Forward Passes (Seattle Lumberjacks)

by Jami Davenport

  Lavender yanked her hand away. Her momentary thaw iced over. “You’re no better than the rest of them, are you?”

  “Actually, I am better. The best, sweetheart. Give me chance.” He didn’t have a clue who the rest of them were, but decided to let that one go.

  “Not unless your IQ is equal to or better than your quarterback rating.”

  She’d stabbed him below the belt, but he didn’t believe in letting anyone see him bleed. “For that to happen I’d need to be above-genius level.”

  “Too bad, Einstein, the clock ran out, you just turned the ball over on downs.” She tossed him a sassy wink and turned away to wait on her other tables.

  Tyler stared after her. He made a mental note to toughen up around Purple Lady, while at the same time stepping up his campaign to get her naked.

  * * * * *

  What a jerk. Lavender wanted to throttle the arrogant jock.

  After she’d rejected him, Tyler wandered over to a lone table. He slumped in his chair, propped his long legs on another chair and glowered at the Canucks hockey game on the nearby television. The few people who attempted to approach him immediately backed off when he shot them a fuck-off glare.

  Yet, she kept stealing glances at him. He looked like the real deal with his worn cowboy boots, which actually looked like they’d been used in a barn or on a horse. His hat seemed equally broken in. Nothing about him said “money.” In fact, his clothes said just the opposite, if she didn’t know better. One thing he couldn’t hide was his latent sexuality and his drop-a-women-at-forty-paces blue eyes. Of course, there was that professional athlete’s body, too. His broad shoulders filled out his flannel shirt quite nicely. His rolled up sleeves revealed muscular forearms sprinkled with dark hair. His big hands were made to grip a football. She wondered what else those hands were made to do.

  He was gorgeous. While Lavender wasn’t adverse to a little recreational sex, she’d made a promise to herself to maintain a jock-free diet. Besides, the cowboy was probably a selfish lover. Unfortunately, the sight of his naked, ripped body might be worth the price of an admission ticket to the rodeo.

  Why couldn’t she lust after nice guys? Hell, no, she craved bad boys with over-inflated egos and even bigger cocks—Tyler Harris epitomized the bad-boy jock from his strip-her-naked blue eyes to the delectable bulge in his blue jeans. She knew all about his type. As much as she hated professional sports, a girl would have to be a hermit not to know about Tyler Harris. He was a local legend, a Northwest hero, a self-proclaimed asshole and proud of it. Lately, the press had added drunk driver and quitter to his list of attributes. Worst of all, he was her neighbor, the heir to Twin Cedars, the destroyer of dreams and island history, and the current object of her most decadent fantasies.

  Unfortunately.

  She’d be lucky to make it through the spring with her virtue intact, what was left of it. The bad girl in her desperately lusted after the bad boy in him. They’d be hot in bed, sheet-scorching, bone-melting hot. She’d been celibate since last summer following her aborted relationship with the spoiled son of a wealthy California attorney. Summer ended and so did his interest in her. Another one of her meaningless flings with the wrong type of man. Not that it hurt much because her heart never participated in her sexual relationships. Not anymore. She liked sex, actually she loved sex. Her self-righteous grandmother would drop to her knees and pray for her granddaughter’s soul for hours if she knew about the men who’d entertained her granddaughter over the years. Heck, she probably thought Lavender was still a virgin.

  The advantage to having a purely sexual tryst with Mr. Touchdown was that she didn’t like him, didn’t find his particular brand of charm charming, and his residency status on the island was temporary. They’d both be able to get physically involved without any emotional bullshit.

  Lavender twisted the bar rag in her hands. No, no, no. None of that mattered. She’d promised herself. No jocks, no matter how well she justified it.

  Tyler Harris was a football player. A guy didn’t get much worse than that. By reputation, he represented the worst football had to offer and that said a lot. Football had wrecked her mother’s life for years, and it didn’t make hers any easier. Fate played a sick joke on her when the Seattle Lumberjacks bad-boy quarterback inherited the run-down mansion next door.

