by V. K. Sykes
While Claire felt herself blushing, she couldn’t hold back an idiotic, madly in love grin. And when Ry bent his head to kiss her, she threw her arms around his neck and gave him everything she had. Everyone hooted and cheered.
“Whew,” Pam said, fanning herself when they separated. “Well, Mister, I’d say you’d better be putting a ring on that girl’s finger real soon. Especially if you’re going to practically do the nasty right here on the church steps.”
“Goodness sakes, Pamela,” Father Daniel huffed.
Snickering, Tammy shook her head and then slung a loving arm around her wife.
“Yeah, superstar,” Anson chimed in. “Man up and do right by the girl.”
Claire was about to tell her friend to shut up when Ry took her by the hand. “Pam and Anson have a point, sweetheart. I was planning on doing this later tonight in Portland, but maybe it’d be better right here, in front of our friends.”
“Are you serious?” she squeaked. Ryder Griffin was not the kind of man who made public gestures, especially not romantic ones.
“No need to be shy, Claire,” Pam said. “Marriage proposals are almost a team sport in this part of the world. After all, it is Brides Bay.”
Loud groans greeted the lame joke.
Ry pulled a small, dome-shaped silver box from the pocket of his leather jacket and flipped it open. The diamond ring inside was the biggest Claire had ever seen in real life. Her brain froze on the spot, even as her heart melted with joy.
“I love you, Claire,” Ry said in a quiet, almost solemn voice. “Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Direct and sweet—the proposal was just like the man. And those two brief sentences were by far the best ones Claire had ever heard.
She held out her left hand. “I love you too, Ry. And yes, of course I’ll marry you. I promise to love you for the rest of my life.”
Somehow she’d managed to get the words out without bursting into tears.
But when he slipped the truly impressive rock onto her finger, Claire finally lost it. She only vaguely heard the crowd cheering as Ry swept her into another tight embrace.
“Don’t cry, babe,” he murmured in her ear. “We both finally made it all the way home.”
She snuggled against his chest. “And home is the best. With you.”
About the Author
V.K. Sykes is really two people – Vanessa Kelly and Randy Sykes, a husband and wife team who write USA Today Bestselling contemporary romance and also romantic suspense. Randy excels at plot and characterization, but tends to fall down on the job when it comes to that pesky old thing called emotion. That’s where Vanessa steps in. She usually writes the sex scenes too, since Randy is a bit uncomfortable when it comes to that sort of stuff. Vanessa also writes USA Today Bestselling Regency-set historical romance for Kensington Zebra under her own name. You can check out VK’s award-winning books at www.vksykes.com, and Vanessa’s historical romances at www.vanessakellyauthor.com.
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More Books by V. K. Sykes
HIGH AND INSIDE (Philadelphia Patriots 6) Coming Soon
SCORING POSITION (Philadelphia Patriots 5)
PAYOFF PITCH (Philadelphia Patriots 4)
CURVEBALL (Philadelphia Patriots 3)
BIGGER THAN BECKHAM (Philadelphia Patriots 2)
HARDBALL (Philadelphia Patriots 1)
FASTBALL (Philadelphia Patriots Prequel)
PHILADELPHIA PATRIOTS 3 BOOK BOX SET
Seashell Bay Contemporary Romance Series
Standalone Books:
CADDYGIRLS
LETHAL CONFESSIONS
HOT NUMBER
For more info, visit www.vksykes.com
And now for an excerpt from SCORING POSITION, Philadelphia Patriots 5
Big, tough, sexy…and trouble.
As far as sports agent Kate Berlin is concerned, that describes Nick Rome perfectly. Landing the hard-charging, talented catcher as her new client is a huge coup, and Nick could catapult her small agency into the big leagues—or destroy her reputation if she screws up. Since Nick has a habit of butting heads with Patriots management, the chance for disaster is high.
