Playing to Win (The Complete Series Box Set): 3 romances with angst and humor

by Alix Nichols

  Personally, I don’t want her submission.

  What I want is her love and respect.

  Uma winks at me as she straightens up and I relax.

  The elders pray to the gods, after which Uma and I hold hands and take seven steps around a crackling blaze that symbolizes the god of fire.

  “With these seven steps,” I say to Uma, repeating after the priest, “you’ve become my friend.”

  That’s more like it.

  “May I deserve your friendship,” Uma says, her voice cracking with emotion.

  I stare into her eyes and utter the final words, “May our friendship make us one.”

  The priest and the elders nod their heads in approval.

  Suddenly, Uma lifts my hand to her heart. “From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.”

  I repeat those words.

  We’ll have a courthouse ceremony in Paris, so this is Uma’s way of bringing my heritage into the only religious wedding we’re going to have. I love her for this, even if I doubt the Hindu priest appreciates her initiative.

  I glance at him.

  To my surprise, he’s smiling, unfazed.

  I smile back.

  “It is your duty to protect your wife and make her happy,” he says.

  I nod solemnly, overjoyed at how well this Hindu injunction aligns with my own plans.

  Cherishing Uma and protecting her from harm is exactly what I want to do for as long as I live.

  EPILOGUE

  Uma

  Zach unlocks the door and holds it open for me.

  I step in, slightly unsteady on my feet. We went out with his friends and had more to drink than usual, seeing as Sam is at his grandparents’ this weekend.

  After removing my coat and kicking off my shoes, I head up the stairs, but I don’t get far. Zach grabs me by the waist from behind and spins me around. His mouth descends on mine, hungry and a little rough. But I don’t mind. He tastes of wine. I guess I do, too. Pushing his tongue in deep, he swirls it and caresses mine.

  Heat begins to pool between my legs as he molds my breasts with one hand and my ass with the other.

  I move against him, panting, rubbing myself against his bulge. As his kiss and his hands grow more demanding, my core pulls and pulses with need.

  Shocking as it may sound, I hope he’ll take me right here, right now, without any preliminaries. I’m too aroused for foreplay.

  Then I remember we don’t have protection. It’s in the bedroom.

  “I want you now, right here,” Zach whispers against my mouth. “No barriers, skin to skin.”

  I nod. “I can go on the pill starting tomorrow.”

  He draws back, his eyes searing into mine. “Don’t.”

  I frown, studying his face to make sure I understand his meaning.

  His expression softens. “Of course, if you’re not ready or if you don’t want kids—”

  “Another one like Sam?” I say. “Are you kidding me? Yes, please!”

  His eyes light up with joy.

  Pressing his lips to mine, he unzips my jeans and drags them down together with my panties. I sigh in relief. Clearly, I’m not the only impatient one tonight.

  As I step out of my bottoms, Zach frees himself and presses his tip against my pulsing entrance.

  Murmuring my name, he lifts me up and enters me, right where we stand. We both groan our pleasure.

  So good.

  I can feel him throbbing as he pushes deeper, inch by delicious inch, until he is fully sheathed. Leaning me against the wall, he starts to move in and out, slowly at first and then faster. He hammers into me for barely a minute before I tense and spasm around him as I come.

  Without pulling out, Zach tightens his grip on me and turns. He sits down and leans back against the steps. I touch my toes to the wood, pressing my breasts to his chest and nuzzling his throat.

  Both of us are still wearing our shirts.

  For a split second, I consider unbuttoning his shirt and pulling my sweater over my head. But he grabs my hips and pulls me up along his length all the way to the crown. Our eyes lock, and he thrusts into me to the hilt.

  My lids flutter shut. I grip his shoulders and let him pound into me as pleasure rises once again. My second climax is just as swift, but it’s deeper, sweeter than the first. It makes my legs quiver and my entire body shudder uncontrollably.

  Zach thrusts once more and groans his release.

  “I love you so much,” I say into his ear. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

  He cups my face. “Je t’aime, chaton.”

  Somehow, we get to the bedroom where I climb under the blankets, and he lies down beside me. I curl up, exhausted and a little tipsy. Having made love without protection, the insides of my thighs are sticky with Zach’s seed. I should go clean up. Only I don’t want to. Partly because I’m too tired, but mostly because I don’t mind being sticky with Zach’s seed.

  To be honest, I like it.

  As I begin to drift off to sleep, he wraps his arm and leg around me and kisses my neck.

  I remember what Priyanka said about why I fell in love with him.

  She wasn’t entirely wrong. In the beginning, there was more lust than anything else in what we felt for each other. It wasn’t supposed to lead to love.

  The perfect way, at least in my culture, is letting your parents choose a deserving man from a reputable family and a matching caste. There’s a lengthy engagement during which time you get to know him and discover his qualities. You grow to respect and appreciate him. You realize you have the same values. This respect is the cement of a solid relationship and—in a perfect world—comes before the emotional and physical aspects.

  As time passes, your heart gets involved. After that, desire awakens, and you start to crave his nearness, his touch, his kisses.

