Loose Id, LLC
www.loose-id.com

Copyright ©2011

First published in 2011

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Loose Id Titles by Jami Davenport

Jami Davenport

* * * *

Warning

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Loose Id LLC

PO Box 425960

San Francisco CA 94142-5960

www.loose-id.com

Dedication

For all those female football fans who, like me, want to read a sports romance novel in which the heroine actually understands football and loves the game. I hope you enjoy this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

For my husband, a former college football player and my sounding board for the football scenes.

And a special thanks to Jen Mueller, color commentator for the Seattle Seahawks and owner of Talk Sporty to Me, for taking time out of her busy life to answer my questions. Thanks also to the Seahawks Women's Club for the incredible Football 101 camp you sponsor every year at Seahawks Headquarters to benefit breast cancer.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter One

The Kickoff

Hiring the one woman he could never forget was a dumb-assed idea and the wrong play to run, but Derek Ramsey took the ball and ran with it anyway. Five years ago, his one-weekend affair with Rachel McCormick had tackled him for an emotional loss. She'd been his best female buddy, and he'd fucked up a good thing by following his dick instead of his brain. After battling a half decade of guilt and coulda-shouldas, he dreaded and anticipated this reunion.

She'd been employed as his caretaker and living in the little house next to his barn for a few days. He'd managed to avoid contact by taking an impromptu weekend visit to his dad and stepmom a few hundred miles away. But he couldn't stay away forever.

Weary of postponing the inevitable, Derek walked down the driveway from his ranch house to the barn and small caretaker's house. Pausing halfway down the hill, he whistled for backup. Consider him a coward, but his chocolate Lab would serve as a diversion if this reunion didn't go well. Oddly, Simon didn't come running. Derek shrugged. He must be chasing rabbits in the woods or something.

He'd have to go it alone. As he rounded the last bend in his driveway, Rachel McCormick stomped up the hill toward him.

Oh fuck. He knew females. He'd endured growing up with an older sister. Rachel had that close-fisted, furious carriage to her stride that meant only one thing: someone was going to die. Please, God, don't let it be him.

Even as he planned possible escape routes, his male head perused her body and responded with a resounding thumbs-up, though it wasn't really his thumb that was up.

The woman marching toward him with murder in her eyes barely resembled his tomboy buddy from his high school and college days. This Rachel wore a navy blue blazer with matching skirt and shoes, complete with manicured nails and makeup. The suit hugged her tall, lean body and accentuated her curves and straight-to-heaven legs. Long reddish brown hair was pulled back into a tidy ponytail. While he preferred the blue jeans and T-shirt version, this one was just as gorgeous and way more unapproachable. Don't mess with me radiated from every pore in her body. Not a glimpse of the shy, sweet Rachel he had once known.

"Rachel, good to see you again.” Derek spoke calmly—hoping to defuse the bomb—and halted a few steps from her.

She didn't return his small talk. Green eyes blazing, she scowled, as dangerous as a hand grenade with the pin pulled in the hands of a chimpanzee.

"Problem?” he asked conversationally and forced a pleasant smile on his face.

"Do you own a demon chocolate Lab?"

Derek barked a laugh and sealed his death sentence. Her expression went beyond homicidal. “I have a Lab named Simon. He's opinionated and untrainable. It sounds like you've met him."

"How long has he engaged in a life of crime?"

"Oh shit. What did he steal now?"

"My truck keys. My only set."

"Oh."

"Where is the little delinquent?” She glanced up and down the driveway.

"I called for him earlier. He didn't come. I suspect he's busy burying the evidence."

"I missed a job interview because of that hoodlum.” Her laser-tight glare sliced through his defenses.

"I'm sorry. I could get you a cab."

"It's too late now.” She spoke through gritted teeth and visibly drew in a long, calming breath. A split second of uncertainty flashed across her face, peppered with a vulnerability that brought memories flooding back to him of the girl he had once known. Sweet Rachel with a passion for football and a kind word for even the most unworthy person.

He watched as she gathered her composure and hid behind an emotionless mask. “I still need my keys."

"I doubt we'll find them. He's very good. A serial digger."

"What do you expect when you name a dog Simon? It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.” She stared up the dirt road. “My keys could be anywhere."

Derek didn't hold out much hope. Dense woods surrounded the driveway on both sides. At the end of the woods was a large field, cross-fenced into several smaller grassy paddocks. It'd take an act of God to find her keys. He truly doubted the Big Guy considered such a trivial matter worthy of his attention.

"So Simon's on your hit list along with me."

"Right up there at the top.” No denial of his place on the list.

"Are you a member of AAA?"

She pointed down the driveway. “That's my truck. What do you think?"

He knew what he thought. He thought her lips looked pretty kissable, even without lipstick or gloss. He thought she was the sexiest thing he'd seen in a long time. And he thought—oh damn, every thought bordered on dangerous and impossible and stupid.

"Derek.” She stared at him as if she expected an answer, but he'd be damned if he could remember the question.

"Yeah?"

"I said I've scaled back on material goods and choose to live life simply."

He raised one eyebrow, not buying that one. “Judging by the dents in the thing, you might want to part with a few bucks...for your own safety."

"Harvey has character.” Her anger still simmered below the surface, and a stranger stared back at him with frosty green eyes. Still beautiful, but formal and cold. He liked her better mad.

Derek snorted. “Harvey looks like he escaped a life sentence in a wrecking yard."

"He runs great.” Rachel squared her shoulders and stood up straighter. She gave him her most charming smile, as if she didn't have a care in the world. “Look, champ, I'd love to stand out here and shoot the breeze with you, but I'm a busy woman. Your agent already discussed the particulars of the position with me."

He imagined all sorts of particular positions he'd prefer to do with her. She'd feel pretty good in his arms right about now, all soft and warm. And then he'd take her to bed and bury his cock deep inside her. She'd scream and beg for more, just like one weekend so long ago. Derek shook his head. This line of thinking headed nowhere but trouble and stopped now.

"I'll get you a locksmith."

"Don't bother. I'll call one."

Derek wiped sweat off his brow and shoved his hair off his forehead. Damn. Was she so oblivious to him that she wasn't picking up on his thoughts? He hoped so. As far as money, he knew better than to offer any. She had her pride. He'd let her keep it. He knew how valuable pride was. Since college, his none too lustrous pro career had severely dented his.

A joyous bark caught his attention. Simon trotted down the road toward them. A stick hung from his mouth, and his tail wagged with enthusiasm. No sign of stolen goods. On his best doggy behavior, the felonious Lab sat down next to Derek, grinning for all he was worth and incredibly pleased with himself.

"Simon, meet Rachel. Rachel, meet Simon.” Simon thumped his tail on the ground and gazed up at her.

"We've met.” Rachel glared at the dog. Undaunted, Simon took it as a compliment and drooled on her foot.

"Rae, I'm sorry. He's my dog. I'll take care of this."

"A dog-skin rug in front of my fireplace would be payment enough."

"You don't have a fireplace."

"One small detail. I'll build a campfire on the porch."

"You're a heartless woman."

"Don't you forget it."

There were lots of things Rachel McCormick couldn't forget. Topping the list was Derek Ramsey, her former longtime best friend and one-weekend-stand lover. And not just any weekend lover, but the shatter-your-heart-never-slept-with-anyone-else-before-or-after type of lover.

He still had that rugged profile, gorgeous butt, and long legs. An oh-so-familiar scar zigzagged down the length of one upper arm and ended at his elbow, a souvenir from a pissed-off defensive back during his college football days. A Rose Bowl tattoo graced the other arm, a new addition since she'd last seen him naked over five years ago.

She'd rather fight ten linebackers for the last piece of double chocolate fudge cake than face this man, but she was committed to her mission. Everything hinged on her handling the next few months in his presence. Seeing him brought back a painful onslaught of emotions. Her head pounded. Her stomach ached. Her hands shook. Her heart beat a little harder in her chest. Rachel thought she'd gotten over him long ago. It appeared she'd been fooling herself.

Half a decade may not have changed her physical reaction, but a melancholy layer of mistrust coated her emotional reaction, a painful reminder of good times never to be recovered. Worst of all, an emptiness engulfed her like a morning fog in downtown Seattle, more unsettling than the physical pain.

Aware of every inch of his six-feet-five frame, Rachel turned to make a graceful exit. Big mistake. Her ankle twisted. Her clumsy feet wrapped around each other, and down she went, only to be suspended in midfall and hauled against his strong chest. He smelled of pure male with an underlying scent uniquely his. Their gazes met and locked. Sadness flickered in his eyes, then extinguished like a candle in a hurricane.

She gripped his shoulders. Her attempt to right herself rubbed her chest against his. Her body thrummed with excitement and anticipation, refusing to listen to warnings from her head. Those familiar brown eyes, kind and concerned, stared down at her like warm fudge brownies straight from her mother's oven. A few wrinkles in the corners testified to the miles he'd put on since their college days. Yet they only added to his overall killer appearance—an appearance of which he'd always been relatively oblivious. She, however, wasn't.

Her heart lay down at his feet and begged for any crumb he chose to throw her way. Her pride gave it a swift kick in the pants and forced it back to reality. This man was not her friend. Not anymore. Not after what he'd done to her father.

"You're still fighting a losing battle with gravity.” His mouth quirked and his eyes sparkled as he slipped into his old teasing banter.

"What makes you think that?” She'd mastered stilted conversation, but her voice shook like an unbalanced washing machine.

"I'm still holding you up.” His voice vibrated with that too-familiar deep, rich tone, making her want to jump into the nearest bed and drag him with her. Fortunately it was edged with pity and regret, which poured water on her fire.

She jerked out of his arms, backed up, and stumbled. He saved her again, this time around her waist. His big hands steadied her before he let go. Standing upright, Rachel pulled down her skirt and smoothed the wrinkles in her suit.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he held back a grin. “You're a danger to yourself. How you've survived this long I'll never know."

"I'm nursing a bum ankle."

"Bullshit.” He squinted into the sun at her. Leave it to Derek to call it as he saw it.

"Gravity is not my friend.” Her jaw clenched. She didn't need him to point out her lack of coordination. It'd been the butt of her family's jokes since birth.

"Gravity is your nemesis.” He raised one eyebrow for emphasis, still battling that smile. His gaze traveled the length of her body and lit up with appreciation.

Rachel took a step back, but a few feet couldn't squelch the sexual chemistry crackling between them. “Thank you.” Let him think she always dressed like this, not just for an aborted job interview, thanks to a key-pilfering dog.

"You don't look like you.” His brow furrowed as he continued to assess this new look of hers.

"Actually I do. I've outgrown my college image.” A bald-faced lie, but what did he know? He hadn't seen her in five years. Despite feeling like an imposter, her power suit acted like Kevlar body armor, effectively disguising the chickenshit female bent on justice underneath.

His gaze settled on her face. “I always liked the way you looked. Natural. No pretenses. Real.” His voice came out soft and low.

Rachel had always liked how he looked too—and still did. She stood up straighter and faked a confidence she didn't feel, thanks to the suit. “It's been a long time."

The man looked at the ground and kicked at a small rock with the toe of his shoe. His head lifted, and he met her gaze. “Lots of changes. I suppose you know I haven't taken professional football by storm."

"I heard.” She'd heard plenty, such as washed-up, a disappointment, lost his nerve, finished. The list went on and on. Sympathy for his situation warred with cynicism regarding his character.

He forced a smile. “And you?"

"In between jobs right now. Just waiting for the right thing to come along."

"You got a bum rap."

"Who told you?"

"Tyler."

"Cass talks too much.” Rachel averted her eyes, unable to face his sympathetic gaze. She shrugged like her employment status was nothing when it was everything.

"I'm sorry to hear about your dad. I considered him a mentor, a role model. I still don't believe it.” His discomfort obvious, he concentrated on petting Simon. The dog's tail thumped energetically on the ground.

"Neither do I.” A lump lodged in her throat. The pain inside squeezed the breath from her lungs. She studied Derek's body language, searching for a revealing chink in his armor, but found nothing but sincere concern.

Derek threw the stick and jumped back as Simon barreled past. “I'm sure things will work out in the end."

She was counting on it. “I hope so. In my line of work, jobs are a rare commodity."

Derek started to open his mouth and seemed to think better of it. Most likely he didn't have a clue what her line of work was. Heck, she wasn't even sure what it was anymore.

Their small talk dried up, and an awkward silence followed. His jaw worked like it always did when he was trying to find the right words. “I want to thank you for agreeing to watch my animals and my place on such short notice."

"It's convenient for both of us.” He had no idea how convenient, nor would he be grateful to her if he knew her real reason for being here.

"Thanks just the same. There is one tiny catch."

"What?” Rachel caught the twinkle in his eyes.

"Him.” Derek indicated the dog.

"Not him."

"Yup, Simon.” At the sound of his name, Simon dropped the slobber-coated stick at her feet and whined.

She grimaced and ignored the stick. “Are you sure he'll be out on parole?"

"I'm pretty sure.” His mouth twitched upward in a smile.

Two hours later, after several changes of clothes and a half-dozen unsuccessful attempts at applying makeup, Rachel hopped into Derek's waiting car.

"Sorry it took me so long."

"You're a woman.” As if that explained everything. “We'll grab a bite at the bar down the road and go over things. You didn't need to dress up for that place.” He took in her ivory blouse and black pants.

It wasn't the power suit, but it'd have to do. Her meager unemployment check didn't pay for good business suits.

"I'm more comfortable in these clothes.” She looked out the car window. She'd always been a lousy liar.

Derek frowned, seemingly uneasy with this new Rachel. They drove in silence. A few minutes later, they sat at a table in a local bar, eating burgers and nursing their drinks. Derek went over last-minute instructions, and Rachel wrote down the details.

"I guess that's everything. You're taking a load off my mind. I couldn't ask for a better caretaker."

"That's right, buster."

"You'll stay on until the end of my season?"

"Certainly. That's the plan."

"This season is pivotal to my future.” He smiled at her and warmed her from the inside out. Despite her misgivings, she felt oddly comfortable around him.

"I know that too.” She toyed with her napkin, ripped the corners off, and wished she'd worn the power suit.

"Do you?"

"I pay attention.” She lifted her head and met his steady gaze. Her heart ached for the carefree young man she had once known and for simpler times.

"I haven't exactly lived up to my potential."

"You will.” He'd given his all to the game he loved, yet it hadn't been enough.

A slow smile spread across his face. “You always had faith in me. Have you seen me play in the past year?"

"A little.” A lie—she'd watched every single game.

Looking away, he focused at a spot on the wall. “Remember how we used to pore over game film? You saw stuff no one else saw. Those little things make a big difference."

"I tried.” She wanted to help him now, to tell him what she'd observed when she'd watched him play. Instead she held her tongue.

"You helped me. A lot. Now I just don't know. I've lost it, and I don't know how to get it back."

"You're not a quitter. You'll find a way.” Part of her longed to take him in her arms and hold him, to deny he'd played a role in ruining her dad. Proving this man guilty would be more difficult than she'd ever imagined.

"I hope so.” His dark eyes brimmed with sorrow. “It's good to have you here. To talk to you."

"The agreement works for both of us."

"Rae, I'm sorry. I was an insensitive ass our senior year. I never meant to hurt you. We should've never crossed the line between friends and—” He hesitated, struggling with the words.

"Friends with benefits.” She waved a hand and dismissed the subject as if her broken heart had been nothing at all, just an immature crush. “It's in the past. Old history. No need to apologize. We were both young and dumb. End of story.” Rachel gulped down her liquid courage and called forth the ice princess. Unfortunately Her Highness refused to cooperate without her power suit of armor.

"Do you think there's a chance we could be friends again?” Derek leaned forward. His chocolate eyes, earnest and bright, searched hers.

Rachel looked away and forced all expression from her face. “Let's not run that play yet."

It might be the one play that'd drop them both for a loss.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Two

The Runback

A lump of guilt rose in Derek's throat like bile, acidic and rank. He groaned and buried his head in his hands. What the fuck had he been thinking? He cursed the day he'd taken Cass up on her offer to find a caretaker for his small ranch.

Fisting his hands in frustration, he leaned back in his teak lawn chair and stared down the hill and across the field that separated his house from the barn. Through the trees, the lights in Rachel's little house glowed warmly. When he'd first laid eyes on her, regret and longing had blindsided him as hard as a linebacker with a grudge. Yet the ice princess inhabiting Rachel's body hadn't batted an eye once she'd refrigerated her anger regarding the key theft.

Part of him wanted to blame Tyler, his asshole cousin, and Cass, Tyler's bimbo blonde girlfriend. Shit, the assholes knew Derek's future rode on his performance the next four months. He had a career to resurrect and didn't need distractions. Rachel living within spitting distance of his home definitely distracted him. He'd sported a major boner since this afternoon, further proof he didn't need this. Any more than she needed him.

"You're not armed, are you?"

Derek jumped, startled. The front legs of his chair slammed onto the deck. Tyler peeked around the frame of the open French doors. Derek glared at him. “Should I be?"

Tyler shrugged as he dropped into a lawn chair next to his. “So you're not pissed at me?"

"Oh, I am pissed at you, but using a weapon would be too quick and painless. I prefer slower methods to get my point across."

"Whatever. You could have said no.” Tyler propped his feet on the opposite chair.

The truth rankled him even more. “Why the hell did I let you talk me into this stupid-assed idea anyway? And take your dirty feet off that chair."

"Because in the dark recesses of your fucked-up brain, you wanted her here.” Tyler dropped his big feet on the floor with a clunk. “It's been years. Both of you are adults. Fucking deal with it.” He helped himself to the remainder of Derek's beer.

"Easy for you to say."

"It should be easy for you to say.” Tyler rose to his feet, disappeared inside, and returned with two beers—an expensive microbrew for him, and a can of the cheap crap for his best buddy.

Derek took the beer offered to him and studied the label. He scowled. “You're really getting on my nerves."

"Like I give a shit?"

"You should."

"Whatever. You still have a thing for her."

"Fuck you. I never had a thing for her. We were buddies. That's it,” Derek shot back much too quickly.

A shrewd smile crept across Tyler's face. Derek's rat-bastard cousin smelled blood and moved in for the kill. “Then what are you so damn upset about?"

"I was stupid to let you talk me into this.” Derek glared at Tyler. “Anyway, it's not me I'm worried about."

"Really?” Tyler didn't look convinced, not one bit.

"Yeah, really. I treated Rachel like crap, and I feel like an ass about it.” Derek looked away, not wanting Tyler's knowing gaze to see the depth of his guilt.

"You were an ass. You should feel like one."

"This coming from the king of asses?"

Tyler didn't have the decency to look hurt. “All in a day's work.” He grinned. “You, my friend, are an idiot. I'm just an ass. You turned a lifelong friendship into a weekend of sex and fucked the whole thing up."

"I thought she was okay with therapy sex. How the hell was I to know she'd do something stupid like fall in love with me?"

"She's a woman. How could you not know that? Get over it. It seems she has."

Derek conceded that point. “I can't read her anymore. She's changed."

"Yeah, so? We all have."

"Ty, she doesn't look like Rachel. You should've seen her in her business suit, all cold and professional."

Tyler sat up straighter and frowned. “No way."

Derek nodded and read the label on his can of cheap beer. “You brought this crap last time you were here.” Resigned, he popped open the top and took a long swallow. At least it was cold.

Tyler quirked an eyebrow and raised the bottle to his mouth. He took a long pull and licked his lips in satisfaction.

"She was working in management for the Everett Blockbusters?"

Tyler nodded. “After all the shit surrounding her dad shaving points, the Blocks let her go."

"That's got nothing to do with her, and nothing was ever proven."

"Tell that to the Blocks. Of course, they gave her some lame-assed excuse, but no way did they want scandal tainting them."

"This sucks.” He leveled a murderous gaze at Tyler for putting him in this position.

The ass grinned, obviously enjoying his cousin's dilemma. “Too bad you're such a nice guy."

"Being rude, obnoxious, and dumb isn't in my nature like it is yours."

"No need to get insulting. You're no different than me."

"No different than you?” That almost made him laugh. “I don't party all night long—well, not anymore. I don't date bleached blondes with a bust size bigger than their IQ or switch girlfriends faster than channels on a remote. I don't feel entitled just because I have more athletic ability in my little finger than most men have in their entire bodies."

"You can be humble and boring if you want. I'd rather be an obnoxious braggart."

"Yeah, well, remember this, Ty: any day it could be over. And any second our charmed lives, which are already damn tarnished, could come crashing down around us."

"Then let's party while we can.” Tyler grinned. Nothing fazed him.

"You know what? I like myself most of the time. Can you say that?"

"I love myself, and I love being an asshole. But you, my cuz, are in deep shit. Being a nice guy with a guilty conscience only digs you in deeper."

"No shit."

"If I was in your shoes, I'd capitalize on Rachel's uncanny ability to analyze your game performance. After which I'd kick her cute little ass to the curb and never think another thing about it. But you, my dumb-shit friend—"

"I know.” Derek sighed and stared down the hill. “I'm screwed."

The next morning Rachel drained her bank account and paid a locksmith to make a new key for her truck. Derek had offered, but she turned him down.

Call it stupid pride or financial suicide, it all came down to guilt. Guilt that she was using him. Guilt that she'd ruin Tyler and him if the truth came out.

Last night she'd feasted her eyes on Derek's exceptional body, drowned in his kind brown eyes, and sympathized with his lack of performance on the football field. Shame settled in her gut, filled her with doubt. She'd consorted with the enemy, felt for him, let his nearness cloud her emotions. Her convictions needed reaffirming.

After feeding the horses, she drove three hours to her father's mobile home in a tract development. He'd lost his big house six months ago along with his coaching job, his selfish young wife, and his zeal for life. She pulled into Dave McCormick's driveway and cut the engine. Dandelions flourished in the front yard and crowded out the brown grass. An old car on blocks crouched next to the house. Paint peeled off the siding, and one gutter hung askew over the front porch.

She sat in her truck and gathered her thoughts. Through the living room window, light flickered from the TV. Her once meticulous father had been reduced to a shell of man. The state of his environment reflected the state of his mind. No other sign of life greeted her as she stepped out of her truck. Weary, she rubbed grit from her eyes and sighed.

Picking her way past garbage littering the sidewalk, Rachel slipped on some TV dinner cartons and almost fell. Regaining her tenuous balance, she ducked under the twisted metal storm gutter hanging off the eaves and stepped onto the rickety porch. She knocked on the door. No one answered. She tried the doorknob. It turned, and she let herself inside.

Rachel's heart thumped in her chest, and she feared the worst. Shame consumed her. She should've been a better daughter, visited more often, not been so wrapped up in her own misery. Despite losing her dream job, she had youth on her side. She'd rebound. Her father might not.

"Dad?” The gloomy interior engulfed her, smothered her. The stench of cigarette smoke floated in the air, thick and oppressive. Newspapers and magazines concealed the worn carpet. The kitchen counter overflowed with dirty dishes. A man's snoring rattled the small room, and relief flooded through her.

Rachel navigated the obstacles and found her dad passed out in an expensive leather recliner—a remnant of his previous life. Beer and whiskey bottles were scattered around the chair like fallen timber in a clear-cut.

Her once proud, handsome father looked like hell. His short hair stuck up in spikes, much grayer than a few months ago. His stubbled jaw hadn't seen a razor in a few days. He'd slept in his T-shirt one too many times. She wrinkled her nose. From the smell of him, a shower was long overdue.

"Dad?” Rachel shook his shoulder. He grumbled several unintelligible words, barely able to string two syllables together. She shook him harder. Her dad squinted at her through bloodshot eyes.

"Rae? Honey, whatcha doin’ here?” He struggled to sit upright in the recliner, which took three attempts.

"Just checking on you.” Rachel debated between scolding him and coddling him. Neither had proved effective in the past.

He shook his head to clear it and leaned forward, head in his hands, and groaned.

"You need a shower. Take one while I clean up. Can you manage that?"

Her father nodded and avoided her gaze, having the presence of mind to be embarrassed. He heaved himself to his feet and staggered into the small bathroom down the hall. She listened until she heard the sound of water running in the shower.

As a little girl, Rachel had crawled onto his lap during Monday Night Football. With the patience of a doting father, he'd explain plays, discuss strategy, and expound on what made a good player a great player. She'd soaked it all in, hanging on his every word, until her eyes grew heavy and she fell asleep during the fourth quarter. He'd carry her to bed, tuck her in, and kiss her good night. She'd snuggle under the covers, confident her daddy would keep her safe no matter what. Superman didn't have anything on her dad.

With a sigh, she glanced around the room, wondering where to start. Rachel tidied up the place and prepared a decent meal. Finally he came out of the bathroom, looking more like her father and less like a drunk.

"Were you afraid you'd find me with a bullet in the head?” He sat at a barstool at the kitchen counter.

"Dad, don't talk like that.” Rachel bent down and scooped up an armload of bottles and deposited them in the garbage can outside the door.

He chuckled, almost sounding like the old Dave McCormick. “I'd never take my own life. Too much of a coward."

"That's good to hear.” She relaxed a little.

"That I'm a coward?"

"You know what I mean."

He stared at her for so long she squirmed. “You look so much like your mother. Thank God you didn't get my looks."

Rachel smiled at him. “Dad, why don't you fight this? Prove you're innocent."

Her dad shook his head. “No, I will not. Enough damage has been done. I won't drag anyone down with me."

"Mitch thinks you're protecting someone."

"Mitch can think what he wants. None of it matters anymore."

"It does matter. You're innocent."

"I am, but I've always protected my boys, and I always will."

"Who are you protecting, Dad? Who would stand to lose after all these years? Derek Ramsey? Tyler Harris? Who?” Saying the words sickened her. To think Derek had been her best buddy, her confidant, and even her lover and had never given a thought to what he'd done. He'd cheated and gotten away with it. Everything she ever believed about him dissolved into a big pile of bullshit.

Her father looked away. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Doesn't matter now."

"It does, Dad. This isn't just about you.” She leveled him with her most serious look. “I lost my job a little while ago."

His head jerked in her direction, more alert than she'd seen him in a long while. “Why? What happened?"

"They seem to believe like father like daughter."

His face fell. He aged twenty years in a split second. “I never meant for this to affect you."

"It did. It affected all of us. Mitch barely held on to his coaching job. Dad, you need to speak up. Tell what you know. Clear your name."

Her father shook his head. “Sorry, honey, can't."

"I'll get it out of them."

Her father threw back his head and laughed. Actually laughed. Out loud and almost hysterical. If a six-feet-two bear of a man could be hysterical. She stared at him. Her mouth dropped open. His maniacal laughter continued until he wheezed for breath, panting like he'd run a marathon.

"I fail to see what's so funny."

"Now you sound like your mother. Damn, I needed that.” He wiped his eyes.

"I'm glad I could help you, but I still don't find what I said funny."

"Think about it. You, toe-to-toe with Tyler Harris, demanding he confess to shaving points, which would result in him losing his pro career. Harris is a tough son of a bitch. He's as self-absorbed as the devil himself. He doesn't give a shit about anything but himself and football. And as for Ramsey, he's fiercely loyal to his cousin. You're wasting your time."

"You're admitting they did it."

"I'm admitting nothing."

"But you said—"

"I said you won't get anything out of them if there's anything to get.” He popped the top off a beer from a six-pack on the table. Rachel grabbed it from his hand and poured it down the sink.

"You need help.” She met his gaze and wondered when she'd become the parent.

"I will. Give me time.” He sighed.

He'd promised to go to counseling for months.

They ate dinner in silence. Afterward he fell into a deep sleep in his chair, and she let herself out.

Driving away, Rachel stared at the road through tear-filled eyes. Seeing her father pounded the situation home just as expected. Sometimes a girl didn't have a lot of choices.

Her choices had dried up when the state of California charged Vince Rizzoli with sports bribery and racketeering, citing several incidents of points shaving at two major California colleges.

An investigation into Rizzoli's background had uncovered several more incidents, some in the state of Washington nine years ago. One trail led to a fateful Washington state high school football championship between Rachel's father's team and the team Rizzoli's son happened to quarterback. Suspicions focused on her father, now head coach at a small, local university, and accused him of losing the championship game for money.

Through it all, Dave McCormick refused to defend himself other than insisting he was innocent. While he had never been formally charged, the allegations had ruined his reputation. The touchdown club consisting of wealthy alumni called for his head. High school players avoided signing with his team, which made for a dismal recruiting season.

Backed into a corner, her father stepped down as football coach, though most people believed the Board of Regents insisted on his resignation. The scandal discouraged other teams from considering him for open positions. That very scandal drove her to take Derek's job after the Everett Blockbusters, an arena football team, released her from her go-to-girl position. It stood to reason her father protected Derek and Tyler. The two professional athletes stood to lose the most if found out. Their pro careers would be over.

Seeing Derek resurrected feelings that served no purpose. Her emotions could not interfere with her duty. She nudged her thoughts toward images of the broken man her father had become, while his former high school stars continued their lives uninterrupted.

Derek and Tyler held the key, and she vowed to unlock their secrets, no matter the cost.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Three

Broken Plays

Derek tossed his duffel bag into the trunk of Tyler's sports car and heaved his tired body into the passenger seat. Grumpy and irritated, he stifled a yawn and strapped himself in for takeoff. “You're forty-five minutes late."

"So?” Tyler slammed his car into gear and tore down the driveway, gravel flying and wheels skidding.

Derek didn't give a shit. He was too tired to pay attention to his cousin's crappy driving. “We're gonna be late."

They had a seven-hour drive ahead of them to the small eastern Washington college where training camp was held every summer. They'd never make their team meeting that afternoon.

"Not the way I drive.” Tyler took a long gulp of his coffee.

He had a point. Zeroing in on the coffee, Derek rubbed his half-closed eyes in an attempt to get out the grit. “Did you get me one?"

"Fuck, no."

Derek sighed and leaned his head against the cool window.

Tyler's gaze snapped to Harvey sitting in Rachel's driveway as he ripped past her house. “Has she calmed down since Simon stole her keys?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Smart dog. How'd you teach him to do that?” Tyler ran the stop sign at the driveway entrance and tore onto the county road. Mailboxes sped by at an alarming rate. They'd be on I-90 in no time if they survived.

"I didn't. I found the keys last night when I crawled into bed. He buried them under my pillow.” Derek squinted from the harshness of car lights coming toward them.

"You didn't give them back to her?"

"I left them in the barn in an envelope."

"How long is she staying on?"

"End of the season. I need a caretaker. Too late to get another one."

Tyler grinned at him. “Too late for lots of crap."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're already in over your head, man.” The jerk cast a wicked grin at him, turned up the rap song on his satellite radio, and tapped out the beat on his steering wheel.

Derek reached over and turned it down. “Fuck you."

"I'd prefer to leave that to the ladies."

"You're too damn cheerful for five a.m."

"I got an extra forty-five minutes of sleep."

"Asshole."

"Besides, Cass woke me up with a going-away present I couldn't refuse."

"Great. Spare me the details.” Derek laid his head back against the leather headrest and closed his eyes.

"You should try it. Maybe you wouldn't be so fucking cranky."

"No, I'd be obnoxiously cheerful like you.” The worst thing about it was Tyler was right. He did need sexual release. It'd been too fucking long, which explained his current obsession with Rachel. He'd kind of gotten used to the idea of her being around. In fact, he liked it.

Not good.

He wanted to stay home with her and forget about football. Not good at all.

Which was exactly why he didn't need a distraction like her. A month away would be good for him. Just what he needed.

Derek would live and breathe football. He'd absorb it into his bloodstream with no room for anything or anyone else. If Rachel stuck around after that, he'd find a way to get himself back into that safe spot where he thought of her as a former buddy and nothing more.

Which was the way it needed to be.

Rachel lay in the brass bed and stared out the open window. A cool breeze ruffled the curtains. Frogs croaked in a nearby pond. The stars twinkled cheerfully in the early morning sky, oblivious to her inner turmoil. She rubbed her hip where she'd bruised it on the doorjamb during a midnight trip to the bathroom.

Rachel studied the dark sky, looking for a sign of some kind, wondering if her mother watched from above. She wished she felt her presence, some kind of reassurance that she had a person on her side.

Mom had been the only one in the family who'd understood her, supported her, and didn't think less of her because she had zero athletic ability. Sports had been a big part of her mother's life, just like the men in the family. Regardless, she'd accepted her daughter's ineptitude toward athletics. Her brothers and father had prodded her to try harder, practice more, work at it. Mom had understood. Rachel loved sports as much or more than the men in the family. Her mother had encouraged her to find a way to leverage her love of sports into a career that didn't involve being an athlete.

It'd been tough. Life and fate placed a heck of a lot of roadblocks in her path.

By a tragic twist of fate, her mother had survived cancer only to die in a car accident just before Rachel's senior year of college.

Through it all, Derek had hovered in the background, a quiet yet supportive fixture in their family. They'd hung out together. She'd leaned on him through high school and her mother's cancer, told him her fears, her hopes, her dreams. He'd done the same. They'd forged a connection not easily forgotten.

After her mother died, they'd had one more thing in common: his mother had abandoned him when he was eight years old. Growing up as kids, she'd wondered how it felt to not have your mother around. Then she'd found out. It felt like hell.

Even after five years, it still hurt, like nothing she'd experienced before. Hardly a day went by that something didn't remind her of her mother. She still reached for the phone to call her and share something, only to stare numbly at the receiver, an empty hole in her heart.

Rachel swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks and choked back a sob. She hadn't caved then; she wouldn't now.

Sighing, she sat up and got out of bed. Charlie, her cat, cast an annoyed look over his shoulder and shifted from his spot nestled next to her. Throwing on a robe, she padded to the kitchen to make coffee. She paused to gaze at the neat and tidy little home she'd made for herself, even though she wouldn't be here long.

She loved this little old house that Derek, according to Cass, had lovingly and painstakingly restored earlier this summer. Was there anything the guy couldn't do? If there was, she hadn't stumbled—literally—across it yet. One person with that much talent should be illegal. It wasn't right. Heck, half the time she couldn't put one foot in front of the other without tripping.

A car rumbled down the driveway. She peeked through the curtain as Tyler's car bombed past, the two cousins bound for training camp. She half wished Derek had knocked on her door to say good-bye, but should have known better.

Downing a cup of coffee, she threw on some clothes, splashed water on her face, and walked out the door. Simon waited on the porch. His tail slapped on the wooden rungs of the railing, his ever-present ball stuffed in his mouth. Sighing, she signaled for him to follow. Pausing halfway to the barn, she turned to regard her temporary home.

A half hour from downtown Seattle in good traffic, the two-bedroom cottage sat on the edge of the woods, painted white with red shutters, a red front door, and a covered porch complete with a porch swing. For the next few months, it was hers. She'd enjoy every minute of it.

Rachel headed for the barn. Nothing special, the large red metal building boasted a modest indoor arena and about ten stalls, all of which were empty except for her horse and Derek's old stock horse.

An envelope with her name on it in his big, sloppy handwriting was tacked on the bulletin board near the feed room. She removed it and found her keys and a brief note inside: Rae, I found these late last night. Sorry about that. I'll be in touch. Call me if you need anything. Dare

Rachel fingered the note, tracing his name. Dumb, but a warm feeling spread through her from a simple note. Casting a wary glance at Simon, she stuffed the keys in her pocket. The Lab danced around her feet, dropped his ball, and looked up expectantly. His tongue lolled out one side of his mouth, and his eyes burned bright with an obsessive fever.

She tossed the ball down the aisle, and Simon scrambled after it, momentarily leaving her in peace.

Rachel fed Derek's big, stocky stock horse named Mac. Returning to the feed room for more grain, she discovered the grain scoop and Simon were both AWOL. She called for him, not expecting a response and not getting one. That damn dog needed an intervention—or rehab. Shaking her head, she rummaged through the cupboard over the feed bins for something to use and found a coffee can.

Her old, faithful gelding, Moe, waited politely as she dumped a scoop of grain in his feeder. He nuzzled her before burying his head in the bucket. She'd owned the gelding since junior high, shown him in all kinds of events, and couldn't imagine her life without him.

"Hey, you are still here."

Rachel turned at the sound of her brother's voice. “Where else would I be? I have no other job."

"Well, you can blame Ramsey and his asshole cousin for that."

Rachel sat down on the tack trunk and stared at the wall. “I saw Dad last night."

Mitch's mouth turned down. His dark eyes filled with concern. “How is he?"

"The same. Living in squalor and drinking his meals."

Her big brother worked his jaw. Anger hardened his features. “Damn it. We've gotta make this right."

"We will. He's the only parent we have left. I won't let him die while he's living.” Determination to right the wrongs overrode her other emotions.

"Did you get anything out of him?"

"Nothing. He's closemouthed and stubborn.” Just like his son.

"What about Ramsey? Did he say anything about Dad?” Mitch pulled a piece of hay from a nearby bail and gnawed on it.

"Just that he was sorry to hear what happened."

"Yeah, I bet he is. Dad's covering for one of his players. You know it, and I know it. Ramsey and Harris are his two guys who made the pros. They're the logical ones."

"I know they are.” Saying the words turned her stomach inside out.

"You have to be one hundred percent committed or this will never work."

