by Rie Warren
I drew in a deep breath, combed my fingers through my hair, then rapped my knuckles against the door.
Seconds later it swung open, and Delicious Delaney Jones stood there in a T-shirt that slipped off one bare shoulder, tight ripped jeans, and laughter bubbling from her lips.
And I was jonesing for her hard.
Her golden-colored eyes peered up at me with a hint of wickedness. “Hi, Brooks. We were just not talking about you.”
Looking beyond her, I listened to her laugh again, laughter echoed by what appeared to be a whole horde of women from the Cougars.
My face heated up—thank fuck for the beard covering most of it. I was just glad none of the other dudes were around to witness my so burned moment.
Chapter Two
Baller Played
Delaney
AFTER OUR HALFTIME PERFORMANCE at the Charge stadium, where I’d taken the Carolina Cougars to an easy victory over the Fayetteville Foxes, I’d stuck around to watch the Crush do their thing.
Their team was on a winning streak, in no small part due to Brooklyn Holt.
Oh yeah. I knew all about the big, rough-and-tumble, not-so-humble man. The first day I’d appeared on the scene at Crush’s practice grounds, Brooks had just about set my body on fire with his smoldering stare.
Brooks Holt. Well . . . he was the most talked about player on the circuit when it came to the ladies, and I’d vowed never to go with another footballer, not after what happened the last time.
Eating a bunch of carbs, drinking a few beers, kicking it back with some of my girls in my hotel room hours after Crush had shoved the Jacksonville Charge’s cleats up their asses, I heard a hard knock on the door.
Swiping my hands on my favorite jeans, I padded barefoot toward the entrance.
Sammy, Lourdes, and Raquel lolled on the two huge beds, spluttering crumbs all over the place.
“You didn’t order more room service, did you?” Sammy patted her flat tummy. “Please tell me you didn’t. We’ve got to work all this off tomorrow already.”
“I did not order more food. But are you seriously sitting there telling me if I shoved another tray of sliders and chili cheese fries under your nose, you’d complain? Girl, you must have hollow legs or something,” I grumbled.
“Who do you think it is, Laney?” Lourdes laced her hands beneath her chin. “Not Rafe, dios mio.”
I snorted. “Hell no, it won’t be Rafe. He can’t look at Peyton without drooling. That man is totally not on the market.”
“Isn’t Akoni either.” Sammy pulled her thick braid over her shoulder then grinned.
“Akoni’s working on breeding his own team with his wife,” I said.
Everyone knew AK adored his wife, and the big sweet-hearted Hawaiian definitely wouldn’t be prowling around while on the road.
“Ten bucks on Brooks.” Lourdes shot me a smirk.
“What about Calder? Now he’s somethin’ fine.” Raquel flopped onto her back.
“Let’s just hope it isn’t Buckley.” I rolled my eyes.
“Hey, Cornhusker’s excellent eye-fucking material though. I can think of a few ways to keep his big mouth shut.” Sammy cupped her breasts.
We were all laughing—pretty much cackling—when I yanked the door open, and the bubble of laughter stuck in my throat.
Brooks it was. So Lourdes won the bet.
Damn her.
Damn him.
Oh, damn him.
I quickly schooled my features into a cool look, the one that could bring most men to their knees. “Hey, Brooks. We were just not talking about you.”
He didn’t say a word as his eyes meandered over me—every glance as scorching hot as if he’d touched me with his big, long-fingered hands.
When he finally met my gaze, he blushed.
Brooklyn Holt. Blushing. Mmmm. That tall muscled man with his tats and his firm sensual mouth framed by the tight beard. His tight . . . everything. He’d definitely cleaned up—jeans clung to his lean waist, his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, and his spicy masculine scent almost made me salivate.
Meanwhile he stood in front of me, flushed and tongue-tied. I bet that didn’t happen often. A feminine thrill—the kind I’d rarely felt before—shot through me.
“Who is it, Laney?” Sammy called out.