  That’s not how it happened for me.

  Zach and I did it backward. Our bodies craved each other—claimed each other—before our hearts caught up, and long before our minds realized how right we are for each other.

  That’s definitely not the prescribed way.

  But I’ll wager the gods approve.

  <<<>>>

  Author’s Note

  Water Polo

  One of the earliest Olympic sports, water polo is a national pastime in Hungary, Serbia and Montenegro, and is very popular in most of Europe. But it’s incomprehensibly under-funded in other parts of the world, including France and the United States. Things are changing in the US, though, where water polo is the fastest growing sport. No wonder, considering the achievements of the national men’s team (Olympic silver at Beijing) and, especially, women’s team (Olympic gold at both London and Rio).

  For the purposes of this story, I invented several water polo clubs, tweaked the schedules of various competitions and threw in a fake fact or two, such as Paris winning a silver medal in the national championship.

  But I’ve tried to stick as close to reality as possible.

  Epilepsy

  Epilepsy is a brain disorder which causes seizures of varying frequency and severity, from extremely brief “absence” seizures to loss of consciousness.

  Today, treatment with medications, diet, and sometimes surgery helps about 80 percent of people with epilepsy control their seizures (Mayo Clinic).

  A recent paper published in "Neurology" reported that half of the patients treated with a low-glycemic diet showed 90 percent fewer seizures.

  Finally, many children outgrow their epilepsy with age.

  About the Author

  Alix Nichols is an unapologetic caffeine addict and a longtime fan of Mr. Darcy, especially in his Colin Firth incarnation.

  She is a USA Today bestselling and Kindle Scout winning author of sexy romantic comedies which will “keep you hanging off the edge of your seat” (RT Book Reviews) and “deliver pure pleasure” (Kirkus Reviews).

  At the age o
f six, she released her first romance. It featured highly creative spelling on a dozen pages stitched together and bound in velvet paper.

  Decades later, she still writes. Her spelling has improved (somewhat), and her books have topped the Amazon charts around the world. She lives in France with her family and their almost-human dog.

  Follow Alix on BookBub!

  Connect with her online:

  Website: http://www.alixnichols.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorAlixNichols

  Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/AuthorANichols

  Goodreads: goodreads.com/alixnichols

  Twitter: twitter.com/aalix_nichols

  PLAYING FOR KEEPS

  Playing to Win, Book 2

  Book Description

  He remembers everything... except the first thirty years of his life.

  Sports star-turned-coach Lucas Delaunay has no recollection of his past, despite his parents' and friends' efforts to help him.

  Enter Isabelle Ferrand, a young publicist hired to land sponsors and fundraise for Lucas's club. He is told she was a friend. Just a friend. Everyone, Isabelle included, insists he regarded her as a sister.

  Not anymore, he doesn't.

  Every night, he dreams of her naked and panting beneath him. Her taste, her smell, the way her breasts fill his palms... Every morning he wakes up rock hard, groping for her in his empty bed.

  With desire spinning out of control, Lucas wonders if amnesia has changed his taste in women, or if there's something Isabelle isn't telling him.

  And if she might be the key to unlocking his past.

  Prologue

  Isabelle

  Utter bliss.

  As Lucas pulls out, I roll off him and nestle in the crook of his arm. He places his other hand on my hip.

  I trail my fingers along his collarbones and kiss his broad chest. From this day forward, a morning quickie with the man of my dreams is officially my number one favorite way to wake up. Especially when said quickie occurs after a whole night of mind-blowing sex.

  Shutting my eyes, I recall the last eight hours. Let’s see… a total of five, maybe six, orgasms since around midnight, when we tumbled into his apartment, and he took me right in the entryway. Both of us were too aroused to make it to the bedroom.

  This was, without a doubt, the best night in my life.

  So worth the wait!

  Three years of being Lucas’s friend. Dozens of schemes to make him look at me differently. Disappointment when each of them failed. Pain every time I spotted him with a new woman on his arm. Envy because that woman would invariably be prettier than me.

  That’s all in the past now.

  I smile and breathe him in. Is it too soon to make plans? Do I dare to ask him what he’s doing next weekend since there are no matches and we’ll both be in Paris?

  “Next weekend,” he says, sliding his hand from my hip to my backside. “I’d like us to try something different. What say you?”

  Thank you, God, for next weekend and us!

  Wait… What exactly was his question?

  I open my eyes and peer at him, trying to figure out what he has in mind.

  “Izz… Babe…” Lucas hesitates before giving me a tender smile. “My regular girlfriend doesn’t want to hear about anything remotely kinky, but if you’re up for it, it would make me very happy.”

  Did he just say my girlfriend?

  An instant lump in my throat makes it nearly impossible to draw a breath. I pull back, scrambling for something to hold on to as I begin to fall.

  Perhaps I misheard him.

  Or maybe it was a dumb joke, and he’s going to burst out laughing any second now.

  Except, Lucas doesn’t laugh—he draws his eyebrows together. “You don’t know about Angie?”

  A tiny shake of my head is all I can manage.