  She wouldn’t cut the man any slack, even though he had two redeeming qualities: his body and so far he took good care of the cat.

  Despite Tyler’s obnoxious personality, conceit, and mastery of the “F” word, her body didn’t seem to care. Every time he came near her, said body hummed with pleasure and begged to be set free. Her panties got wet. Her nipples hardened. Her heart sped up. The chemistry between them snapped and popped like a broken power line on a wet pavement.

  Heaven help her.

  Chapter 7

  Autograph Party

  Tyler didn’t get it.

  He drove around the block several times and resigned himself to parking three blocks from the VC. Every closer parking spot was taken.

  He walked down the street and rounded the corner. The sight ahead stopped him in his tracks. People crowded in front of the VC’s door and formed a jagged line around the block and out of sight. As he got closer, a group of teenagers noticed him and started cheering.

  Tyler frowned and slowed down. He glanced over his shoulder but didn’t see the object of their attention. Unless...

  What the fuck? Jim had asked to meet with him at noon today at the VC.

  His sharp quarterback gaze zeroed in on a hand-printed sign on the side of the building. Tyler Harris autograph session here today from noon to two. $3 per autograph.

  They were charging for his autograph? Scowling, Tyler pushed past the line at the door and entered the building. He stalked past the meeting room, but not before he noticed a table setup with a stack of photographs just waiting to be signed. Double Fuck.

  Someone was wading in some deep shit, and he suspected Lavender’s boots were sinking deeper. Striding into the bar, he paused inside the doorway to plan his next move. His uncle’s attorney, Jim, who’d recently quit smoking, sat in the corner of the bar chewing on gum and shredding a napkin while he stuffed popcorn in his face. The other geriatrics at his table sipped on coffee and watched a basketball game on television. Lavender, his lead suspect, was nowhere to be found.

  “What the hell is going on?” Tyler stood in front of Jim wearing his best fuck-with-me-and-you-die expression.

  Five pairs of eyes stared at him with mock innocence. Finally Jim spoke, “We’re having an autograph party. Didn’t I tell you why we invited you here today?”

  “Like hell you didn’t.”

  The blind old goat shrugged and added salt to his coffee. “Sorry, I overlooked it.”

  “You can’t charge for my autograph without my consent.”

  “It’s for a good cause.” Jim took a sip of his coffee and made a face. He squinted at the salt shaker.

  “I don’t give a fuck.”

  Lavender appeared, tip jar in hand. She slammed the jar on the table and faced him with hands on her hips. He stuffed a five in it. As little as she was, she resembled an angry fairy, hardly intimidating. He snorted his disdain.

  “It’s for the town’s senior services fund.”

  “And that’s my problem how?” He didn’t like being taken advantage of, he didn’t give a damn what the cause was.

  Lavender got in his face, or tried to. Instead her nose pretty much hit around chest level even though she stood on tip-toes. Her brown eyes blazed with fury. Tyler glowered down at her, reveling in his height advantage. Nobody manipulated him like this.

  “Do you have any idea how the economy has affected the people on these islands? At the same time, the senior service’s funding is being cut. We need the funds to provide things like free meals to shut-ins.”

  “I’m outta here.”

  Jim stood up and laid the shredded napkin on the table in a pile with the
others. His sly smile backed Tyler up a step. “So you’re willing to forfeit the mansion?”

  Tyler stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

  “Your cooperation is one of the stipulations in your uncle’s will.”

  “Signing autographs? I truly doubt that.”

  “Yes, the fine print says you’re required to participate fully in the island experience as a responsible citizen, activities to be determined at my discretion.”

  “No. Fucking. Way. I’m calling my sister, the attorney.” Turning his back on Jim and Lavender, he dialed his sister, Freddie. The conversation was short and tense. He listened in disbelief as she confirmed the old geezer’s claims.

  Jabbing the End button with his finger, Tyler crammed his phone in his pocket and turned to face Jim and Lavender. “It’s against my contract. I can’t sell autographs.”

  “Then you have a problem, don’t you?”