“Quien es? Quien es?” Lourdes joined in.
The women had risen from the beds and breathed down my neck. I opened the door wider, revealing handsome Brooklyn Holt.
“Ooh, looks like you owe Lourdes some moola,” Raquel said.
“Now that’s what I call a tight end,” Sammy sounded off.
“Si. Bet you really could bounce a quarter off his ass.”
As the bawdy comments continued, I watched Brooklyn’s blush rise to the tips of his ears. His eyes, the color of nutmeg, narrowed, and his lips twitched.
I couldn’t tell if he wanted to grin or grimace. Probably the latter.
“Delaney wants to find out about his ass. With her tongue.” That smartass Sammy was doing a fine job of digging the hole I suddenly wanted to jump into.
“Ladies.” Brooks’s gaze still holding mine, he dipped his head at my nosy teammates. “Delaney”—that drop in his already low voice when he said my name sent shivers down to my tummy—“can I have a word?”
Glancing back, I glared at the prying beyotches before doing the inadvisable and stepping into the hall, closing the door.
Brooks barely backed up a step. He stood so close heat poured off him and my nipples tightened. I was pretty sure he could see the peaks beneath my thin top. And I was pretty tall for a chick, but he loomed above me, a hard wall of man.
His blush, which was seriously unexpected, finally faded, leaving just tanned skin in its wake and crinkles at the corners of his warm cinnamon-brown eyes. Eyes that flickered down to my breasts then quickly back up as he smiled.
Straight teeth. Sexy lips. And the bristles of his thick brown beard. I briefly wondered how his face would feel between my legs. Then I flushed.
“Did you want something? Or were you hoping to eavesdrop on me and my girls?” I asked.
“Eavesdrop?” He chuckled, a deep rumble that hit me just right. “Only thing I overheard were comments about my ass.”
He grinned, and I’d be willing to bet he had deep dimples beneath the beard.
“Well . . . tight end and all.”
“Didn’t think you noticed, Delaney.”
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
“No such thing. My momma told me a good Texan boy only fishes for blue catfish.” The charming bastard winked while playing up his smooth drawl, and I found myself laughing.
Good lord, someone needed to put the man on a leash. But not me.
Thank God, at that precise moment we were interrupted by boisterous shouts. A trio of red-dressed had-to-be-Crush-fans descended on Brooks.
“Brooklyn Holt! Holy shit, it’s really you.” A teenage boy thrust out his hand, practically bouncing up and down.
“Michael! Language.” The middle-aged woman scolded in a sharp tone. Then she smiled at Brooks. “Sorry about that. I think you’re his idol.”
“Mom. Embarrassing.”
“No worries.” Chuckling, Brooks shook the boy’s hand. “I’ve been known to swear a time or two myself.”
“Mike Senior.” The dad also took Brooklyn’s hand. “That was a hell of a game. We traveled down from Summerville to catch it.”
“Glad we got a win for you then.” He hooked an arm around my shoulders and drew me forward. “And you all know Delaney Jones from the Cougars, right?”
I tried to wriggle free. “Brooks, I’m sure they don’t—”
“Nonsense,” the mom said. “Of course we do. I mean, my husband and son came for the Crush, but I’m really getting into this Artemis League thing.”
A smile broke over my lips.
“Hey, ummm, can you like, sign something for me?” Mike Junior asked Brooks.
Cue the crestfallen look.
Then Brooklyn pulled out his phone. “How about you stick your address in here and I’ll send some team swag to you?”
“Really?”
“Sure thing.”
“Righteous!”
The info exchange completed, the mom said, “Thanks for talking with us. You just made Mike’s whole year.”
“Anytime.” Brooks dipped his head.
“Nice to meet both of you.” Mike Senior pumped my hand then Brooks’s before herding his family away.
“Likewise.” He waved, smiling, and I had to tear my gaze away from him.
