Cami’s Georgia Patriots Romance Collection

by Cami Checketts

  Personal? She wanted him to repeat his past two lines in that deep, inspiring voice over and over again. He’d think she was nuts if she asked, but oh my goodness, he was incredible. Nothing about being in this garden was supposed to be personal, but it felt very personal at the moment. Preston Steele was interested in her? She wanted to do a silly cheerleader jump in the air and land in his muscular arms.

  “Nothing to do with needing a marketing launch?” Preston continued with one eyebrow raised. “Because Bucky increased ticket prices and he has to fill some vacant seats of the upset fans who wouldn’t make the jump.”

  Ally’s eyes widened and she faltered back a step, reality crashing in on her. “Who told you?”

  Preston’s answering bark of laughter sounded too loud in the intimate space. All fell quiet again in their deserted garden spot as his stare turned cold. He leaned closer, no romantic intentions at all—but he’d probably never had any. She’d just foolishly imagined them like the inexperienced woman she was and fallen into his trap. “I should’ve known it was too good to be true. The most beautiful woman at this party, making a play for me with her eyes and gesturing outside.”

  What in the world had he just said? Most beautiful woman at this party? The words made her heart stutter for a minute, but then it restarted in a rushed but realistic beat. Preston was a womanizer. She should’ve known it. She’d seen all the pictures, the famous, beautiful, and thin women, but she hadn’t realized he was such a player until this moment. A player and a liar.

  “I’m not the most beautiful woman,” she flung at him. “You’re just trying to tick me off now.” Upset her, confuse her, lie to her. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this job, interacting with egomaniac, flirtatious football players. Usually she could stay hidden in her office, direct projects, and accomplish work. Why had she allowed herself to get excited about working with Preston Steele?

  “Complimenting you is ticking you off?” He arched an eyebrow.

  Complimenting? Lying, more like it. She tried to act as if men complimented her every day. “Pretending as if I lured you here with my looks, as if men like you don’t have gorgeous women coming on to them every other second.”

  “Men like me?”

  “You know exactly how irresistible you are,” she flung at him. Of course he did. He was probably laughing inside, knowing he’d captured another innocent woman with his charms. “Women flock to you, probably have since you were in diapers. It’s not as if you aren’t impervious to me smiling at you.”

  He smirked at her, confirming his player status. “You’re upset that I claimed you used your looks to lure me here, but you’re claiming I’m a playboy with women crawling all over me?”

  She stood on tiptoes and got in his face, suddenly brave and mad. She’d probably just ruined any chances of him helping her with her media campaign. “Deny it,” she challenged him.

  “You deny that you didn’t entice me here for Bucky,” he threw back at her.

  How could he think an inexperienced woman like her could entice a man with his status, fame, and looks? She sighed. It was done. She’d officially messed this all up. Next time someone needed to interact with a hot, single Patriots team member, she’d send Juliette or one of the other pretty girls on her staff. Now she was going to have to find someone else to be their new face for social media. Someone easy. Mack Quinn and his adorable new wife would be fun. She’d seen them inside at the party. Maybe a happily married couple wasn’t as intriguing as the beautiful enigma in front of her, but she could make it work. Somehow.

  Turning, she gave up on the idea of Preston Steele before it even began. He caught her bare arm in his hand, and his warm palm made her flesh tingle. Did an appealing man’s touch feel like that to every woman? She’d never thought of it before, but she’d have to ask one of her sisters.

  She glanced up at him and tried to act civilized, leave on a good note. “It’s fine, Mr. Steele. I’ll inform Bucky that you aren’t interested.”

  He stared down at her, and she felt herself being drawn back into his snare. Not a playboy? Ha. He was too good with those eyes to not be teaching classes on how to make women flock to a man. “Why don’t you just ask me?” he asked softly.