"I am.” Rachel ground her teeth and resisted the childish urge to kick him in the shins like she had when they were young. “I'll get to the bottom of this. My life is crap because of it as much as Dad's. Yours will be too if you ever try to go beyond a high school coach.” As hard as it might be, she'd see it through to the end.

"Hell, I'm lucky to have a job. The sins of the father and all that."

"Our father didn't sin. He's the most honest, fair man you could ever meet.” Rachel spoke with renewed conviction. “There's no way Dad shaved points in any game, let alone the state championship."

"And one or both of those assholes know the truth. I'm not letting Dad drink his life away to protect them."

"I'm on it."

His eyes bored into hers. Resisting the urge to look away, she met his gaze. “Weasel your way into Derek's life, earn his trust."

"That'll take time.” Simon shoved the ball in her lap and waited for her to throw it. She held the slimy thing in two fingers and tossed it outside. The rabid Lab galloped after it.

"Find a way to get to him."

"I plan on appealing to his innate sense of decency."

"You're placing a lot of stock in him being a decent person.” Mitch's cynicism annoyed her, even though part of her agreed.

Rachel hoped like hell Derek did have that particular trait buried somewhere deep. “If he doesn't, this'll never work. The only way to the truth is to push him over the edge with guilt. I just don't quite know how I'm going to swing it."

"You'll find a way. Help him with his game. Ramsey's got to make something happen this year, or he's done."

She couldn't argue that point. An exceptional athlete from birth, Derek's long legs had given him the speed of a world-class sprinter with an Olympic Gold in the 4x4 relay to prove it. In college his lightning-fast reflexes eluded tacklers. His large hands and long fingers caught any football thrown in his vicinity. His blazing speed left defenders in the dust. Yet all the talent in the world hadn't gotten him any further than a disappointing third-string wide receiver in the pros. She knew. She'd followed every step of his career.

He'd gained twenty to thirty pounds on his lean body, all in muscle, courtesy of professional football. But being a pro had changed something else too, something not so easily defined. She'd read it in his stance, in his demeanor, and definitely in his eyes.

The last time she'd seen him up close, he'd been an eager college senior. His quiet confidence had announced the world was his for the taking. She didn't see that confidence now. Instead he looked as if life had beaten him down too many times, and he didn't quite trust it anymore. Guilt could eat a person from the inside out. Could his current emotional state be attributed to his own culpability?

He'd changed, but then so had she.

Never mess with a woman ready to call a trick play when the game was on the line.

Derek gulped down a large cup of water. He crushed it and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. Squinting into the relentless afternoon sun, he wiped the sweat from his brow. It had to be 102 in the shade. The small eastern Washington college town where the Seattle Lumberjacks held training camp was known for its scorching summers.

Even with temperatures in triple digits, the heat wasn't as scorching as the pressure put on this team to win. Last year, his first year with the Jacks, they'd finished three and thirteen. Two games better than the previous year. Just another below-mediocre season in a sorry decade of football for the Northwest.

Derek had sucked right along with the rest of his teammates. He'd thought playing with Tyler again would be all they'd need to repeat their high school and college glory days. No fucking way. Dropped pass after dropped pass racked up on his stats. Meanwhile Tyler, as starting quarterback, didn't gain any fans with his on- and off-field escapades.

Funny how life worked like that. One minute they'd stood on top of the mountain, the world at their feet. The next, an avalanche of mistakes and bad luck had swept them downward until they hit rock bottom. Now bruised and battered, they fought their way back to the summit.

At the height of his athletic career, Derek had been the Rose Bowl MVP and a world-class sprinter with an Olympic Gold in the 4x4 relay. But that gold turned into fool's gold, and he was the biggest fool of all. One hit during the first play of his first professional game kept him off the football field for over a year. By the time his knee recuperated, no one had wanted him. Yesterday's hero had become today's damaged goods.

He'd made so many mistakes in the past few years. Now it came down to this one defining moment in what had once promised to be a stellar football career.

His gut told him this was it. He either proved he belonged or admitted he didn't have what it took. No more second chances.

Washed up at the tender old age of twenty-seven. Derek had signed a one-year contract last year, but management hadn't renewed it at the end of the season. His rumored partying and lack of effort hadn't impressed anyone. His ego took a huge hit and his confidence tanked. Three professional teams in four years was not a good indicator of career advancement.

After last year's dismal season, the Lumberjacks’ management fired their entire coaching staff. They shelled out big bucks to lure Hubert Jackson—a successful young coach—away from his championship team, and recommitted themselves to building a winner.

Derek had been invited to attend training camp to contend for a spot with the rest of the hopeful wide receivers. He caught that wake-up call. He'd been fumbling his career and squandering his God-given talent.

No more.

Derek had sworn off what little partying he'd done, removed distractions from his life, and set to work. He studied game tapes all summer and worked out several hours a day. He focused every bit of his being on resurrecting the potential he'd had in college.

Failure was not an option.

Now he walked onto the field at training camp, more nervous than a rookie and more determined than he'd ever been in his life.

The all-new coaching staff watched him with unreadable expressions, made notations on clipboards, and gave nothing away. When Derek dropped an easy pass, the head coach shook his head, threw his clipboard down in disgust, and stomped off. The man had a reputation as a taskmaster and two Super Bowl rings to back it up. He didn't accept excuses or anything short of perfection.

Derek kept his mouth shut and tried harder, but the coach never looked his way the rest of practice. He showered and walked across campus to the dorm room he shared with Tyler. Depressed and discouraged, he picked up the phone and called the one person who could make him feel better.

Rachel scrambled for the phone. She tripped over the coffee table, banged her shin in the process, and tipped over an almost empty glass of water. The glass shattered in tiny little shards on the hardwood floor. Out of breath and hopping on one foot, she fumbled for the receiver. Damn! Ouch! “Hello?"

"Hey."

"Hey there.” Her pulse quickened. She'd know that deep, sexy voice anywhere. She took a long, slow breath and forgot about the broken glass and her throbbing leg. Gripping the phone, she sat down on the barstool.

"You're out of breath. Is this a bad time?"

Who was he kidding? “No, I was outside and had to run to catch the phone."

"Really? Expecting an invitation to a hot date?” He laughed as if it was funny.

She swallowed her response. He didn't need to know about her nonexistent social life. Besides, the less he knew, the better.

He cleared his throat. “How are things?"

"Fine. Simon is as demanding as his namesake, and your horse, Mac, he's a typical stock horse. Big, unflappable, and a pig."

"He does seem to eat more than his weight in hay."

"I'm glad I'm not the one paying for it. How are things going there?"

"I'm pretty wiped. They work our butts off, and the heat... Damn, it sucks.” The weariness in his voice carried across the miles. She tamped down her feelings of sympathy. Distance. She needed to juggle emotional distance with earning his trust. What a twist of irony—earn his trust so she could betray it.

"Wuss.” She smiled into the phone like some love-struck teenager talking to her high school crush, which at one time was an accurate description. Not anymore. Not over his dead body.

"That's me.” Derek chuckled, a warm, inviting sound that made her heart beat a little faster.

"How do you like the new coaches?"

"Tough, really tough, but that's how you make champions. And Ty, he's having a rough time. He called the shots with the old coaching staff. These guys won't tolerate his antics, and even he can't blow them off. They have what he wants more than anything—what any football player worth his cleats wants."

"What?” As if she didn't know.

"Ah come on. You're a coach's daughter."

"Not a coach anymore."

"He'll always be a coach to me. One that has more state championships under his belt than any other high school coach in the state."

Rachel tensed, glad he couldn't see her. “Just tell me."

There was silence on the other end. “A Super Bowl ring.” He said it with reverence, as if it was the Holy Grail. For football players, it was.

"So you think you're going to go from three and thirteen to a Super Bowl in one year?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"I doubt any that strange."

"Never say never.” A ruckus erupted in the background, doors slamming, loud male voices. “Hey, the guys are here with pizza. I should go.” He hesitated, as if reluctant to hang up.

"Well, then good night.” Her heart sank, not wanting to end the call.

"Uh, yeah, good night.” He paused. “Rae?"

"Yes?” She held her breath.

"Call if you need anything."

"Okay.” If she needed an even bigger hole in her head, she'd be sure to give him a call.

Hubert Jackson, known to his friends as HughJack, consulted his clipboard for the third time. “Is this a mistake?"

Frank Carter, his longtime friend and offensive coordinator, shook his head. “The kid ran world-class times until he blew out his knee."

"I realize that, but it was before his surgery."

Frank double-checked his own clipboard as if he expected the numbers to change. “Well, believe it."

"I remember watching him play in the Rose Bowl several years ago. Every pro coach from here to the East Coast salivated at the sight of him. He had the total package.” Yeah, the kid had had it all: blazing speed, great hands, guts, and incredible instincts, not to mention brains and a work ethic.

"'Had’ is the operative word."

"Unfortunately it is. The word on the street is he's lost his nerve.” HughJack frowned and scratched his head. What a shame. The kid possessed all the physical attributes of an All-Pro.

"A wide receiver with a fear of being hit is worthless."

"Pretty much, especially when there are a dozen more waiting to take his place.” HughJack rubbed his chin and watched Ramsey as he ran his patterns with perfection. The kid did his homework.

"Do you think he's salvageable?"

"Test him. Put him up against our best DBs. Then in the preseason games, make sure he's matched with the meanest, fastest, biggest bad asses the game has to offer."

"You want me to play him with the first string?” Frank seemed incredulous.

"The kid has first-string ability. Does he have first-string heart? Let's figure it out before we waste more time on him."

"He's Harris's cousin. Did you realize that?"

"Seems I heard that somewhere. Now there's a loose cannon if there ever was one. That guy is a first-class jerk. Cocky bastard."

"Cocky isn't such a bad thing."

"Cocky confidence is a good thing. Cocky to the point of stupidity isn't. I don't like that kid."

"We don't have to like him to win with him."

"No, but it makes our jobs a hell of a lot easier. We do have to be able to work with him. On that point, the jury's still out."

"And Ramsey?"

"All the physical talent in the world may not fix his problems."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Four

Safe Is Good if You're Talking Baseball

"Ty? You asleep?” Derek directed his question to the large dark lump in the small bed a few feet across the room.

"Mmmmm.” The lump moved and grumbled.

"Ty.” Derek aimed a pillow and pegged his cousin on the head.

Tyler shot up in bed and shook the hell out of the alarm clock. Then he jerked his head in Derek's direction. “What the fuck do you want? It's three fucking thirty in the morning."

"I can't sleep.” Derek smiled in the darkness.

"Tough shit. I fucking can.” Tyler collapsed on the bed with a dramatic groan.

"I need to talk."

"I don't. Go to fucking hell.” Tyler pulled the blanket over his head and turned his back.

"Ty?"

"Goddammit. Would you shut the fuck up!” Tyler sat up in bed and glared at him. Even in the darkness, heat radiated from his pissed-off expression.

"Remember when we were kids and we dreamed about this?"

"I never dreamed about this."

"Not this, specifically, but playing for the Jacks."

"Why don't we go back to sleep, and we can dream about it some more."

"Look, I'm serious here."

Dead silence. Derek waited—he knew Tyler better than anyone.

"Crap.” Tyler took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah, I remember. We dreamed about winning the Rose Bowl for the Cougs, and we did it. Harris to Ramsey, remember that? We heard it over and over again from high school through college."

"Junior high."

"Yeah, whatever. We're gonna hear the broadcasters say that again.” Tyler's voice softened. He lay back on the bed and turned toward Derek, bumping his elbow in the process. “Shit. Dammit. Fucking little beds. How the hell do they expect us to sleep on fucking baby beds?"

Derek ignored his tirade. Tyler had a short fuse, short memory, and short attention span. “It's not quite like we imagined, is it?"

"Hell no. I thought I'd get at least eight hours of fucking sleep a night until they assigned you as my fucking roommate."

"We thought we'd waltz out of college straight onto the pro field and win a championship for Seattle in our rookie year."

"So our schedule's off."

"Yeah. I guess."

"What the hell has you feeling so despondent?"

"I'm impressed. That's a big word for you."

"I read the dictionary in my spare time, asshole."

Derek sat up and placed his feet on the floor. He put his hands on his knees and propped his head in his hands. “What if I don't make it?"

"Quit dropping my fucking passes, and you'll make it."

"Is that the only adjective in your vocabulary?"

"Fuck yeah, but it's versatile. I also use it as a verb, adverb, and a noun."

"I'm surprised you know what those are."

"Are you questioning the validity of my 1.5 GPA?"

Derek snorted, then sobered. “HughJack doesn't seem impressed. I don't think he likes me."

"Football's not a popularity contest. He doesn't like anyone."

"Good thing for you, or he wouldn't hire you as a stadium beer vendor. Really, though, I can tell he's not thrilled with me."

"Bullshit. I've seen him watching you."

"Yeah, in disgust."

"Look, buddy, we've been in this together since diapers. I'm not going through HughJack hell alone."

Tyler might be an ass, but Derek loved him like the brother he'd never had. He'd give his life for Tyler and Tyler for him. They'd been raised together from birth. Derek's mother had considered her children a burden and hated ranch life. She'd escaped to the city as often as possible and dumped her kids on her sister-in-law.

Derek still remembered the day she'd left to try her luck in Hollywood. It happened to be his eighth birthday. Some producer filming a movie on the ranch next door lured her away, not that it took much. She said she'd be back, but the days turned to weeks, then to months. Her phone calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether.

Their entire family had survived in a numb state of limbo. Every night Derek rode his horse until it was too dark to see, or he played basketball in the driveway, shooting basket after basket until his legs wobbled and his arms shook when he took a shot. His ten-year-old sister holed up in her room and escaped into her books. His father sat in a chair in the living room and looked out the bay window for hours on end. He'd sip a whiskey and stare into the darkness, searching for headlights coming up their long driveway. He left the porch lights on because “Mary always hated how dark it was in the country."

Months later, on the arm of a popular actor, Mary Ramsey, now Mona Lea, smiled for the cameras at the Academy Awards. The next day she served his father with divorce papers. Dad turned off the porch lights that night and moved the chair away from the window.

Tyler's mom took care of Derek and his older sister while his dad worked the ranch. His dad remarried three years later to a wonderful woman Derek considered his mother.

His mother. How had his thoughts twisted around to that taboo subject? When he'd been a teenager, he'd called her, asked to visit, and been told to go to hell. No one except Tyler knew about that devastating phone call, not even his dad.

"Hey, did you fucking hear anything I said? Shit, you wake me up and then you don't even fucking listen."

"Sorry. I took a walk down memory lane."

"Rachel?"

Derek laughed, a sound that was short and pained even to his ears. “I wish it could be that simple."

"Hell, it is. You make things too complicated. Just get her in bed and screw like rabbits. You'll feel much better for it. Then maybe both of us can get some sleep."

"Like that's going to happen. My life for the next six months is football,” Derek vowed, more to himself than his cousin.

"Seven months counting the play-offs and Super Bowl."

"The Jacks have never been to the Super Bowl. Hell, they haven't been to the play-offs in twenty years."

"The longest drought in professional football."

"That's a record to be proud of.” Derek sighed.

"Gotta be proud of something. We're going to change all that. Deal?” Tyler reached his hand out in the darkness, and they shook on it.

"Yeah, deal. Ty, one other thing."

"What?” Tyler growled.

"Could you find another word other than the F word?"

"Fu—What's the matter, am I disturbing your virgin ears?"

"I just think it loses its effect if you use it every other word. Save it for when you need a little emphasis."

Tyler chewed on that for a second. “Fine. I'll think up something else. Good frigging night.” He rolled over and was snoring within seconds.

Derek lay on his back and stared at the ceiling for a long time. His lifelong dream hovered within his grasp, yet he hung on by a thread. Any second that thread could break, leaving only regrets and wasted chances. His life had to be all about football; nothing would get in his way. No distractions allowed—not even Rachel.

Definitely not Rachel.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Five

Down and Almost Out

Rachel settled into her seat next to Mitch, several rows up on the 45-yard line. The tickets were her brother's one splurge every year. She usually reimbursed him for her seat when she had the money, which wasn't this season.

Grinning with excitement, she breathed in the sights and sounds of the stadium—the blare of the announcer, the images flashing on the large scoreboard, the beer and hot dog vendors wandering the aisles. On the field, Cass and her cheerleading squad paraded around in their skimpy outfits, waving to the fans, gossiping in tight little circles, and practicing routines. Players clustered in groups to review certain aspects of their game.

HughJack stalked from place to place, barking orders, doling out encouragement, and making notes on his clipboard. Commanding respect, he intimidated with a glare and praised with a nod.

Derek ran wind sprints from one end of the field to the other with a couple of other backs. Breathing hard, he paused, hands on hips, and stared into the distance. She wondered what he was thinking.

She loved football season and everything that went with it. Most of all, she loved football. Even though she'd never played the game, butterflies raged in her stomach when the team stepped onto the field for the first game of the season. Adrenaline rushed through her veins at the roar of the crowd on the kickoff. Not that the Jacks had enough of a crowd to cause a roar, but hey, there was always tomorrow. She was a longtime fan, and her heart soared when they won and ached when they lost.

Someday she'd be a part of building a winning team, making a difference, and bringing a community together. Someday her pride would go beyond the pride of a mere fan.

Someday.

The All-Pro linebacker charged like a rhinoceros on steroids and rammed into Derek just as he caught the ball. He went one way; the ball went the other. His body crashed into the ground so hard his teeth should have been drilled right through his skull. At least that's what it felt like inside his helmet.

Hauling himself to his feet, Derek ignored his complaining muscles and limped to the huddle. The entire Milky Way galaxy swirled in front of his face. Leaning in to hear the call, he rubbed his bruised hip. He'd be lucky to remember his name, let alone the play.

Across the huddle, Tyler shot daggers at him with laser-sharp blue eyes. “Shit, hang on to the fucking ball, will ya, asshole?"

Derek ignored him. He'd grown immune to Tyler's insults years ago. Besides, there wasn't much to say. He'd dropped another perfect pass and added one more nail in the coffin of his pro-football career.

With a disgusted snarl, Tyler turned to the rest of the team and called the play, his back rigid with anger and frustration. His day wasn't going much better than Derek's.

Derek threw a bone-jarring block on the next play, allowing their running back to move the ball to midfield. On third down, Tyler put up a long bomb. It was overthrown. Derek didn't stand a chance in hell of catching it. Even so, he got a few fingers on the ball before it bounced into the arms of a defender.

Pissed as hell, Tyler stalked to the sidelines. Derek hobbled behind him. Every bruised muscle in his body protested the slightest movement while his brain swam around in his skull like fish in a fishbowl. Skirting the coaches and their disapproving glares, he slumped onto one of the benches. Swigging down some water, his cousin slammed his ass down beside him, fire in his eyes.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Ramsey? I used to throw a ball anywhere in your vicinity, and you'd catch it. Fuck, now you'd drop a fucking beach ball from three feet away."

"Hell if I know.” Derek couldn't muster the energy to shoot back a smart-ass reply. Defeat weighed on his shoulders, and he'd never worn defeat well.

"Well, whatever the fuck it is that you don't know, you sure as hell had better figure it out and fast.” Tyler's eyes flicked to HughJack as the coach scribbled on his clipboard.

"I wish I could."

"Look, buddy.” Tyler leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Coach had enough confidence to put you with the first string. Pull your fucking head out of your ass. I want that guy back who flipped the world off and proved them all wrong. Can we say Rose Bowl? How about Olympics?” Tyler tapped on his cousin's forehead. “Hey, are you still in there or did they operate on your fucking head at the same time they fixed your fucking knee? I never thought I'd see the day that you'd lose your fucking nerve and fucking give up."

"I haven't lost it.” Derek clenched his jaw. Tyler was right unfortunately. He hated it when Tyler was right. Getting one up made his cousin an insufferable asshole, even more than usual.

"You gave up on me out there. What the fuck was up with that?” Tyler narrowed his eyes.

"I didn't give up. It wasn't a catchable ball."

"Since when is a ball I throw your way uncatchable? You didn't used to think like that."

He didn't. In the past, if it was still in the air, it was catchable. Once again Tyler was right. “I tried."

"Yeah right. Fucking bullshit.” His cousin stood and moved a few steps away to watch the defense from the sidelines.

Derek put his head in his hands. Damn. Damn. Damn. He took deep breaths, grasping for something to hold on to, to use against the despised self-pity bubbling inside him.

The last preseason game. Final cuts on Monday. He teetered on the edge of making it or breaking it. A dismal pro career with a dismal end—in with a bang, out with a fizzle.

Well, not if he could damn well help it.

Irritated at Tyler and angry with himself, he ground his self-pity into the turf and savored the anger. Anger gave him ambition, renewed his drive, and brought out the fight in him. Derek stood up and squared his shoulders. Enough of this crap. Hands on hips, he stretched his hamstrings and prepared to reenter the battle.

"Let's go! Don't fuck this one up.” Tyler smacked him on the shoulder pads as the offense trotted onto the field. Derek followed him to the huddle, head held high. Determination radiated through his body. Three quick plays later, they were on the 23-yard line, fourth down and six. Tyler wanted to go for it. Coach let him have his way.

Tyler bent down in the huddle and ignored the play the coach sent in, a run straight up the middle. As they broke the huddle, Tyler turned to him. “This is it, fuckhead. You'd better catch this one, because come Monday, after the final cuts, your ass better be on this team."

Derek nodded. Tyler planned on ignoring the coach's instructions and calling his own play. If he fucked this up, he'd screw himself and Tyler. His cousin skated on thin ice too. Rumors of a trade circulated around the league. Tyler's antics and attitude didn't impress the new coaches.

Shit. Damn. Fuck.

Talk about pressure. He sucked in a long breath, said a silent prayer, and called on every bit of skill and luck he possessed. Do or die, now or never, sink or swim. All those cliches came down to this defining moment. His future hung on this one pass. He knew it. Tyler knew it.

Relax. Find the zone. Don't try too hard. Stay loose. He hadn't come this far, battled through adversity, and clawed his way back to lose it all now.

Tyler audibled at the line of scrimmage. Derek leaned forward and shot off the line as soon as the center hiked the ball. Sprinting downfield, he executed his pattern perfectly, then turned on the speed, leaving his defender eating his dust. Pounding into the end zone, he spun around at just the right moment.

Shit.

Badly thrown, the wobbly pass soared too high. Derek needed every physical skill he still possessed and instincts he'd once possessed. He focused on the ball to the exclusion of all else. Placing his trust in his gut, he reached for the intangible something that had eluded him the past few years.

Leaping into the air, he tipped the ball off the fingers of one hand into the other hand. It bobbled and bounced off his fingertips. He juggled it better than a circus clown until it fell into his hands. His long fingers wrapped around it. A second later, two defenders nailed him at full speed, their intention to teach him how to fly without wings. His body catapulted through the air before gravity brought him down with the assistance of a 260-pound tackle. The impact forced the air out of his lungs.

Derek gasped for breath, wishing this dead weight would get off his chest. After an eternity the guy got up, giving him a sharp jab in the ribs. Derek grunted. In the morning, he'd have bruises on top of bruises. For now, none of that mattered.

He'd hung on for six.

The roar of the crowd didn't deafen his ears like at the Rose Bowl. Instead the quarter-capacity crowd acknowledged his incredible catch with a smattering of applause.

Forcing air back into his lungs, he grasped the hand Tyler offered and scrambled to his feet. A little beat-up, but he didn't give a shit. He'd caught the damn ball. Finally he'd thrown the monkey off his back. Jogging to the sidelines, he shook his head to clear the slush moving around inside.

"Not bad, Ramsey.” The coach studied him, his face impassive.

"Thanks, Coach.” Derek flashed him a smile. The man was stingy at handing out compliments, so he'd take this one for what it was worth—and that was a lot.

"Think you can do that again?"

Derek met his penetrating gaze. “Yes, sir. More times than you can imagine.” It sounded cocky, but a football player who didn't believe in himself wasn't worth the turf he played on. HughJack nodded and walked off without another word. Renewed confidence surged through Derek. He hadn't felt this good since his college days.

After the game, local reporters inundated Derek with questions, even though the Jacks lost their fourth and last preseason game, 20-7. His outstanding catch ended up being the highlight of a dismal preseason. Win-deprived Seattle took whatever triumphs it could get.

He fended off reporters and stayed focused. This time the adulation wouldn't go to his head like it had in college and at the Olympics. He knew how fleeting it was. Next week he might be the goat—assuming he made the team—and be crucified at the gridiron altar. Such was the life of a professional athlete. You either toughened up enough to take it, or you folded. He'd almost folded, but he'd dug deeper and found an inner strength he'd never needed before.

After several grueling minutes, he extracted himself from the press and snuck out a back door to his truck. Instead of joining his teammates at the local sports bar, he headed home like an old horse heading back to the barn.

The team had flown in yesterday from training camp and stayed in a hotel near the stadium. Coach didn't want any distractions for the last preseason game. With training camp over, he was anxious to see his place again and to see Rachel.

Shit.

Rachel?

Where had that thought come from? Not that it wasn't true. She'd invaded his thoughts all week. He'd scanned the crowd from the sidelines several times looking for her. Even in that sparse crowd, he hadn't found her, and he'd fought off his disappointment.

Over his years in the league, he'd looked for Rachel in the crowd every time his other teams played Seattle. It was stupid to think she'd be there, but he looked anyway.

This was no good, and he knew it but couldn't stop himself. He sure as hell hoped his eagerness had to do with missing her friendship and nothing else.

Derek stopped at a grocery store on the way and bought a bottle of wine, incidentally Rachel's favorite. He pulled into the driveway and slowed as he passed her small house. The lights were on. Harvey sat in the driveway. Relief swept through him when he didn't spot any other vehicles.

Struggling with himself and his intentions, he parked next to her truck. His hand hovered on the door handle as he debated his next move. Shoving away his misgivings, he hopped out and bounded up the porch steps two at a time. Derek rapped lightly on her door. Unusually nervous and expectant, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, the bottle of wine in one hand, his heart in the other.

Maybe she was out on a date? His stomach twisted at the thought. He ran his hands over his face and stretched his back. Pain rocketed through his battered body, and he winced.

Relieved yet disappointed, Derek peered through the window, but the curtain blocked any view inside. Rachel didn't appear to be home. He brought his hand up to knock one final time.

She opened the door in her usual power suit. He swore she slept in the thing, but damn, she looked good. She had to be the prettiest thing in the Northwest. Her dark hair was done up in a ponytail that swayed as she stared at him in the porch light.

A stupid-assed smile spread across his face.

The man who wouldn't go away stood on the other side of the door in a faded T-shirt that clung to his muscles and an even more faded pair of jeans that clung to his thighs and his—Oh Lord. She cleared her throat. Looking up, she prayed her face didn't betray her bout of gutter wallowing.

Derek leaned against the doorjamb in a casual pose. An ugly purple bruise was visible on his left arm, and there was a small cut on his chin—battle scars from the afternoon's game. A bottle of wine dangled from his fingertips, and a lopsided grin enhanced his already gorgeous face. His dark eyes danced with a mixture of enthusiasm and pure joy for living. It'd been years since she'd seen that expression on his face.

"Welcome back.” Her double meaning wasn't lost on him. She momentarily forgot her wounded toe and immersed herself in those dancing eyes.

"Are you okay?” He pulled his gaze from her face and stared at her bare feet, in stark contrast to the business attire.

She stopped hopping on one foot. “Me? Of course.” Her toe throbbed harder than the bass at a rock concert while her heart beat its own welcome song.

"I've never known you to stand around like an ostrich, unless—” Derek's eyes narrowed at her.

"Don't go there."

He grinned. “Wouldn't dream of it."

"Are you going out?” He took in her clothes, her makeup, her hair.

"No, not at all. I always dress like this."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. The new Rachel."

"New and improved.” She smiled with what she hoped was cool confidence.

"I guess that's a matter of opinion.” His wry frown confirmed he bought her act.

She pursed her lips to keep from gloating. “So what brings you here? I thought you'd be out celebrating with the guys.” And maybe the girls. She willed her expression to remain neutral. One part of her ached to throw her arms around him and congratulate him—just like she used to do in college. The other wanted to slam the door in his face.

"I'm hoping to celebrate with a dear friend. If she'll let me in the door.” He held out the bottle and tried to look contrite. He failed. One corner of his mouth twitched in a barely suppressed grin. “I think I made the team.” He bounced on the balls of his feet with pent-up energy. The average man would be flat on his back nursing his wounds, but that wouldn't be his style.

"How do you know? Final cuts aren't until tomorrow."

Part of her rejoiced because he'd chosen to celebrate with her. Another smarter part rang a warning bell loud and clear. Most likely her feigned disinterest intrigued a temporarily lonely man. If she took his surprise visit too seriously, she'd be screwed and her heart would be hung on his trophy wall with all his other awards and conquests. She'd unhung herself years ago; she wasn't about to go back there now. Succumbing to his charm wasn't part of the deal. Getting close to him was.

"I just know. Will you celebrate with me?” His dark eyes pleaded with her and drew her in.

"Okay.” She hesitated, thrilled yet not thrilled by the invitation in his voice and his eyes. He ignored her discomfort and walked inside.

"Did you watch the game?” His eager voice rang with hope.

"Of course. Great catch. I swear they replayed that catch and the one you made in the Rose Bowl a hundred times during the postgame show and the nightly news."

"Oh great, I'm an overnight celebrity.” He winked. “Were you there?"

"I went with my brother. We split season tickets. Have for a few years."

He snorted. “He's one of the faithful dozen?” He referred to what the Seattle media called the remaining handful of die-hard season-ticket holders still hoping for a miracle season.

She nodded. “My family gets their sports any way they can."

"I looked for you but didn't see you.” He followed her into the kitchen.

She didn't want to hear stuff like that. With a heavy sigh, she took the bottle, careful not to touch his hand. For a moment, she stared at the label. He'd remembered her favorite brand.

"You're limping."

"Just stubbed my toe."

"Do I need to wrap you in Kevlar or what?"

"Nothing, you don't need to wrap me in anything.” Especially not his arms, even though they bulged with corded muscles and were dusted with dark hair.

He let it go. Rachel kept her back to him as she opened the bottle and poured two glasses. She turned and handed one to him.

Derek held it out, and they clicked glasses. “To a good season.” He studied her over the rim of his glass. His chocolate eyes found a secret, secluded corner in her heart and curled right up in front of the fire as if he belonged there. Her smarter half attempted to give him the boot like an unwanted stray cat.

"Tell me what you really thought."

"Of your game?” If she ever needed her shell of professionalism, she needed it now. With the exception of one good play, his performance didn't stack up against the other wide receivers.

"Yeah.” He looked at a faraway spot on the wall.

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

"Was I that bad?” He looked up. His earlier enthusiasm sucked right out of him. “I need to know. No one except Ty knows me like you do. Ty's too narcissistic to be of much help."

"What do you think?"

"I'd rather hear what you think. I'm too close to it to be objective. Don't pull any punches; give it to me straight."

Rachel sighed and took a sip as she contemplated the best way to let him down. “I think you're trying too hard to protect your knee. You know, too worried about getting hit again. I don't think it's conscious, but your routes aren't crisp and tight. They're round. You're not hitting your spot and making your cut. You're not focusing on the ball, not catching it with your hands. You're trying to trap it with your body. You need to relax. Flow with it. Not be so tense and tight.” She paused for a breath. “Derek, you know this stuff."

"So do you. Your dad taught good basics. He's one of the best coaches around. This whole thing sucks.” The reverence in his tone sickened her. She'd never noticed what an excellent actor he was—just like his mother.

"You're the one catching the ball, and right now you're not doing a great job of that."

"I got nailed on that last touchdown play, but I held on."

"That play reminded me of the old you."

He absorbed her critique for a moment. “I'm struggling with getting it back."

"You know what it takes. Drills. Practice. Mental strengthening."

"It's the mental part that's not working for me. You used to help me. Why don't you do that now?"

She hesitated, warring with her conscience and her sense of family loyalty. He'd given her an in, a way to get close, to earn his trust.

Those eyes, as welcoming as a box of expensive chocolates, held her and wouldn't let go. So much for kicking out the tomcat. Next thing she knew, he'd be curled up in her bed and she'd be purring for all she was worth.

"Dare, I don't need your charity.” Or your physical proximity. Plus her brothers would commit a capital offense if they hooked up again. They didn't forgive, and they didn't forget when it came to their baby sister's broken heart—or their father's destruction. Visiting the state pen on holidays wasn't her idea of a good time.

"It's hardly charity. I need you, Rae. I know you can help me.” He paused and stared at the corner where his dog had made himself at home on a braided rug. “I see Simon didn't take long to move in."

"He stole the key and helped himself. Take him home with you tonight. I can't afford any more missing objects.” Simon thumped his tail at the two of them but didn't move. From his perch on the couch, Charlie hissed at the lower life-form. Simon cowered and whined.

"He means well. Besides, your cat is the true villain. He's the neighborhood bully.” He continued to watch her with those hot eyes that didn't miss a thing, almost like he wanted to take her home tonight instead of the dog. She stood up straighter and kept her mask in place.

"He thinks he's Fido Hood, stealing from the poor and giving back to nature in the form of burying all my prized possessions."

Derek threw back his head and laughed, a warm, inviting sound that almost melted her resolve. “I've missed you."

She pursed her lips and kept her mouth shut. She didn't need him missing her any more than she needed to miss him.

"Rae, I really need your help. At least through the season—then we can revisit it."

"I don't know.” Oh saints in heaven protect me. She prayed for the willpower. She doubted he'd be the one to say no. Not if the way he was looking at her right now was any indication.

"We both have our ambitions. A relationship is messy and gets in the way of what we want. It won't happen. Trust me.” He studied her earnestly.

It wasn't him who was the problem.

"Let's see if you make the team; then we'll talk.” Her stomach twisted into a hangman's noose. Not trusting her knees, she slid onto the barstool at the small eating area in the kitchen. Derek sat next to her.

"You don't think I'll make it, do you?"

"I don't know.” His face fell, and she cursed her honesty.

He refilled his glass, then hers. His fingers brushed hers as he handed it to her. She looked away. Inside she trembled. She wished he'd leave. She wished he'd stay. She pushed that thought as far to the back of her mind as she could. Picturing Derek taking off his shirt and coming to her as she lay in bed looking up at him in nervous expectation was a vision she needed to banish from her mind forever. Unfortunately it kept sneaking in through little cracks in her armor. Cracks that were getting big enough to ride a horse through.

"If I do, I'm gonna need your support, your eye, your no-nonsense way of telling me like it is. Please, Rae, it's important.” Derek searched her face. His dark gaze went deep, reading her perfectly, and pushed past her defenses into secret, private places. Feeling as if he'd stripped her naked emotionally, she broke eye contact.

"We'll see,” Rachel hedged.

"I know you'll do it.” His broad grin lit up his entire face. She'd have promised him anything at that moment just to see him smile like that again. Dangerous thought and well past time to end this conversation and save a shred of her sanity.

"Derek, I'm really tired, and I'm sure you are too. We both have a lot to think about. It's best we call it a night. Thanks for the wine.” She rose to her feet and walked to the door. For a moment he remained seated; then, with a resigned sigh, he unwrapped his long legs from the barstool and hesitated at the open door. He whistled to his dog. Simon leaped to his feet and ran to Derek's side.

"Good night, Rae.” His gaze robbed her lungs of oxygen while heat pooled south of her belly button. She feigned interest in a picture hanging on the wall, avoiding his hypnotic gaze.

"You're worried.” He touched her cheek with the pad of his thumb, just a brief touch, but the aftershocks reverberated throughout her body. “You don't need to be. I don't want a relationship. I don't have the time or energy for one. I just want a friendship. We were always better friends than lovers."

She should have felt reassured, but she just felt empty and alone. “Good night, Dare.” She opened the door. Derek walked out with one final glance back at her, Simon on his heels. “You made a great catch tonight."

"Thanks. Keep those feet where they belong, and don't hurt yourself."

"Brat.” Her heart followed him out the door, but she yanked it back, shut the door, and locked it. Locks might physically keep the man out, but she'd need strength to lock him out emotionally. Closing her eyes, she envisioned her father and the bottles surrounding his chair.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Six

Sudden Death in Overtime

Rachel jammed her finger against the doorbell and held it there. Even then it took several minutes before a disheveled Cass yanked open the door.

"Cass, you've got to help me.” She snapped her fingers in front of her friend's face in an attempt to force her to focus.

Cass held her hand to her mouth and yawned.

"I need a makeover."

"Wonderful. I need another three hours of sleep.” Cass tried to push the door shut on her.

Not to be deterred, Rachel pushed her shoulder against the door. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Cass gazed longingly over her shoulder in the direction of her bedroom. She rubbed her bleary eyes. Without another word, she stumbled to the living room and slumped on a couch. Rachel shut the door and followed.

"I was asleep."

"It's almost noon."

"That's too fucking early.” Cass scowled at the sun shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Tyler's waterfront condo. “Of all days for it to decide not to rain in Seattle. I've got a mother of a hangover.” She squinted into the sun, then smiled. “Oh yeah, I remember last night now. Me. Tyler. Empty football stadium and bottle of good whiskey. That man can—"

"Cass.” Rachel held up a hand, not interested in traversing that sex-laden path. She'd be too jealous. “I brought you something."

