Play

by Holly S. Roberts

  “This can’t wait?”

  “No.” I watched him step into a pair of sweat pants and slip something small in his pocket.

  He took my hand and guided me to the front door.

  “I can’t go outside like this. I’m not wearing panties and it’s broad daylight.”

  “My shirt is long enough.” He hit a switch by the front door. “Close your eyes.”

  “If anyone is out front, I promise you will have blue balls for a month.”

  “I promise my balls are safe,” he said with sexy, low laughter.

  I closed my eyes and let him lead me outside. I heard water, but wasn’t sure where it came from.

  “Don’t open them.”

  It was cold outside and the grass was freezing against my feet as he walked me onto his lawn. The first sprinkles I felt were strangely warm and then more poured down on top of me, plastering my shirt to my body.

  “Open your eyes, Rebecca.”

  I did. I was standing in a circle of sprinklers that were spraying warm water. It made no sense.

  “This is when I knew I loved you. That night we made love in the rain. After I returned from the hospital I had new sprinklers put in for just this spot. They emit cold or warm water depending on the season.”

  He couldn’t see my tears with the water running over my face. I had no words, but he did. He went to his knee and pulled a ring from his pocket.

  “Rebecca Lesley Cavanaugh will you marry me?”

  The sobs burst from my throat and I fell to my knees with Killian’s arms going around me.

  “Yes, yes, yes.”

  He hugged me a moment longer, then shifted back and took my hand. The ring fit perfectly.

  “I love you,” he said so beautifully.

  “I love you and you’re crazy. No one has hot and cold water sprinklers put in their yard.”

  He laughed. “Then they haven’t had sex in the rain.”

  “No. Not in broad daylight.”

  “We’ll come back out here tonight.” His wet lips came down on mine.

  My Killian MacGregor, the romantic.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  After the completion of track season and my college graduation, I became Rebecca MacGregor. I qualified for nationals and took sixth place. No grumpy loser’s behavior from me.

  Amanda, Malory, and my sister Candi were my bridesmaids. My sister and I reached an uneasy peace that improved each time I confronted her and wouldn’t let her talk down to me. Lyle, Blitz, and Stump stood with Killian. Michael was our ring bearer.

  For our honeymoon, we flew to a private island in the Caribbean that Killian rented.

  Exhaustion had settled deep into my bones by the time we arrived. Soft-colored lights surrounded the covered patio. Killian lifted me into his arms and carried me over the threshold. He started undressing me as soon as we were inside.

  “I know you’re tired, but I want you soaking in the Jacuzzi so you don’t wake up sore from traveling.”

  The built-in Jacuzzi was adjacent to the ocean. We didn’t wear suits, just stepped in and sank into the warm, refreshing water. Killian’s arms circled my waist and pulled my back against his chest. He massaged my arms and shoulders before moving down to my thighs. He worked my muscles and I relaxed into his embrace, loving the smell of the ocean tempered by the scent of my husband. He finally rested his hands on my hips and kept them there.

  “You’re really not going to go any farther?” I asked with a yawn.

  “Hmm, you’re tired. I think I did a fairly good job of fucking my wife last night and I can hold out until tomorrow.”

  I turned around and began kissing his neck. “Who asked you anyway? It’s my turn to fuck you, husband.”

  “God, I love when you talk dirty.”

  I sank my teeth into his skin and felt him tense beneath me. Killian was right—fucking and making love were only semantics. Being loved was the key.

  ***

  Three years later…

  “Here, sweetie, take this to your father.” I patted the two-year-old diapered bottom as he ran down the hall looking for Killian.

  I heard the squeal of laughter a moment later and knew Mikey found his dad. I pulled the number twenty jersey over my head, grabbed my purse-come-diaper bag and walked into the living room.

  Killian placed Mikey’s feet on the floor and gave me a look.

  I crossed my arms. “It’s your turn. What can I say?”

  “It’s always my turn when he’s stinky.”