  “Ask you?” She had a lot of too-personal questions she wouldn’t mind asking him. Did he have a girlfriend? Was he really only drawn to tall, leggy blondes like the pictures showed? What would be his idea of an ideal date? Oh my, she was being stupid.

  “What it is you want.” His smile this time was kind. “I know how Bucky works. He’s a great guy, but his demands are not something you trifle with. What does he want you to talk me into?”

  Ally hoped her answering smile wasn’t wobbly. Maybe Preston really was a nice guy who would stop misleading her with smoldering looks and showering empty compliments. Maybe he would at least listen to her ideas and consider helping her and the team. “We need something that makes our social media explode,” she got out.

  “So of course you thought of me.” He gave her a cocky grin.

  Ally laughed. This fit him: overconfident and funny. Attracted to her? Not in the cards. “Of course.”

  Preston smiled. “What ideas do you have?”

  He was interested. Ally started spouting out her idea: “I want to do a huge giveaway, one of those where people share their friend, family, or neighbor’s inspiring story and have to tag twenty people on social media to enter their friend to win, and those people tag more and it gets millions and millions of likes, tags, comments, and shares.” She’d seen it work with really desirable giveaways and huge social media presences getting behind it. This idea of hers had the power to do that. But it hinged on the man in front of her. The man who had her tied in knots, probably without meaning to. “Then we narrow it down to a hundred entries, screened for the most intriguing and touching stories, of course,” she hastened to add.

  “Of course.” He was looking at her as if she were very interesting but very odd. That was okay. She mostly avoided looking at men close to her age, but this look was much more familiar than the intrigued looks he’d given her earlier.

  She continued her explanation. “Then it gets even bigger with the news outlets getting involved. Everybody trying to figure out who will be worthy of the prize. The winner of the prize will be chosen from those one hundred screened entries by popular vote. One vote per device.”

  “Ally.” He stopped her with one word. Her nickname. He hadn’t said her nickname before, and she loved the way it rolled off his tongue.

  “Y-yes?” She clasped her hands together so she didn’t reach out to him. He truly was an irresistible man. Which was good … for the media blast and the promotion. It didn’t matter for her personally.

  “What is the prize?”

  She found her gaze riveted to his, though she wanted to look away and mumble it. “You,” she finally admitted.

  His gaze darkened and he tugged at his tie.

  “It’s just dinner.”

  “I see.” He backed up a step, and she missed that warm cologne muddying her senses.

  She stepped forward, wrapping her arm around his forearm. My, oh my, there were a lot of muscles in a simple forearm. She shook her head to clear it. “We wouldn’t ask you to do anything illegal or immoral.”

  “Hmm. Isn’t that sweet of you.” He leaned in, and something in his gaze warned her to tread lightly. “So you lured me out here.” He gestured around at their darkened, deserted spot of garden. Too far away to even hear the party, or risk anyone else passing by. “Flirted with me.” He gave her a significant glance, and she couldn’t deny that she’d given flirtation her A game—had it actually worked? “So you could use my face and my fame to bring women in who will explode social media clamoring to get a date with me? Did I miss anything?”

  “Yes!” This wasn’t about the women he could drag in, though it would help bring more attention to the prize. Of course the bachelor’s mind went there. Everything was probably about more women o
n his arm for this guy. “You missed a whole lot, Buster.”

  “Buster?”

  She was fumbling. “I never said we were giving away a date with you. It’s an … opportunity to spend time with you.”

  “Big difference.”

  “It is,” she shot back, pushing closer into his space. “Listen to me. When we narrow it down to one hundred entries, it will only be the sweet and adorable stories that get through. The little boy who idolizes you, the gentleman who served in the military and his only dream before he dies is to meet you and watch you play live, the teenage girl who has leukemia and thinks you’re the hottest guy ever. Can’t you envision it? There are so many touching stories, and the world will see and love them all. We’ll feature three to four each day for the thirty days leading up to the first game of the season. Then, when the season starts, the winner will get front-row seats to the opening game and dinner with you afterwards.” She hoped he was catching the vision and getting excited. She’d gotten excited every time they’d brainstormed about it. “It’s for a good cause, and everyone will be thrilled that you’re willing to do it.”

