Balls: The Complete Players Collection (Sports Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  Whether he misses the sarcasm of not is beside the point. He smiles at Sam as I take her around the shoulders and lead her out to a limo service I chose not only for its discretion, but their security. A guy who could double for a Secret Service agent ushers us inside.

  Sam takes my hand as soon as the door closes. “I’m so sorry I got you involved in all this.”

  “Sorry? I’m sorry I didn’t take this more seriously.”

  “You said you had a plan?” It’s the first time I’ve heard hope in her voice in almost twelve hours.

  “Like I said, trust me.”

  *

  I would expect anyone to be disgruntled being dragged out of bed on a Sunday morning, but I don’t imagine Morgan had to walk far from his secret abode to meet us up in the players’ parking lot.

  He looks around at the deserted stretch of asphalt. “I’m all for fresh air, son, but this is the last place you’re going to find it around here. Still, you rang, so here I am. What’s going on?”

  I look over at Sam waiting by the fence before letting Morgan know what went down last night. He takes it in and waits a moment before responding. “I have some friends on the Force who owe me a favor or two. I’ll give them a call, see what I can drum up on your new fans.”

  I forward him the photo I took last night. “That would be great, but I’m more concerned about Sam’s safety, which is why I’m asking you to let her stay on site until this is sorted out.”

  Morgan seems confused. “On site? I know I stay here, but this isn’t a hotel, Chance.”

  I point to old team trailer collecting dust in the corner of the carpark. “What about that?”

  Morgan follows my eyes. “That? Well, I suppose, but why?”

  “You had the security system at the stadium overhauled last year, didn’t you?”

  “Paid for half of it out of my own pocket.”

  I turn and nod to the guard box at the front of the carpark. “You’ve got an armed guard there twenty four hours a day, another two on patrol around the grounds.”

  Morgan starts to get it. “I could put another on, really lock this place down.”

  “Only you and I can know about this.”

  Morgan mulls it over. “The security guys will have to know, but they’re trustworthy. I’ll keep information low key, tell them there’s a guest staying on grounds from overseas or something. You sure about this?”

  “I want her to be safe, and she won’t be safe with me. All of LA knows where to find me up in the Hills. She’d be a sitting duck up there.”

  “You could bait them in, handle it. I know some ex-SEALS who—”

  I put my hand up to stop him. “Too dangerous, but I am going to put security up at my place as well, just in case.”

  “And what about Sam’s apartment?”

  “I’ll have one of the team PAs get her stuff. Her rent’s paid up until the end of the year, but her neighbors might start to get suspicious. She’s become quite close with a couple of them.”

  Morgan thinks on it. “Do they know you?”

  I cock an eyebrow at him. “Who doesn’t know me?”

  “So go over there and get your shirt off, sell them a spiel.”

  “I will.”

  The conversation stops, both of us turning at the same time to watch Sam.

  “I bet you wish you never hired her in the first place.”

  Morgan laughs. “Son, I’m happy I hired her. I like to help people, and your girl? She is your girl, isn’t she?”

  I nod.

  “Your girl needs help. I’ve got resources. You’ve got half a brain. What could possibly go wrong?”

  What indeed.

  A dour expression comes over Morgan at these words. “I wasn’t going to tell you this yet, but there’s been some news about the private investigator.”

  I tighten from my chest to core. “What happened?”

  We’re miles away from Sam, but Morgan lowers his voice all the same. “There’s no easy way to put this, so I’ll just come out with it. He’s dead. A friend who works at one of the Vegas papers forwarded me the news story.”

  “Dead?” I can’t believe it.

  Morgan chews on the corner of his lip. “Poor son of a bitch. They found him in that shithole of a desert outside the city riddled with bullets. I mean, yes, the guy was a private investigator, but it’s too much of a coincidence to blame it on anything else.”

  “Fuck.” It’s the only word I’ve got.

  Morgan crosses his arms. “Hell of a thing.”