  “It’s true she hasn’t been to any of my scrimmages or games.” He tilts his head to the side. “She travels a lot for work… But I was sure you’ve heard of her.”

  I shake my head again.

  “Right.” He props his head on his elbow. “Just so we’re clear… This doesn’t change anything, OK?”

  I blink at him.

  Lucas sits up. “It’s still the friend zone for us, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle.

  No longer “Izz.”

  Why not Mademoiselle Ferrand while he’s at it?

  I focus on the way he’s addressing me to keep my mind distracted from the real issue. And the real pain. But the sensation of falling is so powerful, it makes my stomach twist despite attempts to distract myself.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Lucas says, still smiling. “We’ll finish this conversation after I take a leak.”

  He stands and heads to the bathroom without bothering to put on his boxers. My descent gains momentum as I watch his muscular, V-shaped back, his tight ass, and his long, strong thighs. Two more steps, and I crash into the ground with a dull thud.

  Must get out of here before I throw up.

  I sit up and stroke my tummy under the blanket to quell the nausea.

  Lucas halts at the door, takes in my discomfiture and laughs. “You look so shocked! Hey, we had a good time, but I hope you didn’t expect a declaration of undying love.”

  “Of course not,” I say. “But… I didn’t expect this.”

  Anger rises in my chest, and I hang onto it with all I have.

  “I wasn’t aware you were seeing someone,” I hiss. “You should’ve told me last night before we came here.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Because if I had, you would’ve said no?”

  I open my mouth to confirm, but the truth is I’m not sure. I can only hope it would’ve been a no.

  Instead, I say, “It pisses me off that you want to use me as a fuck buddy for whatever depraved shit your regular girlfriend won’t do.”

  There, it felt good to voice it.

  Lucas backtracks and sits at the foot of the bed. “Izz, I’m going to be blunt. I have to because you need it.”

  I swallow, bracing myself for more nastiness.

  “You’re plain,” he says. “Fit and wholesome, but plain. I don’t date plain women. In fact, I don’t even sleep with them. You’re an exception.”

  He may as well have sucker punched me.

  I turn my head to the wall. “You flatter me, Lucas.”

  “Try to put yourself in my shoes,” he says. “I’m just a man. And you were so… desperate. You’ve been trying so hard, for so long—”

  “Are you saying this was a pity fuck?” I force myself to turn to him and stare into his eyes.

  He holds my gaze. “Yes.”

  For a moment, we stay like that, me glaring, him searching my face for sympathy.

  “Let me show you something,” he finally says and begins to sift through the pile of clothes on the floor.

  Whatever it is, I’m almost sure I don’t want to see it. After his previous remarks, I only expect more pain from the “man of my dreams.”

  “Found it!” Lucas straightens up with his phone in his hand.

  I think I know what he’s going to show me.

  “This is my girlfriend,” he says holding the phone in front of my face. “She’s a top model.”

  Of course, she is. The woman is freaking gorgeous. Almost too perfect to be real.

  “How long have you been seeing her?” I ask, praying that my voice doesn’t crack.

  “Since July.”

  “That’s five months! You’ve had an actual non-groupie, non-disposable girlfriend for five months?”

  “Yeah.”

  My eyes tear. “Why did you do this to me, Lucas?”

  He shrugs. “Like I said, you were desperate. And I was… curious. So, I figured now was the time before I take it to the next level with Angie.”

  “Next level?” My eyes widen as comprehension strikes. “You plan to marry her?”

  “Eventually, yes.” He smiles. “But I’m counting on you not t
o tell anyone at the club yet.”

  I smirk. “Do your teammates even know she exists?”

  “Some of them do. They know Angie doesn’t like water polo and doesn’t have time to hang out with my crowd. Besides, she finds our gatherings vulgar.”

  “Does she?”

  “Hmm, now that I’m telling you this, I wonder if I should feel offended.” Lucas grins. “Anyway, when we’re both in town, we mostly hang out with her trendier model and photographer friends.”

  I stare at him, still finding it hard to believe what I’m hearing.

  He fingers his phone. “Let me show you a few more pics.”

  As photos slide in front of my eyes, Lucas says, “This is Angie doing a Dior show… The two of us in Saint Tropez… This one was taken at her friend’s party in London.”

  Beautiful people, designer clothes, expensive cars, luxurious settings… A life so vastly different from the northern suburbs of Paris both Lucas and I come from, it may as well have been on a different planet.

  “Who’s the pretty boy on her left?” I arch an eyebrow, pointing to a big dude with his arm wrapped around Angie’s shoulder. “He’s in half of your pictures.”

  Lucas’s expression loses some of its smugness. “That’s Clément. He’s a fashion photographer and Angie’s best friend.”

  I sneer. “Friend with benefits?”

  “Without,” he says. “I’m certain of it. It’s like you and Eric—just really good friends.”

  It’s true, Eric and I are just really good friends, and we do hang out together a lot. And, damn him, he does like to hug me. So there goes my pathetic attempt to insinuate a man who has his arm wrapped around a woman’s shoulder must be more than a friend.