  “A good cause?” He peered down at her with his eyebrows arched. “An insane social media blast right before the season starts so we can fill the stands is now classified as ‘a good cause’?”

  Her cheeks and neck got hot. “I mean, not that part of it, but the stories will be touching and inspiring, and making someone’s dreams come true is a good cause.”

  “Have you researched me?” he asked evenly.

  “Yes.” There was no reason to hide it. Where was he leading her now?

  “Did you find anything about my little sister, Lottie?”

  She nodded. “Lottie has Down syndrome. She’s a beautiful, sweet girl.”

  “Yes.” He was the one leaning closer now, and she really liked the smell of his cologne. She wasn’t a drinker, but the smell of bourbon got her every time. “Lottie has a charity. Lottie’s Loves.”

  “Yes,” she said eagerly. “I saw that in my research but couldn’t find much about what she did with it.”

  His expression was compassionate but belittling. “You wouldn’t find much. She doesn’t need or want exposure, and my parents and each of us brothers fund it. She spends her free time quietly researching with the help of some of her teenage friends, and they find emotionally-riveting stories, stories you’d probably love to feature on your social media blast.” Now his look was pointed. “And they use the money in the fund, and Lottie’s well-known brothers, to make dreams come true.”

  He was even more impressive than she’d thought.

  “I’ve met a little boy with leukemia and his parents for dinner, after they used my front-row seats to an afternoon football game. Jex has taken a teenage girl who has a crush on him, and cystic fibrosis, flying in a paraglider. Gunner has taken an entire family who lost their Navy SEAL son on their dream trip to an all-inclusive private resort in Belize. Slade recently hired a man who was close to ending it all because he was an ex-convict and couldn’t find a job to provide for his twin baby girls who were born with holes in their hearts. Do I need to keep going?”

  Ally stared at him and tried to breathe throughout his tirade. Well, tirade wasn’t the right word, as he’d shared it all calmly. Shame crept over her, and she didn’t know what to say. Her life was marketing and media exposure. That’s how her world worked. She’d never imagined someone was doing things like this but not needing fundraising money or wanting the glory or more followers on Instagram.

  “You’ve never seen any of these stories, or a dozen more, on social media because we choose to experience them with our new friends as quietly as possible.” He took a long breath and backed away from her. “I’m happy to help people and love making dreams come true, Miss Heathrow, but I refuse …” He paused to give her a piercing stare. “To be part of a ‘good cause’ that is truly just a media ploy.”

  There was nothing she could say. He was right. He and his family were saintly, and she was focused on a different plane. She could argue that her ideas still helped people, but it was also true that her ideas were about bringing more attention to the Patriots, and selling tickets was the long-term goal. “I apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Steele.”

  He studied her, then finally gave her half a smile. “Don’t apologize. I enjoyed it … the luring me in, at least.”

  He was mocking her. She hadn’t lured him in. She’d simply been another woman groveling for a simple smile and kind word from him. Humiliation was her companion as she turned and started to walk away. It was obvious Preston Steele thought she was a shallow woman who used her marketing skills to expose sad stories. She was never letting Bucky push her again. Her idea was great, and she could send some of her marketing team after other players and see who wanted to get involved. Someone would see it was a charitable idea and not just selfish. Someone would like it. That player might not have the fame, looks, or charisma of Preston Steele, but it would still work. Front-row seats alone were pretty fabulous.

  She heard a grunt and paused. Something thumped on the ground behind her. Whirling, Ally searched the moonlit trail but didn’t see anything. “Preston?” she whispered. “Mr. Steele?” Where had he gone?