  Another issue comes to me. “Were you connected to him in any way?”

  “No, he was very careful about that kind of thing considering his clientele—no paper trails, no contacts, but shit. If they can get to a guy like him…” He considers it a little more. “The trailer’s all hers. Just keep the conjugal visits on the down-low, okay?”

  *

  I bring the last box inside. The trailer’s deceptive. It looks like barely bigger than a box from the outside, but inside it’s bordering on palatial complete with king bed, an additional two bedrooms, bathroom, and bunks to fit ten people. If I recall, the team bought it from the rock band Creed for a steal.

  I place the last box on the bed in the master bedroom. I point up at the mirror above. “What do you think? Pretty rockstar, isn’t it?”

  She smiles, but it’s far from the gloom-busting grin I was starting to get used to. “Don’t get any ideas, mister.”

  I point to myself. “Me? Ideas? You’ve never noticed the mirror above my bed?”

  I’m trying to lighten the mood, but so far it’s not working. I haven’t told her about the private investigator. Maybe I should. She deserves to know. I just can’t bring myself to crush her spirits like that.

  Help her forget.

  I pull her close to me, breathe in the vanilla-scented smell of her hair. “What can I do to help you relax?”

  Her breath catches when I run my hand up the back of her neck.

  I run the other down the front of her pants. I wasn’t sure she’d be in the mood, but the way she kicks forward for more tells me I’m on the right path.

  Five minutes later we’re putting the king bed to good use.

  *

  I watch Sam sleeping, the window blinds creating lines of shadow on her skin.

  I’ve never wanted to protect something more in my entire life. On tour women and children were a common sight. I felt a hint of that compulsion then, a fierce desire to protect the innocent, and I have no doubt Sam is innocent. She doesn’t deserve this.

  I stand up and take one final look before heading down to the bathroom. I reach for the shower tap. I’m not even sure Morgan has had the water hooked up yet, but it flows freely. Good ol’ Morgan—always on top of things.

  I turn the shower on full blast, letting the room steam up nice and good before stepping inside.

  I let the water wash over me, reluctantly cleaning the memory of our arousal from my body. It all spins down the plughole in a cloudy ring.

  I close my eyes, running cheap shampoo from the shelf through my hair. The shower door opens. Soft hands press against my sides.

  “Hello there,” Sam says, voice husky.

  “Hello.”

  Her lips come against my own. Even with the water blasting over our bodies I can hear her wince, but it doesn’t matter. The shy girl is long gone.

  “This is becoming a habit—you and me, tight places.”

  She comes against me with animal urgency.

  Our tongues meet. I press myself firmer against her.

  I spin around and lift her leg, driving upwards to fill her in one thrust.

  She breathes out against my shoulder, biting down on it in the steam and fog as I drive in and out of her sopping sex.

  I position her against the cheap tiles, water streaming down her back and running in rivulets between us, around the root of my cock as it runs up inside her.

  She comes hard, bearing down upon me, fingers w
oven into the thicket of my hair. I follow, clenching my buttocks and pumping her full of my release.

  We emerge from the shower laughing, naked.

  I’ve never heard anything quite as beautiful as that sound.

  “I needed that,” Sam says, still breathless.

  “Any time,” I reply.

  For a merciful moment we’re fine, nothing in the world to worry about… until I look out the window and see a security guard strolling across the parking lot, weapon by his side. That makes it real again.

  I just really fucking hope he won’t get a chance to use it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SAM

  Chance and the boys have a real challenge on their hands with the Patriots. The heat doesn’t help. Even the stands are a little emptier than usual, all manner of beverages flowing thick and fast. Morgan must be making a killing.

  Chance smiles up at me as the team heads to the sidelines at the end of the second quarter. Given the wall of defense the Patriots are putting up, I don’t know what’s he’s smiling for until I remember last night, and the morning before, and the night before that…

  We just can’t keep our hands off each other at the moment. I don’t think there’s a type of sex we haven’t covered yet, from wall-pounding, screaming-at-the-roof fucking to slow, sensual, I-need-you-more-than-anything lovemaking. I’m starting to wonder if the security guards outside have worked out why the trailer I’m living in is constantly rocking and rolling.

