet the Author
Referred to by USA Today as the Nora Roberts of erotic romance, Desiree Holt is the world’s oldest living published erotic romance author. A graduate of the University of Michigan with double majors in English and History, her earlier careers include agent and manager in the music industry, public television, associate vice president of university advancement, public relations, and economic development. She is three times a finalist for an EPIC E-Book Award (and a winner in 2014), a nominee for a Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award, winner of the first 5 Heart Sweetheart of the Year Award at The Romance Studio, as well as twice a CAPA Award winner for best BDSM book of the year, and winner of the Holt Medallion for Excellence in Romance Literature.
She has been featured on CBS Sunday Morning and in The Village Voice, The Daily Beast, USA Today, The (London) Daily Mail, The New Delhi Times, The Huffington Post and numerous other national and international publications. She is also the Authors After Dark 2014 Author of the Year. Readers can visit her at www.desiremeonly.com, find her on Facebook, or follow her on Twitter @desireeholt.
