by J. Nathan
His eyes lifted to mine. I could see the heavy rising and falling of his chest. “Now, you unbutton my pants.” He slipped off his shoes and socks, making sure to avoid the mess on the floor, and stepped closer to me.
My eyes dropped to his crotch as I sat up, reaching for his button and pushing it through the slot, carefully lowering his zipper over his strained erection. I slipped my hands around his hips, my fingers slid inside his boxers, guiding them down his legs with his pants.
A naked Trace was a beautiful sight. And a naked Trace standing in my freaking kitchen was even better. He pushed his clothes and some rogue utensils to the side with his bare foot.
“Now what?” I asked.
He smirked. “Now I fuck you in every room in this house.”
My stomach dipped, the notion dazing me stupid.
Trace stepped to me. His hands braced on the surface of the table beside my panties as his bare skin covered mine. His aloe scent strangled me with desire as his lips hovered over mine. “Are you wet for me, Marin?”
Unable to take my eyes off his, I nodded.
“Have you been thinking about this moment like I have?”
I nodded, entranced by the control in his voice.
“Will you let me be rough with you tonight?”
“Will you stop talking?”
A smile broke out across his face as he captured my mouth with his. And as I wrapped my arms around him and he lowered my back onto the cool surface of the table, all was right again. At least for the night.
* * *
Rain pinged off the roof, waking me from the best sleep I’d had since Trace had gone back to school. My body remained tangled with his in my bed, the last spot I remembered him taking me before passing out from exhaustion. He may have been only a few months older, but I forgot the stamina a guy in his early twenties had. Props for me for keeping up.
“Stop thinking,” Trace’s sleepy voice warned. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure things out.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Why? You liked it last night.”
I snickered. I totally had. Every dirty minute of it.
He tightened his arms around me, the warmth of his naked body enveloping me. “I don’t want to go back to school.”
I could feel his steady heartbeat against my back. “Well, you need to.”
“Says who?”
“Says every one of your fans who wants to see you kick Mississippi’s ass tomorrow.”
He laughed and his chest bounced off my back. “I’ll score three touchdowns for you.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Ever think of transferring schools?” he asked.
“To your school?”
“Yeah.”
“A three hour commute is a little far.”
“What if I gave you a reason to move?”
I pulled in a deep breath as I turned in his arms so I could look him in the eyes. “Trace.”
“Marin,” he teased.
All I wanted to do was kiss him and never let him go, but the truth remained. He was still leaving.
“Say it,” Trace said.
“Say what?”
He rolled me onto my back, pinning me beneath him. “What you’re thinking.”
“That you’re leaving.”
“Then tell me what you want.”
“What I want?” I asked.
“What. You. Want. You got your son. Now what else do you want?”
“I want...” I stared up into his droopy morning eyes, wanting nothing more than to stare into those eyes every morning for the rest of my life. He’d helped me in so many ways. And while I thought I was the one fighting for CJ and Trace, Trace was doing the same thing for CJ and me. “I want chocolate ice cream,” I finally said.
He smiled.
“And I want...” My eyes drifted from his. “Whipped cream.”
He growled his frustration.
“And I want...”
He dropped his mouth to mine, pressing a coaxing kiss to my lips. One that was sure to elicit the correct answer. One that reminded me of everything we shared. Everything we’d done for one another. Everything we had to look forward to. When he pulled back, he gazed down at me expectantly.
I relented on a sigh. “A superstar wide receiver.”
He quirked his brow. “Just any superstar receiver?”
I shook my head, stifling the smile that threatened to break loose. “Just one.”
“I like where this is going.”
“Me, too,” I said, before kissing him with everything I had.
EPILOGUE
TWO YEARS LATER
Marin
“If it’s a girl, I hope she looks like you,” Trace said, holding my hand as the epidural began to work its magic and those damn contractions became a thing of the past. “Now if it’s a boy—”
“He better have your dimples,” I said.
Trace smiled, and God did I love him. Between our soon-to-arrive baby and CJ, it’s all Trace ever talked about. I’m sure the guys on his team wanted to kill him.
My doctor entered the delivery room, stretching his rubber gloves over his hands as he approached. “How you doing, Marin?”
“I feel ready.”
“I bet you do.” His eyes flicked to the television on the wall we hadn’t bothered to turn on. “Hey, Trace. Feel free to put the game on.”
“I’m all set,” Trace said.
The lines in the doctor’s forehead deepened. “But your team’s playing.”
Trace shook his head, his eyes returning to mine. “My team’s right here.”
Even after a year of marriage and drugs numbing half my body, my belly still quivered at his words. At the look he gave me with his pretty blue eyes I hoped our baby had. At the way he loved me fiercely and completely. At the way he loved my son and our unborn child.
As if he could hear my thoughts, Trace leaned over and pressed his lips to mine, the familiar zing traveling right to my heart.
“I love you,” I said, knowing the words weren’t even close to adequate for how I felt about him.
“I love you more,” he said, wearing that dimpled grin I loved so much.