  Chance throws a cup of water over his head, shakes it out. He’s like a puppy dog—a really cute, really hot man-puppy.

  A police officer walks down the stairs beside me, the third since the game started. I also noticed more security stationed around the exits and at the gates. Neither Morgan nor Chance mentioned anything about it to me, but there’s definitely an increased presence here. I have no doubt it’s for my benefit.

  The fans don’t care, including the bachelorette party-esque trio sitting behind me who holler and call whenever Chance comes close. Before he heads back onto the field he places two fingers to his heart and sends them in my direction. Of course, the girls behind me think it’s for them and go absolutely wild. “I want your baby, Chance Adams!” one of them calls.

  I laugh, but it does get me thinking. I mean, we would make cute babies.

  If you live long enough.

  I breathe in, trying not to think about the contract that’s out on me, the two men who followed us from the restaurant. There was no one around. They could have easily taken me out, so why didn’t they?

  Taken out—such a strange turn of phrase. I consider what it would feel like to be shot, for my world and all I know to suddenly be snipped away, and what then? Darkness. All-consuming black.

  The crowd cheers and I bring myself back to the game. Chance gets the touchdown and does a backflip, forever the show-off.

  So why are you smiling like an idiot?

  The Wildcats win, but the crowd’s eager to get home and back to their air-conditioning. I meet Chance on the sidelines. He gives a little grimace as I approach, running his hand down his calf.

  “Everything okay?” I question.

  He smiles, standing straight. “It is now.”

  “Is your calf still giving you grief?”

  Most of the soft-tissue damage from the dog pile has healed nicely, but the calf remains a problem.

  He pulls me into him. “A couple more sessions and it will be right.”

  “You really shouldn’t strain yourself, Mr. Adams.”

  A raised eyebrow. “’Mr. Adams’ again. It’s like that now, is it? Does that make you Mrs. Adams?”

  I hold up my hand. “Do you see a ring on this finger?”

  He brings his lips close to my ear. “Not yet.”

  I shove him. “Go on, hit the showers. You stink.”

  “Like a sexy man beast?”

  “Like football.”

  He sniffs his armpit. “Best god-damn smell in the world.” His eyes run down to the area where my legs meet. “No, scratch that. Second-best.”

  I pick up a cup of water myself and throw it over him. He doesn’t flinch, tongue snaking out to lick it off his lips. “Thanks. I needed that.” He nods his head towards the tunnel leading to the locker rooms and showers. “You want to join me?”

  I laugh. “And thirty other sweaty males? I think I’ll pass.”

  He shrugs and picks up his helmet from the table. “Suit yourself.”

  He leans forward and crushes me with a hug, the water soaking through my top. He gives me a quick peck on the cheek before releasing me. “See you soon.”

  “You did that deliberately, didn’t you?”

  “So sue me.”

  “Don’t forget you’ve got a press conference in twenty minutes.”

  He holds his helmet out with one hand. “You’ll be there?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  And as he turns and heads down the tunnel, that tight little butt of his compressed in white, for one merciful moment, everything is forgotten.

  *

  A quick change back in the trailer and I’m ready to head to the press conference.

  I pass Morgan in one of the halls on the way.

  “Sam. You headed to the press conference?”

  I nod.

  “You keep Chance in check, okay? You know what he’s like at these things.”

  “A schoolboy who thinks he’s Superman?”

  Morgan smiles. “Precisely. Damn, you’ve really figured him out, haven’t you?”

  I’d like to think so. These last few days Chance has been so open. Nothing has been off limits. “I don’t think I’ll ever truly be able to figure him out, but I’m definitely trying.”

