To Win Her Love

by Mackenzie Crowne

  Darkness had long since arrived before she boarded the train to Long Island. When the cab from the station finally bumped down the driveway, she hoped to slip into the house, peek in on the girls, who should already be asleep, and then lock herself in her bedroom.

  The gremlins had other ideas.

  Headlights from a strange car blinded her as she climbed from the cab. At the foot of the porch steps, she shielded her eyes from the glare and bit her lip in dismay. Three large, obviously male forms slid from the big SUV.

  Shit. The poker jocks have arrived.

  She considered making a run for it, but this was her home, at least for the next three months. She’d be damned if she’d run.

  “Looks like our evening just got a lot more interesting, boys. Hello, beautiful.”

  She lifted her chin. Geez, was Flirting 101 a required course at training camp? Snow crunched beneath large feet as two of the Marauders’ offensive tackles, Mario Davis and Jamal Knight, stepped into the light of the porch lamp along with Kevin Tucker, the team’s top wide receiver.

  God help her, she couldn’t help but gape. Like a warrior delegation to the United Nations, a third of the Marauders’ offensive line stood before her, representing the African American, Latino, and Nordic factions. Talk about eye candy. These three would sell out the house in a sports version of a Chippendales Review. The female in her sighed in appreciation. The football junkie danced a silent, manic jig. How many fans got the opportunity to meet not one, but three all pros? The minions would lose their minds.

  She shook her head. Though her father was long since retired from the field, he still held a prominent position in the sport. If not exactly peers, these men stood at his side in an elite brotherhood. Spending any amount of time with them was out of the question. “You’re here to see Jake, I assume.”

  Kevin Tucker moved closer, a wide smile creasing his tough-guy face. “Jake? Jake who? I’m here to see you, sweetheart.” Behind him, Mario and Jamal snickered.

  “Uh-huh.” She turned her back and climbed the steps. “If you’re coming in, come on. I’ll let Jake know you’re here.”

  “Blocked at the line of scrimmage, Tuck.” Male laughter echoed in the night.

  Tuck grinned and bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time. “I’ve got a couple more downs.”

  She opened the door and glanced over her shoulder. “No, you don’t.”

  “Sweetheart, you don’t understand the rules of the game. Have dinner with me. I’ll explain them to you.”

  She bared her teeth in a smile. “Oh, you’d be surprised what I understand. Let me put this a way you’ll understand. Consider yourself benched.”

  Mario and Jamal howled and joined them on the porch.

  Tuck shook his head, but confident humor made his blue eyes sparkle. “That’s cold, sweetheart.”

  She laughed as she stepped inside—and slammed into a solid wall of chest. Strong arms came around her shoulders and a woodsy spice scent caressed her senses. She immediately shoved free, or tried to. Jake tightened his hold, keeping her where she was with her cheek and nose pressed against his throat.

  “Looks like Jake already has the ball, Tuck.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she turned her head to scowl at Jamal. His dark eyes twinkled with mirth as he jabbed Tuck in the ribs with an elbow. A chuckle vibrated beneath her cheek as Jake tucked her even closer.

  As if he’d been in on the ridiculous conversation from the beginning, he didn’t miss a beat. “Intercepted and already on the scoreboard.”

  Strong arms and woodsy spice cologne aside, she stiffened in his arms. Her sex-on-heels boots were as practical as they were pretty. She stomped a heel down on his instep.

  “Ouch!” The cage of his arms opened immediately, and she jerked free. He sucked a pained hiss through his teeth. “Damn it. That hurt.”

  She shrugged her shoulder, adjusting the strap of her laptop bag. “And your point is?”

  “Fumble!” A sly smile creased Tuck’s face.

  Mario and Jamal hooted with laughter. Jake didn’t join them. His brows formed a disgruntled line as he lifted his foot to dip his fingers inside his loafer and rub. The action only increased the poker jocks’ amusement.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to bed. Keep the noise down or you’ll wake the girls.”

  “Girls?” Mario pinned Jake with a questioning gaze.

  “Bed?” Tuck drew out the word, his eyes glittering.