Cass perked up. She could be bought. Easily. “I hope it's diamonds or white gold. I'm partial to white gold."

"Actually it's mocha.” Rachel held the large cup of java out to her friend.

Cass latched on to it and sucked it down. “As good as an orgasm. Well, almost. Tyler is a naughty, naughty boy with a deviant streak."

"I so do not want to hear this.” Rachel plopped onto the overstuffed, beige leather chair. Her own sex-starved brain flashed to a high-def image of a shirtless Derek, his sweat-dampened body glistening in the afternoon sun.

"Let me paint a picture for you."

"I'd rather be left in suspense.” Rachel groaned.

"Not a freaking chance in Hades. You wake me up, you pay. Last night and into the early hours, I roughed the passer and was penalized, and can that man penalize! The Ty-man ran several touchdown plays of his own. I'll never look at the three-hundred level of Jacks Stadium in the same way."

"You did it in the stadium?"

"In several different positions."

"I've heard enough.” Rachel held her hands over her ears.

"You ever imagined doing it in a stadium?"

"No, I haven't. I barely imagine it on a bed."

"Honey, you need to expand your horizons."

"Let's expand one thing at a time."

"We could start with your ancient views on sex. Sex doesn't need to be forever. It needs to be right now, hot, sweaty, nasty, and daring. Live in the moment. If it's good enough, the guys keep coming back for more. End of story. Love is a myth. Screwing is the reality."

"Put a hold on reality for now. Let's start with my clothes. Remember? Makeover."

"Oh yeah, you want a makeover. What are we making over exactly?"

"My image. I need to expound on the power suit."

Cass narrowed her eyes and studied her. Rachel looked out the window, suddenly enthralled by the view.

"What does a power suit have to do with your image?"

"When I dress in power suits, it's like I crawl into this other woman's skin. I have more confidence, more nerve. I treat Derek more professionally, keep him at arm's length. I know it's a stretch, but it's all I've got. Plus I want to be seen as professional. I need to be taken seriously if I'm going to get another job in a man's world."

"The man's world stuff I understand. The keeping Derek at arm's length part is fucked."

"Not for me. Besides, this is a career choice more than anything. Every interview I've gone on in the past couple of months has been lukewarm. I think this could be the key."

Cass sighed. “So much work to do, so little time. Stand up. Over there.” Cass pointed to the middle of the room. Rachel stood and walked to a spot in front of the windows. Cass looked her up and down, circling her and tapping a finger on her chin.

"If I do this, you have to trust me completely. Do what I say, dress the part even in the privacy of your own home."

"I'm not dressing up in my home."

"Yes, you are. It needs to become a part of you, as comfortable as jeans and a T-shirt. Pretend the part and eventually you won't be pretending anymore. You never know when fate will come knocking on your door. Or a hot man with a hard-on."

That high-def image snuck into Rachel's mind again, and she squirmed. Keeping Derek at arm's length involved more than power suits and makeovers, but it'd be a start.

"It's all part of my therapy when I'm doing hair. My clients eat it up,” Cass said.

"I can't wear power suits in the barn."

"You can wear a nice pair of breeches and a polo shirt. We'll work it. We're not talking always wearing power suits. We're going for casual business wear.” Cass held Rachel's hair back from her face.

"Okay.” She chewed on her lower lip.

"Your raw material is incredible. You've got those exotic green eyes with insanely long lashes going on. Your lips are just the kind men dream of having around their cocks."

Rachel choked while her unruly imagination swerved off the road and indulged in a little fantasy of her kneeling before a naked Derek, her hands on his cock. She lowered her mouth to the tip, paused, and glanced up to see the lust burning in his dark eyes. She licked the tip, his groan rewarding her efforts.

"Rachel!"

Rachel jumped with a guilty start and cringed at Cass's knowing smile.

Cass shook her head. “Your hair is beautiful, fantasy material. Your breasts are the perfect size for most men. Tyler likes them bigger, but we're not after Tyler here."

"I'm not after a man. Just the opposite."

"You've got the best set of legs—long, shapely, great thighs."

"Cass, I said professional businesswoman, not professional hooker."

"One and the same, honey—prostitute your mind, your body, your wares, whatever they may be. Guys think with their cocks first. When you're a woman in a man's world, you can't fight like a man. Let them hire you initially for your sex appeal, after which you wow them with your football knowledge and instincts."

"I'm not sure I came to the right place."

"Oh, you did. You did. Trust me. This is my area.” Cass smiled her most predatory smile. “I'll make over your appearance and your uptight attitude toward sex. With your body fitted into business suits and hair pulled back in a bun, you'll be gorgeous, an untouchable, pure woman. Nothing will drive men wilder. You'll have ten job offers in no time."

"Yeah, but what kind of job offers?"

"Trust me."

"Coach, you wanted to see me?” Derek hesitated in the doorway. His eyes swept the coach's office. Besides HughJack, the offensive coordinator and wide receiver coach sat around a small conference table. Their grim expressions didn't bode well. Derek met each man's gaze with false confidence, determined not to show the slightest weakness. They didn't look ready to congratulate him on a great catch or welcome him to the team.

"Thanks for joining us.” HughJack leafed through some paperwork in front of him.

Derek cleared his throat but couldn't dislodge that lump of fear, and he'd be damned if he'd let them hear his voice crack.

"Have a seat.” HughJack gestured to an empty chair. Derek nodded and eased his bruised body onto the hard seat. Coach consulted the papers on the table, then looked up. “Derek, your attitude this year is impressive. You're trying, maybe too hard."

Derek swallowed and nodded. He clenched his hands under the table and waited.

Frank, the offensive coordinator, added his two cents. “You have more raw talent than the rest of our receiving corps combined.” His gaze held Derek's, steady and unreadable, giving him hope.

Talent counted for something. Right? Derek relaxed, a little. This would go well. He'd made the team. He knew he had. Still, something didn't feel right. He glanced at the receivers’ coach. Razor Barnes, a future Hall of Famer and one of the best receivers ever to play the game, squirmed in his seat and stared at his own pile of papers. He said nothing.

Derek chewed on the inside of his cheek. Had he heard a “but” in Hughjack and Carter's words of praise? Forcing his expression into a mask of indifference, he clenched his jaw until he thought his teeth might shatter from the pressure. Under the table, he wrung his sweaty hands and prayed for this torture to be swift and painless.

"This was a tough choice for us. We made the final decision only fifteen minutes ago.” HughJack took a deep breath, then looked him in the eye. Derek swallowed. He caught the flicker of pity in HughJack's eyes and braced himself. “We have to cut you."

Derek stared at the three of them. Shock rippled through him, along with waves of pain, physical, deep, sharp, and strangling. He forgot to breathe, then gulped in air before he passed out. “I know I can help this team.” His voice sounded foreign to his ears, like someone else's.

HughJack frowned, impatience furrowed his brow. “Derek, don't make this any tougher than it is. Another team will take a chance on you. There've already been inquiries."

Another team? He didn't want another team. Being here with Tyler had been his best shot. His dream come true.

"Wide receivers with your talent are a hot commodity."

Obviously not hot enough. The three men stood. Derek stayed in his chair, unable to move. He stared up at them one by one. They didn't waver. Not one of them blinked. It was over.

He took his cue to get the hell out of there with the tatters of his dignity intact. Standing, he initiated iron control on his wobbly knees and queasy stomach. Forcing a smile, he shook hands with each one of them. “It's truly been a pleasure working with you. All of you. Thanks for giving me a shot."

Never let ‘em see you bleed. Stiff-backed and proud, he walked from the room.

He knew the drill. He'd been cut a few times in his short pro career. He should go to the locker room and get his stuff. No way. Not now. The team would still be hanging around. He couldn't stomach their pitying stares and sympathetic comments or Tyler's inevitable tirade. Tomorrow was everyone's day off. He'd drop by and get his stuff then.

Today he needed to go home and lick his wounds.

Rage at the injustice of it all.

Berate himself for the passes he did drop.

Cry in his beer.

And bury his dream.

Derek paced his deck and leaned his elbows on the railing. He cradled his head in his hands and closed his eyes, but nothing shut out the emotional pain and humiliation of failure. How had his life come to this defining moment? The script he'd written hadn't read like this. Someone had rewritten it and not given him any editorial input.

A thin slice of anger cut through his self-inflicted pity. He snatched it from the depths of his despair, pulled it to the surface, and embraced it. Anger brought about action. Pity brought about wallowing. He'd never wallowed before. He wouldn't wallow now.

Damn it. Fuck. Bastards. He'd show them all. They could go to hell. It wasn't over till he said it was over. He'd dig his way out of this pit and claw his way back to the top. He'd caught an uncatchable pass on Sunday. He still had it in him. He knew he did. He'd found that elusive zone. He'd find it again.

Tomorrow. Tonight he didn't have the strength or the ambition.

The anger fizzled out of him, and he slumped into a deck chair, succumbing to mental and physical exhaustion. His phone rang off the hook until he unplugged it and turned off his cell. Six of those calls and numerous voice mails came from his agent. Maybe another team wanted him, but he didn't want another team. Not yet. He needed time, just a few days to formulate a plan. He needed a sympathetic friend. He needed Rachel.

Simon sat next to him and thumped his tail. He spit his ball out on Derek's shoes. Derek patted his head and tossed the slimy toy into the nearby woods. Simon scrambled off the deck and scattered two chairs and a table in his wake.

Derek ignored the destruction and squinted into the darkness, looking for a light in Rachel's little cottage. She wasn't home yet. He should've accepted Tyler's invitation to get drunk at the neighborhood bar.

But damn, he needed her, not Tyler and not a hangover. He needed her gentle acceptance, her sympathetic ear, her sweet smile, the way she made him feel better by just being there. He didn't have any right to need her, and he knew that. So between the needing and the guilt, he felt doubly miserable.

Why the hell did he have to be such a fucking nice guy? Being a guilt-free asshole like Tyler had its advantages. Except he'd never be able to live with himself.

He reached for his cell and started to call his father, hesitated, and laid the phone on the patio table. His dad and stepmother were on an anniversary trip to Mexico. His sister was in grad school working on a thesis. He felt abandoned by everyone who cared for him. No surprise there. He had been abandoned by his real mother. So he guessed a shrink would say he had abandonment issues. Hell if he knew. Right now that subject was too damn heavy to consider.

Simon trotted out of the woods with ball in mouth and waited for him to throw it again. With a pat to Simon's head, Derek trudged into the house and grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped the top off the bottle. He brought it up to his lips, letting the cool liquid slide down his throat. Maybe he'd get stinking drunk by himself, but somehow that didn't appeal to him either. Simon curled up on the rug in the corner and started snoring. Oh if only Derek's life could be so simple.

Restless, he decided to check on the horses. He took another swig and tossed the half-empty bottle in the garbage. Leaving Simon napping, he slipped out the door.

Dusk settled over the warm summer night and cast long shadows across the tree-lined driveway. The gravel crunched under his feet. An owl hooted in the distance. He rounded a corner and stopped in the shadows.

A vehicle rumbled down the county road, slowed, and turned into the farm entrance. It stopped in front of Rachel's cottage. It had to be Harvey; nothing else made that kind of noise. He hesitated, uncertain what to do, as if he hadn't worn a path in his carpet waiting for her.

He hated being vulnerable, didn't like people to see him bleed no matter how well he knew them.

As he watched, Rachel got out of the truck and headed for her front door. She paused and leaned against her porch railing and stared up the hill at his house. Gripping her cell phone, she dialed a number, waited, then flipped it shut and shook her head. She was trying to call him. Again.

He couldn't stomach her pity. Not after he'd celebrated with her last night, while all the time she'd known he wasn't good enough to make the team. She'd witnessed his performance, and she knew her football.

Tripping over something, Rachel grabbed the railing and righted herself. After a quick glance around as if making sure no one had caught her latest bout of clumsiness, she disappeared into the house.

Like a coward, Derek turned tail and made his way back to his house. Keeping the lights off, he ignored her repeated calls and everyone else's. Images flitted across his big-screen TV, but he never saw them. Numb with grief, he finally fell asleep.

Ignoring the sympathetic look from the security guard, Derek faked a cocky smile and tipped his baseball cap to the old man. He rounded the corner, then stole into the empty locker room. Pausing inside the doorway, he looked around one last time. Tyler's locker featured several pictures of himself, such as a Sports Pulse magazine cover shot. The Jack's All-Pro tackle, Mountain Morris's locker ran over with crap, including several pairs of shoes, pads, and jerseys. Derek never moved too close because it smelled like something might have gotten lost in the mess and died in there. The poor rookies on either side of him couldn't get within five feet of their lockers, not that they'd want to.

Shaking his head, Derek moved across the room. That last catch had been too little too late. Sometimes childhood dreams faded and died. This one had gone out with a bang and a whimper.

Anxious to end the worst twenty-four hours of his life, he stuffed the items from his locker into the duffel bag. He still couldn't believe it. Sure, Coach had been apologetic, said all the expected things, like what a tough choice it was, but they had to go with a sure thing rather than an unknown quantity.

Damn! Derek slammed his fist into a nearby locker. The physical pain felt good. He wanted to rant and yell until he was hoarse. Instead he held it together. He swallowed the lump in his throat and brushed his arm across his eyes. He didn't cry. Never. Not even when his mother had left him as a little boy.

But maybe when a guy's lifelong dreams died a final death, that guy deserved a good cry. Not here, though. Somewhere private. He shoved the remainder of his stuff in the duffel bag, slammed his locker shut, left the locker room, and walked down the hall, shoulders straight, back stiff, and head held high. Never let ‘em see ya bleed.

"Ramsey!"

Derek froze at the sound of Coach's voice. Oh hell, he couldn't take any more of this. Why couldn't they let him tuck his tail between his legs and get the hell out of here? He stopped and waited for HughJack to catch up with him.

"Put your stuff back."

"Excuse me?” He couldn't have heard that correctly.

"Myers is out for the season. I just got the call from the doc. I need another receiver. You're back on the team."

"Oh man. I'm sorry about Myers.” He really meant it. They'd invited him back as a last resort. He'd accept the challenge and prove his worth.

"So are we. He was the best receiver we had. Those'll be tough shoes to fill.” HughJack pinned him with his direct gaze. “This is your shot, kid. Don't fuck it up."

"I won't, sir. I promise."

"I need someone to step up and take his place. You have the talent. Prove to me you have drive and the heart."

Derek nodded. He fought the urge to smile and headed back to his locker. As soon as the door shut behind him, he pumped his fist in the air and let out a rebel yell.

The phoenix had risen from the flames.

HughJack watched Derek stride down the hall toward the locker room. A newspaper lying on a table in the hallway caught his attention. The sports headline read: HUGHJACK AND HIS JACKS: CAN HE JACK THEM UP FOR THE SEASON? He shook his head. He swore headquarters hired him just so the press could make corny remarks about Jack and his Jacks. At least they weren't using “jacking off.” Yet.

A triumphant roar pierced the morning air from the vicinity of the locker room. HughJack jerked his head toward the noise and allowed himself a smile.

"What the hell was that racket?” Frank Carter barreled out of the nearby video room with Razor on his heels, ready to do battle.

HughJack raised a hand to slow them down. He pointed at the locker room door. Frank slammed on the breaks, and Razor almost rammed into him. “That, gentlemen, was the sound of the man you're going to mold into an All-Pro wide receiver or die trying."

The two men stared at the door as if it held the answers. Frank looked back to HughJack. “What man would that be?"

"Ramsey's back on the team."

"That means Myers is—"

"Out for the season."

"Damn. He was our best.” Razor wrung his hands together. An obsessive worrier, he had already started worrying about how to fill Myers's shoes.

"Not any more. That job is wide open.” HughJack gestured toward the doorway. “That young man is getting a second chance. He's all yours. Good luck."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seven

Dropped Passes

After cleaning the three stalls, Rachel swept the barn aisle. Simon followed her, most likely waiting for an opportunity to steal something. She'd found one of her horse brushes half buried in the arena sand earlier that day. The day before that he'd stolen an expensive riding glove. When she'd tried to retrieve it, he played keep-away with it for fifteen minutes. The animal should be sent to reform school. Better yet, a canine prison.

She stared down at her clothes: breeches, boots, and a polo shirt. She'd pulled her hair into a ponytail and put on makeup, all very put together. How stupid. She missed her jeans and T-shirts. But she'd promised Cass she'd play it her way for a month. Dumb deal to make considering she couldn't afford the clothes she'd charged on her now maxed-out credit card.

With Derek cut from the team, things had changed. As much as she'd like to run far and fast, she couldn't. She needed information, even a confession, from the brown-eyed heartbreaker. The type of information that took time to get. If another team didn't pick him up, his career would be over. Perhaps he'd be more willing to spill his guts with the stakes raised.

Pausing, she bent to rub her shin. She'd tripped over a bucket in the barn aisle earlier that day. Footsteps sounded in the aisle and drew her attention. Derek walked her way in all his impressive masculine glory.

"Hey. How's it going?” He avoided her gaze and bent down to pet his dog. The animal shamelessly wagged his tail and played the innocent victim.

Her heart two-stepped across the aisle at the sound of his sexy voice. Of course, the damn thing tripped on the way, picked itself up, dusted itself off, and cozied up against him. The rest of her watched in disgust.

"You didn't return my calls.” Hurt crept into her voice despite her best intention of concealing it.

"Sorry, I didn't feel like talking to anyone."

"I heard the news.” Despite it all, she felt a grain of sympathy for him. He had to be devastated and frustrated.

"The good news or the bad?” He straightened and met her gaze. The corner of his mouth twitched. He didn't look all that upset.

"You got cut."

"That was the bad news.” His eyes were bright with tamped-down excitement. She knew him well enough to notice.

"What's the good news?"

Simon trotted by. A lone spur dangled from his mouth. Rachel lunged for the thieving Lab. The dog faked left and escaped to the right. She grabbed at nothing but air. Derek snagged her arm before she hit the ground and hauled her to her feet in a smooth move that betrayed how often he'd rescued her in the past.

"You okay?"

She nodded. “I'm fine. But are you?” His behavior seemed odd for a man who'd lost his grip on his dream.

Derek literally bounced on the balls of his feet with pent-up energy. “I'm more than fine. I'm back on the team."

"What?” Was he drunk? She sniffed the air. He didn't smell like alcohol. His eyes didn't look glassy or unfocused. In fact, they danced with excitement. A Jacks duffel bag was slung over his shoulder.

"I was off the team and back on within twenty-four hours.” He flashed a grin brighter than stadium lights on a clear night. “I made it, Rae. I made it."

She smiled too and forgot about the spur theft. She rarely used the things anyway. “Oh, Dare. I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks.” He made a move toward her, then appeared to have second thoughts. “Now I have to work my ass off to prove myself."

"You can do it.” She believed he could if she didn't destroy his dream first.

"Thanks. Your faith means a lot to me.” His brown eyes searched hers, causing her heart to slam in her chest. With a superhuman effort, she resisted the urge to throw herself into his strong arms and hold on tight. His male magnetism beckoned her back to forbidden ground.

"Well, congratulations.” Rattled, she backed up a step and glanced around for a distraction. Her gaze settled on Simon, now sitting at Derek's side and panting happily, minus the spur. “Can't you keep that animal locked up during the day?"

"I try, but his ability to escape rivals his thieving skills."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"He's attached to you."

"Wonderful. Maybe you could find a girlfriend for him to hang with."

Derek laughed. “The answer to every man's problems. Hey, I'll buy you dinner tonight. I'll make an offer you can't refuse."

Any offer by him would be an offer she should refuse, but she knew she'd accept.

A few hours later, they sat at a table at Character's Corner, the neighborhood bar. Derek bit into a greasy taco as he surveyed the room. The place was quiet. A few hardcore Mariner fans watched the game from a corner booth. A couple of regulars sat at barstools and nursed their drinks. No one paid notice to him, which spoke volumes about the state of the Seattle Lumberjacks, the league's perennial doormats. He and his teammates weren't exactly household names. In the year he'd played ball in Seattle, not one person on the street had recognized him. He liked the anonymity, yet he knew it wasn't a good sign for the team.

His gaze settled on Rachel. Earlier she'd looked like she was dressed for a horse show. Now she looked like she was going to work on Wall Street. He didn't like this new look. It disconcerted him, and the feeling wasn't welcome. He liked his world warm and familiar, not cold and icy.

"You did something different to your hair."

"Cass trimmed it. That's all."

He shifted his weight in his chair. That wasn't all, but talking about hair made him as uncomfortable as her new look. For a moment, he stared at a stranger, searching for a glimpse of sweet, clumsy, insecure Rachel. At least the clumsy part of her still existed. He took a little comfort in the fact.

"So how can I help you?” Her professional voice held no emotion, like she was talking to a client or business partner. Aw hell, maybe that was how she saw him. If she wanted a business proposition, he'd happily comply. A business relationship was safer and smarter for both of them and kept distractions to a minimum.

"This is my turnaround year, my defining moment. You know me as a football player like no one else does—what I'm capable of, my strengths, weaknesses. You have a great eye."

"Tell that to all the men who laughed at me when I interviewed for a scouting position."

"You'll get there. I have no doubt. Someday they won't be the ones laughing. We could make a deal mutually beneficial to both of us."

"I'm listening.” Her cool demeanor thawed a little. She leaned forward, her hands clasped on the table.

"I'm prepared to offer you a small salary in exchange for your assistance."

"You're going to pay me to coach you? If the guys get wind of this, you'll never live it down."

"I can take care of them. I have the utmost respect for your football knowledge, your dedication to the sport, and your organizational abilities. Once the season's over, I'll do everything I can to get you a job in the front office of a pro team. It most likely won't be a scouting job, but you can work your way into it."

"I just need my foot in the door."

"I know.” He smiled. He'd never doubted her determination or her passion for the game. “So it's a deal."

She lifted her emerald green gaze to his and smiled like the old Rachel. “It's a deal. Now let's talk money and performance bonuses."

So much for the old Rachel.

After hitting the Submit button, the last of Rachel's meager savings disappeared into cyberspace. The ten-week online pro-football scouting and management course drained her financially. The class came highly recommended and was taught by the best in the business. She'd work her ass off to earn the coveted completion certificate. Once finished, the school offered job placement. She didn't care what team, as long as she stuck her big toe in the proverbial men's room door.

She'd take advantage of Derek's large collection of game DVDs. Picking a few players from each team, she'd study them on the screen and on paper, writing down her observations and honing her scouting skills. On Friday nights, she'd watch Mitch's high school team, clipboard in hand, and evaluate the kids.

The more she thought about it, the better Rachel liked their deal. She'd never bust into the coaching ranks. Working in the Seattle Lumberjacks’ front office or any other front office could morph into her dream job.

Her ears picked up a ruckus on the front porch. A small war raged outside the walls of the cottage. Rachel ran to the door and yanked it open. Pinned against the porch railing, Mitch roared expletives that would've shocked Tyler. Undeterred, Simon hung on to his leg and vigorously humped away.

Hustling out the door, she grabbed Simon's collar. “Stop it! Simon, behave.” Simon sat down but whined and slobbered, a crazed look in his dilated eyes. “I've never seen him like this. I'll hold him while you go in the house. Maybe it's your cologne."

"There's nothing wrong with my cologne.” Cradling his bag of Chinese takeout, Mitch stomped into the house.

"Not if you're another dog.” Sliding in behind him, Rachel slammed the door in Simon's face. The obnoxious Lab scratched on the door and whined. She turned the dead bolt, not putting anything past the canine criminal.

Mitch shot her a withering look.

"I'm sorry. He's never reacted like that.” She covered her mouth to hide her giggle.

"That dog is a menace to society."

"Boy, did you hit the nail on the head."

"He shouldn't be running around loose.” Mitch glared at the door, mouth tight, pissed as hell.

"He also has a ball fetish and a penchant for thievery."

"Don't forget horny and any leg will do. Put him in a kennel and throw away the key."

Rachel almost agreed. She'd been telling Derek that for weeks. “He'll head home in a while. He comes down here when his owner is gone."

"He's not yours?” Mitch blew out a breath. Helping himself to a plate and silverware, he dished up some Chinese food.

"No, he belongs to—"

"Ramsey. Figures. Same personality.” Her brother's mouth turned downward, his eyes grim.

"It's great to see you too. Did you come to bitch or because you missed your sister?"

"Men don't bitch."

"No, they lecture and control."

Mitch's expression softened a little but not much. “I'm sorry. I don't like that guy."

"Tell me something I don't know.” Rachel helped herself to Mongolian beef and fried rice.

Mitch shoveled food into his mouth, his answer to all things related to guilt. By now he should be bigger than a house. Instead he was almost as buff as his college days.

She sat next to him, knowing there was a purpose to his visit and not wanting to hear it. “Thanks for bringing dinner."

"You're welcome. I love you, sis; you know that."

"I love you too, Mitchie.” She squeezed his arm. Her eyes watered a little. The men in her family struggled with expressing affection. She'd learned to live with it. Whenever they did say something, it shocked the hell out of her and made her all teary-eyed.

Swallowing a mouthful, he regarded her with green eyes much like her own. Why he didn't have a girlfriend, she'd never understand. In high school and college, he'd switched girls every week. It had to be another fallout from her mother's death and her father's emotional distance.

"What's with the clothes?” He assessed her from top to bottom and frowned. Her black slacks and powder blue shell clearly surprised him.

"I'm changing my image."

"You're at home."

"It's a long story.” She sighed and wiped at a stain. She'd already spilled wine on her blouse.

"Are you doing it for him?"

"Not the way you're insinuating. Give me some credit."

Mitch ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “Rae, don't take this the wrong way, but did you ever consider doing something a little, well, a little more ordinary?"

"I want a career I'm passionate about."

"You working as a scout in professional football is crazy, Rachel. Give it up. A woman can't be effective because she's never played the game."

"But a man can.” She bristled and stabbed an innocent piece of beef with her knife.

He scooted his barstool out of range. “That's right. Most scouts played high school ball at least. You have to understand the team dynamics, how men think, how a guy you're scouting would fit into a certain locker room and the system. There's so much more to it than physical attributes. When you get to the pro level, everyone's physically superior. Winning becomes more mental than physical. A good scout examines the whole player. Hell, look at Ramsey. You couldn't program a computer to create a more perfect physical specimen of a wide receiver."

"And your point is?” On the defensive, she glared at her brother.

"He's a dismal failure, a head case."

"He's not a head case."

"Like you're a good judge of his character."

"Maybe I am."

"Your judgment is tainted. He's an opportunistic ass."

Rachel pictured her brother wearing the rest of the fried rice. Reining in her temper, she steered the subject back to her career choice. “It'd be nice for once if my family supported my dreams instead of tearing them down."

"Now, Rae, we do—just realistic ones."

"I did some scouting for the Blockbusters."

"The Blockbusters. Now that's a joke. You did everything for them, including selling popcorn. You were a one-woman office."

"I never sold popcorn. Besides, I gained valuable experience."

"Not pro experience."

"There are women in pro scouting."

"Yeah, a few.” He set his jaw, as stubborn as their father. “Those women have balls. You're not like that."

"You're saying I'm a pushover."

He shrugged. “Yeah, sorta."

"Maybe I'm changing."

"Prove it. Don't let Ramsey manipulate you. Keep your emotions reined in and focus on the goal. Show me how strong you are."

"I guarantee you we will not have a personal relationship. He's only in my life on a professional level. Nothing more."

"Professional level?"

"Derek is paying me to critique his game."

Mitch frowned and shook his head. “I know you getting closer to him was originally my idea, but I still don't like it. Derek Ramsey is not to be trusted."

"I don't trust him. This job is a win-win for me. I'll gain valuable experience and have access to Derek and Tyler. I have the next four or five months to unearth the information we need."

Avoiding his assessing gaze, Rachel shoved the food cartons back in the bag and pushed them at him. She walked to the door, opened it, and waited. “I'll see you at next Sunday's game."

Mitch took the hint, but his face mirrored his annoyance. She rarely stood up to her family, and her newfound independent streak obviously rankled him. She watched as he walked to his truck, Simon attached to his leg. He shook the dog off and drove away.

Rachel sat on the corner of the tack trunk and bandaged her skinned knee. She'd tripped over a spur in the barn aisle, a suspiciously dirty spur covered in slobber. Simon watched from a distance and barked when she splatted on the ground. Even the dog made fun of her.

All her life she'd tolerated the good-natured ribbing from her family of well-coordinated jocks. She couldn't hit a baseball, shoot a basket, or serve a volleyball. She wasn't pretty, popular, or graceful. She was just plain, clumsy Rachel, the smart one of the family without one fingernail of athletic talent. Even horseback riding didn't come easily, but she loved the animals and worked hard at it. One summer her cousin, Miranda, had taken riding lessons. After a few months, she'd entered a show in the same classes as Rachel. Miranda won her classes, while her inept cousin, with years of lessons under her belt, finished at the bottom of every class. Rachel wasn't surprised.

Pausing in front of a stall, Rachel scratched her old guy, Moe, on the withers. He stuck his lip out and stretched his neck, making funny little sounds. She laughed and threw her arms around his furry neck, burying her face in his mane. She loved this horse. He'd been with her since grade school. They'd been through a lot of good and bad times. She'd cried into his mane when her mother died. He'd stood beside her, a silent yet supportive friend, nonjudgmental in his acceptance of her. He didn't care if she tripped more often than she stayed upright or that she wasn't a raging beauty or a witty conversationalist.

Moe reached around with his big muzzle and nibbled on her elbow. Rachel drew back and laughed. “Is that a hint, big guy? You want some dinner?"

The chestnut studied her with his big liquid brown eyes. He waited politely while Rachel put grain in his feeder. As soon as she moved out of his way, he dove in and sent grain flying. Rachel backed away and shut and latched the stall door.

She stopped at the sound of Derek's pickup sliding to a stop in front of the barn. He walked in, limping slightly, then grinned when he saw her.

"Hey, I was hoping I'd find you here.” His dark gaze picked her up and held her tight, refusing to release her. A traitorous part of her wanted nothing more than to jump the man's bones, ready and willing to make him a happy man tonight. She slapped the wanton hussy down and put on her best game face, breaking eye contact.

"Do you need something?” She watched him from beneath lowered lashes.

He raised both eyebrows as if that was a stupid question.

"Are you okay?” Rachel pointed at his leg.

"Oh, hell yeah. I'm great.” His gaze zeroed in on her torn breeches. “Are you?"

She waved off his concern. “Just the usual."

He didn't look convinced. “Our first regular season game is tomorrow at home."

"I know."

"I wondered if you did.” He studied his shoes, doing a great impression of a shy little boy. That was all it was, an impression. She knew him well. Shy was not an adjective used to define Derek Ramsey. Quiet at times, yes. Shy, no.

"Me? Not know the Jacks’ schedule?"

He grinned. “How about I buy you dinner, and we watch some game film later tonight?"

"Sounds like a deal.” Rachel almost laughed. Only the two of them would spend the night watching game film together.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eight

Recovering the Fumble

Derek sat on the bench, helmet in his hands. He glanced at the clock—four minutes and thirteen seconds left in the fourth quarter. The Jacks were well on their way to their first loss of the regular season. HughJack paced back and forth in front of the bench, fit to be tied, yelling at offense and defense alike. He'd thrown his clipboard several times, which didn't bode well for the after-game locker room speech.

They sucked. Turnovers and penalties were killing them, mistakes a team coached by someone of HughJack's caliber should never make. There'd be hell to pay, and it didn't matter that Derek hadn't been in on one play. He felt as responsible as the next player.

Despite their countless mistakes, they weren't out of it. Yet. If Tyler completed a few passes—a rarity so far, they'd stand a fighting chance. As Derek watched, his cousin threw a quick pass over the middle, right on target if he'd been playing for the other team. HughJack stomped his feet and slammed the clipboard to the ground again. The hotheaded coach roared until Derek expected an artery in his neck to explode or his face to burst into flames.

Tyler stalked to the bench and threw his helmet on the turf near Derek's feet. HughJack followed right on his ass, yelling obscenities that ranged from insulting Tyler's manhood—or lack thereof—to his choice of sexual partners. To Tyler's credit, he stood there and took it, his jaw tight and fists clenched.

The coach turned away, muttering something about dumb-shit, prima donna quarterbacks and how he'd be better off with Bob the Beer Man.

Tyler slammed his butt down on the bench next to his cousin. He snatched a sport drink from a rookie and guzzled it down, not seeming to notice as it dribbled down his cheeks. For once, appearance-conscious Tyler didn't seem to give a shit how he looked to the TV cameras.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Tyler wadded the cup into a ball and shot it into the nearby garbage can.

Funny how when he was pissed, he always said fuck in threes. It must have more impact that way.

Dante Reed, a veteran wide receiver, advanced on Tyler, looking ready to do battle. Not good. Frowning, Derek positioned himself within easy grabbing distance to break up a fight and braced himself.

"You threw a perfect pass on the last play. Too bad it was to the other team. Try hitting me in the numbers or even within five yards of the numbers, asshole, so I stand a rat's ass chance of catching the damn ball."

"Go to hell.” Tyler flipped Dante off but kept his butt on the bench.

"Yeah, tough guy. You're real hot. Quit shooting off your mouth and put effort into your play instead."

Tyler's eyes narrowed. Derek laid a steadying hand on his shoulder to hold him down. “Ty, we're all on the same team."

"Reed, you're a fuckhead. Fucking arrogant bastard. Fuck you.” Tyler's voice was quiet but deadly.

Dante shrugged, not the least bit impressed. “You might try adding a few more words to your vocabulary."

"Fuck you."

"I know. You said that. You're getting redundant. Just like your interceptions."

"Fu—Go to hell."

"Not very original, but at least it's a start.” Dante turned away. A couple of his buddies snickered.

Tyler started to stand up. Derek pushed him back down. “Don't do it, Ty. Keep your cool. He's getting to you on purpose. Trying to fire you up. Let it work to your advantage.” Derek acknowledged the defense jogging off the field. “Get out there."

"Fine, whatever.” Tyler snatched up his helmet in one angry motion and crammed it on his head as he ran onto the field. The crowd booed their displeasure at his return to the game.

A couple of plays later, deep in their own territory, Coach came over. “Spell Dante for a few plays. See if you can get your hotheaded cousin to calm down and throw the fucking ball to the right team.” Nodding, Derek ran to the huddle.

Derek caught a short pass on a slant route for five yards, then watched Tyler get sacked for a loss the next play. Dante came back on the field, sending him to the sidelines.

Derek warmed the bench the remainder of the game while his team lost without him.

"We need to talk."

Derek slammed his locker shut and gazed into the amused brown eyes of the wide receiver coach, Razor Barnes. All around them, teammates dressed in street clothes and a few talked to reporters, oblivious to the two men.

Tongue-tied in front of his idol, Derek shifted his weight from foot to foot and stared at the floor. How the hell did a guy talk to an icon like he was a normal person? Damn, he'd idolized Razor since he was a kid, never dreamed they'd be part of the same team.

Razor didn't smile or change expression. “Meet me at McCoy's in thirty minutes."

"What?"

"You heard me.” Razor sauntered off without another word. Derek stood there, mouth hanging open, feeling like a fucking starstruck teenager. Razor was the best wide receiver, maybe best athlete, to ever set foot on the gridiron. After a career-ending injury last season, HughJack had persuaded him to join the Jacks’ coaching staff. Derek watched him with reverence, hung on his every word, but they'd never talked beyond superficial comments.

An hour later, Derek walked into the bar, not knowing what to expect. Had he pissed Razor off, impressed him, or none of the above?

Razor sat in a private corner booth, watching baseball and nursing a beer. Derek slid into the seat across from him. He couldn't contain his excitement and grinned like an idiot. Signaling the waitress for a beer, he focused his attention on the future Hall of Famer.

"It's an honor to be sitting here with you."

Razor laughed at that. “I don't know if I deserve that honor."

"You do to me.” Derek looked around the sports bar. No one paid them any attention. The Seattle Lumberjacks hadn't been on too many people's minds the past few years. Most of the patrons watched the Mariners game playing on the flat screens hanging from the ceilings. “It must be strange for you."

"What?"

"You'd be mobbed anywhere else, but here no one pays any attention to pro football."

"Why is that?"

"Seattle used to be a football town, but we've dwelled in the basement for so long we barely make a blip on the local sports radar. A Jacks player can go anywhere in this town and rarely be recognized."

"You could help change that.” Razor's gaze drilled into his.

"Me?” Derek tapped his chest in disbelief. He shook his head as if to clear it.

"You and that arrogant asshole cousin of yours.” One corner of Razor's mouth lifted in a half smile.

Derek laughed. “If that's the worst you can come up with, you must actually like him."

"I'm not sure ‘like’ is an accurate description."

"Believe it or not, he's an okay guy underneath it all. Nothing is as important to him as the game."

Razor nodded. “He knows the plays. He works his ass off in practice.” He sipped his beer and swirled the gold liquid around in the glass.

"He pored over the playbook all summer. We both did. It's his attitude that gets in his way."