  “That, too.”

  “I never get any respect on game day.”

  “Nope, but I’ll take one of your diaper turns if you win.”

  “Hmm, what else do I get if I win?”

  “Momma might surprise you.” I gave him a suggestive eyebrow raise.

  “That’s a deal.”

  He pulled a plastic changing pad from the cabinet along with baby wipes. I’d had Mikey carry in the diaper. It amazed me how one child could take over a home so quickly. Every cabinet and drawer now had something baby related.

  “Have you spoken with my mother?”

  “Yes, Michael’s feeling better. I think he can come to next week’s game.”

  The past year had been rough on Michael, and he’d spent weeks in the hospital. We valued every day we had with him and I truly hoped he lived long enough for his namesake to remember him. I patted my small, rounded belly. I didn’t know if this next one would get the chance to know his or her uncle.

  “You okay?” Killian asked from where he sat on the floor.

  “Yes, I’m doing wonderful.” I smiled.

  “Dada, ball,” Mikey said.

  “Yes, buddy, Daddy’s playing ball today and you’re coming to the game.” Killian finished his brilliant diapering skills and tickled his son.

  No more of Killian’s bad behavior on game days. Killian tried and managed a little better after we married, but the real change happened when his son was born. He entered his playing zone with smiles and laughter. He saved his intensity for the locker room. He remained moody when he lost a game, but the year before, the day before Mikey’s first birthday, the Scorpions won the Super Bowl.

  “Up you go, Bud. I’ll see you and Mommy at the stadium.”

  Killian handed him over and Mikey started crying.

  “He’s such a Daddy’s boy. Maybe the next one will be a girl and she’ll cry when I leave.”

  “I cry when you leave.” Killian pulled me and Mikey in close, kissed me quickly on the lips and his son on the head.

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks, but I already have all the luck I need.” He picked up his bag and walked out.

  I squeezed my son’s sweet body close. “Come on. Let’s brush your teeth and get you dressed so we can go see your daddy play.”

  ***

  That night I slipped into the purple and black number twenty, lacey, baby doll nightie I discovered online. It cracked me up because I just couldn’t see another man wanting his wife or girlfriend wearing it.

  Killian walked in talking, “He’s asleep… fuck.”

  I turned slowly so he got the full effect.

  “You are one hot momma.”

  “I’m your hot momma.”

  “Come here. It’s a shame to take this off, so we’ll leave it on for a while.”

  “Whatever the star quarterback wants.”

  “The star quarterback wants his wife screaming.” His hands cupped my ass and pulled me close, taking my mouth at the same time.

  After the kiss ended, he placed kisses over my neck and exposed collarbone.

  “Fuck me, Killian.”

  “My pleasure.”

  And, my husband made me scream.

  Dear Reader,

  This book is dedicated to my thirty plus years of football widowhood. You see… I married Killian MacGregor, at least if you count coaching football and playing in two or three fantasy leagues per season after his football career ended. And he has the atti
tude—grumpy, doesn’t talk, and goes a little overboard when he loses. God, I love this man.

  An entire wall in our raunchy poolroom is dedicated to the Oakland Raiders. Please feel sorry for me because they’ve been chosen as the worst team in the NFL this season.

  My husband was gracious enough to lend his insights into football nomenclature as long as I avoided all day Sunday, Monday and Thursday nights, and some college games on Saturdays. I could not have written this book without him and I truly love my very own football stud.

  Preparing a book for publication is a team effort:

  Thank you Michelle Kowalski for your editing prowess.

  Sally and Patricia, I love you both so please stop laughing about “rot,” I learn something new every day.

  Ena with Enticing Book Promotions, thank you so much for getting the word out about “Play.” Your help is priceless. A special thanks to the incredible group of bloggers who signed up for the “Play” tour. You ladies ROCK!