  Jake dropped his foot to the floor. Discomfort wrinkled his brow, but from the damage caused by her heel or because of his friends’ nosey demands, she wasn’t sure. Come to think of it, how had he explained his presence at the farm? Did his friends know about the stipulations in Pete’s will? From the expectant curiosity on their faces, the answer was no. She delayed her departure, interested in hearing Jake’s account of the situation.

  He cleared his throat and shot her a narrow-eyed scowl.

  She scowled right back. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t want you here in the first place. You chose to accept Pete’s demands.”

  “Like I had any choice, thanks to you and your minions.”

  Me and my minions? Like a crisp winter sunrise, comprehension dawned cold and clear. He wasn’t at the farm for the money or the twins. He was here because their blog exchange threatened his image, which in turn, would threaten his career. Why you dirty diva!

  Determined fury bubbled. There must be a way to get him to break the custody rules, because she’d be damned if she’d lose the girls to such a self-centered…jock. She jammed her fists to her hips. “Me? I’m just a homely blogger who wouldn’t know incidental contact if it bit me on the ass, remember?”

  He winced, but his scowl darkened. “I apologized for that.”

  “Wait a minute.” With raised brows and disbelieving eyes, Tuck raked her from head to feet before snapping his gaze to Jake. “She’s the blogger bitch?”

  “Hey! Watch it, buster.”

  A flush colored his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “Sorry. Lady football blogger who got you fined?”

  “In the flesh,” Jake grumbled.

  “Ho-ly shit.” Mario’s eyes went wide.

  Jamal shook his head as if to clear it.

  “And you’re sleeping with her?” Tuck’s disbelief disappeared behind a full-fledged grin. “Shit, buddy. That’s fucked up. But I like your style.”

  Jake’s lips curved in a wolfish smile.

  She gasped. “He is not sleeping with me.” She pointed a finger at Tuck. “And I’m not sleeping with him. I’m not sleeping with anyone.”

  Tuck dipped his head closer to hers and dropped his voice into a rumbling purr. “Would you like to be?”

  She leaned away from him, even as her cheeks heated. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re all insane.”

  Male laughter filled the foyer, not quite drowning out the click of nails and a jangling collar. Murphy burst from the hallway.

  Jake whipped his head around. “Oh, shit.”

  He had no time to say anything else, and she wasn’t about to sound a warning. The poker jocks were on their own.

  Shooting forward like a canine bullet, Murphy’s body wriggled with excitement. He avoided Jake’s outstretched hand, racing by on dancing feet. Slamming on the brakes, the dog slid to a stop at Tuck’s feet, dipped his head and…pow!

  The tough guy wide receiver from the mean streets of South Boston went down like a stone to a chorus of male groans.

  Chapter 14

  Jake had no trouble empathizing with Tuck’s pain. Bent at the waist with his hands on his knees, his normally congenial friend clutched a bag of frozen peas in one fist and scowled at the staircase where Gracie and her dog had disappeared. He groaned suddenly and hunched farther, his eyes sliding shut.

  Jake winced. Gracie’s dog might be a menace, but he owed the exuberant mutt a T-bone for the timely interruption.

 
What had he been thinking, wrapping Gracie in his arms in a blatant claim of ownership? He should’ve ignored the quick stab of jealousy at the smile in her eyes for his friends. No, not jealousy. He didn’t get jealous of women. His uncomfortable reaction was a natural byproduct of his competitive nature, plain and simple, but his life was a cluster fuck at the moment. As much as he enjoyed pitting his seductive skills against Tuck’s, the next round of chick tug of war would have to wait for some other time. Some other woman. He had too much on his plate to enjoy the exercise right now.

  From what he’d heard of the conversation on the porch before they filed inside, Gracie was doing a fine job of slapping down his skirt-chasing friend. He should’ve left her to it. Though her brush-off would come as a challenge to a hound dog like Tuck, he’d never been known for his patience. Too many women didn’t bother running to keep him chasing after one who did for long.

  Unfortunately, thanks to Jake’s blatant show of possession, he couldn’t count on Tuck’s interest in Gracie waning anytime soon. From the sly intensity of his smile, he’d zeroed in on the source of that sweet poison he’d mentioned. No doubt Tuck’s interest in Gracie had shot straight past natural male attraction into a gleeful obsession to even the score over Daphne.