"Attitude will make you or break you.” He stared so intensely that Derek fought the urge to squirm. He wasn't referring to Tyler anymore. He looked away and sipped the beer the waitress placed on the table. “You could use a little of his attitude."

"Yeah.” Derek didn't need to be told; he knew he needed to find some attitude. Maybe he would once he backed it up with his performance on the field. “Why did you invite me here tonight?"

"I've been watching you."

"That's your job.” Derek sat up and gave Razor his undivided attention.

Razor sat back and folded his arms over his chest, assessing him. “Ramsey, I've never seen so much God-given talent in any one football player. In fact, if the league designed the perfect wide receiver, you'd be it."

"Physically, maybe.” Derek ducked his head as embarrassment heated his face. He'd heard it all before and failed to live up to everyone's high expectations over and over again.

Razor nodded. “Attitude is everything. Confidence. A cockiness that says to the world without using words: ‘Here I am. I deserve to be here, and all of you are lucky to witness my greatness.’ Somewhat like Tyler, but he needs to produce first."

"You produced. Is that how you felt?” Derek laughed.

"Damn right.” Razor leaned forward and jabbed his index finger into Derek's chest. “You're better than a third-string receiver. You're not only first-string material, you're All-Pro. You need to believe in yourself before anyone else believes in you."

"I'm trying.” Derek leaned back, moving out of range of Razor's sharp finger.

"Well, today is your lucky day because the best receiver in league history has chosen to pass the torch to you."

"Is that the quiet cockiness you're talking about?"

"That's an example, yes. I'm going to be all over your ass at every practice and every game. Either you're going to realize your potential or we'll both die trying. I'm making you my special project, Ramsey, but strings are attached."

Derek's heart pounded in his chest. “Whatever they are, I'm in.” There wasn't a wide receiver playing the game who wouldn't give an entire year's salary for an opportunity like this.

"No partying, no late nights, no blonde bimbo football groupies that suck you dry. Even when you aren't on the field, your life will be nothing but football. I want you living and breathing it 24-7. Get together with some of the guys and work after hours on your timing, your motor skills, everything. I'm going to be tougher on you than anyone else. I'm not going to show favoritism. When it's all said and done, you'll thank me. You're going to live clean, work like a fiend, and think nothing but football for the next five months."

Derek stifled a grin. “Six."

"Six?"

"Six months if you count the Super Bowl."

A slow smile spread across Razor's face. “I like that thinking. Keep it up. Do we have a deal?"

Derek took the hand held out and shook it. The first two would be easy—no partying or late nights. The third was a no-brainer; blonde bimbos didn't do it for him.

"One other thing."

"Yeah?"

"You're strung too tight. Trying too hard. You need to loosen up. Relax. Let it flow.” Razor studied him with knowing eyes. “When's the last time you got laid?"

"Uh. It's been a while.” Derek felt the heat spread up his neck to his cheeks.

"I know some guys don't agree, but I always had a good romp the night before a game."

"You said no blonde bimbos."

"You've been paying attention. Good. You can't afford a princess who'll demand attention and suck you emotionally dry with mind games. A low-maintenance woman with no emotional strings, that's what you need."

"A fuck buddy?"

"Yup. Get one. A good-looking, young guy like you shouldn't find that a problem. Just keep emotions out of it."

Easier said than done. Right now, only one woman interested him. She was the last woman on earth who'd agree to something like that, and he'd never ask her.

Rachel walked through the door of the coffee shop and glanced around the room. Not comfortable in even the most modest heels, she walked with short, tentative steps, afraid she'd turn an ankle. Right on schedule, she stumbled just before she reached the table.

Razor Barnes reached out and grasped her arm to steady her. “Are you okay?"

Embarrassment heated her cheeks, but she managed a composed smile. “I'm sorry. I'm accident-prone."

Razor glanced down at a small bandage wrapped around her index finger. He nodded and shook her hand.

"I'm Rachel McCormick. Mr. Barnes, so good to meet you.” She accepted his firm handshake, all the while wondering what the heck she was doing here.

"Razor, please. No need to be formal."

"My family will be insanely jealous when I tell them about this.” Severe understatement. Her brothers would kill to meet the legendary receiver.

He motioned to a seat across the table, and they sat down. “I'm guessing you're curious why I contacted you."

"Very curious.” She wrapped herself in a cocoon of cool professionalism and waited for him to make the next move.

"You're aware I'm the wide receiver coach for the Jacks."

"Of course."

"Do you believe there are no coincidences in life?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, I do. Everything happens for a reason."

"Okay.” She spoke with caution, not sure what direction this conversation was heading.

"Harris was razzing Ramsey yesterday in the locker room about you. It seems you're helping him with his technique."

"A little. So far it's not helping."

"I found it curious and did a little digging. I know about your father."

"He's innocent.” The words tumbled out too fast, but she didn't regret them.

Razor's expression didn't change. “Regardless, you shouldn't pay for his mistakes. You have quite a football background. In fact, it's your passion."

"It is. My aspiration is to be a pro scout."

"I understand all about passion, Rachel. I also understand how hard it is to be a woman in this league."

"You do?"

"My wife is an athletic trainer for the Jacks."

"I had no idea."

"Most people don't. She uses her maiden name because she wants to make it on her own merits. There's more. It just so happens Marc Brent and I played college ball together."

"The former coach for the Blockbusters."

Razor nodded. “He sings your praises, says you have the most incredible football mind."

"For a woman."

"I didn't say that."

"But you thought it.” Rachel smiled.

Razor smiled too. “Perhaps. Did Ramsey tell you I'm making him my special project?"

Rachel nodded.

"We're going to need your help, he and I."

Doubt slid through her. “Okay."

"Good to see you brought a laptop."

"I've started a training plan for Derek.” She opened it and handed it to Razor. He nodded as he read it.

For over an hour, they mapped their strategy until the owner of the coffee shop flicked the lights on and off and stood at the door, key in hand.

Rachel jumped to her feet. Razor was slower to rise. He walked her to her car.

"You can count on me, Razor.” She opened her car door and slid onto the seat.

"There is one more thing."

"Sure. Anything."

"Please don't be offended—"

The next evening, Rachel sat on her porch with her laptop, creating one of her cyberlists. This particular list outlined several confidence-building exercises for Derek. She'd spent the day researching online, everything from tips and tricks of the best receivers in the business to sports psychology. Despite her eventual goal, he paid her to do a job, and she'd do it well. Maybe his confession wouldn't ruin his career. After all, he'd just been a high school kid at the time.

But Rachel knew better. Derek would be done with professional football, and so would Tyler. They'd lose their chance to play the game they loved, make Seattle into a winner, and realize their lifelong dream of making the Super Bowl. Yet the guilty party needed to pay, no matter how much it hurt. Her stomach churned at the futility of it all. She'd gotten attached, which had thrust her into a lose-lose situation no matter how she looked at it.

She was getting ahead of herself. First the confession. Then the damage control, which wasn't her problem. Not...really.

She looked up as Derek walked toward her.

"Hi.” He grinned that little-boy grin that sent her heart from Antarctica to the Caribbean in a split second.

"Hi."

"I'm looking for Simon. Have you seen him?"

"He's been hanging out here all day. Can't you keep him in the kennel?” As if on cue, the ever-present canine thief materialized and sat next to Derek, tail thumping and looking too pleased with himself. She wondered what he'd stolen now. From his perch on the porch rail, Charlie arched his back and hissed.

"I put him in every morning, but he gets out. I thought I'd plugged all the holes. He's incredible."

"I hear the circus is looking for dogs like him."

"I can't believe you don't love this dog.” Derek patted Simon's head.

She glared at the furry bandit. He grinned and thumped his tail harder. “You don't know him like I know him."

"To know him is to love him.” His gaze shifted downward to the bandage on her knee. “What happened this time?"

"I tripped. Again.” Rachel tugged on the bottom of her skirt to cover her knees.

Derek raised one eyebrow but didn't pursue that line of conversation. Smart man. He bounded up the porch steps and angled around to look at the laptop screen. “Damn. You're incredible. You've color-coded your to-do lists?” He scanned the details. “This is for me."

"Absolutely. We'll start tomorrow evening with some hand-eye coordination drills."

"I do those all the time."

"You'll be doing more of them."

"Razor talked to you."

"Maybe. Maybe I did my research. Maybe both."

"Damn. I'm impressed."

"Thanks.” She'd always had a talent for quickly and efficiently organizing any task without getting bogged down in minutiae. It was one of her strengths. In college she'd organized his homework assignments and other tasks and saved him countless hours of frustration, not to mention wasted time.

"You should play up your organizational abilities. It's a talent."

"I can't imagine how that'd help me become a scout."

"It plays right into scouting. Don't you think those guys have to keep track of every little detail of every player they're scouting?"

"I guess you're right."

"Everyone has to start somewhere. You don't walk into a job like scouting. Use your talents as your way in. Capitalize on them."

He picked up the book sitting on the porch. Studying it, he turned it over to read the back-cover blurb. “Allie K. Adams, huh? ‘If it doesn't sizzle, it's not hot enough'? Rae, I never would have pegged you as someone who reads this kind of playbook in your spare time.” He assessed her as if he'd never really seen this side of her.

Well, she had to get her kicks somewhere. Allie K. Adams's books made for great company on lonely nights. “It's not my book. It's Cass's. She wants me to read it.” All part of Cass's campaign to change her image. “Ty liked it too."

"Ty? No way in hell. He can't even read."

"You'd be surprised. Some men enjoy romance."

His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you hinting I'm not romantic and Tyler is?” He seemed incredulous.

"I wouldn't know, and it's none of my concern."

He frowned as he considered that. Flipping open the book to a spot in the middle, he read a few paragraphs to himself. His eyes got bigger. His face turned red. He looked up from the book. “Have you read this book? It's kinky. No wonder Tyler likes it."

"I've read several just like it,” she lied. A partial lie—she did intend to read it.

"No way.” He shook his head in disbelief, but she could tell he was worried. Rachel turned away and made a show of throwing the ball for Simon.

He stared at her for a long minute. “You're bullshitting me."

She raised one eyebrow and gave her most innocent “little ol’ me?” expression. His sexy mouth crooked in a grin; those warm brown eyes twinkled with mischief. Oh Lord, she wanted to taste that mouth again, wrap herself in those strong arms, and beg him to carry her to the bedroom. Maybe she'd even read him a few passages from Allie's book to set the scene—not that they'd need much encouragement.

Her heart forgot to beat. She missed him, everything about him. He'd kept his hands to himself so far. What if he didn't? Then where would she be? Most likely ripping the man's clothes off and running her hands all over that toned body. One night, just one more night with him. What she'd give for that.

Now she was thinking like a country song.

Heaven help her. Grabbing the book from him, she fanned herself with the hot romance novel, but doing so only served to fan those flames. Derek removed it from her hand. Smoldering dark eyes held hers for a brief moment.

Snapping his fingers at his dog, he turned to leave.

"Derek, where are you going with my book?"

"I'm borrowing it. I want to see what I'm missing."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nine

Reading the Defense

Rachel adopted her best no-nonsense pose—easy to do in her perfect casual business attire. It wasn't so easy to feel a level of comfort in these clothes. She wondered if she'd ever get used to them. Cass had a knack for finding dirt-cheap clothes in all sorts of places, from bargain basement sales to secondhand stores. A whistle, courtesy of Derek, hung around her neck.

Her manner of dress instilled a wariness in Derek that kept him at arm's length, another excellent reason to continue the ruse. Thank goodness, because Razor's outrageous suggestion on how to relax Derek made her even more aware of Derek's sexuality. The chemistry between them sizzled like a live electric charge. The suggestion had been ridiculous, of course, even if a teensy part of her toyed with the possibility. Men often revealed their innermost secrets during bedroom play.

Tyler stood about ten feet away, jaws moving with a steady stream of complaints, as he tossed a football in the air.

"He bitches like an old woman.” Derek winked at Rachel, and she nodded agreement.

"Hey, I heard that.” Tyler groused. “This is fucking stupid. A fucking waste of time. I can't believe we're doing this. This is fucking junior high stuff. Peewee football shit. Basic crap. We're way beyond this."

"You're never beyond the basics, Grandma. Quit your griping,” Derek shot back.

Tyler flipped him the bird.

Derek laughed and turned to Rachel, ignoring the white noise caused by Tyler's grumbling. “Okay, boss, what's next?"

Rachel outlined the next exercise she wanted them to run, per instructions from Razor. “Ty, I want you to stand five yards away. Toss the ball both overhead and low. Derek, practice turning different ways and catching the ball. Keep your eyes on the point of the ball."

"You're fucking kidding me?” Tyler snorted from his post a few yards away. “I could run these piece-of-shit drills in my sleep."

"Then shut your eyes and do it!” She'd never found Tyler the least bit intimidating. She'd figured him out long ago. His bluster and badass attitude concealed a very confused and insecure person. People rarely spared the time to scratch beneath his surface to see the real person underneath. They took him at face value and loved to hate him. He perpetuated the myth and encouraged the hatred, basking in the attention.

Derek, on the other hand, just wanted everyone to love him, like a big, faithful dog. Together they'd been the best players her father ever produced.

Rachel blew her whistle. “A hundred times. Get started, boys. We don't have all night."

Frowning, Tyler looked at his cousin. “I don't remember her being this bossy."

"It's the suit.” Derek sighed and took his position.

For the next couple of hours, Tyler tossed the ball and Derek caught it. Rachel blew her whistle and gave orders. The guys worked until sweat dripped off their brows and left patches on their T-shirts. Once they settled in, Tyler went right to work, perfectionist that he was. It didn't matter if he was lobbing a short pass or throwing a bomb, he took each pass as seriously as a touchdown pass in a regular season game. He berated his cousin for every dropped ball and bobbled pass. Rachel let him talk. She wouldn't be there to shut him up during a game. Afterward they stood together and discussed the results.

"Thanks, Rae.” Derek grinned at her, a little of the old confidence shining in his eyes. Her heart flip-flopped, and she smiled back.

Tyler smacked her on the back. “You're all right. You know that? You can be my coach any day."

Rachel stumbled, but Derek was ready. His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her to him. Tyler watched them both with sharp, knowing eyes. For once he held his tongue.

"Sorry.” Tyler almost looked contrite.

"That's okay, Ty.” She pushed away from Derek. He dropped his arm from around her, almost as if he'd forgotten it was there.

Tyler threw back his head and howled. “You two are so fucking pathetic. Just hop in the sack and get it over with.” Turning, he sauntered to his car. His laughter drifted on the evening breeze.

Derek scanned the sparse crowd for Rachel and found her sitting with Mitch directly behind the bench about twenty rows up. His former good buddy caught his eye, glared at him, and gave him the one-finger salute. Derek faced the field and wiped the image from his mind. Time to concentrate on the game, not the past. The game was all that mattered and the only thing partially under his control.

The Rams kicked off to the Jacks, and the punt returner bobbled the ball, falling on it ten yards from the wrong end zone. A few plays later, Dante leaped in the air to make an impossible catch on an overthrown ball. As he came down, two defenders slammed into him. His body rocketed several yards before bouncing across the turf like a rock skimming a pond. When he finally came to rest, he didn't move.

Shit.

The trainers tore out to the field. Derek stood with the rest of his teammates, straining to catch a glimpse of Dante and sending up a silent prayer for him to be okay. After several nerve-racking minutes, Dante wobbled to his feet and staggered off the field wedged between two huge tackles.

"Ramsey, get your ass in there!"

Derek jumped, so absorbed in worry about Dante that HughJack's bellowing startled him.

He strapped on his helmet and raced onto the field. One sack and a broken play later, the Jacks were backed up to their end zone, third down and twenty-two on the one. HughJack threw down his battered clipboard, stomped on it, and cussed a blue streak. Their second regular game of the season was turning to crap.

Tyler shot a defiant glare at HughJack. Determination etched on his face, he nodded at Derek as they broke the huddle. Derek knew the meaning of the nod; he'd seen it all through high school and college. Throwing caution to the wind, Tyler called an audible at the line of scrimmage.

Derek ran his pattern, surprised to find no one covering him. They obviously didn't consider him a threat. Well, fuck that. The insult gave him renewed strength.

Tyler looked in the opposite direction for an open receiver. The defenders scrambled in that direction. He sidestepped a diving linebacker and spun around. Cocking his arm, he lobbed a short pass in his cousin's direction. Derek caught it in one hand and put it away. No one was getting this ball out of his arms. He turned upfield. One glance verified it was a foot race.

With his speed, the defense didn't stand a chance. Surging with confidence, he eluded a couple of tacklers angling toward him from the sidelines and turned on the afterburners. His feet pounded on the ground and ate up the yards. His lungs pumped air. His eyes focused on the goalposts at the opposite end of the field. He listened for footsteps behind him, even chanced a glance over his shoulder. The closest defender lagged several yards behind, quickly losing ground. He was home free and breezed into the end zone for six points.

Doubling over, Derek rested his hands on his knees and gulped for air until his teammates caught up to him and slapped the hard-won oxygen back out of his lungs. The half-full stadium erupted with noise. Derek stood up, only to have Tyler hit him full force. He would have gone flying if a 330-pound lineman hadn't held him up.

Tyler, ever the attention whore, showboated and shoved his fist in the air, dancing around his teammates. Derek cradled the ball in his arms, his first professional touchdown in four years. The ball would be going home with him.

Sidestepping invitations to after-game parties, Derek slipped out of the locker room and headed home. After his touchdown run, he had caught a few short passes. The Jacks lost by a last-minute field goal, which sucked. Zero and two. The loss soured the good feeling he'd gotten from his touchdown.

He didn't relish sitting in that big old rambling house by himself, so he parked in front of the barn. Rachel's place was dark, but her truck was in the driveway. Bummed, he walked down the aisle and breathed in the comforting scent of horses. For as long as he could remember, horses had given him peace. As a little boy, missing his mother, he'd spent more time in the barn than in the house.

He talked softly to each horse as he went. Derek grabbed a handful of carrots from the bucket by the tack room and a brush from the shelf. He opened Mac's stall. The big stock horse nickered at him. Derek grinned at his old friend. Mac frisked him for carrots, sniffing his pockets. Derek ran a brush over the dark bay coat. His horse lowered his head and closed his eyes, relishing the personal massage.

A gift from his rancher father for his tenth birthday, Derek would like to say he'd trained the horse himself, but not so. As a six-year-old cow horse, Mac had known his stuff, even though he needed a few more years of experience. They'd done everything together: calf roping, bulldogging, team roping, even just riding the range of his father's eastern Washington ranch.

Derek moved the curry comb in circles, loosening the dirt, taking his time and deriving pleasure from a simple act. Mac sighed and rested one hind foot.

The barn door slid open. Footsteps sounded on the concrete aisle, followed by a couple of missteps as if the person stumbled. A slow smile slid across Derek's face.

Rae.

His heart sped up. She stopped in front of the open stall door and peeked inside. Her green eyes met his, and he glimpsed the old Rachel beneath her ice princess facade. He breathed in that sweet, uniquely hers scent. His pulse quickened, and his palms started to sweat.

Shit. This was stupid. This Rachel didn't need him on a personal level. She needed who he was and what he could do for her career. For her it was all about her ambitions, her future. And so should it be for him.

"Hey. You okay?"

"I'm fine. I tripped in the aisle."

"I heard.” Her clumsiness was so damn cute.

"I saw your truck outside."

"Did you just get home?"

"Mitch dropped me off. We had a bite to eat after the game.” She caught Derek's quick look and laughed. “Don't worry. He's gone."

"Good."

"I'm sorry he flipped you off."

"You caught that, did you?"

"Yes. He thinks I need protecting."

"I've known your brothers for years. Remember?"

"Of course."

God, he missed her. “Remember how we used to sit around and dissect every game. Hell, you knew as much as any of us."

"I still do, buster."

His mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile and nodded his agreement. “I ruined a good friendship. I screwed up."

"Actually I did.” Rachel shrugged. “I needed comfort and to forget. You helped me out.” She stared at her feet.

"Yeah, I guess.” Feeling uncomfortable, Derek shifted his weight from one foot to the other. An awkward silence ensued until he finally broke it with a change in subject. “What did you think of the game?"

"You're playing better, but you still aren't where you need to be."

"I can't get in the zone."

"You're too tight."

His mouth grew dry. He swallowed and cleared his throat. Razor's suggestion on how he could loosen up played in living color in his mind. Shaking his head to clear it, he banished those thoughts to the locker room. Not with Rae, not that she'd even agree to it. He turned back to Mac and brushed him more vigorously. Maybe she'd be smart and remove temptation by leaving.

"Derek?"

No such luck. She was still there. “Yeah?” He stiffened when she touched his shoulder.

Knowing he shouldn't, he turned to face her. She stood less than a few feet from him. His fingers itched to take her in his arms and never let her go. A hint of something flickered in her eyes. Regret? Concern? Gone in a flash, her face settled into the calm, icy persona he'd come to expect in the past month or so. Everything about her screamed unapproachable. She didn't want a relationship with him, just their business agreement and a superficial friendship.

She was right. He knew that. She'd always had ambitions as strong as his; she'd just suppressed them. They weren't suppressed anymore, and he pitied any man who stood in her way.

Her hand fell from his shoulder and hovered near his chest. He held his breath, waiting to see what she'd do next.

"I'm glad you had a good game.” She touched his chest, searching his eyes for something.

"Yeah, me too.” He removed her hand from his chest and tried to smile, but his smile lodged in his throat.

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. “I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure Ty's on time."

"I'll try. Good night, Rae.” He watched her leave. Her heels clicked on the concrete aisle. She actually made it out of the barn without tripping. His chest ached. He felt as empty as a football stadium with no spectators.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Ten

Encroachment

Derek dragged his weary body into bed. It'd been a tough couple of weeks. Up at five every morning, he worked out with Tyler at the practice facility. They did countless push-ups, sit-ups, crunches—you name it, they did it.

After that, regular practice for several hours in which the coaches, especially Razor, were relentless.

In the evening on even nights, the Mistress of Torture put them through devious forms of torment and physical tests for an hour or two. Derek and Tyler ran patterns over and over until they could run them from a deep coma. Even Tyler quit bitching and followed Rachel's orders. Derek had always known she had steel in her, but never like this.

On odd nights, they evaluated game film, either with Rachel or at the practice facility with the guys. Derek even managed to cram in a few hours of charity appearances a week, finding it hard to say no to anyone with a good cause.

Definitely running on empty, his mind was almost too tired to think of Rachel as anything but a taskmaster, one advantage to his constant state of exhaustion. Not that she didn't look damned attractive in her workout suit; a woman who had a whistle and knew how to use it was sexy as hell.

Yet all the sweat and muscle aches didn't pay off. Arizona blew the Jacks out in an embarrassing 47-14 defeat, and they fell to zero and three.

Tomorrow the team played at home. Derek would be damned if he'd walk off the field with his tail tucked between his legs again. They were going to win this one. A team could rescue their season with only three losses, but add another one, and it started getting out of hand.

So here it was Saturday night, and he was in bed by ten. His life sure had changed. Burrowing beneath the covers, he shut his eyes and waited for sleep to take him away. And waited. And waited.

Where was Rachel?

His eyes slammed open. Her truck hadn't been parked in her driveway when he'd gone by an hour ago. Derek rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His stomach lurched at the thought of her in bed with another man. It was a stretch to imagine her in her current state as an ice princess doing the nasty with another guy. Besides, she didn't have time for a relationship. He knew. She spent her evenings torturing Tyler and him and her days studying.

Unable to sleep, he reached for Allie K.'s book and opened it to chapter twelve, where he'd left off last night. Sex via proxy worked better than no sex at all.

"You're not sleeping with that fucking bastard, are you? If you are, I'll ram his balls down his throat.” It wasn't Mitch this time; it was her other brother, Riley, though Mitch nodded his agreement. Damn, they were double-teaming her, and she'd been naive enough to believe they'd just wanted her company at the Jacks game. She attempted to ignore them and concentrated on the Jacks warming up on the field below. Her brothers weren't easily deterred.

"You're watching him now. What the fuck is up with that?"

"It's purely business. I work for him. Of course I'm going to observe his performance."

"He's not performing yet. Just warming up. You can't take your eyes off him. Don't you learn?” Riley jabbed a finger in the direction of the field and knocked the baseball cap off the guy in front of him.

"Ramsey better keep his hands off you.” Mitch handed the cap back to the guy.

Rachel bristled. Irritation raged through her. Damn them. Her sex life was not her brothers’ business. “I'll sleep with anyone I damn well please."

"Not him."

"I'm not a little girl anymore."

"You act like one."

"I act like one? How dare you? Both of you? It's my body."

"You're our sister."

"So I'm supposed to remain a virgin until I'm married? Guess what, boys, it's too late for that."

"I'm gonna castrate that bastard.” Riley growled, and Mitch fisted both hands, murder burning in his green eyes.

"Give it up. You're boring me."

"He's no good for you. He'll just break your heart again.” Mitch changed his tone to one of pleading.

Rachel lowered her voice so Riley wouldn't hear. “This was partially your idea. Let me do what it takes."

"I wish we had an option.” Mitch's lips set in a firm line. His jaw jutted out, reminding her of a pouting little boy.

"Look, I came here to watch the game, not be lectured about my sex life. Give me some credit for brains. I don't have a romantic interest in that man.” She spoke with conviction she didn't feel.

Both brothers sipped their beers, accepting her answer for now. Rachel chewed on popcorn and watched one tall, lean man run wind sprints up and down the field.

Rachel stopped cold and swallowed. She still had time. Run now, while she could. Her hand hovered over the doorknob. Her feet anchored her to the porch. They weren't letting her go anywhere. She peeked through the side window.

Derek, oblivious to her watching him, did push-ups on his living room floor, wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts. Lord, the man had a gorgeous body. Muscles, as fine as any sculpted in bronze, flexed under the strain as he pushed his obsessed rhythm.

Her brother's accusatory words rang in her ears. “You're not sleeping with that fucking bastard, are you?” Her controlling family needed to get a life and quit trying to live hers. She'd sleep with the whole damn football team if she pleased. Biting her lower lip, she backed up a little. Her movement caught Simon's attention. He leaped to his feet, barking at the door.

She'd been outed. Lifting her hand to knock, she plastered an innocent expression on her face, as if she'd just shown up on his doorstep and not been drooling over that body for the past few minutes.

He stopped and looked up. Seeing her, a slow, sexy smile slid across his face. He jumped to his feet and opened the door. “Hey. What's up?"

Her gaze fixated on his chest, wet with sweat and heaving from exertion. “You're sweaty."

He chuckled. “That happens when I work out.” He stood aside and invited her into his lair. Dumb prey animal that she was, she accepted the silent offer. “Is this a social call? Or do you need something?"

She needed something, no denying that. Wetness pooled between her legs as her body remembered how good that sweaty body felt on top of hers. Her breath hitched.

He cocked his head and studied her. “Are you okay?"

No, she wasn't.

"Rae, it's pretty late. Is there a problem?"

"I found your wallet in the tack room. I thought you might need it tomorrow.” She held it out. He reached for it and tossed it on the nearby table.

"How the hell did it get in the tack room? I swear it was in my back pocket."

Rachel glared at Simon. “One guess."

Derek shook his head. “Damn, he's good. How about a drink?"

No, no, no. “Yes, I'd love one."

"Let me get a towel first; then I'll make drinks. Have a seat."

Stiffly, she sat on the couch, then realized her foolish error. He'd take it as a hint. She should have sat in the chair. She couldn't get up now. It'd be even more obvious. He walked into the room, towel slung over his bare shoulders. She wished he'd put some clothes on.

At the small wet bar in a corner of the room, he poured drinks, crossed to the couch, and sat next to her. She stared at the mint green liquid in the glass he handed her.

"A grasshopper? I haven't had one of these since college."

He winked at her. “I hope it's still the way you like it."

He was still the way she liked him. Who gave a darn about the drink? She sipped from the martini glass. “Perfect."

"Good."

"I'm sorry about the game yesterday."

He raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “Not as sorry as I am. Zero and four isn't a great start."

"HughJack must be livid."

"That's an understatement."

"You had a good game."

"It was okay. I caught a few passes."

"You scored the team's only touchdown."

"I dropped a couple I should have caught.” He leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

Her gaze dropped to his bare chest with that spattering of chest hair, flat washboard stomach, and muscular, well-defined pecs. He'd looked fine in college, but not this fine.

She wanted him. Oh Lord, how she wanted him. For the last few years, she'd tried to purge his memory, but it hadn't worked. Tonight she'd ventured up here, knowing she was asking for trouble. It wasn't just his body, gorgeous as it was, but his mind that attracted her, his quick wit, his humble attitude, his kindness to others. She loved his affinity for big band music and how he enjoyed karaoke, singing all those old classics with his clear, resonant voice. Did he still sing?

Yet the man had cheated. Even worse, he had let her dad pay the price for his dishonesty. Her image of Derek as a straight-up, decent guy conflicted with her suspicions and her father's unspoken implications. There had to be an explanation, a reason. Perhaps Derek was protecting Tyler. Perhaps nothing was as simple as it seemed. A grain of doubt nagged at her like a pebble in her shoe.

Realizing she was staring, she jerked her head up and met his dark, hooded eyes. She knew that look. The man was turned on, and she'd started it.

He licked his lips. “Rae, I—"

"Don't say it. I'm sorry. I was staring."

"I don't mind.” His gravelly voice rasped, almost like a physical caress.

She touched his cheek. He froze, held his breath. She traced his jawline with her finger. Stupid, stupid girl, but she couldn't stop. Just one night, that was all. She couldn't live the rest of her life without one more night with this man.

He leaned closer. Her lips parted of their own bidding, begging for his kiss.

His phone rang, disrupting the silence and saving her butt. She shook her head and pulled her hand back. For a second, he didn't make a move, just sat there.

"Damn. Fucking bad timing.” He hesitated as if contemplating whether or not to ignore the call. As he rose to answer it, she made a quick exit out the door.

HughJack rubbed his bleary eyes and yawned. He'd watched game films for so long, he saw double. Two of smart-ass Harris was more than any sane or insane man could handle.

Zero and four, record low attendance, multiple injuries in key positions—it didn't get any worse than this, at least not for him. He was supposed to be Seattle's savior in pro football, not their demise.

Somehow this ragtag group of misfits needed to gel as a team. His team leader, Harris, was an asshole to the nth degree. He'd strangle the kid with his bare hands, except the punk wasn't worth serving time in prison. His offensive line leaked like a dike in a hurricane. His wide receivers couldn't catch a bus. His defensive line spent their time knitting instead of knocking heads.

His head pounded at the futility of it all.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eleven

In the Huddle

"Are you ready yet?” Cass called through the bathroom door.

"I'm not sure."

"Get out here. Let me see."

Rachel walked out, teetering on the impossibly high heels. Cass let out a long whistle. “You'll have your pick of the litter tonight."

"I don't want my pick of the litter. I can't believe I let you talk me into this.” Rachel stared in the hallway mirror. A stranger stared back.

"You look classy, gorgeous, and sexy. See, I told you."

Rachel shook her head, unable to believe the pouting red lips were hers, or the sleek pulled-back hair, or the big, beautiful sea green eyes. Not to mention her dress gave new meaning to little black dress.

"This is not a professional look.” She turned in a circle and concentrated on keeping her legs from tangling. “My butt is showing."

"Don't exaggerate. It's not that short. This dress screams business party chic."

"How do you wear this thing? It's really uncomfortable.” Rachel hated the G-string. It sucked.

"It's sexy, and it eliminates panty lines."

"It doesn't feel sexy. It's like having dental floss up your crotch."

Cass walked around and observed her handiwork. “Damn, I do good work."

Rachel squinted at the stranger in the mirror. “I don't like it."

"Honey, you'll have every man there drooling over you."

"I don't want to be drooled over. I want to be respected."

"They'll respect you—once they yank their tongues back in their mouths. This dress screams look but don't touch."

She sure hoped so. She didn't want tongue-hanging, horny football players hitting on her. She wanted them to see her as a competent equal, or at least close to one. She opened the screen door for Charlie. He paused on the front porch long enough to hiss at Simon and strutted into the room. Simon whined and scratched at the screen door.

"Doesn't that dog have a home?"

"He seems to have adopted me because Derek is never home."

Charlie paused and stared at Rachel as if he'd never seen her before. He sniffed the air. Satisfied she wasn't a stranger, he hopped into a chair, curled up, and went to sleep.

Rachel gazed longingly at him. “I want to be a cat. Life would be so much simpler."

"Honey, who needs simple when a girl can have hot animal sex with the hunk of her choice?"

"I'm not looking for animal sex or even boring sex. I'm looking for a job in football. This is not the way to get it."

"First they have to notice you. Once you have their attention, dazzle them with your football knowledge. The more guys on your side, the better. It's all about networking."

Rachel shook her head. The stuff she did for a career in a man's world.

Who the fuck was calling at ten thirty at night? Derek picked up his cell phone and checked caller ID. Tyler.

"Hey, man, where the hell are you? We have a game tomorrow.” Leave it to Tyler to be partying all night before a game.

"I'm at the Touchdown Club. You gotta get your butt down here.” Tyler yelled to be heard over the din. The Touchdown Club was a popular sports bar near the Jacks headquarters.

"If I do, I'm dragging your ass home with me."

"Most of the team is here. We took over the place."

"I'm tired."

"You won't be when I tell you this."

"What?"

"Rachel's here."

"Yeah, so?” Derek feigned indifference he didn't feel. He went cold inside.

"No, I mean, Rachel is here, and you should see her. Holy shit! If Cass wasn't here, I'd be all over her myself."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, she's hot. Every guy here is having wet daydreams over her."

"Rachel?” Derek sat up straight in bed and swung his feet to the floor.

"Yeah. She's wearing this little dress, and let me tell you, buddy, she's got one fine ass and great tits. I never noticed it before with all those business suits she always wears. But then you've seen her naked, and I haven't. Shit, I'm imagining it now, just like every other guy in this place. The rookies are all over her like flies on shit."

"I'm on my way.” Derek yanked on clean underwear, jeans, and threw on a T-shirt. He pocketed his cell, grabbed his keys, and ran out the door.

Derek stood in the doorway and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He heard Tyler before he saw him. The guy's infectious laughter and loud voice vibrated off the walls of the bar. Leaving the doorway, he headed for the boisterous group sitting in the far corner of the bar. Tyler held court and recounted the stories of last week's plays, good and bad, giving his own comical assessment of everyone's performance to the hoots and cheers of his rapt audience.

Derek started to pull out an empty chair when his eyes zeroed in on Rachel, sitting toward the end of the table next to Cass and Tyler. She looked damn hot as she fended off the advances of a rookie lineman whose uniform number outranked his IQ. Hoss's big fat hand rested a little too high on her bare thigh. She pushed it down, and he moved it back up.

Derek's blood boiled, and he clenched his hands into fists. His stomach tied in knots. Seeing Rachel dressed in that little dress really pissed him off and turned him on. He didn't stop to analyze why, nor did he give a shit. It just did.

He stalked toward her, grabbed a chair from the table behind hers, and jammed it between her and Hoss. “Take your big fucking paws off her."

Rachel's head snapped around, her expression startled, relieved, and angry all at once. Hoss opened his mouth to say something, then shut it at the murderous look on his teammate's face. He might outweigh Derek two to one, but he was a nice guy who kept his hits on the football field. The rookie snatched his hand away.

"She's with me.” Derek dared him to dispute the fact.

"Okay, man, fine. I don't want any problems. Sorry.” Hoss held up his hands in surrender. “She didn't say anything. I thought she was on the market."

"That's because we aren't together.” Rachel shot him an annoyed glance.

"We are now.” Derek plopped his ass in the chair and cast another threatening glare at the rookie. Hoss scooted away and turned his back on them to concentrate on safer prey—the brunette across the table.

"I don't need you protecting me any more than I do my brothers.” Rachel crossed her legs, and his mouth dried up. He caught a flash of hot pink from the crotch of her panties.

Holy shit.

Helping himself to an empty glass, Derek poured from one of the pitchers of beer littering the table. “You're drunk."

"I am not.” She sloshed wine around in the glass and spilled some on his bare arm.

He raised one eyebrow.

"I do that sober."

He couldn't argue that point. “You're still drunk."

"Maybe a little tipsy. I had two glasses of wine on an empty stomach. Who wants to dance?” She looked around the table. Not willing to cross Derek with that homicidal expression on his face, every man averted his gaze.

Undeterred, Rachel grabbed Derek's arm and leaned into him. “Fine then. You staked a claim, so let's dance."

He started to argue. He hadn't staked a claim. He'd merely done it to protect her. Derek searched her eyes. This wasn't like her. “What are you doing here?"

"I'm networking."

"Networking? With these guys?"

"Do you want to dance or not?” She rose to her feet, wobbling on her stiletto heels. He didn't know if it was alcohol or her innate clumsiness making her so unsteady. Probably both. She tugged on her skirt and pulled it down, still modest Rachel no matter how she dressed.