  Without readers, my books gather cyber dust. Thank you to everyone who purchased and read “Play.” Your continued support for my writing inspires me daily. You brighten my life with your emails, Facebook messages, and reviews. If this is the first book of mine that you’ve read, you might try my Club El Diablo Series. I give fair warning, it’s erotic BDSM romance and not for everyone. If you’re a fan of the Club series, the next book will be out soon.

  Blog: https://hollysroberts.wordpress.com for the latest information on the Completion Series.

  Email: ClubElDiablo@gmail.com

  Facebook Friends: https://www.facebook.com/holly.roberts.friends

  Completion Series Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/completionseries

  “Strike,” the next book in the Completion Series features baseball’s homerun king, Reed Tyler. He doesn’t know what hit him when Jaycee Holmes comes into his life. I’ve included the unedited first chapter to give you a taste of their feisty beginnings.

  Hugs and kisses,

  Holly

  Strike

  Coming soon…

  Chapter One

  The dirty cracked vinyl on the bus seat rubbed uncomfortably against the back of my bare thighs. My short shorts offered little protection but the irritation kept my mind off the next two hours.

  What the hell was I doing?

  The city bus made its last stop of the night. I walked down the steps without looking at the driver. I was sure he’d seen it all and my plans to commit a felony wouldn’t cause him to blink an eye. I pulled my dark hoodie low over my face, bunched the ends of my sleeves in my fists, and began the second leg of my journey. The early spring night was chilly but my legs warmed up quickly as I walked.

  Several miles later, the sidewalks gave way to paths and the small sporadic bushes changed to large swooping trees. The area slowly went from tight compact neighborhoods to large sprawling mansions. I stopped under streetlights to check my penciled map on a scrap of paper before continuing to my crazy destination.

  Do not get caught, Do not get caught.

  The litany ran through my mind. I had so much to lose but this is what happened when someone was desperate. That someone was now me, and I refused to allow my usually good judgment to change my chosen path.

  Do. Not. Get. Caught.

  After turning down the final street, I looked around and spotted the address. A low brick decorative wall surrounded the property with a large circular driveway leading to the front of the dark house. I left the bus at around eleven so I figured it was now after midnight. I placed the small scrap of paper, in my hoodie pocket and then clasped my trembling fingers tightly together.

  I can do this.

  I wouldn’t back down now. I took a deep breath and forced my feet to carry me forward. I stepped onto the property continuing across the grass to the side of the house. There was no gate to keep people out but a sign in the yard read, “Protected by Bullet Plus Security.” The “Plus,” was overkill. This was Texas and bullets protected everything.

  Taking a deep calming breath, I pulled a small flashlight out of my pocket, and began looking into the windows. I avoided touching the glass, knowing it might trigger the alarm. I finally located a room on the side of the house with an enclosed glass cabinet against the back wall. If I was lucky, it held what I’d come for.

  Finesse wasn’t part of my dash and grab strategy so I pulled the medium sized rock from my pocket. One hit was all I had time for so I made sure I smashed hard against the glass. The window shattered noisily but there was no going back now and I quickly managed to squeeze through the broken pane. Time was not on my side and I needed to be long gone before the police arrived. I ran around two large chairs straight toward the cabinet. Unfortunately, a brick wall hit me before I reached it.

  The jarring pain to my midsection took the air from my lungs as a low grunt holding the last of my oxygen expelled from my chest. I landed on my back, hitting my head on the hard floor. Panic, from lack of air had me scrambling to get up. Before I could roll over a large body landed on my chest.

  Being caught and the all too real possibility of going to prison was superseded by my need for air. My hood flew from my head and the next thing I knew, a firm pull on my hair had my eyes watering as strong arms dragged me across the room. No sound escaped my throat… sound required oxygen.

  The light flipped on and I closed my eyes against the brightness.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” The rough voice demanded.

  My eyes popped open.

  He held onto my hair and clenched the front of my sweatshirt with his other hand. My teeth rattled as he shook me with each tightly controlled word.

  “Fucking. Answer. Me.”