  Morgan places his hand on my shoulder, another fatherly gesture. “We’re happy to have you, Sam. Remember that.”

  “I will.”

  “Good,” he nods, and walks off.

  I ask one of the tech guys at the back of the conference room where I can find Chance. He directs me to one of the green rooms down the corridor. To get there we snake through a throng of reporters and journalists eager to hear from the one of the biggest personalities in sports. You see, Chance doesn’t just put on a show on the field. His antics after games are legendary, from kissing one of the reporters to strip-teasing Magic Mike style right there on the desk. Hopefully I haven’t softened him up too much.

  Chance? Soft? There’s nothing soft about him. You should know that better than anyone.

  I giggle a little to myself. Sure, Chance might be a schoolboy, but I’m the infatuated schoolgirl, constantly hunting him down for a bit of action. That shy and quiet Sam? She left the building a long time ago.

  When I enter the green room, I find him standing there pulling on a black tee.

  “No, no, no.” I reach to the back of the door and take a white, collared shirt off its hanger, tossing it over. “You look much better in white.”

  He strips off the shirt he was wearing and flexes. “Or how about nothing at all.”

  I point behind me. “You want half of that conference room out there to die from shock?”

  He places the shirt I tossed him on the table and approaches me. “Fair point, but tell me. How long until I have to be out there?”

  I start to tingle as he steps towards me. I gulp. “Five minutes.”

  He takes my hands in his and slides them down his waist, a dance.

  I want him to continue. I never want him to stop, but this isn’t the place. “Chance,” I whisper, “I really want to, but there’s a roomful of press right outside the door waiting.”

  His hands drop further. “Let them wait.”

  My composure’s slipping. “We can’t.”

  “No?” comes his teasing reply.

  His hands rise and he starts to unbutton my blouse. I go to protest again, but a finger silences my lips.

  Oh hell. Why not?

  Buttons undone, Chance’s hands help the bl
ouse feather to the floor, a thumb looping under the shoestring strap of my bra, my breasts unveiled.

  “Chance…” I moan, careful to keep my voice down.

  He slides the bra down around my torso, the pale peaches of my breasts coming free, nipples swollen awaiting his touch.

  He bunches my skirt up, using the wall to pin it in place against my back as he crushes himself against me, cock hard and willing. His hands reach underneath and find the two ripe halves of my ass, the line of the thong I bought yesterday dividing them.

  He lifts me, cradling my ass in his hands while I bring my legs around him, rocking myself forward to feel his heat and hardness.

  Odd, breathy notes escape from my mouth as his head drops and he takes the finger of a nipple inside, wrapping his tongue around it until it’s a divining rod of sensation. He removes one hand, holding me effortlessly in place while he strums my ribs with his free hand, my chest pressing out against his own, my core already drawing taut with need.

  I reach down between us and fumble with pants, fishing for his zipper and the hot rod of his cock below. When it’s finally free, it slaps against me as if released from a mouse trap—red, angry, rock hard.

  I draw the band of the thong aside and lift, using the wall for leverage, my nipple popping free wet and glistening from his lips.

  He finds my opening with the blunt head of his cock and drives upwards, filling me swiftly. His hand rushes up to the side of my face, holding me in position. I can smell my sex, musky and damp, when he pulls out, letting me hover there before filling me again, the base of his cock pressing urgently against my clit.

  He kisses me, his tongue snaking between my lips and driving deep, fighting with his cock for penetration.

  We break apart and I sink into the crook of his neck, a slow, breathy climb spilling from my lips as I’m pummeled and fucked from below, the sensation unstoppable.

  I think about the press, all those poor souls waiting just outside oblivious to our act of intimacy.

  Chance’s thrusts grow more forceful, the friction of the wall against my back a welcome contrast to my slick folds split wide and open, my core crimson and hot.

  I build, allowing my weight to sink down on his cock fully before he powers me back upwards, pressing and groping, his hands constantly in motion, no part of me to be left unexplored.