Derek stared at the black dress. Damn. Cass must have loaned it to her. Tyler hadn't been exaggerating. It clung to every curve. The tantalizing bits of skin it did reveal left a lot to his imagination, somehow making it even sexier. The skirt hit her above midthigh, revealing enough of her long, long legs to torture him with countless visions of those legs wrapped around his body.

He considered throwing a blanket around her and escorting her away from the eyes that were undressing her. He'd never been one to share, even visually. He shot one more threatening look around the table, causing his teammates to look away. The only man she really had to fear was him.

He wasn't a saint. He was just a man, and a flawed one at that. His mind slipped down into the gutter with his body. Temptation lapped at his soul. His attempt to do the right thing warred with his male inclination to take whatever might be offered. She appeared to be offering a lot.

The little vixen broke free and danced away from him. He hurried after her, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Tyler, who was throwing back whiskey shots.

Damn.

He caught up with her on the dance floor.

Oh crap. A slow dance. Derek gathered her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, allowing him to hold her up as they shuffled around the crowded dance floor. He cock grew harder than a goalpost. To make matters worse, Rachel knew it. She rubbed against him and pressed her crotch into his. Their bodies fused together. She looked up at him, and he stared down at her. Their gazes locked. Derek's heart rolled over and lay at her feet.

In that exact moment, everything changed. Life took a side road he'd never planned to travel again. Once he'd made the decision, he wasn't going back.

He knew where this was going, if not tonight, soon. They'd been heading there from the moment she'd stumbled back into his life. Before long he'd be trying out Razor's suggestion on how to relax before a game.

And she might not be inclined to stop him.

Rachel might be a little buzzed, but she knew exactly what she was doing. Sorta. The two glasses of wine provided a little liquid courage and silenced all the reasons why this wasn't a good idea.

She hadn't come out tonight with the intention of snagging Derek to share her bed, though it might have been in the back of her mind. She'd been disappointed to find he wasn't among the team members at the table earlier that evening.

She could do this. Rachel, the cool, calm businesswoman, could have recreational sex without emotional strings. Besides, she'd take one for the team, just as Razor suggested. At zero and four, desperate times called for desperate measures.

She wasn't looking for a relationship, especially not with Derek. Her true intentions destroyed any chance of that. Their conflicting objectives sealed the deal.

Derek held her up as she stumbled, catching a heel on nothing. He gripped her waist, and she swayed back and forth. This wouldn't be difficult. After all, she'd slept with this man before. They'd shared long, slow, wet kisses; they'd shared their bodies. She'd felt him move inside her, gentle and easy, fast and desperate. She needed the feeling again, if just for a little while.

Rachel snuggled in his arms and nibbled on his neck. Derek groaned. She smiled at his reaction. Rubbing her hips against his, she pressed against the evidence of his arousal.

Catching her off guard, someone yanked her out of Derek's arms. Ready to pounce, Rachel spun around and came face-to-face with Mitch.

"Mitch, what are you doing here?"

"I'd like to ask you the same thing. Especially with him.” He pointed a finger toward Derek's face. Derek didn't flinch. Mitch turned back to her. His jaw hardened, and his eyes turned to ice. “And what the hell do you have on?"

Rachel glanced down at the little black dress—Cass's little black dress looking very out of place on Rachel's body. Instinctively she crossed her arms over her chest. Her brother's judgmental scowl irked her even though her face grew warm. Maybe the dress didn't fit her normally modest wardrobe, but how dare her brother treat her like a child?

"I'll wear what I damn well please and choose who I dance with."

"I'm taking you home. You're drunk.” He grabbed her arm.

"I'm not going.” Rachel attempted to jerk away, but Mitch held fast.

"She's an adult. Why don't you butt out of her business?” Derek grabbed her other arm.

"She is my business when it comes to you.” Her brother pulled back. Rachel held her ground. “That bastard only wants one thing."

"Maybe that's all I want.” She jerked out of Mitch's grasp. Wrapping her hand around Derek's arm, she tugged on it, literally dragging him back to their seats. Her brother stalked behind and made a move to sit between them.

"Butt out.” Derek glared over the top of her head.

"Go to hell,” Mitch snarled as the two men squared off.

"I'd be glad to take you with me.” Derek got in his face, but Mitch didn't back down. The entire table had gone quiet as they watched the action. Tyler snickered but didn't say anything. Rachel tugged on Derek's arm and shook her head, worried he might actually take a swing at her foolish brother. Donning her virtual business suit, she channeled her in-charge alter ego.

"You don't scare me.” Mitch balled his fists.

"Look, you two...” She pulled out a chair for her brother, keeping herself in between the two men having their testosterone moment. “Have a seat. You're making a scene."

Hesitating, Mitch sank into the chair like a surly child and snarled at Derek. Derek glared back. Her brother might be a big guy and in pretty good shape, but he was no match for an even bigger pro athlete in prime physical condition.

Rachel touched Derek's arm. “Please."

"Don't worry,” he growled, “I won't fight with him, even if he pushes it. I have a game tomorrow, and I need to get Ty out of here."

"At the rate he's downing whiskey, you'd better hurry."

Derek leaned across Cass. “Ty, man, it's time to go."

"What are you, my mother?"

Cass nodded. “Ty, Dare is right. We need to leave."

"Oh hell, Dare is always right. I'm sick of that shit. When you're the worst team in professional football, you have to be good at something. I'm good at partying."

Derek frowned. “Cass—"

"I'll take care of him.” Cass moved closer to Tyler. She trailed little kisses up his neck and stuck her tongue in his ear. Reaching her hand under the table, she milked his cock. Derek looked away, but Rachel watched the show, shocked yet mesmerized. Mitch slumped in his chair and glowered at his beer.

Tyler staggered to his feet. “Well, it's been great guys, but gotta go.” Cass winked at Derek as Tyler grabbed her hand and weaved toward the door.

"I hope she's driving?"

"She is.” Derek glanced at Rachel and nodded. He leaned his head close to hers and lowered his voice. “Your brother needs to get off our case. I bet Cass could set him up with a horny cheerleader or two."

"I'm sure she could.” Mitch wasn't the only person needing to get laid. If the way Derek kept looking at her was any indicator, she'd be taking care of that tonight.

"I need to go home.” Derek stood and met Rachel's gaze. “Do you need a ride?"

Rachel stood quickly. “Yes."

"I'll take you home.” Her brother stood too.

"Forget it, Mitch; it's out of your way. I'm going with him. Good night."

Her brother followed them out the door. “Like hell you are."

"So what if I am?"

"I don't want him laying a hand on you.” People stopped to stare as they argued near the front doors of the bar.

"Maybe I do. Maybe I want to have wild, hot sex with him in every position possible."

"I'll kill him first."

"No. You won't."

"He'll hurt you again, Rae."

"My life is not a democracy, and you don't get a vote.” The arrogance of her brother. The two of them fought over her like she was a favorite bone instead of a living, breathing person. She'd never been the rebellious type. She'd been the good girl who always did the right thing, followed the rules, and never caused her parents any grief. Well, she was sick of it. If she wanted to have a wild affair with an inappropriate man, she'd damn well screw his brains out.

Rachel sat in the passenger seat of Derek's pickup, fuming and plotting revenge—on everyone in her controlled and manipulated life. She'd had it. She'd show them. She'd do exactly as she pleased...and tonight, she pleased to have hot, uninhibited sex with no morning-after regrets.

Derek pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of her house.

"Let's go to your house.” She ran a finger over his strong jaw. He swallowed and shifted his position.

Blowing out a breath, he took her hand and removed it from his face. “Rae, this isn't a good idea."

"Actually it's the best idea I've had in a long time. We've tried everything else Razor's suggested but this."

"He told you about that?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I'm not sure."

She stared pointedly at his crotch. “You look sure to me. Let's go to your house."

Keeping his eyes on the road and off her, he drove to his house and into the garage.

Inside, Derek busied himself making a drink while Rachel thumbed through some DVDs sitting on the coffee table. She held one up. “Is this from the last game?"

"Yeah."

"Do you mind if I watch it?"

Derek shrugged. “Fine with me. We haven't watched it together yet.” Relief flooded his face as if he'd found an out.

An odd seduction strategy, but it'd work. She knew Derek. If she merely stripped off her clothes and his, he'd resist based on basic decency. She'd tackle his defenses with football strategizing. He'd be eating out of her hand before he knew what hit him. She hoped to hell she knew what'd hit her.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twelve

Inside the Red Zone

The sexiest thing in the world was a woman who knew football. This woman knew her football. As they watched the game film together, she pointed out things no one else had noticed, like how on a run play he hadn't sold his route; instead he went right into blocking for the runner. Derek shook his head in amazement.

"Too bad I'm not a guy. I'd make such a damn good coach.” She winked at him. His heart pounded in his chest, and his pulse quickened. He became every one of those sappy love songs he liked to sing at karaoke. She looked way too together, too perfect. He wanted to mess her up a little.

"I'm glad you're not. A guy, that is.” His cock was really glad she wasn't a guy. In fact, it would be a hell of a lot happier if they dispensed with the rest of the foreplay and went straight to good old-fashioned fucking. His mind resisted on a basic crudeness level; the rest of him had no such scruples. Man, oh man, this really wasn't a good idea, but too late for rational thinking now.

"Derek, I want to make this plain before things go any further.” Her eyes, greener than those grasshoppers she liked to drink, shone with sexual intensity—so intense, in fact, he swore his clothes were about to disintegrate from his body.

He raised one eyebrow and cocked his head. “We're going further?"

"I want you. You want me.” She paused to stare at the bulge between his legs. “You don't want distractions. Any emotional entanglements. I don't either."

"You don't?” His voice cracked.

"No, I don't. I'm not the Rachel you grew up with. I can handle a sexual relationship with an adult male and avoid all that messy emotional stuff."

He wasn't sure he could. “Okay."

"I've grown up a lot over the past five years. I'm uninhibited, adventurous, and sexually open to new experiences. Sex as recreation is fine with me."

His mouth dropped open. He hadn't expected this. She was the type of girl you made a commitment to, not one you hooked up with for sex before moving on.

"Rae, I've missed you. I don't want to screw it up again with sex. I did that once.” He couldn't believe he was arguing with her about this. He'd lose his membership in the macho jocks club if his reluctance ever became public knowledge.

"Why can't we be friends and lovers? Up front. No strings. In a few months, I go my way, you go yours, and no one gets hurt. And we stay friends.” She ran a fingernail down his arm, across the corded muscles.

Derek stared at her finger, mesmerized. Shaking his head, he met her gaze. “The old friends with benefits?"

"And what benefits!” She laughed, a sexy, throaty sound.

"You've had too much to drink. You're not thinking straight."

"The only thing the alcohol has done is given me the courage to be honest and say what I've been dying to say but didn't have the nerve."

"I don't get it.” Still he resisted for some stupid-assed reason.

She shrugged. “You're making a big deal out of nothing. It's just sex."

Nothing? Who was she kidding? Sex with her was hardly nothing.

"Just sex?” His throat was dry, his voice raspy. She crossed those long legs of hers and just about undid him. His cock strained against his jeans like it had a mind of its own. Maybe it did, being it was the little head. Yeah, yeah, bad joke.

"Yes, just sex."

"Conservative sex or adventurous sex?” Conservative sex with her had been hotter than the adventurous sex he'd had with others.

"Any way you want it, big guy. Let's see if we can relax that tight body of yours and get you in the game tomorrow."

He was in the game, all right, just not the one played on a football field. Derek wiped the sweat from his brow and clung to the last of his sanity. “I'm speechless."

"Not a problem. What I have in mind doesn't require talking."

"No shit?” He cleared his throat. His gaze dropped to her breasts, all round, soft, and begging for his hands, his lips, his mouth.

"If you don't want me to help you, we can find someone else."

He choked. “That won't be necessary.” No way did he want another woman. He was ready, willing, and hard as a damn fucking rock.

"Good, let's get to work."

"Are you sure?” His shallow words of resistance held no meaning. Her proposal more than intrigued him, it answered his prayers.

"If either of us becomes uncomfortable with the situation, we can bail out at any time."

"I don't know who you are anymore. This isn't like you."

"This is me. You haven't been around me in five years."

She leaned closer, fingering the collar of his T-shirt, sliding her hands down his chest. “I want you naked."

He gagged on his drink. “You want me naked?” He didn't know why he kept inanely repeating her words. His brain had sunk to his balls, along with the gift of speech and his ability to think.

"I want you to fuck me."

"Fuck you?” His voice came out as a squeak. He'd never heard her use the F word in all the years he'd known her.

"Yes. Fuck me, Derek. Take me any way you want with no regrets in the morning."

"Holy shit.” He blinked and sucked in a deep breath. His brain slipped and tackled and raced down the field, imagining several ways he'd love to take her.

She placed a hand on his crotch and stroked him through his jeans. “You're hard for me."

"Well, hell, yeah. Look at how you're dressed.” Not that it mattered. If she'd been wearing a space suit, he'd be hard for her.

She pulled down his zipper and opened his fly. His lungs forgot how to function. His brain screamed orders to abandon ship and cease all mental activity. His dick prepared for a sport that didn't require or want any input from his brain.

"Make me scream. Make me wet. Make me melt."

"Awww, fuck it. I'm probably going to burn in hell for this.” A split second of hesitation shone in her eyes, but he was too far gone to analyze the situation. He moved closer, and she leaned into him. He snaked his hand around her neck and pulled her closer. She splayed her hand on his chest, then ran her fingernails down his breastbone through his T-shirt. Her other hand rubbed his crotch.

"I need you,” he rasped.

"I know."

"We don't have a future. Your family hates me for more reasons than I can count. I'm screwed up when it comes to relationships. You know that. I don't have a piece of me left to give. At least, not now."

His mother had seen to that. Yeah, she'd done a number on him, made him wary of getting attached, because in his book love hurt and people you loved the most deserted you.

"The only piece I'm asking for is a physical piece."

"Are you sure you can do that?” He couldn't believe he was still arguing with her.

"Of course I can. You're the one who seems to have a problem with it."

Him? He was the king of relationships without emotional involvement. He considered her words and attempted one more feeble protest. “I'm no good for you. We both know that."

"I know."

Well, hell, she didn't have to agree so readily. “Rae, I don't want to hurt you again."

"I'm not that naive college girl."

His gut clenched as he trod on forbidden territory, picturing her with other men. God, he hated that visual. He'd make her forget those other men until they weren't even a blip on her sexual horizon.

"I know what the score is this time. Don't you? I don't want to hurt you."

She'd turned the tables on him. “Not a problem."

He gave it up. His resistance was screwed. He'd only been arguing to appease his conscience. “Tell me what turns you on.” If he was doomed to hell, he'd go down with pleasure.

"Honey, you do that naturally.” With a devilish smile, she rubbed his cock harder, slipping lower to caress his balls through his jeans. He grasped for some slice of sanity, but his ability to reason slid into the gutter and drowned.

"Let's get to business.” She propped one spiked heel on his crotch and rubbed his erection with the heel. Her dress rode up and exposed creamy white skin on her upper thighs. His head spun. His body screamed for release louder than a sold-out crowd at the Super Bowl. He couldn't ignore it any longer. Her knee was just inches from his chin.

"Oh, fuck."

"That's the idea.” If she intended to shock him, Rachel succeeded. The little vixen had grown up. Perhaps to her this was nothing but a physical affair. He should feel reassured, but somehow he didn't.

"Your turn, buster. Show me the goods.” She swung her foot off his lap and stood, hands on hips, her short little skirt riding up her fine ass.

Derek didn't have to be asked twice. He shot to his feet, whipped off his T-shirt, and threw it across the room. “You're next.” He watched expectantly, getting into this little game. Instead of taking off her dress, she tugged on his pants.

"Take them off."

He just about fell on his face trying to get the damn things down. Soon they joined his T-shirt in a pile in the corner. His mind forgot about the football game tomorrow. In fact, he'd be damned if he could remember who they were playing.

Grateful for a couple of nerve builders in the form of glasses of wine, Rachel relished the power she had over this man. It happened so seldom with men in her life. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders and corded biceps, savoring the feel of his hard muscles. She fingered his nipples, and he moaned. His body shook with repressed need. He wouldn't need to repress it for long.

"You have too many clothes on.” Derek's dark gaze fixated on her dress.

"Then do something about it."

"Who are you and what did you do with Rachel?"

"I told you. I've changed. I grew up."

"Honey, I'm growing by the second.” He grinned, looking younger, more vulnerable. Guilt attempted to rear its ugly head, but she ignored it. Tonight Derek belonged to her. She'd forget her ambitions and obligations to family and live in the moment. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Watching his face, Rachel reached around behind her back and unzipped the dress. She let it drop, exposing a lacy pink bra. The dress pooled around her waist, too tight to fall the rest of the way off without a little help. She reached behind and unhooked her bra and shrugged it off her shoulders. It fell to the floor. Derek's eyes dilated. He licked his lips.

"I think they've gotten bigger,” he croaked.

Pulling the clip out of her hair, she shook it loose. It fell over her shoulders and tickled her nipples. She put her hands under her breasts and pushed them together. He groaned a deep, tortured groan that resonated through his almost naked body. Never taking her eyes off his face, Rachel toyed with her nipples, pinching and plucking them, like she'd often done in the privacy of her bedroom late at night. Only she wasn't in the privacy of her bedroom now. She was performing for a rapt audience of one.

"Damn.” His voice was low, gravelly, sexy. It sent little pinpricks of sensations through her body. A thin layer of sweat beaded on his brow.

Emboldened, Rachel tugged the tight little dress over her hips and down her thighs, turning so Derek got a good view of her bare ass in the little piece of lace doubling as panties.

"Holy shit. Do you always wear underwear like that?"

Coming up behind her, Derek wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. His erection pressed against her butt. His mouth nipped and sucked and licked its way up her shoulders to her neck and her face. He filled his hands with her breasts as he kissed his way down her neck, shoulder blades, the small of her back. Kneeling, the devil nipped at her ass cheeks and coaxed her G-string down her long legs. Rachel tried to turn around, but he held her.

"Don't move."

"But—"

"Mmmm. Yeah, you do have a nice butt.” He ran his large, strong hands up her ankles, knees, thighs, stopping short of paradise. She whimpered. “You always were hot for me, baby, weren't you?"

She nodded. Speech wasn't an option.

"Spread your legs. Good girl. Now bend over."

Frowning, she bent down and moved her legs apart. She put her hands on the couch for balance. Was he going to take her from behind? Right now? They hadn't even kissed yet.

"Lower."

She bent as low as she could, resting her head on the couch. The action exposed her pussy to him, moist and tingling with need. His strong fingers spread her folds apart; his mouth nibbled on her upper thighs. She shivered, holding her breath when his long index finger slid inside her.

"Damn, you're wet, Rae.” He took it easy. His finger was gentle as he pushed deeper into her tight little hole. It'd been so long, she'd probably be considered a born-again virgin. Of course, he didn't know that, and he wouldn't. Better he thought she got around and their liaison was nothing special, nothing but filling a physical need.

He took his time until he'd buried his finger inside her to his knuckle. She pushed back against his hand, changing the angle, helping him go deeper. Her clit throbbed, aching for his touch. He didn't neglect it. His thumb found the little nub. He thrust his finger in and out, faster and faster, all the while teasing her clit. The walls of her pussy clenched around his finger. She buried her head in the couch cushion and bit her knuckles as the world swirled around her.

"Dare. I—Oh my. Oh my. I—” She shuddered, pressed her head into the cushion, and gripped it with her fingers. The world started to drop away underneath. She poised on the edge.

He groaned. She was just about ready to come when he stopped. She cried out in protest and tried to stand. He held her down with a firm hand on her back.

"Getting a little greedy, aren't you?” Derek teased.

"I'm very greedy."

"Then this is for you, baby.” His fingers walked down her spine, counting every vertebra.

"How do you know what I like?"

"I know.” His mouth replaced his finger. He pushed his tongue inside her and thrust it in and out. A few seconds later she exploded into oblivion, floated around the cosmos for a while, and then was reborn.

He didn't give her much recovery time. Instead he flipped her onto her back on the couch and tore off his boxers. Panting, she stared at his large cock and tried to come back to earth so she could fly again.

"Rae, this ain't gonna be pretty. I don't have much control left."

Rachel gazed at him. His dark eyes blazed with undisguised lust. His body vibrated with pent-up frustration. His cock jerked in anticipation. She nodded. It was all the encouragement he needed.

"Oh, crap. Damn, I need a condom.” He glanced around frantically.

"Don't bother. I'm on the pill, assuming you're clean."

"Honey, I'm so clean, I squeak.” He threw his head heavenward. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

"So, Dare, what are you waiting for? You're in the red zone; time to score."

He grasped her ankles and pulled them over her head, leaving her open and exposed. She felt the cool air on her swollen pussy. Then the warm tip of his cock touched her soaked entrance. The cords of his neck stood out from the strain of controlling himself as he slowly pushed inside. He gritted his teeth.

"You are so fucking tight, Rae. Just like I remember.” Sweat dampened his chest and mingled with hers. He withdrew, held himself for a moment, then sank into her again, a little deeper each time. Rachel tightened her muscles around him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he groaned.

"Give it to me, big boy,” she begged.

"Oh yeah. You got it, baby.” He released her ankles, and she wrapped them around his waist.

Despite her wetness, she was so tight he had to go slow. Inch by heavenly inch, he filled her. Her muscles stretched around him. She felt a little discomfort, but it faded quickly. After a few more tries, he penetrated her completely. Buried balls-deep inside her, he pulled almost completely out, then paused. She shuddered, used her legs to pull him closer. He thrust deep inside her in one easy, slow stroke. He repeated the movement. Slow retreat. Pause. Hard, fast, deep stroke. Over and over again.

She tossed her head back and forth, driven crazy by his slow conquest. She needed more. Much more.

Supporting his weight on his elbows, his face filled her entire line of vision. His mouth covered hers. His tongue slipped inside. She kissed him back. Their tongues mated as wildly as their bodies, long and deep, in and out, building in intensity. She moaned. Her fingernails dug into his back. Her tongue tangoed with his. His slow, steady strokes picked up speed until his balls slapped against her pussy. She dug her heels into his back and angled her hips in an attempt to pull him deeper.

Their wet bodies slid over each other. Rachel ran her hands down his sides, then grabbed his fine ass. Adjusting her pelvis, she matched his wild rhythm. Derek's control disintegrated. He plunged into her over and over again with the velocity of a race car on the last lap of the Indy 500. The finish line loomed on the horizon.

Rachel teetered near the edge but didn't want to go alone. She urged him on, locked her ankles together, and hugged his body with her legs. Derek quivered and groaned. Rachel shattered into a million erotic pieces and cried out his name. He shot his load deep inside her, his cock jerking from the effort. His warmth filled her, overtook her, engulfed her.

They came together, climbing higher and higher, gravity not an issue, until their bodies united. Their minds melded. A bond that transcended the physical connected them. Eventually they floated on a soft cloud back to reality.

She held tightly to him, wrapped in his warmth, kissing his neck and mouth, and wondered how the hell she'd be able to keep her emotions out of this.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirteen

In the Zone

Derek woke feeling better than he had in a long time. Stretching lazily, he reached for Rachel and pulled her into his arms. She made a little purring sound and cuddled next to his chest. He stroked her long hair and kissed her cheek.

"Good mornin', darling,” he drawled in his fake imitation of a southern accent. He could stay like this forever.

"Good morning to you."

"Did you sleep well?"

"I did. What about you?” She ran her fingers down his chest, over his belly, until they circled his cock. It hardened on command, ready for a repeat performance.

"Oh yeah.” He rolled her onto her back and pushed her legs apart with his knee.

"Are you ready for breakfast?"

He chuckled and growled. “I need a little nourishment."

"So do I. Why don't you feed our appetites?"

She only had to ask once. When it came to feeding that type of appetite, he was a master chef and he'd treat her to a gourmet feast.

She lay beneath him, moving her body in a sultry dance meant to entice. Her green eyes captured his gaze, and he slipped into their warmth as a whirlpool of sensations assaulted him. He shoved aside the tender emotions that hinted this was more than mere sex. They had an agreement, a deal, an arrangement. No emotions allowed other than the most basic carnal ones.

Derek glanced at the clock. He didn't have much time, but he doubted it'd take long, judging by the tightness in his groin.

Rachel spread her legs wider, smiling up at him, inviting him. She beckoned him like a siren's call. His gaze glued to her face, he slid inside her, finding her wet and ready for him. He held himself deep and took a moment to savor the warmth surrounding his cock, pressing against it. Her eyes glittered with need, but she too held still, wrapped in the magic of the moment. To move would break the spell, yet he had to move, had to seek release, had to divert the tenderness overwhelming him into physical need.

He broke eye contact and looked down at their joined bodies. Gathering his wits—what there was of them—he began to move inside her. He intended to keep it under control, but urgency born of an insatiable need won him over. Rachel didn't appear to have any complaints.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, dug her heels into his ass, and held on for an eight-second ride. His powerful thrusts matched her frenzied rhythm, and in minutes they'd left the bounds of earth. He came hard and fast, and she came with him.

Afterward he held her close and rested his head on her chest, content to listen to her heartbeat.

"You should get going. Shouldn't you be at the field pretty soon?"

"Huh?” Derek jerked his head to stare at the alarm. “Oh shit. I'd forgotten it was that late.” He shot up in bed, swung his leg over the side. Hesitating, he reached out to caress her cheek. “I'm sorry, baby. I have to go."

"I know."

He gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. “Will you be at the game?"

"Of course, with your biggest fan, my loving brother Mitch.” She smiled.

He grinned. “See you there. I'll look for you."

"Good luck."

After the past several hours, he didn't need luck. His body hummed with energy. His mind was cleared of all the crap he'd been dragging around.

Today was his day.

Rachel waited until Derek's truck rumbled from the garage. She threw on her clothes and let herself out. Simon tagged along.

She walked the short distance to her little house, kneeing Simon as he attempted to shove past her.

Okay, regret time, right? Now was when the good girl part of her chastised the bad girl from last night. Pursing her lips, Rachel pushed that good girl down and shoved a gag in her mouth. She wasn't going there. No regrets; they weren't allowed. The new Rachel didn't feel guilt over sleeping with a man for the pure pleasure of it. And it had been pleasure—sexy, fun, carnal pleasure. The new Rachel would satisfy her needs with Derek. Eventually, once she got everything she wanted, she'd move on to another man without blinking an eye. Later.

Then, much later, she'd find another willing partner and test her newfound freedom and promiscuity. Of course, she'd practice safe sex even though she was on the pill to regulate her periods. She'd make sure any and all future partners used protection.

Derek had been different. She'd trusted him to be clean. Maybe she shouldn't, but she did.

Not that she'd be a slut; she just wouldn't be a twenty-seven-year-old woman who'd only slept with one guy. She'd experience other men and hopefully wipe Derek's stamp off her heart. Of course, last night didn't exactly aid in that crusade. No matter, she'd do it. And sleeping with him built her confidence, not just in her sexual abilities, but in her ability to get to the truth. When the time came, he'd confess his sins. He'd do the right thing.

For now she'd better hop in the shower and get ready for the game before her brother showed up and figured out how she'd spent her night. Surely the afterglow of great sex reflected in her eyes and advertised itself in the way she carried herself.

Well, big brother could speculate all he wanted. She didn't screw and tell.

Derek did a double take when he walked into the locker room. Frowning, he approached Dante, who was still dressed in his street clothes, crutches propped next to the bench beside him.

"What the fuck happened to you?” Derek shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over a hook in his locker.

"I reinjured my knee in Friday practice."

"I thought that was nothing.” Derek peeled his T-shirt off and stepped out of his jeans.

"It turns out it was something. I might be out for the season."

"Oh man.” He shrugged into his shoulder pads.

"Don't sweat it, kid. It might be your big break. HughJack won't take a chance on you if I'm healthy."

"I don't want a big break at someone else's expense, especially yours. I want to earn it myself."

"You have earned it, Ramsey. You've worked your ass off these past few weeks.” Dante paused as HughJack approached. He nodded to the injured player, then turned to Derek.

"You're starting this afternoon, got it?"

Derek stared at his coach in disbelief. “Uh, yes, sir. I got it."

Dante grinned as HughJack moved away. “You'll do fine. Good luck, man."

Derek tried not to think as he went through the motions putting on the rest of his pads, uniform, and cleats. He listened to all the pregame stuff but didn't hear a thing. Butterflies flitted around in his stomach, but he forced an indifferent expression on his face. Never show weakness, especially not with this pack of coyotes. Already the offensive linemen were eyeing him, assessing whether he'd be up to the task of being a starting wide receiver.

Grabbing his helmet, he sprinted onto the field with the rest of his teammates to a smattering of applause. Losing season after losing season combined with a zero and four start didn't breed large, enthusiastic crowds.

The LA Sharks boasted a three-win, one-loss season. The oddsmakers picked them as a two-touchdown favorite against the Jacks; not exactly a vote of confidence. Derek didn't care. Today, things changed.

His gaze sought out Rachel in the stands next to her asshole brother. Derek waved; she waved back. Smiling like a fool, he turned back to his job, all business. Things were improving. Mitch didn't even flip him off this time.

She looked good—not as hot as last night, but more like his Rachel, even though she was wearing more makeup and a cute little top. Seeing her brought back all those good feelings. A calm strength renewed him. He could do this. It was his time. Their time. The entire team's time.

The Sharks kicked off to the Jacks, who took a fair catch.

Relaxed and loose, Derek jogged to the huddle. He felt great. Beyond great. Rejuvenated. Free. Confident. Like a new man.

Things just got better.

For the next sixty minutes, he was all over the field, catching everything tossed his way, throwing blocks, and even tackling a safety who intercepted one of Tyler's passes. By halftime he'd caught two touchdown passes for seventy-five yards. By the end of the game, he had another touchdown and several more receptions. So many, in fact, he came within a few yards of breaking the team record for most receptions in a game. Everything fell into place like pieces of an almost finished puzzle.

HughJack didn't slam down his clipboard once. Razor just smiled and nodded. No words needed. They won easily against a very good defensive team and improved their record to one and four.

Perhaps there was something to having sex the night before a game. It'd never worked for him before, but then he'd never had sex with Rachel during his pro career.

Razor slapped him on the back in the locker room. “Keep that up, man, and they'll be forgetting my name."

Derek laughed. “I have you to thank for all this.” Him and Rachel.

"No, man, I didn't do a damn thing. It's your hands and your talent."

"You've spent a lot of time with me."

"Purely selfish. I want a Super Bowl ring as a coach."

Derek shrugged. If Razor wanted to play it cool, it was fine with him.

"You took my advice, didn't you?"

"I took a lot of your advice on running routes, catching the ball, tucking it away—"

"I'm talking about getting laid. You got laid last night. I knew it the minute you walked into the locker room this morning."

"That obvious?"

"To me. Whoever she is, keep her around for the season."

"I just might do that.” Like it would be possible to let her go after last night. It had nothing to do with winning a football game—that was just the cherry on the whipped cream.

The coach gathered the team together for a quick postgame talk. Electricity ran through the room. They all felt it. They'd turned a corner, entered new territory.

HughJack waited for their undivided attention. “Gentlemen, today was our first win, but I think every man in here knows it was more than that. More than beating a team we shouldn't have beaten. They played an almost flawless game, but we won. Today you found a way to win instead of a way to lose. That's what good teams do.” He looked at each one of them as he tossed a football back and forth from one hand to the other. “Great teams know they're going to win. We're a long ways from being a great team, but today we became a good team."

Derek stood against one of the lockers, keyed up and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He could go another four quarters.

"Ramsey!"

Derek jumped. “Yes, sir.” He winced and waited for a butt chewing because he'd been fidgeting.

HughJack tossed him the football. Derek almost dropped it, bringing snickers and catcalls from the guys.

"The game ball is yours. Keep playing like that, and you'll have a collection of them by the end of the season."

The team cheered, and Derek nodded, trying to keep it cool and not show too much emotion.

The game ball. His first as a pro.

Cass stuffed a carrot in her mouth and munched. Leaning over the table, she spoke so only Rachel could hear. “So how'd it go last night? Was it as good for you as it appeared to be for Derek? He was on fire on the field today."

Rachel shot a quick glance toward the front of McGuire's Bar, where the local radio station did their postgame show after every home game. On the small raised stage, a sportscaster interviewed Derek and Tyler.

"It was fine."

Cass rolled her eyes. “Fine? That's all you can say. Did it rock your world? Or even more, did you rock his?"

"I don't do sex and tell."

"Oh, that'd be a great name for a new reality show.” Cass laughed. “I know this sounds dumb, but you're absolutely radiant."

"Shhhh. I hope my brother didn't notice anything. He kept staring at me strangely through the entire game."

"Your brother needs to get a life. Going to every game with his sister. Just too weird. We need to find him a woman so he'll quit trying to control you."

"I doubt that would stop him. It hasn't stopped Dad or Riley."

"So what's the deal with you and Derek? Other than the sex."

"There is no deal, just sex and friendship.” Cass couldn't know. After all, implicating Derek implicated Tyler. Rachel hated deceiving her friend, but she didn't have an option.

"That's it? Why?"

"Our goals are compatible."

"Huh?"

"Don't play the dumb blonde act on me. You know what I'm talking about. Both of us want something so badly that no one will stand in our way. We won't give up our dreams. He wants to play pro football. I want to be a scout. Who knows where I'll end up? The chances of getting a job in Seattle are slim.” Chances of him not hating her after this was all over were even slimmer.

"But you're willing to sleep with him?"

"This from a woman who jumps in bed with the next available man every time you break up with Tyler?"

"We're not discussing me. We're discussing you."

"Cass, the man doesn't want a relationship any more than I do. He's made it clear."

"Well, that was then. This is now."

"You don't know the whole story.” And she never would know the entire story. No one would.

"What story?"

"About his mother. She did a real number on him. I can't imagine him ever trusting another woman."

Cass blew her off. “That's bull. He's not like that."

Rachel shrugged. No arguing with Cass. She'd think as she pleased. After all, this was the woman who'd stuck with Tyler since her freshman year of college, which proved she wasn't the best judge of character. Of course, they did break up every other week. Actually they'd been together a couple of months now without a major fight. They were due.

Maybe next time Tyler dumped Cass or she dumped Tyler, she'd set Cass up with her brother.

Derek and Tyler, interview finished, joined them at their booth. Derek grinned at Rachel. “Hey, I'm glad you were able to join us."

"I wouldn't miss this victory party for the world."

He squeezed her hand under the table. “Thanks."

He looked so darn good. His short, spiky dark hair was still wet from the shower. He smelled like soap, clean and wholesome. His brown eyes sparkled with the excitement of a game well played. Even her brother grudgingly admitted that he'd played “one hell of a game."

The place was packed. The Sunday night game blared on every TV in the sports bar. Voices rose to be heard above the din, while scantily clad waitresses hustled to the full tables with trays of beer and appetizers.

Derek ordered another round, even though Rachel hadn't finished her wine yet. He reached over her to snag some fries and a chicken wing. His muscled arm rubbed across her nipples, which tightened in response. Derek turned his head, his mouth mere inches from hers, and met her gaze. Heat radiated from his eyes and singed her with their intensity.

Burying his long fingers in the hair at the back of her neck, he pulled her toward him. “How about a victory kiss?"

She nodded, even as his mouth came down on hers. It was no chaste little kiss. He thoroughly kissed her with the same enthusiasm he played the game he loved. His tongue teased hers, and she gave herself up to the moment until a flash blinded her. Pulling back, she glanced around, dazed and stunned.

Derek turned toward the photographer, annoyance etched on his face. “Hey, man, give us a little privacy here."

The man just snorted. “Why don't you get a room instead of putting on a public performance? Then you can have privacy."

Derek glared at him, and the guy backed off.

Tyler watched him go. “Want me to kill him for you?"

"Nah, Coach wouldn't be happy if his star quarterback got thrown in jail for murder."

"No one will know I did it. I'm that good.” Tyler smirked.

"You're that full of shit."

"Your lack of faith in my talents wounds me to the core.” Tyler held his hand over his heart. Derek groaned.

"Acting is not your forte."

"Nope, but I am photogenic, gorgeous, and charming. As soon as we have a few more wins under our belt, I'm getting some big promo contracts. This face will be on every billboard from here to California."

"Whatever.” Derek rolled his eyes.

Rachel loved the bantering between these two. Tyler might be an ass on the outside, but his fierce loyalty to his cousin might prove troublesome down the road.

Her fledgling sexual exploration didn't include public displays of affection that might get back to her family, especially with Derek Ramsey.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Fourteen

Keep Your Head in the Game

By the time they managed to escape McGuire's, the rain was heavy enough to drown every living thing and do a number on Rachel's hair. Derek's earlier euphoria seemed to give way to exhaustion. He stifled several yawns as he graciously thanked fans for their support and signed several autographs. It was over a half hour later before they pulled into her driveway.

They walked up to her porch. Putting his big hands on her shoulders, he smiled down at her. His actions made it clear he didn't intend to stay the night.

Rachel swallowed her disappointment. It was better this way. Two nights in a row could turn into three, then four. Too many nights with an emotionally unavailable man meant nothing but heartbreak. Been there, not stupid enough to do it again.

"Thanks, Rae, for everything."