  “No, you do.”

  The old goats elbowed each other and chuckled as if this was funny.

  “Like hell I do.”

  “I’m sure your team will understand. Sign or forfeit Twin Cedars.”

  Tyler waged a silent war with himself. Flipping them off and walking out would give him a moment of satisfaction. On the other hand, he’d be damned if he’d lose the property to these group of idiots.

  Turning to Jim, he held out a hand. “Give me a fucking pen.”

  * * * * *

  Lavender wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. From the second Tyler took his seat and the first nervous fan stepped forward, the surly, pissed off jock morphed into a gracious, attentive celebrity.

  Tyler flashed his brilliant smile with those perfect white teeth and won the heart of every female in the room. The teenage girls squealed and jumped up and down like he was a rock star. The middle-aged women didn’t show much more restraint. The men engaged him in conversations about next year or any other sports subject they chose. He saved his best for the teenage boys, spending extra time with them, asking about the local football team like he really cared, and posing for pictures.

  All in all, he tolerated the inane questions and groping women with ease, obviously basking in the spotlight. The man should run for office, he’d win in a landslide. In the week he’d been coming into the bar, she’d never seen him like this.

  Lavender ran interference, keeping the line going and preventing eager fans from monopolizing Tyler’s time. The name of this game was quantity. The more people they put through in the next hour, the more money they made. Several fans paid again and rotated back through the line more than once for additional autographs. Tyler mugged for pictures and ignored her attempts to limit the time spent with each fan, almost as if he sought to annoy her. No doubt he did. A little payback for her part in this little surprise.

  Meanwhile, Ed and Homer manned the cash boxes, which were brimming with dollar bills and odd change.

  The second the door clicked shut on the last fan, Tyler shot to his feet and stalked toward her, an enraged panther stalking a wounded gazelle. Homicide gleamed in his eyes. Lavender fled to the safety of the bar, pretending she didn’t see him. He followed her, circling her until he’d cornered her between the icemaker and the beer taps. She backed up a few steps and hit the bar counter, almost knocking over a glass of wine in the process.

  “Customers are not allowed behind the bar.” She tried for a little steel in her voice, but her words cracked like brittle plastic instead.

  “Don’t you ever fucking pull that on me again. Understand?” Her body shuddered at the sound of his lethal voice, and her reaction wasn’t based solely on fear. Instead, his blazing blue eyes, lowered voice, and tense, threatening stance turned her on. Dang, but she wanted him—every hard, uncompromising, furious inch of him. She wanted him to lift her up on this counter and rip off her clothes then take her hard and rough, demanding all she had to give and leaving it all out on the table—or counter rather.

  With a shaking hand, Lavender held out the cuss jar. Tyler batted it away. His fury shifted like a shift in the winds to something more disturbing. His gaze smoldered with a heat not just from anger. She held her breath, even as her fingers itched to bury themselves in his dark hair and yank his mouth down to hers. He leaned closer. His minty breath tickled her nose.

  One of the Brothers cleared his throat from several feet away, but none of the cowardly, old men tottered to their feet to rescue her. Not that she wanted to be rescued.

  Tyler hemmed her in by putting his big hands on either side of her and resting them on the lip of the counter. His intense blue eyes promised some serious down and dirty fun. His voice dropped a low, sexy octave. “I know exactly what you need.”

  She bet he did. Her heart seconded it. The rest of her body voted in unanimous agreement. “What I need is for you to leave this island.” Boy, did she, before she did something stupid, like give him everything he wanted. And more.

  “So not going to happen, sweetheart.” He lifted his hand and ran a finger along her jawbone and neck. Her body shook with a mini-earthquake of its own, drawing a self-satisfied smirk from him.

  “Why not? Why don’t you leave? You don’t need the money.” Lavender swallowed, hating how her body responded to his. Gathering her courage, she got her head into the game, and smiled sweetly, while reminding herself what an ass he was. Lavender couldn’t allow herself to get down and dirty with Tyler Harris, no matter how incredible the packaging happened to be. She’d cure herself of her weakness for gorgeous jocks once and for all. Tyler Harris would be the bar with which she’d measure her success.