  My body flopped around like dead weight. I wanted to say something—scream, cry, anything but I had no air in my lungs and was close to passing out.

  I barely registered the grumbled, “Fuck,” that came from my attacker.

  Using my hair, he pulled my head down so I leaned forward slightly. A few seconds later, the air rushed back into my lungs and I gasped for breath. I tried to stand up but a solid push to the front of my shoulders sent me falling backwards. I landed in one of the large cushioned chairs. By now, my eyes were adjusting to the light and I could see nothing but bare skin standing over me.

  The man was completely naked.

  My eyes traveled upward and nothing I saw calmed my fear. Large muscles and tanned flesh on a spectacular body had my mouth watering. Holy jeeze, this guy was gorgeous.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The tone of his voice left no doubt that he was pissed off and my gaze snapped to his. I had nothing left but sheer bravado, “Fuck you.”

  “What?”

  “Fu….”

  The sharp jerk to my hair stopped me from finishing.

  “Think twice before your next reply. Tell me who the fuck you are.” He stooped down and glare at me.

  I was done. My life and the life of those who needed me was over. I had nothing to lose. He leaned in closer. I tensed and survival instinct took over. I head-butted him, connecting with his nose.

  That had to hurt.

  “You fucking little bitch.”

  The pull on my scalp ceased abruptly as he backed up and put a hand to his face. A small amount of blood ran between his fingers. It was time for me to exit stage left. I kicked out and up, aiming for his uncovered groin but he moved sideways and I hit his inner thigh causing him to grunt. I jumped up from the chair thinking I had a chance.

  “Ahh.” I screamed.

  He had my hair again and this time, he didn’t mess around. I was on the floor with him straddling my chest in under two seconds. I thrashed about but all it got me was a hand around my throat cutting off my oxygen.

  He wouldn’t.

  He squeezed until black dots appeared before my eyes. This was the end of my short life and I had no one to blame but myself. The fingers around my neck slowly loosened allowing me to gulp in air.

&nbs
p; “I’m done playing around,” he practically spit out and suddenly flipped me to my stomach.

  His hands went to my backside and he dug inside my pants pockets, found nothing, and slipped his hands beneath my hips searching my front ones. I commenced squirming until a hard palm landed on my bottom.

  “Oww, that hurt.”

  “Not as much as my fucking nose and if you don’t start talking, a red ass isn’t going to be your only problem.”

  He found the scribbled map and the state identification card I’d stowed in the hoodie pocket. I brought the card in case someone shot me. It was a real possibility and right now, I was thinking it was the better alternative.

  “Fuck me, I thought you were a kid. You don’t look like you’re nineteen but this makes it much more interesting.”

  I didn’t like his tone of voice but had little time to contemplate what it meant because a phone started ringing somewhere in his house. He pulled me up by my hair and forced me out of the room, down a hall, and into his kitchen.

  He picked up the phone and after a moment said, “Everything is fine, yes lights out,” to the person on the other end.

  He slammed down the phone and jerked me farther into the room. I reached toward a large butcher-block knife set but he jerked me back. Truthfully, I doubt I could stab him but I was all about the bluster. He opened and reached into a drawer with one hand, keeping his other at the nape of my neck and his fingers wound tightly through my hair. The back of my head was killing me and I really had no idea why globs of hair weren’t trailing on the floor behind us.

  “Here it is.” Obviously this was his “ah ha” moment.

  I reluctantly took my eyes off the knives and saw him pull out a roll of duct tape from the back of the drawer.

  No fucking way.

  My flailing arms and legs only seemed to cause him minor irritation. I couldn’t believe how easily he swung me into a kitchen chair and started taping me to the damn thing.

  Naked Adonis or not, he was going too far. “This is kidnapping you son of a bitch.”

  He smiled. “Really, you want to go there?”

  My panic was making me stupid. “Just call the police.”

  “Too damn late for that. I’m injured.” He touched his bloody nose then looked down toward his inner thigh.