"Me—what did I do?"

"You burned off my tension. Allowed me to relax.” One corner of his mouth quirked. “I had one hell of a good time, last night in bed and tonight in good company and conversation."

He bent down and gave her a long, wet kiss. “Good night, baby.” His dark eyes searched her face. “I'll see you tomorrow evening for drills. We fly out on Saturday morning for the Sunday game. Maybe we could hook up on Friday night? I'll buy you dinner."

She nodded. “I'd like that."

He turned to leave, then hesitated. “Are you sure you're okay with this? I mean where we're at?"

"I'm fine. Absolutely fine. This is what I want too."

He nodded, then smiled. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, but he kept quiet. She watched him go, bringing a finger up to touch the lips he'd just kissed. She'd better build those walls higher before she fell in love with this man again.

Had she ever fallen out of love with him?

As the sun rose over the Cascade Mountains, Rachel wrote out another check, then calculated her bank balance. Her heart sank. A double-digit balance didn't go far, and she didn't get paid for another week.

Someone pounded on the door, and she jumped and shot to her feet, scattering papers and envelopes across the floor. The pounding increased as she hurried to answer it. She threw the door open to find Mitch on the other side.

"Is something wrong?” Her heart caught in her throat. Had something happened to her dad or brother?

"This!” Her brother shoved the newspaper in her face. “This is wrong!"

Momentary relief flooded her. After all, this worrying crap was hard work. Rachel grabbed the newspaper out of her brother's hand. And stared. And stared. And stared—at the picture of Derek with his tongue down her throat. The caption said: Jacks’ wide receiver, Derek Ramsey, celebrates the team's first win with an unidentified woman.

"They didn't get my good side.” Rachel faked a grin and flinched as she waited for the explosion.

"Is that all you have to say?” Her brother's face displayed the most interesting shades of red and purple.

"We didn't make the front page.” She faked a frown.

"It's all over the Internet."

"Oh. So I'm famous?"

"What the fuck are you doing—acting like this is a big joke?” If he got any madder, he'd burst that vessel pulsing in his neck; then she'd have a mess to clean up. She really hated messes.

"It's hard to tell it's me."

"Really? Then how come my phone and Riley's and Dad's have been ringing off the hook since this morning? What are we supposed to tell all these people?"

"That I had fun."

"Fun! You call this fun?"

"Actually yes, I do."

He snorted and stamped his foot. “You're just a plaything to him, a momentary distraction."

"Is that a bad thing? Maybe that's all he is to me."

"Rachel, what is wrong with you? Doesn't it concern you that he's using you?"

"Maybe I'm using him.” Rachel stifled a yawn. “Trust me, Mitch. I know what I'm doing.” Like hell she did.

"What are you doing?"

"Earning his trust. Getting close enough to him to appeal to his basic sense of decency."

"Are you sure he has any?"

"If he doesn't, Dad's screwed, because nothing any of us do will change a thing."

"You're sleeping with him again, aren't you?"

"Actually we didn't sleep much.” She braced herself for his next detonation. This whole line of questioning was way beyond old.

"I'm going to castrate the bastard.” He glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately the jerk gets a stay of execution. I'm late for school."

"Well, have a nice day.” Rachel slammed the door in his face and locked it. Leaning against it, she took a deep breath. Despite her pseudo-smart-ass attitude, fighting with her brother exhausted her.

Her phone rang. No rest for the weary or justly accused. She crossed the room and checked caller ID. Her father. They were tag teaming her. Gearing herself for the next onslaught, she answered the phone. “Hi, Daddy."

"What the hell is this picture of you with Derek Ramsey? I knew no good would come from you moving onto his property. You need to move out. Now.” Her father sounded amazingly sober.

"No.” She dug her feet in. No more bending to her father's and brothers’ wills. She drew a line in the sand and dared him to cross over.

"Excuse me?"

"Dad, I'm staying here. I'm helping him get his game back."

"Is that what you call it?"

"What I do and with who is my business.” As much as she loved him, no way would he run her life again.

"Not when it affects me and the whole family. Do you have any idea what this means?"

Rachel gripped the phone tighter. “It means I'm being my own woman."

"Damn, Rachel, that's not it at all. Think about what this could do if the press starts digging around and finds out who you are. It won't take long for them to make a connection. Then they'll nose around for information, and they may find it. I don't want them to find it. I want this to go away."

"It's not going away, Dad. Not as long as you're accepting responsibility.” She shivered and checked the level of the heat on the furnace. Feeling cold and a little sick, she sank into a chair. Wasn't this just what she wanted? For the press to find out the truth.

"Rae, you need to avoid this guy. For me."

"He's paying me to help him with his game. I can't back out now, but I will keep a low profile."

"I sure as hell hope that's good enough. It'd be better if you got the hell off his property and out of the area."

"I'll be careful. I promise."

"You can't get involved with him. For all our sakes."

"I know, Dad. I know. We're not involved."

She hung up, walked to the window, and looked out. On her porch, Simon looked in at her and thumped his tail, obviously hoping she'd let him in so he could feast on Charlie's cat food. He must have escaped the fortified dog kennel in record time—Derek's truck had rumbled down the driveway about five this morning on his way to work out.

Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, she contemplated the mess she'd gotten herself into.

Derek lay on his back and bench-pressed more than his weight. Just as he lifted the weights, Tyler stuck a newspaper in front of his face.

"Shit. What the fuck are you doing?” Gritting his teeth, arms shaking from the effort, he lowered the barbell and sat up. Tyler waved the newspaper in front of his face. Derek caught a glimpse of a picture of him in a lip-lock with—

Oh shit. Rachel? Like he'd had his tongue down any other woman's throat in the past few months. Of course it was Rachel.

Derek ripped the paper out of Tyler's hand and scanned the caption. “Oh man. This isn't good. Did Rachel see this?"

"How the fuck would I know? Do you think I keep tabs on her?” Tyler snorted, clearly enjoying his cousin's distress.

"I hope not.” Derek wiped sweat from his face with a towel.

Tyler grinned. “Afraid I'll move in on your territory?"

"Don't even think about it."

"So it's a case of you don't want her, but no one else can have her either."

Who said Derek didn't want her? He wanted her so badly he'd lain awake most of the night, his thoughts alternating between replaying the game and replaying the sex. He'd wanted her to stay the night, but he hadn't asked. If they were going to keep this casual, then they had to limit the sex to once a week before a game. In his mind that kept it strictly business. The minute it became an every-night or even every-other-night thing, the whole makeup of their relationship changed.

Swiping the sweat off his brow with a towel, he read the photo caption again. “Damn. I have to call Rachel."

He tried several times, but no answer. Finally he settled for leaving a message asking her to call. She didn't.

But everyone else did, including his father and his sister, both wanting to know what the hell was going on. He couldn't very well tell them when he didn't know himself.

They liked Rachel, would love to have her as part of their family, but their concern went deeper than that. It had to do with his mother. It always seemed to go back to her. He knew he had abandonment issues. Hell, didn't everyone have issues?

Derek always held back a piece of himself, even from his family and Tyler.

Rachel was different. She knew him. He'd shared so many hopes and dreams with her over the years. She stripped bare his most secret, painful spots. He couldn't afford that. Not anymore.

He'd protect his heart from the one woman who had the most power to do damage, next to his mother.

HughJack studied the game films for this week's opponent. Every team had at least one good game in them no matter how lousy their season. It was consistency, week in, week out that counted. One win meant nothing. A string of wins meant everything.

HughJack switched to a different video—not that they were actually using videotapes anymore; everything was strictly digital now. He watched his team at last week's game, knowing this week's opponent would be doing the same thing, analyzing them for weaknesses, figuring out how to capitalize on their mistakes and minimize their strengths.

He watched as Derek Ramsey threw a block, caught a pass up the middle, ran for twenty-five yards. He'd been all over the field. Damn, when Ramsey was in the zone, the kid was pure poetry in motion. And Harris, well, the cocky bastard had finally exercised his arm instead of his mouth.

The Jacks might well have some of the best raw material in the league if he could minimize their mistakes and mold them into a consistent winner.

If he figured how to do that, watch out professional football.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Fifteen

Quarterback Sneak

All week Rachel hid behind her power suits and professional facade. Derek didn't question it. They worked out as usual every night or watched game film. Derek kept his distance, and so did she until Friday night. She avoided being seen with him in public and cooked dinner for both of them at Derek's house. Afterward they dropped both their respective emotional walls and their pants and engaged in hot, heavy sex far into the night.

Derek flew out for the game the next morning while Rachel busied herself with the animals and a long-overdue bout of housecleaning.

Late afternoon, someone pounded incessantly on her front door. She ran to open it. Cass pushed her way past, dragging three suitcases. Simon, seeing an opening, slipped in with her and dived into the cat food dish.

Dumping the bags unceremoniously on the floor, Cass stomped into the kitchen and poured herself a beer.

Charlie rose from his nap on the couch and snarled at Simon, who growled back. Rachel grabbed Simon by the collar, hauled his butt outside, and firmly shut the door behind him.

Sighing, she locked the door and took a seat. Cass threw herself on the couch.

"That bastard. That lying, cheating bastard. I'm going to feed his balls to New York's defensive line.” She tilted her glass back and guzzled the entire thing.

"What did he do this time?"

"Everything. He's a lying, cheating—” Cass slammed the glass on the coffee table.

"Bastard. I know."

"He was supposed to meet me for dinner at Alfonso's last night. He never showed up, so I checked next door. There he was, sitting in the bar surrounded by a half dozen women. It was disgusting how they fawned all over him. Who'd have thought that asshole's head could get any bigger, but it did after the last game. One win and he thinks he's a fucking celebrity."

"Did he see you?"

"Sure did. Just before I dumped a pitcher of beer on his head."

"You didn't?"

"I did. Not only did I soak him but all those little bitches too. Looked like a wet T-shirt contest gone bad."

Rachel laughed in spite of herself. “Cass, you never cease to amaze me."

"I was going to dump him anyway. Just hadn't gotten around to it.” Cass looked around. “Where should I put my stuff?"

"Uh, I guess in the spare bedroom. Where'd you sleep last night?"

"I stopped by here, but no one was home so I got a hotel room, waited for the ass to leave this a.m., and then packed all my shit and left him a fuck-you note."

Grabbing a couple of suitcases, Cass headed for the spare bedroom. Rachel followed. She sat on the bed and watched as the whirlwind threw her suitcases on the bed one by one, opened them, and took out her clothes. She stuffed them in drawers until the dresser overflowed, then crammed them in the closet. She didn't seem to care. Rachel zipped her lips. Cass was pissed and taking it out on her clothes, which beat maiming or murdering a living being.

Last to come out was her cheerleader uniform, a skimpy little thing that she actually hung in the closet with care. “I'll show the bastard. There are plenty of guys that'd beg for a chance with me."

"Are you sure he wasn't just engaging in some harmless flirting? He considers it a sport."

"It was blatant. You'd never catch me doing anything like that. I have more class."

Rachel's eyes crept up to her eyebrows. She resisted the urge to roll them. Every other week, Tyler and Cass got into an argument over one or both of them flirting.

Cass flirted shamelessly; so did Tyler. Whether it ever came down to actually sleeping with any of their victims, Rachel hadn't a clue and didn't want to know.

She had enough problems of her own.

The Jacks won their away game over the weekend with ease. Derek played relaxed and loose after a Friday-night roll in the hay, a pregame ritual he intended to keep.

Tyler completed twenty-two out of twenty-five passes, several of them to Derek. The Harris-Ramsey connection was picking up steam and gaining some local press. Ever the publicity whore, his cousin wallowed in the attention. Derek avoided it.

Tyler went about his business as if nothing traumatic had happened in his life. He boozed it up, projected the appearance of a man slut, and threw touchdown passes during practice. Yet at the end of each night, Derek was certain Tyler slept alone. Tyler's playboy ways were mostly for show.

Meanwhile Derek's relationship with Rachel settled into an oddly comfortable routine. During the week, they kept each other at a distance. Only in bed did the ice princess melt and they kicked it through the uprights all night long. Perhaps she'd been telling him the truth about being able to have recreational sex without any emotional entanglements. He followed her lead, not entirely certain how long he'd be able to keep his heart out of the deal. But damn, if she could do it, so the hell could he. Besides, the alternative would be an absence of Rachel in his life, which he considered an unacceptable option on so many levels.

He wasn't messing with anything as long as he had his game back.

The following Saturday night, he dragged Rachel out for a hamburger at McGuire's under the ruse of keeping an eye on Tyler, who'd taken reckless to a whole different level. She'd been reluctant to go, probably not interested in seeing her picture plastered all over the local papers. He'd been relentless in his persuasion until he got his way.

They sat in a small booth in a dark back corner with Tyler. Before long, Tyler had littered the dance floor with broken hearts until he narrowed the field down to three busty blondes—his obvious preference in female types.

A few minutes later, Tyler exited the building with all three women in tow. Derek shook his head. Poor bastard. Deep down inside, past his superficial armor of selfishness, Tyler ached for Cass, but Tyler never showed weakness.

Rachel followed Derek's gaze, impeccably dressed and cool as ice in a cooler. He had an urge to thaw her until she dissolved into a puddle at his feet. “I don't get it. It seems like they're really through this time. Yet he's more crazed than usual, like a man nursing a broken heart."

Derek's gaze settled on Rachel, surprised at her perceptive comment. “I thought I was the only person who saw through his bullshit."

"Move over, buster. You've got company."

"How's Cass taking it?” Derek reached for a nacho dripping with cheese and pondered how he'd feel if he were Tyler. Pretty damn crappy and just as nuts.

"She's met someone. She rarely comes home."

"What can I say? They're both flakes."

"Reckless flakes."

"Speaking of reckless—” He grasped her hand, moved it under the table, and placed it on the bulge between his legs. “This is what you do to me. All I have to do is think about you naked, and I get hard."

"Then keep thinking. It's the night before a game. You know what that means.” She milked his erection for a moment. Sliding her hand up his stomach to rest on his belt buckle, she cast him a beckoning look. His cock beckoned right back.

"I've been looking forward to this night all week. Watching you with a whistle around your neck and not being able to touch is beyond what any mortal man can take.” One corner of his mouth quirked. To prove his point, he put his hand on her crotch and stroked her through her jeans.

She tensed but didn't move his hand.

He glanced around. “Ever done it on a table in a bar?” Curious how far she'd go, he moved his hand to the button on her fly. She drew in a breath and held it as he released the button. Her gaze darted around the crowded room.

"Afraid someone will notice?"

"No, not at all."

"Liar.” He grasped her zipper and pulled it down.

"Derek."

"Hmmm?"

"I—You—I mean—"

"What's wrong, baby?” Derek slid his hand down her pants and past the elastic band on her underwear. Her eyes grew big. He leaned toward her and kept his voice low. “It's dark in this corner, and no one can see under the table. As long as you don't attract attention, it'll be our little secret.” With his index finger, he grazed the wetness between her legs. He slanted her a knowing glance and slid his finger inside her.

"I'm—I'm just supposed—” She paused for minute, attempting to collect her thoughts. “I'm supposed to sit here and act like your finger isn't where it is?"

"How about when I do this?” He toyed with her clit with this thumb. Her entire body shuddered. She buried her head in his shoulder. Her hands gripped his arm. He thrust his finger in and out while working her clit. She pushed her hips into his hand, silently begging for more. He aimed to please. Ignoring the cramp in his hand, he brought her to the edge and sent her over. Her body jerked next to him. Her fingernails dug into his arms. She bit his shoulder as if to stop herself from crying out loud.

"Will that be all?"

"Huh?” Derek glanced up at the waitress; her slow smile indicated she wasn't fooled. “Uh, yes, that'll be all.” He tossed a fifty on the table to get rid of her. “Keep the change."

"Thanks. You might need these.” She left a few extra napkins on the table.

Derek removed his wet finger and wiped it on a napkin. Rachel, still in a daze, zipped up her pants with shaking hands.

"I'm becoming as decadent as Cass.” Rachel spoke in a breathless voice.

"And that's a problem?"

"No. It'd only be a problem if you became as decadent as Tyler."

He snorted. Not possible, no matter how hard he tried. “Let's go home."

"Now you're talking."

Rachel hung on tight as Derek drove like a man on a mission, but then he most likely was. She gripped her seat while his truck careened around corners and slid on the wet pavement.

"Derek. Please."

"Don't worry. We'll be fine.” He spoke through gritted teeth. His hands gripped the steering wheel.

"You might, but I'm not sure about me."

"Close your eyes. We'll be home in no time."

Home. Such an innocent word packed with such meaning. His home. Not hers. Yet he said it like they were a couple sharing the same living space. Only they weren't. They were business partners and once-a-week sex buddies. And she'd sworn she wouldn't—couldn't—have a problem with that.

She released her held breath as Derek screeched into the garage and slammed on the brakes. Not more time for reflection, regrets, or any kind of retrospection. Like the athlete he was, he rounded the truck, ripped open the passenger door, and threw her over his shoulder in one swift movement. Caveman style. Barbaric. Hot. And oh so sexy.

She smacked his butt as he hauled her through his house and past the big king bed in the master bedroom, straight into the bathroom. She wiggled but he held fast.

She heard the water in his large, tiled shower turn on. Her heart beat faster. Her shoes fell off her feet. He lowered her body, let her feet touch the ground. His dark gaze burned a hole in her soul. Her body hummed with anticipation.

"Get naked or get your clothes wet. Your choice."

"I love it when you play the macho man."

"Get naked.” He growled a warning as his clothes quickly littered the bathroom floor.

Rachel stepped out of her jeans and folded them carefully over a towel bar. She glanced at Derek, who was now chewing on his lower lip. His eyes zeroed in on her red lace panties. Her jacket followed her pants.

"You're taking too long.” Without another word of warning, he swooped in and hauled her ass into the shower. She struggled, unable to gain purchase on the wet tile floor. Her thin blouse clung to her body and revealed the red bra underneath.

Derek sucked in a long, appreciative breath. “You are beautiful.” He shoved her against the wall as the water sprayed both of them. His big hands framed her on both sides. Water trickled down her face, her neck, her chest. She gazed up at him and placed her hands on his wide shoulders. Reaching down, he grasped her panties in both hands. The expensive silk gave way easily as he literally ripped them from her body. Before she could anticipate his next move, he popped every button on her blouse and pulled up her bra, revealing her hard nipples.

Hands on her waist, he hoisted her higher up the shower wall. Taking his cue, Rachel wrapped her legs around his waist. “Are you sure your back can take this?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Just hang on.” He seemed beyond caring, beyond noticing pain, beyond anything but the heat of the moment. Steam rose around them, fogging her vision for everything but the gorgeous man between her legs. He slid her down the wall until her crotch came to rest near the head of his penis. She wrapped both arms around his neck. Derek grasped her butt with one hand while he used the other to guide his cock inside her. Once he'd slid partway inside, he held her butt with both hands and lowered her down farther until she'd completely sheathed him. He filled her, the length of him pressing high inside her.

Rachel closed her eyes and savored the feel of this man's erection joining them together into one body with one purpose. He leaned into her. His head rested against the tile wall. His chest rose and fell, the movement raking his coarse chest hair against her already aroused nipples. His harsh breathing rasped in her ear as he fought for control over his body.

Rachel buried her head in his hair, savored the smell of him. Slick wet passion built inside her. Her inner muscles clenched around him, eliciting a groan of raw pleasure from his lips.

Pinning her against the wall with his big body, he started to move inside her. He lasted only a few slow strokes before his movements became more frenzied. He plunged into her, each stroke more desperate and powerful than the last. His muscles flexed and strained from the exertion, but he didn't seem to care.

Holding tight, Rachel rode him with furious abandon. The fever built within her. She climbed higher and higher, stretching limits, erasing boundaries. Their wet bodies slapped against each other. Every thrust plunged him deeper into her body, into her soul, smashing fences, destroying inhibitions.

She savored the sounds of their lovemaking, hyperaware of his body as it conquered hers, even as she conquered his. A mutual overthrowing of old barriers, barriers already battered by their previous encounters.

He slammed into her, all control lost, and she held on until the final whistle. He jerked inside her, emptying his seed. He threw back his head, the cords of the muscles in his neck stood out, and his entire face twisted with ecstasy as he released a primal howl of sheer male triumph.

Rachel followed seconds later with her own equally shattering orgasm.

They both slid down the wall and collapsed in a heap on the tile floor as the warm water peppered their sated bodies.

"You're not mad at me, are you?” Cass sat on Rachel's couch, painting her fingernails bright purple.

"Why would I be mad at you?” Rachel thumbed through the pages of a sexual manual Cass had left lying around. Creative Monkey Sex for Adventurous Lovers. Monkey sex?

Had she had monkey sex yet with Derek? What qualified as monkey sex? Did being fingered to an orgasm in a crowded bar qualify as monkey sex? She doubted it. Monkey sex probably involved gymnastic moves if this book was anything to go by. Now if Derek had stood on his head on the table, or she'd hung off the light over a pool table, that might make it monkey sex.

Lately her thoughts were consumed by Derek and sex. Sex and Derek. Sex with Derek. Sex. Derek. Sex. Der—

"Because I didn't come home last night again."

"Huh?” She'd forgotten the question. She fanned herself and wished Derek were there instead of Cass.

"You're not listening. Are you mad at me?"

"Not at all. You're a big girl.” Rachel flicked her wrist at Cass and went back to flipping through the book.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure.” Distracted, she turned the page. Whoa. She read some more. This was good stuff. They'd have to try this.

"The man is insatiable.” A cat-ate-the-cream smile spread across Cass's face.

"Great.” Rachel choked as she read the next paragraph and studied the accompanying picture. People really did this stuff? Was it physically possible? She had no idea people's bodies twisted like that. Maybe they'd altered the picture.

"Aren't you going to ask me what man?"

"Sure, what man?"

"Antonio Perez. I met him at a signing for the JackGirls calendar a few nights ago. Instant chemistry. We were fucking in the bathroom in less than two hours."

"My bathroom?"

"No, the handicapped one at the mall."

"You can't be serious.” Not that Rachel should talk; after all, she had engaged in a little foreplay in a bar.

"We locked the door."

Shaking her head, Rachel pointed at the book. “Have you ever tried—” Rachel held the book up for her to see.

"Oh yeah.” A slow smile spread across Cass's face. “Antonio says I'm one of the most flexible women he's ever met with a healthy sex drive and no stifling inhibitions."

Cass took the book from her and turned to another page. “Try this one. It'll make you scream so loud you'll shatter the windows."

"Okay.” Rachel was pretty sure there had to be an extra set of legs in that picture, but she took note of the page.

"With Tyler, it was all about him. He never used a sex book as a guide, except for the pictures. Besides, I'm not sure Tyler can read."

"You two were together for years. Don't you miss him?"

"It was a dysfunctional relationship that served his needs but not mine."

Rachel could've sworn they'd both gotten off on the continual drama. “So now your needs are served."

"Rae, I'm in love or lust or both. The man needs it several times a day in ways you couldn't even imagine."

Rachel shuddered. “How do you ever fit in work?"

Cass shrugged, unconcerned. “In a few days, we've done it in every possible position and place in his house. Now we've branched out into the community."

"In my house?” Rachel didn't want to hear that. She glanced at the counter, at the coffee table, the desk, afraid to find evidence of their sexual escapades.

"Rae, the man is so bold. We've fucked in the—"

"Okay, enough. I'm glad you're having fun.” Sheesh, they'd only been together a few days. They'd go through every location in Seattle in a month at this rate.

"Besides, my absence hasn't affected Tyler in the least. He didn't miss a stride. I understand it takes four girls to replace me."

Rachel didn't doubt that one bit.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Sixteen

Going Deep for the Big Score

Derek paced the barn aisle, stopping every so often to pet a horse and check his cell phone. Simon padded along after him, ball in his mouth. He dropped it in Derek's path. Derek kicked it, and Simon scrambled down the aisle, legs flailing in a desperate attempt to retrieve the ball.

Rachel was right. The animal needed an intervention.

Stopping, he peered out the doorway. Blackness engulfed the gravel parking area in front of the barn. The silhouette of Rachel's little cottage cast no light from the windows. No Rachel. She never stayed out this late by herself. She might be with a girlfriend or at the mall. Lots of things. Just because it was eight on a Saturday night didn't mean she'd crossed the goal line with some other guy. Some other guy? His ‘nads clenched at the thought. He'd beat the crap out of any guy who so much as ran one play with her.

For three weeks, they'd gone deep before every game, and the Lumberjacks had won all three of those games. On Sunday night, they would play the coach's old team on national TV at home. The Texas Bulls steamrolled their competition and showed no signs of letting up. They'd trash-talked all week about how they'd clear-cut the Jacks. Fuck that. He'd pull their sorry asses up by their roots.

Damn, he needed Rachel. He needed the sexual and emotional boost that came after a night with her. A game as big as this one required her participation late into the night. Hot sex might not have anything to do with his team's winning streak or his sudden confidence in his abilities. Coincidence or not, no way in hell would he mess up a good thing.

They had an informal agreement, one he was damn well going to exercise. What the hell had happened to her? He'd called her cell a few times. It went straight to voice mail. Texting didn't bring any better results.

As he stepped into the tack room, Rachel's influence overpowered him. Neat, tidy, and organized, she'd sorted all their supplies and various pieces of tack and then stored them in clear plastic bins labeled with the contents. Incredible. He'd beg her to organize his house next.

A noisy truck rattled up the driveway and slowed to a stop. It sputtered and hiccuped as its driver turned off the ignition. Biting his lip, he resisted the urge to run out the door and demand to know where she'd been. Instead he stayed in the barn, pretending to check the horses, and waited.

"Dare?"

She stood in the doorway. His personal savior. The outside light highlighted her chestnut hair. Stress was written on her face, visible even though it was partially obscured in the shadows. Her trim little body was strung tight.

His legs reduced the space between them in a few short strides. That stupid-assed smile he always had when she was around spread across his face.

"Hey. You okay?” He stopped a few feet from her.

"I'm fine. What are you doing out here? Are the horses okay?” Her eyes flicked to each stall and back to him.

"The horses are fine. It's Saturday night, and I couldn't sleep."

Her expression relaxed a little. “I'm sorry I'm late.” She took a step forward and tripped over Simon's ball. Derek lunged for her and held her to him for longer than necessary. She regained her feet, and he let her go—for now. She picked up Simon's ball and threw it. He bombed after it, spinning her around in the process.

"Watch out. You know he doesn't acknowledge the existence of anything but his ball.” Derek wrapped his fingers around her arm to steady her. The woman was a danger to herself, the proof in her multiple bruised body parts.

A smile lit up her face, which did weird things to his stomach. He should've eaten hours ago.

"I was starting to worry about you.” He checked her out in the aisleway light. Her long legs were encased in navy slacks, and she wore an off-white sweater tight enough to accentuate her curves. Worry traced little lines in the corners of her eyes.

"Are you sure you're okay?” He stared at her, but she closed the shutters and froze her expression into one of calm, confidence. Damn, he wanted to rattle her composure.

"I haven't seen you in a few days."

He breathed a sigh of relief. That explained the worry in her eyes, a momentary breach in her armor. She'd been worried about him, about them. “I worked a charity function last night, and the night before I pored over game films with the team."

"Dare, you don't owe me an explanation.” She spoke softly and looked away, not meeting his gaze.

"I would've invited you, but you seem to have an issue with being seen with me in public."

"It's not like that."

"What is it like?” He needed to know. It grated on him.

"I'd rather not attract any attention."

"Honey, you attract plenty of attention without me.” He moved to her like metal to a magnet and pulled her to his chest. She stiffened in his arms, her hands at her sides. He wove his fingers through her hair and kissed her neck.

"If you found someone else to relax with before a game, I'd understand."

"Is that what this is about?” He pulled back and searched her eyes for an honest reaction. It was important to him.

She nodded. “I don't want you to feel trapped. Either of us is free to step away at any moment with no harm done."

No harm done? He wasn't so sure, but he didn't care to dissect his own feelings or her apparent lack of feelings. “I want you, Rae."

"I want you too.” Her mouth turned up at the corners, almost a smile but not quite. She wrapped her arms around his neck and went all soft against him. His heart rate increased tenfold.

Warmth spread through him. She'd dropped her guard, and he inched inside. Standing on tiptoes, she kissed the tip of his nose. Such a simple act brought incredible pleasure. He sighed and buried his face in her hair. The silky strands caressed his face, tickled his nose. He inhaled the scent of her shampoo, reminding him of the roses his mom had grown in her garden.

Lifting his head, he met her gaze. Aw hell, those green eyes beat down every last ounce of resistance. He'd slay dragons for this woman, even battle gravity to keep her safe. The dragon slaying would be easier.

She rewarded him with a broad smile, warming his heart and heating his groin. “Tyler called looking for you. They're doing karaoke at Character's Corner. He wants you to join him."

"Only if you'll go with me.” He couldn't stand another minute without her. Besides, he didn't have a problem being seen with her. In fact, just the opposite. He liked showing her off.

Her mouth clenched shut. “I can't. Really. People will talk."

"You mean your family will talk. Character's is like home. No one pays us much attention.” Not totally true, especially with the team on a rare winning streak.

"But—"

"No buts.” He put a hand on her arm and guided her to his truck. She didn't resist. Much. It was either that, or he'd be dumping her ass on one of those saddles and screwing her brains out.

He'd add that one to his duffel bag of tricks for later use.

Derek stretched his arm across the back of the booth and rested his hand on Rachel's shoulder. Very few seats were left in this neighborhood bar on a rockin’ Saturday night. Tyler and his newest one-night-stand bimbo sat across from them.

The bleached blonde kept feeling Tyler up under the table, not that Derek was in any position to criticize. In fact, his cock twitched at the memory.

Tyler yawned and drank another glass of beer. His date's boobs stood out like helium balloons with nipples. Derek steered clear of them. Better not poke something sharp in one of those suckers. The resulting explosion would level a whole city block.

Bimbo Girl seemed oblivious to Tyler's disinterest. She clearly assumed she'd snared the quarterback in her trap for the night. Derek predicted the league's party boy would be in bed—alone—by midnight.

His gaze swung from Rachel, a real woman, to Barbie in the flesh, surgically altered to closely resemble the out-of-proportion doll and just as plastic. He'd bet her brain was empty too.

Thank God for Rachel. She might be the clumsiest thing in lipstick, but she had it going on for him. She made his days and nights in ways he refused to examine or interpret. Girls like Bambi, Barbie, Bimbi, whatever the fuck her name was, didn't prime his rod. If she paraded past him naked, he doubted he could get it up for her. He found her a big turnoff. If his yawning was any indicator, so did Tyler.

Derek drew Rachel closer. She ducked her head, hiding behind a wall of hair. He stiffened and reined in his irritation. A little.

"You act like you're ashamed to be seen with a dumb jock.” His tight jaw barely moved.

"You're far from a dumb jock.” She rubbed his thigh.

"Don't try to distract me. You're not wearing your hair back. Instead you're using it for a curtain. You always have your hair pulled off your face or in a ponytail."

"I don't want another picture in the paper."

"Won't happen.” He faked a confidence he couldn't guarantee.

"You don't know that.” She saw right through him.

"Your family gave you major shit for that picture."

"What do you think?"

"I think they were all over it. I'm sorry, Rae; it comes with the territory."

"I just want to keep a low profile."

"Feel free to lower your profile. My cock would really appreciate it.” He grinned, and she slapped his arm. Chuckling, he nuzzled her neck.

His cousin slouched lower and glowered at them.

Jealous bastard, you had your share of chances to have something good with Cass.

Too bad for Tyler, but his stubborn, selfish cousin didn't get it. He played around with women who bored him to tears except in bed. But even great sex got boring if there was no connection. Tyler hadn't reached that level of self-awareness yet. He kept going the bimbo route.

He didn't want to think about what route he'd go when it came time for him to part ways with Rachel.

"Derek! Come on up, Derek,” the karaoke DJ called from across the room.

Frowning, Derek looked around the crowded bar to see if there was another Derek in the room. No one walked toward the karaoke stage.

Tyler perked up and grinned at him. “Hey, cuz, they're calling your name."

"I didn't put a song in."

Tyler just shrugged, and Rachel looked the other way, suddenly fascinated by the foam topping their pitcher of beer. Tyler's blonde bimbo date smiled blankly, missing the entire conversation. Standing, Derek glared at them both and stepped onto the small stage. A few bar patrons recognized him as a Lumberjack and gave him a smattering of applause.

Derek loved to sing. He didn't do it often enough. He'd been blessed with a good voice—a little more of a country music voice than a rock voice, but he could do both and proved it by belting out a rowdy country song. In no time half the patrons crowded the dance floor.

Some cowboy in the corner made his move on Rachel and asked her to dance the two-step. Derek would've been jealous, but the joke was on the cowboy. After Rachel stomped on his feet for the fifth time, he figured out she danced like a duck on steroids. When the song ended, the cowboy limped to his table without a glance back. Another one bites the dust, and he hadn't even had to threaten to kick his ass.

"Not bad for an out-of-tune fuckhead.” Tyler slurred his words a little.

"Screw you.” Derek took his seat next to Rachel and ignored his asshole cousin. He moved the pitcher of beer out of range. Tyler'd had enough.

"I'll sing one with you and make you look good."

"Yeah, fine. Like you could read the words on a sober day."

"Try me."

Twenty minutes later, they sang a popular song together, which had the whole place rocking. Getting into it, he put in for a few more songs; so did Tyler. What the hell. It was Saturday night, and his life looked pretty damn good.

He glanced over at Rachel. Laughing, she turned her face up to his. Their eyes met and locked. A small but dangerous earthquake ripped through him. She leaned against his shoulder with a contented sigh. She was just about the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen—with or without makeup. Why she considered herself plain, he'd never understand. Her well-meaning brothers had certainly done their jobs planting crap in her head.

His glare scared off every man who looked her way. Their hungry stares pissed him off. Maybe he had no right to claim her, but he did it just the same. For as long as they both adhered to their agreement, she was his.

He'd battled these conflicting feelings ever since she'd set foot on his farm. He'd battle them until she walked out of his life at the end of the season. For both their sakes, that's when he'd end it if she didn't beat him to the punch.

Rachel ordered a grasshopper. Damn, it was going to be a good night. A smile crept across his face. He buried his fingers in her silky auburn hair and imagined it gliding over his naked body, stroking all his ultrasensitive nerve endings and feeding the endless fire she ignited in his heart.

On impulse he tilted her chin upward, and moved closer. He wanted his mouth on hers as badly as he'd ever wanted anything—well, except for a certain part of him inside a certain part of her.

Leaning close, their lips met. One touch and emotions rippled inside him like waves lapping the edge of a pond. He took her mouth gently, letting the feelings he kept under wraps express themselves. His mouth covered hers, sampling the pleasures he found there. He nibbled on her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Rachel moaned. Derek shut his eyes and willed the moment to last forever.

"Hey, you two! Get a room!"

Derek pulled back, annoyed, and shot Tyler a look that sent most defensive backs ducking for cover. Tyler didn't flinch; he'd been desensitized to Derek's homicidal glares over the years. Shaking her head as if to clear it, Rachel picked up her grasshopper and took a sip. She winked at Derek through lowered lashes. He winked back. Tyler rolled his eyes.

"I think we need to get going. I've had enough of living my sex life vicariously through these two. Let's go.” Tyler tugged on the blonde's hand.

"Don't let us drive you away."

"Don't push it, cuz, or I'll never leave.” Tyler stifled another yawn. Derek doubted Bimbo was going home with Tyler tonight.

"Sorry.” Derek didn't feel the least bit sorry.

Tyler strode out of the building, pausing to sign a few autographs. Bimbo dogged his heels.

"Is he okay to drive?"

"He's not driving.” Derek tossed a set of keys in the air.

"How'd you do that?"

"Picked up a trick or two from Simon.” He shoved the keys in his pocket. “Do you want to go?"

"As soon as I finish my drink.” She gave him the once-over. Her half-lidded gaze slid over his body.

"Drink fast.” He shifted his butt but found no relief from his tight jeans and hard cock.

Derek brought his mouth to her ear and whispered on impulse. “Don't keep me waiting, baby. A week's a long time."

She turned her face toward his so her lips brushed his cheek and her breath feathered his ear. “For me too."

A tremor ran through him, fear and joy combined. The words he spoke were the truth, and it scared the crap out of him. He missed her, and not just her body. Missing her meant she mattered. If she mattered, that gave her power over him or, even worse, the ability to hurt him.

She smelled so damn good and felt so soft. Her smile did incredible things to him. Still she held something of herself back, except in bed. He couldn't break through the protective coating, wasn't even sure he wanted to.

Rachel bumped her glass and toppled it. The remainder of her drink spilled onto the table. She righted the glass and mopped the small mess with a few napkins. Tightening her facial muscles into a blank mask, she turned to him. “I'm done."

His mouth twitched. To his credit, he held back both his smile and the words on the tip of his tongue. Guzzling the remainder of his beer, he put his glass on the table next to hers, avoiding the napkin pile. “Let's go."

Derek tossed several bills on the table and held out his hand. Rachel took it and promptly tripped. He caught her and shook his head.