Nick’s had serious agent troubles, so he’s willing to give smart and sexy Kate Berlin a try at negotiating his new and much-needed contract. The hardworking single mom is determined to manage Nick both on and off the field, clamping down on the attraction blazing between them. But nobody keeps Nick Rome under control—either on the field or in the bedroom.
Can Kate handle Nick as both her lover and her client, or will succumbing to passion destroy the professional life she’s worked so hard to achieve?
***
The chime of Nick’s perimeter security alarm jolted him out of the book he was reading, stretched out on the soft leather couch in his office. No doubt it was Kate Berlin pulling into his drive.
When Berlin called back in response to his message, she was obviously working hard to disguise her excitement. Nick hadn’t missed the little pauses—the tell-tale intakes of breath—that were mixed in with her careful, oh-so-professional phrases. Well, why wouldn’t she be pumped? Given what Nate had told him about her client roster, the dough she’d rake in if she got the agent cut of his new contract—not to mention a share of his endorsements—might be as much as the income from all her other clients combined.
Nick wasn’t a big Internet guy, but he could Google, so he’d checked her out as soon as he got home from the ballpark. He had to admit that he found her attractive. Even in the shots where Kate was framed with her knockout model sister, the dark-haired, willowy agent held her own in the looks department. Her curves might not be quite as sweet as Geri’s, but Nick would have described her as both classically beautiful and classy, if maybe a bit on the prim and proper side. Then again, his impression in that regard might have something to do with her obvious clothing preference for dark, tailored suits and starched white shirts.
But prim and proper suited him just fine when it came to hiring an agent of the female variety. He had plenty of babes in sexy outfits knocking on his door—figuratively, at least most of the time—both in town and on the road. The last thing he needed or wanted was one sitting beside him in contract negotiations.
A fairly startling and sobering tidbit of information he’d dug up was that less than two percent of the agents certified by the Major League Baseball Players Association were female. Kate Berlin wasn’t on that short list, since agents weren’t eligible unless they already had a letter attesting that they had at least one MLB ballplayer committed to representation. Fortunately, getting certified wasn’t an onerous process. Still, it meant she was a total rookie when it came to representing ballplayers—a clear strike against her.
Nick made his way downstairs to the foyer and waited under the massively elaborate crystal chandelier that he regarded as nothing more than an ugly dust collector installed by the previous owner. When he heard a car door close in his driveway, he glanced through the spyhole and saw Berlin pulling a black attaché case out of the backseat of a Honda Pilot. She wore a black topcoat, left open to reveal a black suit, and black, low heel shoes. It made him wonder if the woman was simply conservative in style or in a state of mourning. But her dark, long hair seemed to shimmer like silk under the powerful lamps that illuminated his big yard and the wide stretch of pavers that led to his front door.
For some reason, Nick’s nerves had wound themselves tight since she called. It felt almost like the jitters he sometimes had at the start of a key game during the season, or during any playoff game. It didn’t make a lot of sense since he was doing nothing more than taking a flier with this interview. Nothing was on the line. If he and Berlin didn’t mesh, there were plenty of other agents out there, including lots who worked on their own or in small firms. He’d fielded calls from half a dozen agencies right after he fired AISG, including the two
biggest corporate outfits. While he had no interest in going with one of the behemoths, he had other alternatives besides Kate Berlin.
He opened the door before she could ring the bell. With a nod, he beckoned her into the foyer and eyed her as she stepped inside.
Wow.
Berlin looked better in person than in her photographs, and that was saying something. Her features were clean and elegant, her creamy white skin contrasting with the black of her geek-chic glasses and her dark, glossy hair. She didn’t wear much makeup—not that she needed to—but her subdued red lipstick added a tiny, welcome touch of color.
“Thanks for coming at such short notice, Kate. I’m Nick Rome, obviously.” He took her hand and gave it a shake. “Let me take your coat.”
A twinge of guilt drifted through him that he’d already mentally stripped off both the coat and the power suit from her tall, intriguing frame. And, yeah, he was a guy, so he liked what he imagined lay underneath—a toned, athletic body with some sweet curves.