  Damn bad luck Gracie would arrive home at the same time as the guys. He’d expected her home much earlier. Considering the way she was always trying to avoid his company, keeping her a secret should’ve been a slam dunk. Too late now. The cat was well and truly out of the bag.

  He jammed his fingers through his hair. Mario was the biggest blabbermouth on the planet. By this time tomorrow, the entire world would think he was shacked up with the Gridiron Girl. Not that he’d mind, if they were shacked up in truth.

  A sharp knock drew his attention. He crossed the foyer to open the door.

  V swept inside, bringing the cold air with her. “We need to talk.”

  “It’s poker night. Whatever it is can wait.”

  She tugged off her red leather gloves. “No, it can’t.” She bumped up her chin in greeting to his teammates. “Hiya, boys. Where’s Gracie, and….” Her sharp brows snapped together as her gaze landed on Tuck. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Tuck straightened stiffly. His skin held a twinge of green.

  Mario chuckled and slapped Tuck on the back, eliciting a painful groan. “The blonde blogger ran upstairs, right after her dog rearranged Tuck’s balls.”

  Jamal’s teeth flashed in a vicious smile. “Hey, at least she offered to ice his balls down before she left.” He ducked when Tuck whipped the bag of frozen peas at his head.

  V laughed. “Murphy got you, too?”

  “Too?” Tuck sent Jake an accusing glare.

  Jake rolled his shoulders in an apologetic shrug and turned to glower at V. He didn’t appreciate her obvious humor any more than he had when she had a good laugh over his mishap with Murphy. He shut the door with a thud. “It’s not funny, V. That dog is a ball busting menace.”

  She patted his cheek. “Poor, big football jocks. What would the rest of your teammates say if they knew you’d both been taken down by a puppy?”

  “They’d say ‘Damn, Jamal, why didn’t you get that shit on your phone?’” Jamal laughed, dancing out of reach when Tuck took a swing at him.

  “Wait! Did I hear football blogger?” She spun toward Jake. “You told them?”

  “I was about to, before the canine ball crusher arrived.”

  Tuck winced and limped across the foyer to retrieve the package of frozen peas.

  V shrugged out of her coat. “Then it’s a good thing I got here when I did.” With her coat hung over one arm, she pointed a finger at Mario. “Pay attention, big guy, and this goes for the rest of you, too.” She glanced around, leveling each of them with a cross me at your own peril stare. “None of this leaves here. Not one word. No one is to know where Jake is living or that Gracie Gable is the Gridiron Girl. Understood?”

  Mario shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this. I mean, yeah, she’s smokin’ hot.” Tuck’s sly sneer and Jamal’s nod said they agreed with his assessment. “But hot chicks are a dime a dozen. Why would you move in with one who cost you twenty-five grand?”

  Something hot and primal heated Jake’s blood. He forcefully relaxed his curled fists, fighting back the desire to rearrange the old bump on Tuck’s nose before adding new ones to Mario’s and Jamal’s. He sucked in a calming breath, shook off the over-the-top reaction, and blamed nerves at having to announce the cluster fuck his life had become.

  “I’ll explain it all over the cards.”

  * * * *

  The knock on her door made Gracie groan. The twins wouldn’t bother knocking. They’d come right in. Apparently, Jake couldn’t sleep either, but if he was here to threaten Murphy again, she was going to scream. “Go away.”

  “Gracie? It’s V. Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”

  V? The clock on the dresser read eleven fifty. What was Jake’s publicist doing here, and what could she possibly have to say that couldn’t wait until a decent hour?

  Sliding from the bed, Gracie flipped on the lamp and scooped up her jeans. She shucked them up her over her hips as she hopped across the room. Jeans zipped and buttoned, she paused in front of the closed door. She tugged the loose collar of the oversized T-shirt up over her shoulder, plunged her fingers through her hair, fluffing the tangled strands, then grimaced at the attempted grooming.