"Don't say it.” She glanced around the dark bar. No one looked their way. Maybe her power suits could be lined with bubble wrap.

"I don't think you can blame it on alcohol.” His dark eyes twinkled with mischief. She faked a pout, which brought a deep, sexy chuckle from him.

"Maybe I'm a little tipsy."

"You've hardly had anything to drink. Rae, I've seen you trip on flat ground wearing tennis shoes when you're stone-cold sober."

"Are you calling me clumsy?"

"When haven't I? Just promise me you'll stay away from CFMs."

"CFMs?"

"Come Fuck Me shoes. You know, hooker stilettos with five-inch heels."

Her eyes grew wide, and she stared at him, horrified. “That'd be like putting a porcupine near that woman's boobs. The result would be disastrous."

He threw back his head and laughed. “You got that right, baby."

Hand in hand, they walked to his truck parked in the back of the lot. He started to open the passenger door for her when she turned to face him. His dark eyes smoldered with suppressed passion. Her ice princess persona melted under the heat of his gaze, revealing a brazen vixen underneath.

No commitment expected, no regrets, just incredible, hard recreational sex for the good of the team, of course. Her heart didn't buy it, but she hoped his did.

Leaning against the truck, Rachel yanked Derek against her. She threaded her fingers through his hair and looked up into his eyes. Lust burned in those chocolate depths, along with a hint of something else, something deeper and a heck of a lot more dangerous to her heart and his. Embracing denial, she concentrated on the physical: the hard muscles of his chest pressing against hers, his strong thighs enclosing her legs, and her hips cradling his. His erection massaged her crotch. She craved the feel of all that hardness driving inside her, touching all her soft, wet places. Her limbs turned to liquid, refusing to support her.

Holding her up with his body, Derek flattened her against the truck. Their lips collided with the force of a tackle hitting the line. She drove him toward the end zone with her urgency. Their tongues danced to a wild, untamed beat. His crotch ground harder against hers. She grabbed handfuls of his fine butt and held on to her sexy jock.

"Oh God, Rae. Damn.” His mouth devoured hers, taking no prisoners and giving no ground. His tongue invaded and conquered the recesses of her mouth, tangled with her tongue, sucked the breath out of her.

They needed to stop and get hell out of there. Their behavior didn't qualify as keeping a low profile.

"We should go.” She panted into his ear, pulling on the lobe with her teeth. She squeezed his butt, then dipped one hand lower and stroked his balls from behind.

"Aw fuck. The hood of this truck looks pretty damn good right about now."

"Have you ever done that?” Words tumbled from her mouth in a breathless jumble.

"Not yet. I'm pretty much a do-it-in-the-bed-or-backseat kinda guy.” He slipped his hands down the back of her pants. “But hey, I'm adaptable; just don't keep me and my boy waiting too long."

Chewing on her lower lip, she imagined screwing him right there in the parking lot. That'd be a great one for the papers. She wasn't quite that out of control, but her reservations didn't stop her from having little fun. Feeling wicked, she unbuttoned four buttons on her sweater and revealed the only sexy bra she owned. His breath caught as he watched.

"You like that?” she teased.

"Oh, hell yes."

"Consider it a coming-soon preview.” Waves of excitement rippled through her. His obvious arousal dared her to throw caution and her clothes to the wind.

"I'll be coming even sooner if we don't get to the main event."

He lowered his head and kissed the swell of one breast, rubbing the erect peak of the other through her bra. Rachel arched her back and squeezed his shoulders. The lights of an oncoming car sliced through the darkness. Moving quickly, Derek shielded her body with his own.

"Let's go. If your brothers saw a picture of us right now, I'd be fertilizer on the field in Jacks Stadium.” He spoke through gritted teeth. Not waiting for an answer, he opened the truck door and lifted her inside, then hurried to his side and got in. She didn't button her sweater.

He drove down city streets, demonstrating the same speed he used when running downfield. “Are you in a hurry or something?"

"Damn right.” He stared straight ahead, but she knew his mind wasn't on the road.

"Why would that be?” She leaned toward him, nuzzling his neck.

"Mmmmm. Just keep that up, and we'll pull over to the side of the road."

"Is that a promise?” Her body hummed in anticipation of the forbidden, knowing her comment only egged him on.

"It could be.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. His hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

Rachel shivered at the husky sensuality in his voice. He clamped a hand high on her thigh and kneaded it with his strong fingers. One short inch and his hands would find paradise. Banishing her good girl side for the night, Rachel unzipped her pants and guided his hand between her legs.

"Shit,” Derek whispered. “What are you trying to do to me?"

"Make you horny."

"Honey, I've been horny all night. You don't need to do anything but show up, and I'm horny."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

His mouth pulled into a tight line. “Actually I don't. Not anymore. It takes more than a set of boobs and pussy to get me hot as fast as you do."

She blinked at his bluntness. “So what's different?"

"Hell if I know. You just do it for me. Rae, I think you're at your sexiest in faded blue jeans, a T-shirt, and no makeup. Even better naked."

He was being sweet, but then he wanted to get in her panties. She didn't possess that kind of beauty, but it was a nice thought. His fingers massaged her as he kept his eyes glued to the road.

"Rachel. You're killing me."

"It'll be a slow, torturous death, but we'll die together."

"You're going to pay for this.” His thumb rubbed lazy circles on the wet crotch of her panties.

"I'm looking forward to it."

"I can tell.” He slid his index finger under her panties and found the source of her wetness. Pushing her pussy lips apart, his finger slid easily inside her.

"You've gotta pull over.” Desperation drove her to end this sweet torture.

He pulled his finger out and added another one. She lifted her hips and pulled down her pants to give him easier access. He plunged both fingers inside her. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Lust glazed his dark eyes.

"Find a spot. Now.” It wasn't like she could think with his fingers inside her.

He careened around a corner. One front wheel jumped the curb.

"Dare! Watch out!"

"We're fine. I'm multitasking.” He jerked the wheel and steered the truck off the sidewalk.

"Men don't multitask.” She pushed the words out with great effort, frantically looking for a dark alley or parking lot. Anything. Rachel gasped as his finger went deeper and his thumb found her clit. She pressed the back of her head against the headrest and whimpered for mercy. She wasn't getting it.

"Then we're in trouble.” His jaw was clenched, and his gaze darted left and right for a spot.

He'd stepped up his rhythm when she spotted it. “There. Pull in there."

He didn't need a second invitation. He slammed on the brakes and turned into the deserted parking lot of a defunct business in a quiet industrial area. Driving to the back, Derek appeared to scan the building for signs of video cameras. Obviously satisfied, he pulled into a secluded spot between a small portable storage building and a large cedar tree.

Then he got out. What? He couldn't get out. The truck looked like a perfectly respectable place to do it, especially with its dark tinted windows. Her inner hussy deserted her.

Derek yanked open the passenger door.

"Are we getting in the backseat?"

"Nope. Too cramped. I'm too big."

"It's starting to rain."

"I know. We'll keep each other warm."

"What if someone comes by?"

"We're hidden. They won't see us. If they do, we'll see them first and get to hell back in the truck. You aren't turning coward on me, are you?"

"I'm having second thoughts.” Boy, was she ever.

"Oh no, you don't. You started this. You finish it.” He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it in the backseat. His gorgeous chest rippled with hard muscles. Her fingers itched to touch him. A sliver of courage crept back. “Get naked. We don't want to get our clothes wet."

"Are you nuts?"

"Honey, you've tormented me too long. Now you pay."

"I tormented you?"

He unbuttoned the remaining buttons on her sweater and pulled it off. Then his jeans and his boxers joined his T-shirt in the backseat. The rain pelted his body. It ran down his pecs, pooled in his belly button, and dripped off the tip of his erect penis.

"It's raining too hard."

"Quit whining. We won't care. No one will see us back here.” He took control and let his eyes do the talking and his fingers do the walking. He tugged on her pants, easily pulling them the rest of the way off. Then he picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. A small, overgrown garden with a park bench sat under the low-hung branches of the cedar. He plopped her butt on the back of the bench, feet on the seat, knees spread apart.

The rain ran in rivulets down his nose and chin. It soaked her hair and plastered it to her face. She shivered, and he proceeded to warm her up. She found it hard to believe he only had two hands because they were everywhere. Her bra ended up around her waist, and he pushed the wet crotch of her bikini panties to one side as his fingers resumed the job they'd started earlier.

She'd never look at rain the same way.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seventeen

The Naked Bootleg

Rain be damned, Rachel warmed from her core out. Heat radiated to her extremities, leaving her toasty and toasted. Their skin should've sizzled as a deluge of raindrops bounced off their bodies. Water meandered down the landscape of Derek's muscular chest.

Showing the persistence that stood by him throughout his sports career, Derek was not deterred by rain. Instead he slid two fingers inside her and proceeded to create his own storm. Thrusting deep, he toyed with her for a few minutes, withdrawing each time she teetered on the brink of passion. She whimpered every time his fingers retreated.

"I think it's time to go for the score, baby."

"Hit me with your best shot, big guy.” She dug her painted nails, courtesy of Cass, into his bare, wet back. He removed his fingers. She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with his lips.

Derek flipped her around so she sat on the back of the bench, legs dangling. Rain dripped off her chin and down her arms. She gripped the bench for balance and lifted her hips as Derek peeled her soaked panties from her body. Positioning himself between her spread thighs, he slid inside in one long, slow stroke, filling her tight hole and holding himself there for a long moment. Rachel closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. She wrapped her legs around his waist, grabbed his hands, and leaned back, driving him deeper. The wind whipped the cedar boughs over their heads. One branch slapped Derek across the cheek. He shook it off, undaunted by nature's temper tantrum.

Holding on to her hands, he withdrew, then slid into her again. She pushed against him, arching her hips to take him deeper. He moved inside her, slow and deliberate, even though she attempted to take over the pace and speed it up. He wouldn't be hurried, but she wanted more, wanted this slow teasing to end and for him to claim her with powerful strokes. She squeezed his cock with her muscles, tightening them around him.

"Oh fuck.” A ragged groan was wrenched from his chest. He held himself against her, pressing deep and upward.

"Derek, please. I need you to go faster."

Instead he withdrew, leaving her empty and needy. She whimpered in protest. Grabbing her around the waist, he flipped her onto her stomach, her body draped over the back of the park bench, facing forward. She balanced with her hands on the bench seat.

His fingers parted her, and he entered her from behind, tormenting her with the same deliberate pace as before. Leaning over her back, he reached under her body with one hand and cupped a breast. He pinched and tugged on an erect nipple. His free hand snuck between their bodies and found her clit.

"Harder.” She panted. “Please, faster. Give me what I need."

"What do you need?” He rubbed the little center of her desire.

"You know.” Her words sounded strangled to her ears.

"Maybe I don't.” He withdrew almost completely. His big hands slid down her rain-slickened body.

"Dare. Dammit."

"Getting a little demanding, sweetheart. I might have to teach you a lesson."

She didn't heed his words. Screw that. “Teach away, just give me what I need.” She gritted her teeth and gripped the bench. The storm increased with intensity as if taking its cue from their passion. His balls slapped against her crotch, the sound barely audible above the pounding of the rain. She didn't care, as long as they weren't washed away by a flood other than one of their own making.

Derek's body tightened to the point of breaking. His control snapped. Rachel dug her fingernails into his arms, urging him on. He slammed into her, his frenzied movement a violent storm of physical activity, while the forces of nature buffeted them. Wet leaves fell from nearby trees. Rain and wind raged around them, damn decadent and crazy wild.

Their bodies meshed together and moved in rhythm. Wild and frantic, both of them held nothing back. Derek thrust harder and harder, driving them higher and higher. Their emotions flooded their senses and ran unfettered, slicing through the rain, engulfing everything in their path. He filled her with his body and consumed her with his soul. Their bodies catapulted through the night sky. His groans and her cries of ecstasy rang into the darkness, only to be absorbed by the downpour. Her inner storm broke.

Rachel collapsed against the bench, limp as a rag doll. Her orgasm receded, and her mind decided to rejoin her body. Floating back to earth, a melancholy feeling settled over her. Somewhere in the past few minutes, she'd soared to another dimension with a man destined to be as much of a part of her as she was a part of herself.

Rays of light cut across the parking lot.

"Shit.” Derek's irritation was at odds with the great sex they'd just had. Rachel lifted her head, but he grabbed her around the waist and half carried, half dragged her to the truck. Lobbing her into the seat, he jumped into the driver's side just as headlights reflected around the building and toward the back parking lot.

Starting the truck, he slammed it into reverse, backed up, and gunned out the back exit just as a security guard car drove around the corner.

Derek drove quickly down the wet city streets. Rachel shot glances over her shoulder several times as she scrambled to find her clothes behind the seat. Her underwear and bra were still back at the park bench.

The guard didn't follow. Finding her coat in the dark cab, she wrapped it around her wet body and leaned her head against the headrest. Finally she took a breath.

Shaking his head, Derek grinned at her. “That was a rush. So, where to next in our exploration of sex without a bed? We could try the Space Needle's observation deck or maybe one of Seattle Center's rides?"

"I think I've lived dangerously enough."

"What? This is it? Did your sense of adventure abandon you?” He'd tasted the fruit; now he wanted the entire tree.

"My sense of adventure has become a homebody. That was close. We could have been arrested."

"Yup. Made the morning news. The Internet. YouTube. Full color, full-page spread of you spreading those sexy legs for me."

She shuddered at that. “I'm definitely revisiting stay-at-home sex."

"Ah, you hardly gave exhibitionism a try.” He faked a little-boy pout.

"I'm rethinking my wanton fantasies.” Rachel grinned at him.

"What next then?"

"How about we give it a try in your hot tub? Nice, safe, controlled environment."

"I'm in."

"From cold rain water to a warm, swirling hot tub."

"I've been told I swirl with the best of ‘em. I'm great at mixing the right concoctions too."

"Let's put your stir stick to the test."

"I'll get naked to that.” He faked a toast and downed the contents of his imaginary glass, drunk on sex and something more.

If Derek could take a moment in time and freeze it, this would be the moment. Not his Rose Bowl winning touchdown. Not an Olympic Gold. Not even a future Super Bowl win would top doing Rachel on a park bench in the pouring rain.

Rolling over, Derek propped his head on his hand and stared out the French doors of his bedroom at the moonlight on the pond below. The warm, naked woman in bed beside him stirred slightly, then cuddled against his chest. He smiled down at her and tightened the arm around her waist. He grew hard again but needed his energy for game day. Down, boy, down. His dick was getting greedy, just like the rest of his body and soul.

Stretching, Rachel rolled to her back, still asleep. He raised one eyebrow. Opportunity knocked. Nothing wrong with a guy copping a few cheap feels and getting an eyeful of naked flesh. He nudged the sheet down her body. Feeling a bit like a voyeur, he savored every minute of his visual vacation. Her gorgeous tits bore burns from his stubble and hickeys from where he'd marked her as his. Tight nipples stood hard and proud in the cool air. He wet his thumb with his tongue and ran it across each of his babies. Derek traced a line down her body, past her navel. He slipped his fingers into the curls that marked the boundaries of true paradise. He parted her. She was slick and wet. Ready for the taking. Damn, did he want to take.

Shaking his head, he pulled his hand away. One more deep play in her end zone, and his dick would be on injured reserve. His boy protested, insisting it'd go the distance. His dick had game but not brains.

She stirred again and blinked at him. The moonlight bathed her skin in an angel-like luminescence. A satisfied smile played across her face. She lifted her hand and raked her fingernails through the hair on his chest. He stifled the shudder that threatened to slide through his body. His cock begged for an instant replay.

"Hey.” Her soft, husky voice caressed his heart, teased his carnal fantasies.

"Hey yourself, gorgeous.” He rolled lazily onto his back, like a lion after a hard night of hunting and screwing. With a contented sigh, this lion let his lioness work her magic on the king.

She slid on top of him. Her breasts rested on his chest. Her hard nipples tickled his ribs. An erotic vision flashed through his mind of her spread-eagled on his bed, all four limbs tied to the four corners of the bed. Given her recent willingness to melt the ice princess and live life on the edge, he'd talk her into enacting that particular fantasy. And soon.

But first he had a game to win.

Derek shut his truck door and waited. Tyler screeched into the parking spot next to his and got out.

"Hey, man. You ready for number four on Sunday Night Football?” Tyler grinned, all brash confidence as he swaggered over to his cousin. “National TV. America is gonna see that we're for real."

"Oh yeah.” Derek grinned back. Right now he straddled the top of the world, and no one could knock him off. Confidence hummed through him, leaving no doubt they'd win this one.

"We're gonna show the Bulls that there's a new game in town. I don't give a fuck if they're eight and zero."

"Yeah, we're gonna kick some Bull ass."

"No bull.” Tyler clapped him on the shoulder as they walked into the locker room together. “How'd it go with Rae last night? Did ya get some?"

"She takes the edge off, and I need that right now."

"Yeah. Whatever she's doing, make sure she keeps doing it.” A group of cheerleaders piled out of a small car, and Tyler paused to watch them.

"Looking for Cass?” Derek teased.

"Hell no. Looking for the lucky girl I'm taking home tonight."

Derek knew Tyler's bullshit when he heard it. “She's happy, Ty. It's probably time for you to move on."

"I have moved on. I spent the night with the Boducci twins."

"What happened to Barbie?"

"She took me home, and I sent her on her way. Big tits but boring. But the Boduccis. Holy shit. I had to kick them out about two thirty so I'd have enough energy for the game."

"Hope they didn't wear you out.” Derek looked his cousin in the eye. Tyler was a lying bastard. Sadness and pain glimmered in his blue eyes before he masked it with his carefree asshole front. Shrugging, Derek followed his cousin into the building.

"Know what? Driving here this afternoon, I heard cars honking at me. I assumed they were pissed at my driving, which happens all the time. Then I noticed some of them waving and gesturing—they weren't flipping me the bird either.” Tyler grinned and entered the back door to the stadium. Nodding to the security guard, they walked down a long hall to the locker room.

"Yeah, some kid asked for my autograph this morning when I was gassing up my truck. Pretty weird. We've been anonymous for so long."

"The team's been anonymous because we've sucked for so long and no one gave a shit. Last year our fans wore Washington potato sacks over their heads. We win this game, and they'll take off the sacks and start noticing."

Derek nodded. A win would only make them four and four. Every win came against teams they had no business beating. Their fans were becoming believers. Tonight they'd play to a sold-out stadium, the first sellout in years.

The locker room buzzed with excitement and anticipation. A far cry from the silence of three weeks ago. Three convincing wins against good teams built confidence. Something special was happening here, and everyone felt it.

HughJack chatted with an assistant inside the locker room door. Unusually relaxed and friendly, he smiled as the cousins strode inside. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hope you came to play."

"Play, hell! I'm kicking some ass!” Tyler faked dribbling down a court and went up for a quick layup. He pumped his fist in the air.

"Wrong game, Harris,” HughJack reminded him.

"For me there's no wrong game. I'm the best there ever was at any game.” Tyler strutted into the locker room, bowing and waving to imaginary fans while belting out his rendition of “We Are the Champions.” His teammates hooted and hollered.

Derek smiled at HughJack. “You can't fault his confidence."

"Confidence has never been his problem. Attitude has. Now he's using it to his advantage in a positive way."

"Tyler just needs his energy channeled in the right direction."

"I'm trying, but the kid's a tough one. High maintenance."

"Tell me about it. I've known him since birth. Despite the selfish asshole act, he'd take a bullet for a friend and his team."

HughJack regarded him for a minute with expressionless eyes, then nodded. “I believe he would."

Starting at wide receiver on national TV should have scared the crap out of Derek. In the past, when he'd played on other teams, he'd warmed the bench during nationally televised games but never gotten any playing time. Despite the bright lights and the rowdy Seattle crowd, an unusual calm settled over him.

Derek did his pregame stretches, sprinted up and down the field with his teammates, and paused to scan the crowd for Rachel. He smiled when he spotted her with her brother in their seats. Rachel gave him a thumbs-up. Mitch avoided his gaze, which was an improvement. At least his former buddy kept his finger holstered.

Derek's father and stepmother sat at the fifty, a few rows up from the field. His dad nodded at him. Even at a distance, pride shone in his father's dark eyes. His stepmother, his biggest supporter, waved a small blue and gold Jacks flag and yelled louder than any fan in the stadium.

Tyler swaggered up and down the sidelines. He'd been soaking up the limelight from the second he did the first pregame interview. Raising his hands over his head, he incited the crowd to a foot-stomping, ear-splitting racket. Derek could barely hear his own thoughts, let alone understand his teammate's words.

The Bulls kicked off to the Jacks. Their rookie running back called for a fair catch. As they gathered in the huddle, Tyler leaned forward. His laser blue eyes pinned each man with a sharp penetrating gaze. Focused and intense, determination radiated off his body. His iron will sucked them in. Gave them no leeway and took no prisoners.

Turning, Tyler swept his hand downward to indicate to the crowd to quiet down. The rabid fans quieted to a decibel that would still cause permanent hearing loss, but at least they could hear in the huddle.

Tyler led. His team followed. Within the first few plays, he transformed from a self-centered athlete into a team player. No more renegade, trying to do it all himself. Tyler ran the plays as called unless he read the defense differently. In that case, he'd audible while HughJack ranted on the sideline, but Tyler's gambles paid off and deflated HughJack's anger.

Derek caught an uncatchable pass in the end zone. Even he was surprised when he saw the replay on the stadium big screen. Luck shone down on them, not that it wasn't a battle until the very last second ticked off the clock. Their running game came alive. Bruce “Bruiser” Mackey pounded through the Bulls’ defensive line like running through whipped cream. Tyler threw with uncanny accuracy.

In the end, they squeaked out a win and handed the Bulls their first loss.

And then all hell broke loose.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eighteen

Safety Blitz

If Derek could define an exact time when the Lumberjacks went from goats to heroes, league doormats to possible contenders, beating the Bulls would be it. Their popularity escalated like a snowball rolling down one of Mount Rainier's glaciers. With each win, it gained momentum and size. Their fourth win exploded like an avalanche, happening fast and covering everything in its wake until it was so large it took on a life of its own.

The underdog Lumberjacks, a perpetual rivals’ punching bag, scrapped their way onto the national sports media's radar. The Cinderella team with the young, fiery coach, renegade quarterback, and ragtag mix of linemen, receivers, backs, and rejects, captured the hearts of Seattle and America.

For Derek it started subtly: The barista at his favorite coffee spot complimented him on a well-played game. The bartender at his favorite hangout asked for an autographed picture to hang in the bar. It escalated as strangers recognized him and approached on the street or in a restaurant. Lumberjacks posters popped up in places he'd never seen them before. Blue and gold dominated window displays and fan T-shirts. And on a more personal level, his agent inundated him with promo opportunities and requests, especially charitable contributions in the form of his presence.

Derek and Tyler's evening workouts with Rachel shrank to one night a week, maybe two.

The Lumberjacks capitalized on the ballooning popularity of the homegrown cousins and scheduled them for countless appearances. Heck, he and Tyler even did a radio talk show once a week and a couple of appearances on local TV. A landslide of attention swept him down the mountainside. He hadn't seen it coming and never would have estimated the brute force.

Tyler, being Tyler, took it all in stride, as if it was his due. He basked in the glory. Derek found it hard to say no to all the people who suddenly wanted a piece of him. If he was busy before, it didn't compare to being a local celebrity, poised on the brink of being a national celebrity.

He reeled from the impact and sought refuge from the chaos, a refuge only one person could give him.

Rachel.

"You're in denial.” Mitch propped his butt on the porch railing. Crossing his arms over his chest, he angled a glare at his sister meant to pierce the strongest defenses.

Rachel maneuvered away from the porch light so he couldn't see her face clearly. “I am not. I'm doing exactly what I set out to do. Give me another month or two, and he'll be telling all."

"Bullshit. You've fallen in love with him.” He spat the words like a distasteful mouthful of the broccoli he'd hated as a child.

"See how good I am? I even have you believing I'm in love with him.” Rachel smiled sweetly.

Mitch rolled his eyes. “The only thing I believe is you're interested in proving Ramsey's innocence."

"If I proved his innocence, that would mean our father—"

"Is guilty. Think about it."

"Dad's innocent.” Above all else, Rachel was fiercely loyal to her family. Family came first. It always had. It always would. She wouldn't sell them out for anyone, even Derek Ramsey. “I'll get the information out of him."

"You're paying a big price. Are you absolutely certain you're up to this?"

"I'm in complete control.” Rachel grabbed Simon's collar as he shot up the porch steps toward her brother.

"What's with that dog?” Mitch eyed the animal with suspicion.

"You need to switch aftershave. Whatever you're wearing attracts canine delinquents.” Simon strained against her hold on his collar and whined.

Her brother moved back a few steps. “Have you seen Dad lately?"

"A few weeks ago. He's the same."

"Yeah, I saw him last night. At least he was half-sober, but it was early evening. I tried to talk to him about getting some help. He kicked my ass out of the house.” Pain filled Mitch's green eyes.

"Mitchie, I promise I'll fix this."

"Really, Rae? Even if he's vindicated, will it heal his wounds? I'm not sure life is so tidy."

Rachel was certain life was anything but tidy.

Rachel pulled back the curtain and gazed into the black night. She sighed and pressed her face against the cool window glass.

Derek had invited her to dinner. He'd called three times saying he was running late. Finally he'd called one last time with apologies. Watching game tapes with the guys, he just couldn't get away. She held out hope he still might make it, but it'd been a couple of hours.

Disappointed, she opened her laptop and read through the materials from today's lecture in her football management course. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven p.m. Tires crunched on the gravel driveway. Cass had moved out over the weekend and in with her new lover, so it couldn't be her.

Rachel peeked through the curtain. Tall and lean, always in motion with pent-up nervous energy, Derek stood on her porch, tapping his foot. He raised his hand to knock. She opened the door, kneeing Simon in the chest before he bowled her over and invited himself inside. Simon whimpered, and she saw that one of her leather riding gloves hung out a corner of his mouth. Rachel lunged for the glove. Simon feinted left and bounded out of reach. Rachel grasped air, tripped over the doorjamb, and went down. A split second later, Derek suspended her in his arms. He pulled her next to his chest and held her tight.

"Interesting welcome.” His chest rumbled with laughter under her ear.

"The criminal has one of my new gloves.” She raised her eyes to his face, and her heart waltzed a little welcome dance despite her annoyance with his dog. He stared down at her and didn't say a word, though his mouth twitched at one corner.

Simon whined, but Charlie held him at bay with one of those stay-back-or-you're-cat-food looks only a cat can give. The feline rubbed around Derek's legs and inserted himself between them and the dog. Simon backed off the porch.

"I'd given up on you. Do you know what time it is?” Sometimes she wasn't sure he noticed such things.

"Uh, yeah. I just got done. I'd promised to put in an appearance at a charity event, and I totally spaced it. Had to run by there first.” Derek released her and bent to scratch the cat. Charlie rolled over and exposed his belly for more scratching. Simon made a move to sneak by. Charlie didn't allow sneaking. He slapped Simon on the nose, claws out, and drew blood. Simon yelped and jumped back.

Derek straightened, shook his head, and laughed. “Reminds me of your brother and me."

"Which one of you is the thief?"

"Neither.” His intense stare backed her up a step. “Damn, I've missed you. It's been a long week."

"It's not over yet.” Hope bloomed in her heart.

"We fly out tomorrow for our game on Sunday. Can I come in?"

"It'll cost you a glove."

"Wicked, evil woman to pit me against an obsessed dog."

"Not wicked enough."

"You're getting there.” His knowing gaze raked her body. She shivered as if he physically ran his tongue over her bare skin.

He called Simon to his side. Simon obediently sat and spat the glove out on the ground, panting heavily. Charlie hissed from a few feet away. The dog kept a wary eye on the devil cat.

"All you have to do is ask him. He's very accommodating."

"To you maybe. He knows I don't like him. He toys with me.” Rachel grimaced at the growing pool of saliva on her porch. She picked up Charlie, holding him to her. Her cat looked over his shoulder and smirked at the canine intruder.

Derek shrugged and handed her the soggy glove with a missing thumb. “Can I come in now?"

Rachel stood back and let him in. He squeezed through the door, careful to keep Simon out. She slammed the door on his persistent dog. Prying Charlie's claws off her shirt, she placed him on the floor. Satisfied the enemy was locked outside, he strutted off to spread cat hair on her couch.

"Rae. I'm really, really sorry about tonight. I was looking forward to it."

Not as much as she'd been.

Derek wrapped his arms around her and just held her against his big body. She felt the tension, knew it was from the incredible pressure he was under. When the team was bad, no one but the team cared, but now that wasn't the case. Expectations and pressure had risen exponentially with their Sunday night win.

He buried his face in her hair. His breath feathered her neck. Little shock waves of sexual electricity charged her body. A smart girl didn't need sleep when she had a sexy guy like Derek. He slid his hands down her back and molded her to his body. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he flinched.

"Are you okay?” She loosened her hold.

"Just sore.” He drew back and studied her face. “But I'm better now that I'm with you."

She didn't want to hear that. Not tonight. Not ever. He made it sound like he cared, like they could have a real relationship that might actually go somewhere. She journeyed to more stable ground. “You're so tight."

"That's my line."

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Watch it, or I'm sending you out to sleep on the porch with Demon Dog."

"Sorry, ma'am.” He swept off an imaginary cowboy hat in a gallant gesture and bowed low.

Rachel sighed. “Would you like me to work out some of those kinks?"

"Oh yeah, and how about adding some of your own?"

"Kinks?"

"Uh-huh.” The weariness in his dark brown eyes gave way to a twinkle of expectation.

"Do you ever think about anything but football and sex?"

"I try not to."

She laughed in spite of herself. Smirking, she crooked her index finger at him. “Follow me to physical therapy."

"I was hoping you'd say that.” His grin spread wider than the Grand Canyon. “Are you including those kinks you mentioned?"

"I'll decide the therapy. You decide your state of dress."

"That's simple. Skin."

Derek trailed Rachel to the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and stripped off his sweatshirt, T-shirt, and socks. He fell on the bed on his stomach. He left his jeans on and gave her the choice as to whether or not she wanted to turn her offer into something sexual. He was easy and game for anything, at least with her. Besides, he liked the thought of her undressing him.

She straddled his body and worked on the knots. He winced when she hit an exceptionally sore spot.

"Does that hurt?"

"I'm pretty beat-up, but I have a high pain tolerance.” He shut his eyes, letting the crap of the day flow away from him. Her competent hands worked through the layers of tension little by little.

"You're burning the candle at both ends. Have you ever considered saying no?"

He sighed and buried his head in the pillow. “I can't."

"You can."

"Who should I say no to: the battered women's shelter that asked me to speak to their kids; the children's hospital that wanted me to visit the terminally ill; or how about the soldiers that just came back from overseas? Or maybe I should turn my back on the senior citizens group, some of our most loyal fans?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't push you."

"You don't need to apologize. You're speaking the truth. I know that. I just don't know who to turn down."

His cell phone jangled in his pocket. No one called him this late unless it was an emergency. “Aww crap. Can you get that for me?” Right now he didn't want to move and destroy this rare relaxed state she'd lulled him into.

"Sure.” Rachel fished it out of his pocket—a pleasant experience—and handed it to him. He checked the caller ID, hit the Off button, and tossed the phone on the nightstand.

"Damn."

"Who is it?"

"My agent.” He gritted his teeth. The man did his job—too well.

"This late?"

"He's been hounding me all day about a lucrative modeling contract he wants me to sign."

"You? Model?"

"That's my reaction. It's for men's underwear."

"You? An underwear model?” Rachel started to laugh, but Derek didn't find the situation funny.

"The one offer I can say no to. He's Ty's agent too. Why the hell doesn't he ask him?"

She shook her head. “You need people to screen this stuff for you."

"My people consist of a kleptomaniac dog, an old cow pony, and an agent with dollar signs in his eyes instead of pupils."

"You need an advocate for you, like a handler."

"Yeah, maybe I do.” He mulled her suggestion over as she went back to work on his kinks. The answer struck him up the side of the head with its simplicity.

"How about you? You handle me pretty well. Except I'm still not getting that kink you promised."

Rachel pushed on another tender spot. He grunted in pain and shifted his position on the bed.

"There, I got it. Happy?"

"Not exactly.” He rested his head on his hands.

Rachel laughed, and more of the day's stress peeled away. She'd become his go-to girl, just like his senior year when the Cougars were Rose Bowl bound. He'd been under enormous pressure then, but it didn't compare to this. Nothing compared to this, and the ride had only just begun. If it wasn't for Rachel, he didn't know how he'd deal with it all. A twinge of guilt slid through him. When things settled down, he'd stay here on his Seattle farm while she headed for a job in pro sports, most likely with another team.

He didn't want to think about her not in his life.

Shutting out the future, he closed his eyes and let her work her magic. The tension flowed away like warm water down a bathtub drain. Seconds turned to minutes until he lost track of time.

"You feel better. More relaxed."

"I am. Thanks to you.” He felt squishy and loose.

"It was nothing."

"It was something.” He rolled over on his side and pulled her next to him. “You don't know how much I appreciate and value your friendship."

She smiled a sad smile and wouldn't look him in the eye. Women. What the hell had he said wrong now?

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just tired. I had a trying day."

"Rae, tell me all about it.” He wanted to know. Wanted to give back a little of the comfort she gave so generously to him.

"Not now. I promised to work on the kink."

He smiled. They could talk later. “Work away."

She slid her hands up his chest and rested them on his shoulders to push him onto his back. Bending her head, she slid her tongue over a nipple. He moaned as she sucked and licked first one nipple, then the other. She'd neatly avoided his question, but right now he didn't give a shit. He was, after all, a guy and becoming hornier by the second. Her mouth moved downward to his belly button, then lower. He sucked in a breath.

Rachel unzipped his jeans and pulled them off along with his boxers. She looked down at his cock with such an appreciative expression that it wallowed in the flattery and swelled even bigger.

"What are you going to do to me?” He cleared his throat.

"You'll have to wait and see."

Damn. “I can do that. Don't you think you're overdressed for this party?” His body buzzed with sexual energy.

"The important question is, do you?"

"Oh, hell yes.” He started to sit up, but she put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down.

"No, let me do the work tonight. You're tired."

"Okay.” He swallowed and licked his lips in anticipation. Let the little lady feast on all he had to offer.

She inched off her shirt, revealing a little bit of skin at a time. Derek stared. His tongue hung on the floor. He bit back a moan and wiped his mouth.

Her simple bra turned him on as much as the lace ones. He brought his hands up behind her back and undid the clasp with ease—a talent he'd mastered in his early twenties. She giggled and pulled away, shaking a finger at him when he attempted to follow. Slipping out of her bra, she dragged it across his face, down his chest and stomach, and over his eager dick.

"Oh man, Rae."

Rachel tossed the bra aside and ran a fingernail down his cock, then back up again. She gazed at him through lowered lashes and touched the tip of her tongue to the head of his dick. His dick jerked, ready to dive in. He pushed his hips forward in an attempt to get her to quit teasing him and go for the goalpost. She laughed, a flirty, sexy sound that lit a fire in his heart.

Oh hell, he wanted to writhe around on the bed like some pathetic guy who never got any. The problem was that with Rachel he never seemed to get enough. The more he got, the more he wanted.

He'd never been one of those sex-crazed guys who had to have it several times a day, or even once a day. In fact, until she'd stumbled back into his life, he'd done quite well with once a week, if that. He went for quality, not quantity.

Casual sex never did much for him either—not that he wanted committed sex, at least not the kind that required a ring. He just didn't share. When he was with someone, he didn't want any other guy playing on the same field or going deep in his end zone.

With Rachel, the rules had changed. He wanted it all—quality and quantity and exclusivity, at least for the foreseeable future. Her ambition gave them both an out and him a safety net for what the hell it was they had going on. He shook his head. Thinking too much got a guy in trouble. What the fuck was he doing thinking anyway when her tongue felt so good on his cock?

Burying his fingers in her auburn hair, he tried to pull her mouth down on him. She evaded, doing a great fake to the left, and cupped his balls in her hand and squeezed them gently. With a wicked grin, she lowered her mouth again and sucked the tip of his cock into her mouth. His stomach muscles tightened; his breath caught. He held still a few torturous seconds. His dick twitched, wanting to get in the game.

"Awwww hell.” Now he was writhing, and he didn't give a shit if he looked pathetic and helpless.

"Is something wrong?” She raised an innocent brow.

"Uh, no, go back to what you were doing.” He arched his hips.

"You sound like you're in pain."

"I am. You're torturing me."

"I don't want to hurt you.” Her teasing wrinkled his insides in weird ways.

"You're not.” He pushed her head gently back down to him.

"I could put you out of your misery."

"Just quit talking and use your mouth for something else."

She laughed, then made him pay, taking him deeper while her hand milked the base. Much more of this and he'd come in her mouth. While what she did was incredible, he needed to drive down the field.