“More than the universe?” I asked.
“More than anything,” he assured me.
I smiled as the doctor moved to the foot of the delivery table and examined me under the sheet.
“Looks like your baby’s ready.” He pulled over a rolling stool and sat at the end of the table. “You ready to start pushing?”
Trace and I looked to each other, wide eyed with excitement. He squeezed my hand tightly as the doctor counted to three and I pushed as hard as I could. I was so happy I could give Trace this. So happy his mother had been wrong. He didn’t need some young girl to give him all the things he’d yet to experience. He just needed me.
“Good job,” my doctor encouraged.
I thought back to the draft. To Trace going second. To him beginning his football career in New Orleans while I finished my degree in Alabama. To Trace’s mother eventually realizing I was what was best for her son. I loved him before the money. Before the success. And given the way she started fawning all over me and CJ while he was away and I was pregnant with her first grandchild, you’d have thought our turbulent past had never occurred.
Life certainly had a funny way of throwing things off its axis. And while Trace’s parents waited with CJ and my parents in the waiting room, it became abundantly clear that we had the support and love of everyone around us. And no one could deny we were in love. Because if it wasn’t for Trace Forester, I wouldn’t know what real love was. I wouldn’t know what it was like to have a real father for my child. I wouldn’t know what it felt like to trust someone wholeheartedly again.
“Okay,” the doctor said. “Give me another push like the last.”
I squeezed Trace’s hand as tightly as I could when the doctor counted to three and I pushed.
“Good job, baby. Y
ou’re doing great.” Trace dropped kisses all over my face. “God, I love you so much.”
I smiled through the pain because I knew he meant it. Knew he meant everything he said. Because from the moment we met (again), he had been nothing but honest with everything he said and did. And one thing was for certain, I could now see life through Trace’s eyes. And it was a pretty sweet life.
“One more push and your baby will be here,” the doctor assured us.
“One more?” I asked, shocked by the minimal pain and ease of this delivery. CJ damn near split me in two. At least that’s what it felt like.
“I can see the head,” he assured me.
I looked to Trace. His face held a mixture of love and excitement. “You got this.”
Tears glazed my eyes as I nodded at my husband, squeezing his hand as I pushed again, this time giving it all I had.
The doctor was right. That’s all it took. That was the push that brought our child into the world.
“It’s a boy!” the doctor announced.
I looked to Trace only to find tears rolling down his cheeks and a giant smile stretched across his lips as they cleaned our baby boy.
“Thank you,” he said, staring at the little miracle we’d made together as he stayed beside me still gripping my hand.
I lifted my fingers to his cheeks, lightly brushing away his tears. “For giving you a boy?”
He glanced back to me. “For making every one of my dreams come true.”
“What about your fantasies?” I asked as the nurse grabbed for the scissors so Trace could cut the cord.
“Oh, babe,” he said before pressing his lips to mine. “The second you let me into your life, my fantasies came true.”
The End
Acknowledgements
Thank you to every reader who took the time to read Trace and Marin’s story. I hope you enjoyed their story as much as I enjoyed writing it!
To all the bloggers and readers who have continued to spread the word about my books. I would not be motivated to keep doing what I love without you! Thank you so much!!!!
To my wonderful beta readers: Dali, Kat, Neilliza, Suzanne, Megan D, Renee Mc, and Kim. Thank you for taking the time to give me feedback. I value your opinions and ideas tremendously and appreciate your assistance. I am so lucky to have you all!
To my editor Stephanie Elliot. Thank you for always being there to make my books the best they can possibly be and for answering all my questions. Knowing I can always depend on you has been a true blessing!
To Lindee Robinson for the beautiful photos of Jeff and Becca. I just love this cover photo.
To Letitia at RBA Designs for creating another beautiful cover for me. I always know you’ll come through with exactly what I envision. Thank you a hundred times over! You are always a true pleasure to work with.
And last, but certainly not least, to my husband and son. Thank you for understanding when my computer is in front of me or I just need a little time to myself. Please know I try to devote my attention to all my loves and desperately hope I’m pulling it off.
Enjoy a Sample of For Finlay
Book #1 in the For You Standalone Series
This is Caden and Finlay’s Story
CHAPTER ONE
Finlay
“Hey, sweetheart. Why don’t you bring me a little something over here?”
I sucked back what I really wanted to say to the big oaf wearing only his shoulder pads and football pants as I crossed the locker room filled with college football players in all stages of dress. I plastered on my ‘I could give a damn’ face and maneuvered around the players, careful not to get too close to what they didn’t bother covering up with me in the room. I extended a water bottle to the idiot.
A smug smile slipped across his face. “I didn’t say I wanted water.”
The room exploded with cackles and hoots of laughter.
I stifled my annoyance as I pulled back my shoulders and turned away from him like it didn’t faze me.
“Hey. Where you going, sweetheart?” he drawled.