  Creeping back toward where she’d left him, she saw his inert form on the ground at the same time that she heard movement through the bushes to her right. When she turned to face the threat, she gasped when three men leapt at her. A scream ripped from her throat but was cut off by a hand over her mouth. A needle plunged into her neck, sending cool liquid surging through her veins. Ally screamed again and flailed and fought, digging her fingernails into an arm, biting the hand on her mouth, but she couldn’t budge any of the hands or bodies pinning her in place. Darkness overtook her, and she mercifully sank into it.

  Chapter Three

  Preston blinked into the darkness, but it didn’t clear. His head felt foggy and achier than after his last concussion. His body was heavy and disjointed. He was lying facedown on a metal surface and quickly realized his hands and feet were bound together. Everything seemed to be rocking slightly, making him dizzy and nauseous. He could hear the thrum of an engine and smelled diesel fuel.

  As the third of four brothers, you didn’t call for help—it just wasn’t done—but Preston had never been hog-tied and obviously drugged before. All he remembered was watching the alluring, smart, and impressive Alyandra Heathrow walk away, then taking a solid hit to the head, but he had no clue how he’d ended up here. He was terrified and confused and he let a yell of “Help!” out before he could stop himself.

  “Preston?” a female voice asked from close by. He could hear the person scooting closer to him and then smelled the delicious scent of coconut. It almost negated the diesel fuel smell. Sadly, nothing could negate the unsettling situation or the pain in his head. “Preston?” she repeated. “Are you okay?”

  “Who are you? What’s happening?” he demanded.

  “Ally Heathrow.”

  He tried to arch up but couldn’t move. He’d thought it was Ally in here with him, but his question had meant to ask who she really was and what she was hiding. In the garden, Ally had claimed to have tempted him there for some social media stunt. She was beautiful and intriguing, but did she seduce him away from the party for social media, or something more nefarious? “Who are you really? You lured me into that garden so somebody could kidnap me?”

  “Oh!” He heard her grunt of disgust. “As if I could lure you anywhere. I’m not involved in this. I’m tied up too!”

  He wasn’t sure what to believe, and his panicked mind couldn’t process any reason why someone would kidnap him and Ally Heathrow. He barely knew her and he’d done nothing to tick anybody off—well, unless they were fanatical sports fans and were mad that he’d beaten their favorite football team. But come on, nobody was that crazy.

  “Where are we?” Preston continued with the questions, glaring into the surrounding darkness. “Is there anyone else
in here with us? Has anyone talked to you? Are you tied up?”

  “I only came to a few minutes before you did. I haven’t heard anyone else moving around. I was propped against the wall with my hands tied behind me.”

  “But not your feet?”

  “No.”

  “Can you work your way around to my hands and we can see if we can loosen your knots or mine?”

  “Sure.” She scooted around, and a few seconds later her hands brushed his, sending a tingling of warmth and reassurance through him—which was insane, because there was nothing reassuring about this situation.

  She started working on his knots but didn’t say anything. He could hear water lapping against metal. Maybe they were on a boat? The thrum of the motor eased as if they were slowing and then the noise stopped completely, but the diesel smell lingered. He didn’t like that engine stopping. Would someone come for them now? Before they got their ropes off and stood a fighting chance?

  “Sorry I accused you of being part of this,” he said.

  She grunted but didn’t answer him.

  “Do you have any clue why someone would want to kidnap you?” If he had more facts maybe he could figure out how to secure their freedom.

  “Nobody would want to kidnap me,” she shot back, her fingernail digging into his wrist.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s you they’re after. I’m just an unfortunate extra for them to deal with.”

  Preston felt a stronger terror rush through him at the way she’d said that. Human trafficking. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Ally that she was the most beautiful woman at that party, the most beautiful and intriguing woman he’d been around in a while. Some of the guys had joked about it, said how smart Bucky was to hire such a pretty, shapely marketing director, as none of them would be able to tell her no. When she’d given him an alluring look and brushed against him last night, he’d followed the intriguing beauty without a second thought.