  “I’m not ready to leave yet. Maybe I’m enjoying it here way too much to leave. Besides, let’s be realistic. You and your crew of ancients couldn’t even pay one month’s taxes on Twin Cedars.”

  She nodded, knowing he was right. His mouth came within inches from hers. Her body hijacked her brain and wallowed in the jock’s bad-boy spell. He smelled so good, so kissable, so male, so very male. His deep blue eyes were the color of a South Pacific lagoon and just as warm. Her heart journeyed down that path into dumb-woman’s land while her pulse raced ahead, leading the way. She might as well set the oven to broil and crawl inside to cool off. She was that hot.

  He invaded her space. His smug expression turned to awareness of her as a woman, sexual awareness. The man was more than willing to buy if she was selling. She’d be one more notch on his already packed helmet, one more meaningless screw among thousands, one more gullible female. Thoughts raced through Lavender’s head of a faceless woman underneath Tyler, her legs wrapped around his waist, as he pounded into her. Once he finished, he’d get dressed and leave, never even knowing the woman’s name.

  At least he knows my name.

  Lavender slapped herself mentally. That wasn’t the point. She didn’t want to be another easy conquest for a man who’d exceeded his quota several lifetimes over. She’d been too easy in the past, too quick to give her body and then her heart to an entitled jock with an over-exercised cock and an under-exercised brain. Maybe all jocks weren’t alike, but the type she fell for certainly were. Tyler Harris made the rest look like rank amateurs.

  She wasn’t gullible, and she wasn’t going to be an easy mark. Not tonight. Not any night. Not anymore. She’d come too far to jump off that wagon. She wouldn’t succumb to his charms, even if she did put her toe in the water more than once.

  Disgusted with herself, Lavender reeled in her wayward emotions and reminded herself who she was dealing with here. A jock. A jerk. A bad boy. A self-proclaimed asshole who could turn on the charm when the mood struck him, which wasn’t often as far as she’d witnessed.

  Lavender brought up her knee and gave him a good jab in the groin, not enough to send him rolling on the floor in agony, but enough to back him off. And back off he did with a surprised yelp. A storm raged in those blue eyes. She ducked around the counter and refused to look at him, but she sensed his presence. Busying herself, she clean
ed off a few tables. After a long moment, she hazarded a glance at him. He’d retreated to a spot in front of the bar, as he stared at her, slightly bent over at the waist, his face lined with distress and surprise.

  Finally, he heaved himself onto a bar stool and snapped his fingers. “Beer.”

  Slipping behind the bar, she indulged in a brief fantasy regarding where she’d like to shove that beer, but she’d already done enough damage for one night. Instead, she slid a beer across the counter, one of those cheap brands he hated. He grabbed it and drank it down in one long gulp, as if it would ease the pain between his legs.

  She slid another cheap beer to him. He frowned at the label and drank it a little slower.

  “That was low.”

  “Sorry, I forgot you liked dark beer.” She emptied the tray of dirty glasses into the dishwasher, refusing to make eye contact.

  “I meant the hit to my groin.” He groaned, as if he’d get any sympathy from her.

  “You were in my space. You’re lucky your balls aren’t hanging in my trophy room.”

  “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood.” He shifted his weight, as if having difficulty finding a comfortable position.

  “Don’t mess with me again. I don’t like it.”

  “Really? Well, I don’t like being manipulated.”

  “Would you have signed autographs if we’d asked outright?”

  “Fuck, no.” Tyler dropped a buck into the cuss jar. “I don’t do this kind of shit. It’s bad for my asshole image. People don’t want to see me as a good guy, ruins their preconceived notions.”

  “My point exactly.”

  Tyler’s gaze slid down her body like a bold caress then sauntered back to her face. “I’m falling in dislike with you.”

  “I’m already there. It’s nice to know we’re on the same page.”

  “It’s not just a page, it’s a whole book.”