I caught the sky blue eyes of the quarterback seated on the stool in front of his locker lacing up his cleats. He looked surprised I’d held my tongue. Hell, I was surprised I’d held it when all I really wanted to do was tell the right guard I’d come to hate—the one who’d been razzing me since I’d begun with the team a week before—where to stick his jock strap.
My eyes flashed away, seeking out my spot in the corner of the room where I waited for someone who actually needed a drink to signal me over.
Coach Burns burst into the crowded locker room rattling off the game plan for the start of their first closed scrimmage of the season. Fall semester began in a couple weeks. Football players and team staff started early, hence my presence on campus during the last few weeks of summer.
I looked out at the football players, all primed with black paint under their eyes for a battle against a local college. They sat focused on the coach’s words like football was life. Like it meant anything in the grand scheme of things.
I inhaled a deep breath. I could do it. I could be there. A hundred miles from home. Starting college at a school I never planned to attend. One I never even considered attending. It was never my dream. It had always been his.
* * *
Cole ran across our backyard. He was taller and leaner than most of the ten-year-old boys in town, owing his athletic build to football. He played every day whether he had practice or not. And on days when he had no one to play with, in other words when I wasn’t around or didn’t feel like it, he threw into a tire swing our dad hung from an old oak tree in the backyard.
I pulled back my arm and tossed Cole the ball. Though a little wobbly, he reached over his head, nabbed the off-center pass, and tucked it against his side. He took off running toward our mother’s flower bed at the edge of our property, celebrating when he reached it like he just caught the game winning pass in an actual game.
I brushed my long dark hair out of my face and dug my hands into my hips, waiting for his excessive celebration to stop. Even at ten, my twin’s confidence drove me nuts. He was such a showoff. Rightfully so, but it still irked me. So did my friends who came over to play with me but ended up staring at Cole the entire time.
He finally stopped his ridiculous dance and turned to me, his face suddenly serious. “You throw like a girl.”
My eyes flared. “I am a girl.”
“Yeah.” His lips pulled up in one corner. “Sometimes I forget.”
I stuck out my tongue. “Idiot.”
“Loser.”
We both laughed as he tossed me a perfect spiral which I caught easily. Growing up with a football phenom taught me some impressive skills.
“Maybe by the time we go to college, there’ll be more female football players,” he said as I tossed him back the ball.
I scrunched up my face, completely thrown by his admission. “You think I’m good enough to play?”
He shrugged. “You’re better than most of the guys on my team.”
I smiled on the inside, never letting my brother know how much his words meant to me. He thought I was good. Cole Thatcher, football player extraordinaire, thought I was good.
* * *
I stood on the sideline under the unbearable August sun. There was no reprieve from an Alabama summer. Pool water turned to bath water, and lakes were overcrowded. So unless you were brave enough to jump into a cold shower, you dealt with the heat. And out there in the open stadium, the sun beat down like a mother.
A couple players ran over to the sideline, pulling off their shiny red helmets revealing damp hair and sweaty red faces. The once menacing black paint trailed like tear drops down their cheeks. They grabbed the water bottles I extended to them. “Thanks,” the shorter one uttered, while the taller downed the contents of his without taking a breath.
They tossed me back the empty bottles. I grabbed two more from the bench and searched for anyone else looking for sustenan
ce. When no one caught my eye, I hurried to my back-up supply in the big jug behind the bench and filled the empty bottles.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Ugh. That freaking voice.
“Get your ass over here.”
I turned, eyeing the asshole approaching me with nothing but disgust. And while I had a million comebacks for his inappropriate comments, I held my tongue—at least for the time being. I needed to be there. A prick like him wasn’t going to drive me away.
“Didn’t you see me motioning for you out there?” he growled.
Yup. I shook my head. “Sorry.”
“Well, give me a damn drink,” he ordered, colder than usual.
I bit down on my bottom lip as I handed him the bottle, wishing I’d spit in it first.
He ripped it from my hand. “Coach might’ve gotten one with tits this time,” he said to no one in particular. “But she’s sure dumb as dirt.”
I sucked back a sharp breath.
“Grady!” a deep voice shouted. “That’s enough.”
I froze, startled that someone actually had the balls to stand up to the three-hundred pound brute.
Grady’s eyes lifted over my shoulder. A cold calculated grin—nearly concealed by his pathetic attempt at a beard—tugged at his lips. “This don’t concern you, Brooks.”
“Leave her alone,” the quarterback warned.
Grady laughed wickedly before his eyes shot back to mine. “Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart. Brooks ain’t nobody’s Prince Charming. He’d fuck you then ditch you in a matter of seconds.” Grady downed the water and tossed the bottle to the ground as he lumbered away.
I didn’t turn around. I knew who Caden Brooks was. I’d known before I even arrived on campus. Junior star quarterback. His conquests epic, making his way from his home state of California to Alabama in grand-freaking-style. And his looks...well, he certainly was pretty. If football didn’t work out, his dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and body people bowed down to would be gracing underwear billboards in Times Square in no time. But the last thing I needed to see was Brooks waiting for a thank you. Waiting for me to fawn all over him like every other girl.