by Kate Meader
Harper sat in the other leather armchair beside Bren, hands clasped in her lap, her petite stature making her sink even further.
“We go back a long way, you and I,” she said quietly.
“Aye, we do.” He’d started with the Rebels feeder team in Rockford before his call-up to the majors eleven years ago. He’d had chances to leave, but he stuck around through the bad times and worse. One of them was finding Harper in the Rebels locker room, her lip bloody, another player looming over her and shaking out his fist. That bastard didn’t remain on the Rebels much longer. Left a couple of teeth behind, too.
Harper might think Bren’s defense of her created an obligation between them, but not as far as Bren was concerned. She had repaid him handsomely last year. Instead of canning his ass when he showed up for a game drunk, she’d persuaded her father to give him another chance as long as he entered rehab.
He’d spent the last ten months acting like a monk. No booze, no fighting, no sex.
Christ, he missed sex.
“You don’t owe me this, Harper. I’ll figure something out.”
“What? We need you in Dallas when the team flies out tomorrow.”
“The girls can travel with me.”
“They’re nine and eleven, Bren. You can’t be dragging them all over the country. They need stability and we need you playing to the best of your ability and not worrying about who’s looking after them. We’ll work on hiring professional help, but for this first round of the play-offs, you’re going to have to let us help you. The WAGs are on the case. Me, Addison, Isobel, and—”
“Not Violet.”
He almost spat out her name, immediately regretting how much it revealed about his state of mind. What he didn’t regret? How his mouth felt when shaping the word: Vi-o-let. It had a musical quality that had always appealed to him.
Pity its owner was far too appealing.
Harper looked understandably taken aback. “Well, she’s not a wife or girlfriend, but I’m sure she’d help out if asked. In fact, given that she doesn’t have an official role in the organization—or an actual job—she could prove useful.”
He snorted. What was wrong with him? Usually as stoic as they came, he found it near impossible to control himself whenever the youngest daughter of Clifford Chase was mentioned. Or came within earshot. Or was near enough to touch and taste and—
“She’s sort of . . . flighty,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, when his thoughts on Violet were anything but. “A party girl. This wouldn’t interest her.”
Caitriona and Franky had endured far too much insecurity, most of which was Bren’s fault. They didn’t need an unreliable slip of a girl like Violet who laughed too hard, flirted too much, and did an admirable job of getting under Bren’s skin.
He wasn’t fool enough to deny his attraction to her, but then he’d always been drawn to wild women. Like his ex. And look how that turned out.
“My lawyer thinks I have a good chance at full custody, but I have to do this right. Dot the i’s and cross the t’s. Keep my head down and my nose clean.” He let her infer the rest. He refused to give Kendra any extra ammunition, and that started with ensuring that his daughters’ child-care arrangements were handled professionally.
Harper patted his arm as if his Violet objections were the most natural thing in the world. He felt a little guilty at painting her in a bad light, and even more so now that Harper seemed to readily understand.
“We’ll figure it out, Bren. Let the girls stay at Chase Manor while you go to Dallas for the first two games. I’ll work with an agency to set up some interviews for a more permanent position. I can even arrange to have someone open up your house and get it ready for the girls.”
The house. He hadn’t even thought about that. While his daughters usually stayed with him in his rented apartment when they came to visit once a month, they had all once lived together in the house on the lake. Being back on their old stomping ground might help them adjust to the big changes.
“That’d be great, Harper.”
She squeezed his arm. “We old-timers have to stick together, Bren. It’s also what family does. And the Rebels are family.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Originally from Ireland, KATE MEADER cut her romance reader teeth on Maeve Binchy and Jilly Cooper novels, with some Harlequins thrown in for variety. Give her tales about brooding mill owners, oversexed equestrians, and men who can rock an apron, a fire hose, or a hockey stick, and she’s there. Now based in Chicago, she writes sexy contemporary romance with alpha heroes and strong heroines (and heroes) who can match their men quip for quip. Visit her at KateMeader.com.
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BOOKS BY KATE MEADER
The Chicago Rebels Series
In Skates Trouble
Irresistible You
So Over You
The Hot in Chicago Series
Rekindle the Flame
Flirting with Fire
Melting Point
Playing with Fire
Sparking the Fire
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Pocket Star Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Kate Meader
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First Pocket Star Books ebook edition March 2018
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ISBN 978-1-5011-8290-7