Brooklyn had just made himself even more appealing—cool, relaxed, easygoing. Ugh. I had to wrap this up quick and get away from the dangerous temptation.
I backed toward the door of my room. “So you came for—?”
He ducked his head and rubbed a hand across his chest. “I was thinking maybe we could get out of here. I’d like to take you for dinner.”
“A date?”
“Well, that wouldn’t be prudent, would it? Considering the nonfraternization policy between Crush and Cougars?” But he winked at me.
I steeled myself against his appearance, his charm, his damn tasty scent.
“I already ate.” I patted my tummy.
“How about a beer? There’s a wicked blues bar I know here.”
“I already told you once.” I flicked my hair over my shoulder. “But I guess since you’re a jock maybe it didn’t sink in. Not interested, Baller.”
A frown wrinkled his forehead.
I wasn’t looking for a hook-up of any kind. Not a boyfriend or a lover or a fuckbuddy either. I was laying low. Brooklyn appeared genuine—recent reputation as the Baller of the NFL notwithstanding—but I wasn’t young enough, stupid enough, or foolish enough to put myself in the position of being any man’s joy ride.
I didn’t date.
I didn’t screw around for the fun of it.
And I didn’t like being alone with a man, not after . . . not after what had happened to me.
“See now”—the frown eased from his forehead—“I don’t think that’s entirely true.”
He stretched his arms above me, planting his palms on the wall above my head.
I should’ve felt threatened. Caught. Caged in. But his closeness sent zingers right through me. My pulse sped. I ached between my legs for him. And I wanted to lick that clean precise line of his throat before shaved skin met beard.
“I think you are interested, Delaney.” His breath fluttered against my ear, hurrying more heat to my pussy.
I tried to keep my back flat against the wall instead of arching into his body.
Brooks’s abs showed with his shirt lifted up, exposing a dark brown treasure trail. A heavy Lone Star buckle pulled his jeans lower, revealing the beginnings of the deep arrow of muscle leading to the big bulge below.
The gentlest touch on my cheek lifted my eyes to his.
“Maybe you’re too scared to act on it.” His words, deep and husky, brushed across my lips before he stepped back.
My breath halted in my chest.
“But that’s okay. I’m a patient man. I can wait.” He smirked.
And swaggered away, peering back over his broad shoulder.
Ass flexing in his jeans.
Spinning around, I pounded on the door for the girls to let me in before I threw off all caution and pounced on him before he hit the elevators around the corner.
Why the hell did he have to smell so good, make me feel like I wanted to be so bad with him . . . and leave a trail of wet pussy behind him?
Sammy, that damn troublemaker, peeked her head out. “Where’d the man meat go?”
“Shut up and let me in.”
“Are your panties on fire?”
I glared at her.
She opened the door.
I slammed it shut behind me, muttering about Brooks and big muscles and beards.
“Holt is muy caliente.” Lourdes took a drink of her vodka and cranberry.
“He’s also all used up.” I pulled myself away from the door and accepted the beer Sammy offered me.
“What’d he want?” she asked, sitting cross-legged at the foot of my bed.
“He asked me to dinner.”
“You said no.” Sammy’s flat expression didn’t make the blonde any less pretty.
I nodded.
“Girl, you gotta get out of this funk,” Raquel mused.
“I’m not in a funk, I’m—”
“Off men for life.” The three chorused.
“Well unless you become a lesbian I don’t see how that’s gonna work,” Sammy said.
“I could maybe like pussy.” I shrugged.
“Not the way you drool over Brooks.” Rolling her eyes, Lourdes made an obscene gesture with her tongue.
Putting down the beer, I attacked her with a pillow. “I do not drool.”
“Salivate!” Raquel body checked me onto a bed and took up the pillow assault on me.
“Moan about him in your sleep.” Sammy tickled the soles of my feet until I curled up into a ball.
“Evil bitches,” I grumbled when they finally let me catch a breath.
“BFFs,” Sammy chimed.
“Pollyanna,” I mumbled.