Throttle it back, asshole.
She gave him a friendly smile, one so genuinely warm and sweet that his brain stuttered for a moment.
“Thank you,” she said, turning so he could help her out of the light overcoat. “Your call was both unexpected and most welcome. I’m looking forward to exploring a possible partnership.”
Partnership? Nick had always thought of an agent as his employee, though Arnie had never much acted like one. As for exploring, he couldn’t help thinking about exploring some things with Kate Berlin that had nothing to do with contracts and agent fees.
Of course, in this situation, thinking with his little head instead of his big head was likely to get him into all kinds of trouble. He reminded himself to keep his focus on business.
Nick hung her coat in the foyer closet and then showed her into the living room. He’d hired a decorator to furnish the house when he moved in about a year ago and could barely remember sitting down on the ultramodern furniture in the little-used front room since. Though his sprawling barn was close to ten thousand square feet, he basically lived in four rooms—his bedroom, the office, the huge, eat-in kitchen, and the mini-gym downstairs. Mostly, though, he lived at the Patriots ballpark during the season and in Florida for around seven weeks of spring training. The big suburban house was really a waste, but he liked the laid-back tone of historic Haddonfield, a colonial town that was now basically a Philly suburb on the Jersey side of the Delaware River. And his enormous lot afforded him maximum privacy without having to commute from a country estate like some of his teammates.
“Drink?” he asked when she’d settled onto the sofa, her briefcase tucked beside her shapely ankles. “I’m having Glenmorangie, but I’ve got just about everything. Red wine, white wine, beer, cocktails. Or coffee if you don’t drink.”
Kate smiled. “Water would be lovely, thanks.”
All business, this woman. “You’re really going to make me drink alone?” he said, deciding to probe a little.
She studied him for a moment, then gave a small, decisive nod. “All right, since you put it that way, I’ll have what you’re having. But make it a short one, please. Neat.”
Nick gave her a thumbs-up sign before heading off to the kitchen. That she drank her single malt neat was a point in her favor. He’d already decided he liked her style, and that little indicator had just kicked it up a notch. He also liked the way her gaze had flickered over him when she stepped into his entrance hall. Although he hadn’t exactly dressed to impress in black jeans and black T-shirt, her appreciative gaze had indicated her approval of all the hard work he did in the training room every single day of his life.
And the two of them were definitely color-coordinated with all the black. They could always try burglarizing some of his toney neighbors if they got bored.
He scoffed at his ridiculous thoughts. You’re looking for a hardass agent, not somebody to take upstairs to bed.
Nick wasted no time pouring a generous splash of the eighteen-year-old Scotch into tumblers and returning to the living room. Kate had pulled out a black leather portfolio and set it on her lap. “Kate Berlin, J.D.” was embossed in gold letters on the front cover. Like Arnie Peluso and a ton of other sports agents, Kate was a lawyer. Googling had revealed that she’d graduated from prestigious Columbia Law School after completing an undergraduate degree at Vanderbilt.
“May I fill you in briefly on my background?” Kate asked, accepting the glass. “I’ll leave you a copy of my full résumé and client list, of course.”
Nick waved her off. “That’s not really necessary. I did my research. I probably know you inside and out by now.”
If that startled her, she didn’t bat an eyelash. “With social media, there’s not much privacy left in this world,” she said in a dry tone.
Nick pulled a metal and leather chair close—one of the uncomfortable pieces of brutally expensive furniture the decorator had foisted on him when he wasn’t paying attention. He sat down and shunted it so his knees were close to hers. He leaned forward and zeroed right in on her gorgeous green eyes. “Kate, let’s just focus on how you’d handle a tough, scheming, low-down son of a bitch like Dave Dembinski.”