  She dropped her hands to her sides. When an unwanted visitor knocked on your door in the middle of the night, they got what they got. She pivoted her neck and shoulders to loosen the sudden knots and opened the door.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you.” Decked out in another of her red power suits, with a pair of genuine, to-die-for Jimmy Choo heels to match, V offered her an apologetic smile. Of course, her makeup and hair were perfect as well, despite the hour.

  Gracie gritted her teeth and lifted a questioning brow, instead of hissing and slamming the door in the woman’s stunning face. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid there is.”

  She stiffened. “Look, if it’s about Murphy, he’s still mostly puppy. We’re working on his manners.” And if her dog was here where he belonged instead of snoring in bed with Angel, he’d no doubt be showing his lack of manners by pouncing on Jake’s perfectly coiffed publicist. An opportunity missed. Rats!

  V’s laugh tinkled. A light, happy sound. “Oh, hon. Bless your heart. No, Murphy is fine, and I have to tell you, though I’ve yet to meet him, I’m in love with your dog.”

  She blinked.

  V’s blue eyes sparkled with gleeful mischief. “I would’ve given anything to see him take Jake down, and do you know how many women would pay a fortune to claim they’d rearranged Kevin Tucker’s balls?”

  Gracie winced.

  V waived a slim-fingered hand. “Serves him right. The man is a player of the first order. He’s littered the entire East Coast with broken hearts and a good portion of the south.”

  A reluctant smile formed. The horror on his face when she handed him the pees had been funny.

  V stepped forward to link her arm with Gracie’s. “No, I’m here because we need to talk about what we’re going to tell the press.”

  “The press?” Gracie’s gut churned. “Why would we tell them anything?”

  “Jake’s living here. It’s only a matter of time before the story gets out. Now his friends know about you, it’s even more essential we get ahead of the story. They’ll keep his whereabouts secret since he asked, and he’s threatened to break their necks if they say one word about you being the Gridiron Girl, but Jake is watched. They all are. How long do you think it will be until some enterprising reporter shows up at the door?”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  V tugged her out into the hall and started toward the stairs. “Between the two of us, we could come up with a plan of action on our own, but yo
u know how men are. Jake will turn positively nasty if he doesn’t get to put in his two cents. He’s waiting downstairs.”

  Gracie hesitated, but like a force of nature, V continued forward, dragging Gracie along in her wake and barely letting her get in a word edgewise.

  “Jake tells me you design websites. How fascinating. I can barely open my e-mail, and you blog, too. I checked out your archives. I nearly peed my pants laughing at some of your posts. And your minions? Why, they’re fabulous. How long have you been following football?”

  “Well, I—”

  “You certainly know your stuff. I could’ve slapped Jake for insulting you the way he did. He knows better, and he’s usually more tempered when dealing with women. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

  “He’s arrogant and rude, and I don’t want to talk to him or the press.”

  V propelled them forward as though she hadn’t heard a word. She led Gracie down the stairs, chattering like they were the best of friends. “He’s been a bear since that hit on Brian last week. They’re old friends, you know. Played together in college. Have you ever been to a Marauders game?”

  Did the woman ever stop to take a breath? Or let a person answer? Probably about as often as she took no for an answer. They reached the foyer and Gracie dug in her bare heels, refusing to take another step. “V?”

  V lifted her brow but kept their arms linked. “Yes?”

  “Are you like this with everyone, or do you save the pushy agent routine for the women you see as a threat to Jake’s career?”

  Her smile turned wry, with a twinge of apology. “Everyone, I’m afraid. Comes from having to grow up fast. I have the feeling that’s a concept with which you’re familiar.”

  How, exactly, did she know that? Sure, one could recognize the signs of a rough childhood, if they knew where to look, but they’d only met the one time. Either V was incredibly perceptive, or she’d been digging for information. Neither option appealed.

  The chattering girlfriend vanished as the publicist stepped into the breach. “Yes, Jake comes first, but I know for a fact the press has been hounding you. I also know you’ve been able to avoid them, so far. That won’t last for long. The anonymity of the Internet is a powerful thing, but every communication leaves a fingerprint. The press will eventually find you and if you think they were in a frenzy before, you haven’t seen anything yet.”