“Maleficent,” she countered.
Even though everyone had their own rooms, the girls and I slept in a pile on my bed. The family I’d never had. Opinionated as they came. Guessed I could’ve traded them, especially when Sammy groped my ass in her sleep, and Raquel snored in my face, but . . . these days I took family anyplace I could get it.
And that was never going to include Baller Brooks.
Chapter Three
Waiting Game
Brooklyn
DELANEY HAD ME ALL twisted up inside. One minute with the sassy mouth, the next with the shy vulnerability.
Had me so twisted up I hadn’t gotten my dick wet since the first time I’d set eyes on her on the practice field.
The flight home from Jacksonville proved interesting—and torturous. Rafe sat with Peyton on the Crush jet, their lips probably glued together. No fraternizing bullshit right there.
Akoni shared with Bunyan, the two linebackers overflowing their chairs.
Buckley was a nonstarter, so no way was I sitting with him.
Marquis beckoned me over, but I made a beeline toward the women—the Carolina Cougars—and one hottie in particular. Sure, Delaney had shut me down the night before, but I’d told her I was patient. I just left out the part about being a persistent sonuvabitch, too.
I settled down beside her, buckling in, linking my hands over my lap, and my elbow brushed hers on the armrest.
I heard titters all around—Akoni’s deeper ones included.
That fucker.
In fact, my entire team craned their heads backward to get a gander on.
And Coach D, he pretty much rubbernecked this shit. I could probably look forward to a Yoda-style speech next practice about hanging with Delaney, but I did not give a fuck.
All I wanted was to get to know the black-haired beauty so I could find out why she kept going all cold on me.
Her golden cat’s eyes narrowed at me as she hmmphed and shoved up the armrest between us.
I took that as an invitation to slide my shoulder against hers.
Just as quickly Delaney slammed the armrest back down.
The plane took off.
She jutted her chin forward, refusing to look at me, unlike everyone else on the private plane.
“Doin’ all right today?” I dipped my imaginary cowboy hat at her.
“Don’t you give me that Texan charm, Brooks.”
“Mind if I sit here?”
“Yes, I mind if you sit beside me. Can’t you tell?”
I tapped my fingers a few times against the armrest blocking me from her before unbuckling and turning in my seat.
&nbs
p; My voice dropped, and I shielded her from the others with my bigger frame. “I upset you in some way?”
Delaney’s throat bobbed, and she lifted eyes that reminded me of a wounded animal. At that vulnerable look—the one that showed raw distrust—I leaned away from her, giving her more space.
When Delaney still looked ready to bolt, I stood up. “Why don’t you take the aisle seat?”
“What?”
“You don’t like being caged in. Swap seats with me.”
She peered straight ahead. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, I prefer a window seat, if ya must know.”
She bit down on a small smile and got to her feet. I climbed out, Delaney followed after, and I settled back against the window, only that time I pushed up the armrest and faced her, wrist dangled over my knee.
“I don’t mean to scare you.”
“You don’t.” She huffed.
“Don’t mean to startle you.”
She swallowed visibly again.
“Something you wanna talk about?” I asked, taking in the trembling of her lips, the fast fluttering of her eyelashes.
“I get airsick.”
There was her bravado, but that right there was a damn lie. The woman seemed frightened as fuck about something. Maybe it was why she was always with her girls. Surrounded. Protected.
“You don’t want to be alone with me.”
Her eyes shot to mine. Again the wild-eyed, cornered look. She shook her head infinitesimally.
“Did I do something that made you feel threatened?”
Another head shake.
“Something someone else did to you?” It felt like a hand clutched my heart and squeezed when she paled.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Brooks.”
“If you really want me to move seats I will.”
She took a deep breath. It swelled her chest, but I kept my eyes on her face, willing her to look my way.
“You can stay.”
“Good.” I foraged in my backpack, pulling out bottles of water and the NYT. “Because I’m stuck on the crossword, and I figure you’re smarter than me.”