* * *
Kate was glad she hadn’t yet taken a drink of the Scotch, since she likely would have done a spit-take. Nick Rome was nothing if not blunt. And a little intimidating, especially after he pulled his chair so close that she could feel the heat radiating off his wickedly muscular body. She’d never seen him in anything other than a baseball uniform, and then only from seats high in the ballpark stands or in photographs. But even at a distance, he was clearly one seriously hot dude. Every female in Philadelphia—maybe the whole country—knew that.
But sitting this close, Kate could even see the grain of bristle on his hard jaw and the knowing glitter in his dark gaze. In fact, he was so damn masculine and sexy he was practically giving her heart palpitations. Nick Rome might not be tall as professional athletes go—about six-one or so—but he was built like a human Freightliner. There was nothing trim or tapered or elegant about the guy. He didn’t even look super-athletic. He just looked powerful. Dominant, robust, hard as nails—those were the descriptions that slid easily into her head. From his massive shoulders through his deep chest to big, muscular thighs, Nick Rome looked more like a middle linebacker or even a military commando than a ballplayer. His hands—callused and rough catcher’s hands—were huge.
Kate couldn’t wait to find out whether his dominating physique was matched by an equally tough, take-charge personality. From his reputation, she suspected it was.
“Am I coming on too strong, too close? Do you want me to back off?” Nick asked when she didn’t respond right away.
Yeah, he was, but there was no way she’d admit that.
“Not at all.” Kate gave him a sugary-sweet smile. “Are you hard of hearing? I could speak louder if you like.”
Nick laughed, a deep bass rumble that vibrated through her in all the right places. “That was just the sort of gamesmanship our jackass general manager tries to pull off on agents and players. Consider it a test you just passed.”
Kate raised her brows. “You’re saying Dembinski invades your personal space?”
When he scooted back a foot or so, she could finally breathe again. “No, but I’m sure he’ll try to invade yours. The man likes his women, and you’re smoking hot, Kate, in case you haven’t noticed.”
He relaxed his awesome body into the uncomfortable looking chair, sipping his Scotch as if he’d just made a comment on the slightly chilly weather outside on this early May evening. As far as Kate was concerned, it might be a case of the pot calling the kettle black when it came to him and the Patriots general manager, given what she knew about Nick Rome’s rakish reputation.
“I’ll try not to wear something quite as sexy for negotiations as this wild outfit I’m wearing now,” she said drily. “Maybe a plastic trash bag or grubby sweats would do the trick.”
> “Nah, even then you’d still look sexy.” His voice held a low, growly note.
It made her shiver, which was a bit annoying. Fun was fun, but it was time to get down to business. “Assuming your earlier question was rhetorical, maybe we could start by you telling me what you’re looking for in a new agent? You obviously weren’t satisfied with your last one. And I’m certainly curious as to why you’d even want to interview an agent who has no baseball clients.”
Nick put down his drink and rested his forearms on his thighs. “I’ve thought about that, and frankly I don’t think it matters a damn if you haven’t negotiated a baseball player contract. You’re a lawyer, and you’ve negotiated pro contracts and endorsements. I’m sure you’re a good researcher, too, and the Players Association has tons of resources. So, I’m not concerned about any of that.”
Kate nodded, as relief eased through her body. “Okay, so you’re not put off by my obvious shortcomings. What did motivate you to contact me, then?”
“A recommendation from someone I respect and trust,” Nick said.
Thank you, Nate. As soon as she got the chance, she would thank him in person. She’d even offer to babysit for him and Holly as a way to partially return such a big favor.
“Most of all, I’m looking for integrity,” Nick continued. “Honesty. Trust. I need someone who doesn’t have an agenda. An agent who will help me get what I want, not what he wants.” His dark gaze locked on hers. “Or what she wants.”
Kate knew enough about Arnie Peluso and AISG to get where Nick was coming from. She knew first hand that the major agencies had their goals and standards, and that was all well and good until those things got in the way of the client’s perception of his best interests. She’d always believed that her role was to give the client advice, not to add to the pressures he or she already faced.