"All right sweetheart, my turn.” He grabbed her around the waist and tossed her on her back. She struggled to get free, laughing, trying to push him away. He held tight and straddled her naked body, which he took a time-out to admire. Soft and pliable, long legs to heaven, nice tits with tight pink nipples that invited a man's mouth, a flat stomach, and the face of a wicked angel. This angel surprised him at every turn as she gained confidence and boldness.

Inside, he quivered with a tenderness he'd banned from the playing field. He backed off dangerous ground and concentrated on the physical, as if he could separate the two. After all, physical he could handle. Emotional—now there was a whole different ball game. One he chose not to play.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nineteen

Backfield in Motion

Rachel arched her body to meet Derek's as he straddled her. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned her hands over her head. With his free hand, he tickled her ribs and played them like a concert pianist stroked his ivory. She shrieked and begged for mercy, laughing so hard her stomach hurt. Between gulps of air, she struggled to free herself. Like that was going to happen. The man outweighed her almost two to one.

"Stop it. Oh, please stop it.” He was killing her with tickle torture. If he didn't stop soon, she'd pee her pants.

"Stop? Why?” He grinned from ear to ear. His biceps flexed, the bulging muscles in one arm very near her face. She nipped his arm for payback.

"Damn!” He jerked back but didn't let her go. “You little vixen."

"Vixen?” She gasped and giggled. “What'd I do?"

"You were torturing me.” His expression promised revenge and untold delight.

"I thought you enjoyed it."

"Not as much as I'm going to enjoy this.” The teasing sparkle in his eyes transformed to a smoldering heat. Her body reacted immediately. Warmed-up nerve endings prepared for the snap and the ball to be put into play.

She twisted underneath him as if she could dislodge 200-plus pounds of muscle. The man was unmovable. Derek pushed her legs apart with his knee. She didn't need a gold engraved invitation—she spread ‘em even wider. After all, the man had something she wanted. Presently it pushed against her thigh, long and hard. There were better places for it.

He nibbled on her lower lip. She moaned and arched her body upward. Passion ignited into hot flames, mindless desire. Derek's mouth covered hers, consumed, demanded, overpowered with the strength of his emotions. His tongue stole into her mouth, exploring, then mating with her tongue. An aching need licked at her insides.

He freed her hands, then filled his own with her breasts and followed up with that greedy mouth of his. Rachel buried her fingers in his hair.

"Take it down the field, big guy. It'd be a shame if you had to punt.” She rubbed her crotch against his erection, knowing he'd cave and give her what they both wanted.

"Say no more.” With a groan, he guided his big hard cock into her wet opening. She whimpered and lolled her head back on the pillow. He entered her with a quick, powerful thrust, and her breath whooshed out as he filled her. She gripped his waist and pulled him closer. He nuzzled her neck and grabbed her ankles, placing them over his shoulders to change the angle, increase the penetration, maximize the pleasure.

Driving deep, her soul bound to his, and things got a lot more complicated.

Derek stood in line at the supermarket, a small basket of groceries in one hand and a six-pack of good beer in the other. He did a double take at the magazine rack near the checkout counter. He groaned. Oh crap. It was out.

On the cover of Sports Pulse in living color, he and Tyler stood shirtless in football pants, holding their helmets under one arm. Tyler's long fingers were wrapped around a football. They stood turned slightly sideways, the angle showing off the Cougar Rose Bowl tattoos on their upper arms. The caption read: Northwest Boys Reign in Seattle.

Beefcake sold, and Sports Pulse seemed hell-bent on sucking in the women comprising an estimated 45 percent of pro-football fans. Seattle's hometown boys were the bait.

Derek cringed. He'd hated doing that cover, but Tyler and team management prevailed. His cousin soaked up every minute of it; he would've posed nude if they'd requested it. Derek had just wanted it over with.

Glancing around, he pulled his baseball hat farther down his forehead. He considered donning sunglasses, but since it was dark and raining, they'd only attract more attention.

Three teenage girls, looking too old for their ages, wearing way too much makeup, and showing too much midriff, giggled in line behind him. They'd stalked him around the store, cell phones glued to their ears and eyes glued on his butt. All three grabbed copies and giggled some more. Derek stared straight ahead. One of them tapped him on his shoulder.

More giggling.

Resigned to his fate and too nice of a guy to ignore them, he offered a smile. The one in a cheerleader uniform moved forward with a little help from her girlfriends. “Could you sign this for me? My boyfriend will absolutely freak."

"Sure.” He took the pen she handed him. “And you are?"

"Rachel."

"Really? My girlfriend's name is Rachel.” Okay, so she wasn't really his girlfriend, but she was the closest thing he had to one. And damned if he knew why he chose to share personal information.

The three girls looked at each other, giggled some more, batted lashes clumped with mascara, and crowded way too close. Backing away, he signed the other two magazines, paid for his stuff, and attempted an escape without anyone else waylaying him.

At six feet five, being inconspicuous didn't quite work for him. The girls had cell phones, and they knew how to use them. Outside the door, a group of teenage boys lounged against an old pickup. When they spotted him, they swaggered toward him in baggy pants and letterman's jackets, wearing their jock attitudes like teenage armor. Tyler clones.

Heaven help him.

Derek bent to pick up the book that fell out of Tyler's locker. At the same time, Tyler dived for it, and they cracked heads. Each swearing a blue streak, they tussled for the book. Derek won. He held it up and stared in disbelief.

"Cowboy Fantasy? By Wendi Darlin? What the hell is this? Are you reading this?"

"It's not like that, dickwad.” Tyler snatched it out of his hands and shoved it in the depths of his messy locker. His blue eyes darted around the locker room to make sure none of the other guys had seen the little altercation.

"Oh yeah? What is it like?” Derek leaned against a closed locker, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited for the truth.

"It's a, uh, a romance novel.” Tyler said the words so low that Derek had to lean forward to catch them.

"A what?” Derek cupped his hand to his ear.

"A fucking romance novel,” Tyler growled.

"You're reading a romance novel?” Derek snorted.

"Shut the fuck up. I don't want everyone to hear. I saw someone reading it and decided to pick up a copy."

Derek's eyes narrowed. “It's one of Cass's."

"How would you know?"

Because he'd taken one of Cass's romance novels from Rachel's house, but Tyler didn't need to know that. “She left a few at Rachel's. How'd you get it?"

Tyler squirmed, and not much made Tyler squirm. He lowered voice. “Cass left it in her car. I borrowed it."

"You've been stalking Cass. You broke into her car?"

"No, it's not like that. The cheerleaders practiced at the stadium a few days ago. She parked next to me in the lot. It wasn't locked."

Derek shook his head. “You're not really reading it?"

"It's a very good book."

"Ty, you barely read the sports section, let alone anything closely resembling a book."

"I'm educating myself."

"On what?"

"You told me yourself. These are the types of books Cass reads. Obviously she got something out of them."

"Why do you say that?"

"Dumb shit.” Tyler rummaged through his locker for some tape.

"So you think you're going to pick up some pointers by reading it.” Derek pushed closer, purposely getting in Tyler's space just to needle him.

"Well, fuck yeah. You'd be surprised; plus, it's great company on lonely nights.” Tyler pushed on his chest, moving him back a step.

"Now that's just plain sick.” If Tyler only knew how many lonely nights he'd found a similar book good company.

"Hey, I've been celibate for two weeks. I gotta get off somehow.” Finding the tape, he plopped onto a bench and started taping his ankle.

"You—celibate? Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"Are you calling me a moron?"

Derek rolled his eyes. “Are you really that dense?"

"Huh?” Tyler frowned, somewhat confused. “You should read this book."

He'd already read a similar one by Allie Adams, but Tyler didn't need to know that either.

"Women eat up this stuff. These books are their fantasies about how they wish men really behaved.” Tyler faked concentration on wrapping the tape around his ankle.

"So you're going to change your behavior?” Derek was certain that he'd been dropped down a rabbit hole or something. Tyler reading romance novels? Next thing you knew, one of America's hottest bachelors would be signing up for online dating. It boggled his mind.

"I'm always open to new seduction techniques.” Tyler regarded the mess he'd made of the tape job and unwrapped it.

"Since when do you need a seduction technique other than crooking your little finger?"

"A guy can always improve."

Derek snorted. “You miss her, don't you?"

"What the fuck are you talking about? I just don't like to be the one that gets dumped. That doesn't happen to me.” After his fourth bungled attempt at wrapping, Tyler waved a trainer over.

"Bullshit. That's not it."

Tyler turned his back on his cousin and started pulling stuff out of his locker. “Know what, we've got a football game. I don't need this shit.” Tyler sat back down and let the trainer wrap his ankle.

"You're a dumb-ass, you know."

"Fuck off. Don't fucking lecture me when you're just as much of a dumb-ass when it comes to Rachel.” His cousin smirked at him, indulging in a little unsportsmanlike conduct.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're a smart guy. You actually earned your college degree, so you figure it out."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty

Sacking the Quarterback

Rachel opened the door to Mitch. He looked like he'd been on an all-night bender. Wordlessly he slumped into a chair. He grunted, his eyes glued to the football game on her TV. Rachel suspected he wouldn't be able to tell her what two teams were playing. She braced herself for another lecture about Derek, yet something told her more was wrong. For one, her brother looked like he'd been mauled by Simon.

She swallowed to rid her mouth of the metallic taste and feared the worst.

"Would you like a beer?"

Another grunt. Not having a clue if he'd grunted yes or no, she took a beer out of the refrigerator and popped the top. Reaching for a glass, she bumped the bottle; it bobbled on the counter. Rachel dived for it, which sent it flying off the counter onto the floor. Darn it. At least it didn't break.

Rachel grabbed a handful of paper towels and bent to wipe up the mess. She braced herself for the razzing that always followed one of her klutz incidents. Mitch didn't say a word. Charlie hopped down from his perch on the bookcase and lapped at the beer. Just what she needed, a drunk cat. She shooed him away.

"Is everything okay?” Rachel studied him with concern as she handed him a new beer and an opener. Mitch accepted the bottle and opened it with jerky, mechanical motions and stared straight ahead. She waved a hand in front of his face. He didn't blink. His mussed hair stood up on end. The dark circles under his eyes were the only color on his face. He looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

"It's not Dad, is it?” Her insides tangled around each other, making it hard to breathe. Her imagination raced through several scenarios, each one worse than the previous one.

Without looking up, Mitch shook his head. Relief rushed through her. “Mitch, are you having problems at work? Is it a woman?"

"Oh hell, I wish it were that simple.” He finally met her gaze, his eyes filled with agony.

"It's not?” She touched his shoulder in a small gesture of concern.

"Hell no.” He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Would you care to enlighten me?"

"I'd rather not, but I don't have a choice. I'm such a fucking hypocrite."

"Try me.” She relaxed a little. Being a hypocrite didn't fit in with her worst fears.

"I need a favor. From Derek.” He spoke as if the words burned a hole in his tongue.

"From Derek? What kind of favor?” She breathed deeply and morphed into concerned sister mode, even though she considered him somewhat dramatic. A favor from Derek didn't qualify as a traumatic event in her book, even though it might in Mitch's world.

"Fuck.” He buried his head in his hands.

"That's not really a favor, and I don't think he swings both ways."

Mitch lifted his head. Irritation etched across his face. Obviously her attempt at humor fell flat.

"This is serious."

"If it involves his time, I'm not sure he has any to give. He's spread thin to the point of breaking right now. Everyone wants a piece of him."

"I was afraid of that."

Rachel sobered at his haunted expression. She ached to put her arm around his shoulders, to hug him, but the males in her family had never been touchy-feely types. “The situation has to be pretty serious if you're considering asking Derek for a favor."

Mitch buried his head in his hands. Rachel waited as her strong brother composed himself. Finally he lifted his head and met her gaze, his own eyes filled with anguish.

"It's about Ryan DeGrazio."

"Ryan? Your quarterback?"

"Yeah. Haven't you noticed he's not playing?"

She looked away. “I noticed, and I meant to ask you about him. I remember him from last year. Enough talent to go to a big college, maybe even pro. Incredible talent. Great arm. Good size—"

"Rachel.” He stared at her.

"Sorry, I can't help it. I just think that way."

He shook his head and stared heavenward. “You should have been born a man."

"About Ryan?"

Mitch rubbed his hands back and forth on his thighs. He swallowed and cleared his throat but didn't look at her. “Ryan said he felt off at the beginning of the season. He wasn't playing well. No energy. Fatigued too easily. Getting sick to his stomach. We thought it was some type of flu or ulcers. God knows, the kid has plenty to worry about, but it kept getting worse. I finally talked him into seeing a doctor a month ago. He has cancer. Stage four. They give him six months or less. He's only seventeen.” Mitch choked on the last few sentences.

"Oh, Mitch. I'm so sorry.” She sat on the arm of his chair and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, so am I.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. He turned his head to meet her gaze. His bloodshot eyes were rimmed with tears. “Derek is his hero. He wants to meet him."

"Ryan is the one you took under your wing a few years ago."

"That's the one. Single mother. When she's not bartending, she barhops. Father in jail. I think Ryan has spent more time at my house over the years than at his own. I've coached him since junior high."

"Against all the odds, he's a good kid."

"You have to know how hard it is for me to ask this of Derek. I hate the bastard."

Closing her eyes for a moment and regretting what she had to do, she did it anyway. “You need to ask him yourself."

"I can't ask him. I can't. Who says he'd listen?"

Rachel glanced out the window of her house as the lights flicked on in the barn. “He just walked into the barn, doing his night check on the horses."

"Yeah, then he'll do a night check on you."

Rachel's eyes narrowed in anger and irritation. Mitch hit a little close to the truth. “Maybe so, but it's none of your damn business. I haven't lost sight of my goal."

His skeptical expression told it all. He didn't believe her. She wasn't sure she believed herself anymore.

A sharp rap on her door caused her brother to raise one eyebrow, but he bit his tongue. Sighing, Rachel opened the door. “Dare, come in."

"Who's parked out—” Derek took two steps in the door and stopped in his tracks when he saw Mitch. For a moment, they stared at each other, like defensive and offensive linemen sizing each other up.

Scowling, Derek turned to Rachel. “Sorry, I didn't realize you had company. I'll leave.” He turned to the door, hand on the knob when Rachel wrapped her fingers around his arm and steered him back into the room.

"Derek, Mitch has something to ask you."

Derek opened his mouth, seemed to reconsider, and snapped it shut. He focused his attention on Mitch. “Really? You're actually going to lower yourself to speak to me?"

Mitch bristled and clenched his fists. Rachel stepped symbolically between them. “Grow up, both of you."

"We have nothing to say to each other.” Derek growled. He pivoted back toward the door. His stiff back betrayed his anger.

"Wait.” Mitch forced the word out of his mouth. “I need a favor."

Derek froze in the act of opening the door. In slow motion, he turned to face her brother. “You need a favor? Has hell frozen over? Is the earth standing still? Have the Lumberjacks won the Super Bowl?"

"No. You have to know it's taking a lot for me to do this."

"Yeah, I can imagine.” Derek's voice dripped sarcasm.

"Just listen. It'll only take a minute.” Rachel pleaded with her eyes. Derek's expression softened a little as he looked at her. His look wasn't lost on her brother. Mitch's jaw twitched and his eyes lit on fire, yet he gathered his control about him. He explained all about Ryan and his cancer. “Last year he was my first-string quarterback, and we made it all the way to the state semifinals."

Derek's defensive expression disappeared. His gaze flicked to Rachel, concern gentling his dark eyes. He nodded to encourage Mitch to continue. Her heart wrapped itself around this compassionate man, who found it hard to say no to people in need, while guilt ate at her insides and denial raged in her brain. Derek wasn't a man who'd drop her father for a loss. Was he?

"We dedicated this year to him. The team hasn't lost a game, and Ryan's attended every one of them. He's a hard-core Cougar and Jacks fan. You're his hero."

"Me?” Derek pointed at his own chest as if he couldn't imagine being anyone's hero. “I don't deserve the title."

"You won't get any argument from me on that subject.” Mitch almost smiled. Derek did.

"What do you need? An autographed football?"

"Uh, I was hoping for more than that."

"Okay. What?” Derek's expression turned wary.

"He's a quarterback. He wants to throw you a pass."

"Oh.” Derek looked away. For a minute, Rachel worried he might actually decide to choose this precise time to practice saying no.

Looking back at them, he cleared his throat. “I don't have any time this week. I'll see what I can do in the next couple of weeks."

"Whatever you can manage.” Mitch's frown indicated he doubted Derek would spare the time it took to run one play.

Rachel walked her brother to his truck, leaving Derek in the house. Mitch glanced over his shoulder toward the house. “Isn't he leaving too?"

"He will. He just needs to talk to me."

"Yeah right. Talk. I'm sure that's all he'll be doing."

"I'm a big girl, Mitch. Time to face facts. If I want to have an affair with Derek, I will. If I don't, I won't. Simple as that."

"I'll never forgive him. We were buddies. We grew up together, hung out together. I trusted him."

"I'll get to the truth in time.” Even though with each passing day, she dreaded the inevitable confrontation more and more.

"I worry you're getting in too deep. You're my baby sister."

Rachel laughed and gave him a hug. “I love you, Mitchie."

"I love you too.” He hugged her back, then smiled his lopsided grin and squeezed her arm. Turning, he reached for his car door and opened it.

"Find yourself a girlfriend. That football team of yours is your life. You need to do something for you."

He shrugged. “It's not that easy. Good women are hard to find."

"So are good men.” Rachel sighed. She wished she knew someone for Mitch, but she didn't. Oddly enough, she didn't think there were many women good enough for him.

Derek watched her warily as she came back in the house. “Do you want me to leave?"

"Why? Because my brother was here?"

"Well, he does hate me, and he hates us being together. Not enough to prevent him from asking me a favor, but enough to put pressure on you to end it.” His voice sounded surly and childish, but he couldn't quite rise above the feelings.

"Are you going to help him out?” Her meadow green eyes doused water on his bad mood.

"No, I'm not going to help him out. If I can find the time, I'll help the kid out, but it won't be for Mitch. Stuff like this is hard for me. I take it to heart."

She nodded. “I understand. I knew something was eating at Mitch lately. I didn't know it was Ryan. He's been my brother's special project since junior high."

Derek chewed on his lower lip. To be honest, he had so many of these types of requests that he had no choice but to refuse. Most weren't nearby, making it a little easier. This kid was in his backyard. If he could make the time, he'd drop by.

Glancing up, he met Rachel's steady gaze. Damn, sometimes he swore she stripped away his every defense until she was in his backfield and ready to sack his heart. He didn't want his heart sacked or his soul bared. Yet every time he mounted a good attack, she wriggled her clumsy little butt right past his defense.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-one

Keep Your Head in the Game

They ate popcorn, drank wine, watched an episode of a reality crime show, and forgot about the world for a while.

"Interested in a little more kink tonight?"

Rachel nodded. She liked the sound of that. Escape from the everyday world would do them good.

"How's your sweet tooth?” Derek's mock serious expression clashed with the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Craving a little sugar."

"Then you came to the right place. In the kitchen, woman."

"Kitchen?” Not certain what was up, she complied.

He grinned and lifted her butt onto the counter. “Don't move. Give me a moment."

He ran outside to his truck and came back with a grocery bag. He placed it on the barstool next to her. Her eyes grew big. “Dessert or kink?” She pointed to the bag.

"Hmmm. Dessert and kink. Use your imagination. I am."

She was using her imagination, but it wasn't as decadent as his.

"We're making hot fudge sundaes.” His deep, gravelly voice reverberated with sexual promise. “Why don't you get a little more comfortable?"

Rachel licked her lips but didn't wait for a second invitation. She peeled off her sweatshirt and discarded it on the floor. Derek, ever helpful when it came to getting her naked, unzipped her jeans. She lifted her hips off the counter, and he slid her pants down her thighs, along with her underwear.

"You shaved,” he noted, looking down at the small patch of dark hair between her legs.

"Do you like it?” Her face warmed, and she squeezed her legs together.

"Baby, I like you any way I can get you.” Derek's knowing gaze shifted to her face. “You're already wet for me."

"You're hard for me."

"Can't help it. That's standard procedure when I'm around you."

"Isn't getting naked standard procedure too?"

He smiled and shed his clothes, adding them to the pile on the floor. “How's that?” His muscles rippled and flexed, especially the big one between his legs.

"Wonderful. A girl can't go wrong looking at a body like yours."

"You can look, and you'd sure as hell better touch."

"I will. Oh, I will.” She reached for him, and he moved out of range.

"Nope, first I want my sundae."

"Greedy jock."

"Yup. First I need a dish, and you look like a hot dish to me."

"Where do you get these corny lines?"

"Lay back on the counter and quit asking questions."

She complied, shivering with anticipation. He pulled the first item out of his bag of tricks. A bottle of chocolate liqueur. Never taking her eyes from hers, he unscrewed the cap and took a swig from the bottle. Not quite what she'd anticipated he'd do with that bottle. She tried to squelch her disappointment.

"Want a sip?"

She nodded. He cupped her head with his hand and lifted it. With the other, he tipped the bottle to her lips, and some of the syrupy liquid spilled from her mouth. Before she could wipe it off, he swooped in.

"Let me take care of that.” He licked it from her lips and chin. “Want more?"

She shook her head no, impatient for the good stuff to begin. And begin it did.

"Sorry, honey. You're getting more.” Derek drizzled the cool, sticky liquid onto one nipple, then the other, letting it slide down the sides of her breasts. He lowered his head and took a taste of one hard nipple and sucked, then licked. He moved to the other breast and sampled it too. Rachel squirmed and whimpered.

"Like that?” His husky voice was muffled as he continued to clean up his mess. The man certainly took his job seriously.

"I hate it.” Her slow smile said otherwise.

"Really? Then I need to try harder?"

"Absolutely."

He took out a can of whipped cream and grinned as her eyes zeroed in on it. He shook it, popped the top, and sprayed a small amount, covering each nipple. He topped each with a cherry.

"Derek.” She gasped for breath.

"Hmmm?” He stood back to admire his handiwork. “I sure as hell hope your brother doesn't make a return visit about now."

She started to sit up, horrified. His hand on her shoulder held her down. “Don't move.” He strode to the front door, checked the lock, yanked down the blinds, and returned to her side. He looked at her breasts. Bending, he popped a cherry into his mouth and chewed. Who'd have thought chewing could be so sexy?

"Hungry?” Derek grinned.

"Ravenous.” Rachel shifted her hips.

He straightened. “Why don't you have a little whipped cream?"

"Excuse me?"

"Touch your tits for me.” His voice was hot, low, and gravelly.

She slid a finger through the whipped cream and popped it into her mouth, then licked the tip. Derek watched her. His eyes dilated. His nostrils flared. The smell of arousal floated through the air.

"Is that what you wanted?” She gazed innocently at him.

"Don't stop now.” He ran his tongue over his lips.

She managed to clean most of it off her breasts and looked coyly at him. “I need help."

He didn't need a second invitation. He lapped greedily at her breasts, first one and then the other. Wads of whipped cream clung to his face.

"That feels so good,” Rachel gasped. She arched her back and writhed on the counter.

"Honey, I'm just getting warmed up.” His wicked smile made her wet, really wet. He moved lower. She spread her legs in invitation. Derek ran a finger up and down her wet slit.

"Dare,” she moaned and tossed her head back and forth.

"You're wet for me, baby. Do you think you're going to get lucky tonight?” He worked a long, thick finger inside her. She sighed and rotated her pelvis. He chuckled and added another finger up to his knuckles.

"Shut your eyes. Don't peek."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped the edge of the counter and waited in sex-crazed anticipation. Something cold, really cold, touched her thigh. She jerked.

"What the—"

"Shhh. Just hold still. Keep your eyes shut. Trust me."

Her breath came in short gasps as he worked something inside her, something frozen. “Dare, what are you doing?"

She opened her eyes and tried to sit up. He pushed her back down. “You're gonna like this. Relax."

"It's cold."

He inched it in deeper. It had to be an ice pop, one of those phallic-shaped ones Cass liked to suck on to improve her technique, or so her friend claimed.

Just when Rachel was certain she couldn't take his erotic torture anymore, he pulled it out. Derek slipped the strawberry ice pop into his mouth and sucked on it. He brought it up to her mouth.

"Here, baby, you try it."

"You're kinky.” She pushed herself up to a sitting position.

"That's the name of the game. Are you complaining?"

"Not yet.” She opened her mouth to accept the ice pop, taking it as deep as she could. His eyes smoldered as he watched. Derek cleared his throat and absently stroked his cock. Bringing up his free hand, he wiped his mouth as if he expected drool. Power surged through her, the power of knowing such a simple but erotically symbolic act could send him into a tailspin. Her gaze flicked past his belly button and then back up.

"Want some candy, little girl?"

She laughed. “I thought I just had some."

"Oh no, that was barely an appetizer.” Gently he pushed her back down. Positioning his bare butt on the barstool, he grabbed his bag.

"Dare?"

"Open up for me, sweetheart."

"No more cold stuff."

"How about some hot stuff?"

"Now you're talking.” She waited with breathless anticipation. Staring at the ceiling, she resisted a peek. He dug around in his bag, removed something, and then his whiskers grazed her thighs. He parted her pussy lips. She felt him push something inside her with his tongue. “Oh. My. Lord. What is that?"

He didn't answer. Instead he poured a liberal amount of chocolate liqueur on her. At this rate they'd both be drunk on the stuff by midnight. Bending, he licked and nibbled. Then he sucked hard until whatever he'd put inside her slid back out. He sat up and moved to her head, kissed her, and transferred a maraschino cherry into her mouth with his tongue. Very kinky. She chewed and swallowed while he watched.

He dived back between her legs and added whipped cream to the chocolate. She shuddered as a wave of lust ripped through her. His head disappeared between her legs. His tongue explored, then focused on her clit while he slipped a finger, then two inside her. In and out, in and out, in and out. He built to a steady, fast rhythm, and she bucked her hips in response. Her breath came in short bursts as she fell over the edge and everything shattered around her. Someone was screaming, crying out Derek's name over and over.

It was her. She was the screamer.

Panting, she lay still. He watched, his eyes dark with need and something else, something fragile. Something that made her heart beat harder while an uninvited emotion took root deep inside. He brushed the sweat from her brow and the whipped cream from his face. She identified what she didn't want to identify in his expression. Tenderness. She turned her head away, not wanting to see anything but lust. Tenderness gave her hope, and she didn't need hope. They had no future. Why kid herself?

"When do I get a turn?” She spoke to distract herself from emotions too confusing and dangerous to explore.

"You want a turn?"

She nodded. He grinned.

"Just say the word. Where do you want me?"

He helped her up. She brought a hand up to his face and touched it. He kissed her palm and held it against his cheek.

Rachel pulled away, not willing to be under his spell and put her heart at risk. Not that it wasn't already at risk, but why make it worse?

She pointed to the counter. If it was good enough for her, it was good enough for him. He leveraged his cute butt onto the counter and waited expectantly for more instructions.

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"And that's a problem?” His dark eyes danced, pulling her in. “I'm at your mercy, baby. So show me none.” He lay on the counter, grabbed a kitchen towel to wad under his head, threw his arms out to the sides, and waited.

She had to laugh. What a goofball. Shaking her head, she picked up the liqueur and poured it on his penis. The damn thing waved in the air like a triumphant flag, conquering the lands as its own. The sticky liquid trickled down the shaft of his cock onto his stomach and balls. With the can of whipped cream, she covered his entire goalpost. It twitched as she bent and began to lick off the sweet stuff. Starting at the tip, she worked her way down to his balls. She played with them, then took one in her mouth and sucked gently.

What she lacked in experience, she'd make up for with enthusiasm.

When she was done, he'd be more than begging for mercy.

Derek moaned and clenched his fingers into fists. His head jerked back and forth on his makeshift pillow. His balls itched for action as much as his dick. “Ah shit. Rae."

Rachel bent again, and he dug his fingers into her hair. Barely in control, he ground his teeth and wrapped her long hair around his fist. He needed satisfaction and soon.

"Take me deep, baby.” Would she have the guts to try it? He held his breath, waiting.

She opened her mouth wide and managed about a third of his length before she gagged and pulled back. She licked a bead of precum off the tip, and he shuddered. With a determined expression, the little hussy went back down on him. One hand squeezed his balls, rolling them in her teasing fingers. Her other hand pumped up and down on the base of his dick. It touched the back of her throat. She pulled back so the tip was at her lips, then took him inside again. In and out, a little deeper each time.

Lord, he had to watch this. Holding her head in place, he sat up. “I wanna see."

He was in heaven, fucking heaven. Gripping that fistful of hair, he gently pushed down and urged her to take more of him. His boy tickled the back of her throat. She managed not to gag. He pressed on. She accepted. He helped her find the right angle for her head and neck. She'd swallowed almost half of him, better than a lot of women. He pulled out partially, let her catch her breath. Sweat dripped down her forehead. Her body shook. She breathed in deeply and went down on him again. Deeper this time. He fucking just about lost it. He exerted pressure on her head, felt her throat and mouth close around his cock, milking it, making love to it. He died a new death when she took him balls-deep. He held her head there for a brief moment, savored the erotic vision he'd carry with him for the rest of his life. His deep-throat virgin had just graduated.

He'd already been primed and ready after their sundae-building episode. Now he built toward something bigger and better. He tried to hold it in. His veins threatened to burst. His muscles bunched. Tension gathered in him like a storm crashing against a levee until the levee broke and the tension roared out. He couldn't stop when he started to come in her mouth. He closed his eyes, threw back his head, and let go. Her name was the only intelligible word that escaped from his mouth.

Instead of backing off when she felt the first twitches of his orgasm, she took him in her mouth and swallowed greedily. He pulled out slightly, emptying the rest on her tongue and her face. She took it like the pro she wasn't, or at least had never been. Her behavior shocked and pleased him. The first coherent thought to enter his mind was that she'd better never do this with another man.

"Where'd you learn to do that?” He lay there, spent, satisfied, and stunned by what she'd done for him.

She wiped off her face. Her chest heaved. Her mussed hair hung in clumps. “Romance novels.” Her ragged voice stumbled over the words.

"Damn."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-two

Tripped Up

Blowing out a breath, Derek spotted Mitch McCormick standing on the sidelines of the high school's football field. He strode toward him.

Never let ‘em see you sweat. Especially not Rachel's brother. Coming here was hard for him, not just because of his crazy schedule or how much Mitch hated him.

Yeah, he'd done Rachel wrong in her family's eyes. Perhaps even worse, he'd built up her confidence and encouraged independence they'd never allowed her to have. He'd undermined their control over her. She was supposed to stay the dutiful little sister, waiting on the men in her family and not entertaining stupid ambitions of being a woman in a man's sport. Maybe Derek had shot her down when she'd confessed her feelings, but he'd never shot down her dreams and ambitions.

As he approached, Mitch watched with his legs braced, hands folded over his chest. His expression remained closed, unreadable. The assistant standing next to McCormick grinned from ear to ear. The rest of the coaching staff gathered near Mitch in a show of support and solidarity. The cheerleaders across the field froze in midcheer and stared at him.

Mitch's team was suited up in their practice uniforms and doing their warm-ups on the field. Following their coaches’ lead, they stopped what they were doing as a unit and turned toward him. Every eye on the football field focused on him.

Derek knew his tall, exceptionally fit body branded him as a professional athlete. Despite being comfortable on a football field in front of thousands of fans, he wasn't entirely comfortable in the limelight. Unlike Tyler, Derek took his job as a role model seriously, putting even more pressure on himself.

Mitch broke away from the group and sauntered toward him, though the relief on his face told a different story. Derek met him halfway, out of earshot of his staff and players.

"Hey.” Derek held out his hand, making the first move. He had nothing to prove by being an asshole. He'd leave that up to Rachel's brother. Mitch hesitated, then shook his hand.

"I'd just about given up on you.” He met Derek's gaze.

"Sorry, my schedule's pretty tight.” Derek forced his voice to remain neutral. Mitch didn't need to know how hard this was for him.

"We won't take too much of your time."

"I'm all yours for the next two hours.” Derek pointed at the bag slung over his shoulder. “I brought some stuff. T-shirts, hats, should be enough for everyone."

Mitch glanced at the bag. “Yeah, well, I appreciate that, but it doesn't change anything between us."

"I don't expect it to. One doesn't have anything to do with the other."

"Then why are you here?"

Derek bristled but held his tongue. “You asked me to come, and I'm here. Introduce me to your staff, and let's get this show on the road."

Mitch stiffened but nodded and led the way back to the sidelines. Derek dumped the heavy duffel bag on the grass and waited for introductions. Mitch ran through each of his assistants, pausing to bark instructions to his players. “Hey, quit staring! Get back to work. Now! Everyone, run four laps around the field. Move it! Then get your butts back here."

Derek grinned in spite of himself. “You sound like your dad."

"Do I?” Mitch almost smiled himself.

"Yeah."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I would. He's the best. I learned my basics from him."

Mitch tensed all the more. “You owe him."

His assistants stared at the two men, ready to intervene if necessary.

"Excuse me?” Derek frowned, confused by whatever the hell Mitch was talking about.

"You know what I mean,” Mitch growled, his voice low and menacing. “Do the right thing."

No, Derek didn't know what he meant. Shaking his head, he blew Mitch off and turned toward the field. Derek nodded in the direction of the kid maneuvering his wheelchair toward them. “That's him?"

Mitch deflated faster than a beach ball bouncing off a porcupine. “Yeah. Ryan DeGrazio.” The two men exchanged looks, which said it all.

Wiping the sympathy from his face, Derek walked out to meet Ryan. The kid's face lit up with boyish excitement. Sadness sliced through Derek, along with anger toward the unfairness of life. He covered his feelings with an easy smile.

"Wow. It is you.” The kid stared up at him, eyes wide and full of hero worship. Derek rubbed his hands on his thighs and shifted his stance, feeling inadequate and undeserving. He'd been naturally gifted with an athlete's body. Ryan had had one too—he could tell—until the disease started winning. Yet the kid's blue eyes sparkled with life in defiance of the hand he'd been dealt. Ryan was a fighter. His fighting spirit was written all over his face.

"Hey, Ryan, how ya doin'?"

Ryan grasped the sides of his wheelchair. His arms shook from the effort as he hoisted himself to his feet. Derek resisted the urge to help the kid as he struggled to stand. He didn't want him to lose face, but he stood close just in case he needed to catch him.

"I'm doing a lot better now.” He shook Derek's hand, surprising him with the strength of his grip. The weary tension on Ryan's face told the story. As he stood up straight, his body swayed like a willow in the wind. Once at his full height, they were almost eye to eye.

"I understand you've got a hell of an arm."

"Had.” Ryan looked away, biting his lower lip.

"Wanna give it a shot?"

"Yeah, I'd like that.” The kid lifted his gaze, and his eyes lit up.

The hassle he'd gone through to squeeze in a few hours for this kid and his team was suddenly worth it. Derek lobbed a football to Ryan, who managed to catch it. Ryan studied the ball and all the signatures on it and looked up with a question in his eyes.

"The game ball from last weekend. Tell ya what, when we make the play-offs, you can trade it in for a play-off ball."

"Super Bowl ball.” Ryan's blue eyes held his in a steady gaze. Derek glimpsed a teasing light in them.

"You drive a hard bargain.” Derek swallowed and grinned.

"I know.” Ryan rolled the ball around in his hands.

Derek liked the kid. He had guts and a good attitude. As Ryan's teammates and coaches stood back and watched, he ran a few routes for him and caught the kid's wobbly passes.

"I'm a little rusty,” Ryan apologized when Derek had to dive across the wet grass to catch a pass thrown short.

Brushing grass from his shirt, Derek grinned and patted the kid on the back. “You're doing just fine, buddy."

Derek stopped at Character's and had a drink or two or three. Then he drove his big-assed, expensive truck to the barn. He jammed it in park and shut it off. Sitting in the dark, he stared at nothing. God, it hurt seeing a kid like that. Why couldn't he be more like Tyler? Tyler could meet with a hundred terminally ill kids and never bat an eye. Their suffering bounced off his cousin like foam balls bouncing off a concrete wall. Derek soaked it up like a sponge until the pain filled every crack and crevice and he couldn't breathe anymore.

Lord, he couldn't take this. Just because he had this gift of speed and good hands didn't mean he could fix everything wrong with this world. Yet for some reason he felt like he should. Pissed at his vulnerability and the unfairness of it all, he got out of the truck. Glancing at Rachel's dark house, he flipped on one bank of barn lights. He pulled Mac out of his stall, brushed him, saddled him, and led him to the arena. He mounted and loped large circles, letting his body absorb the rocking motion of the horse. Shutting his eyes, he lost himself in the feel of this powerful animal underneath him. A lone tear escaped and ran down his cheek. He never cried. He swiped angrily at his face, pissed as hell at his weakness.

Never.

But the reality of it hit him hard in his gut. This kid, barely seventeen, would not see his eighteenth birthday. Stopping Mac, Derek dismounted and led the horse back into the barn. A wave of emotion swept through him, and he laid his cheek against the horse's warm neck. Don't get involved. Stay away. Getting close to people hurt too much. Too bad about Ryan, but he'd been a good guy and done his duty. Let someone else handle the really tough stuff.

A hand touched his shoulder. He stiffened. Forcing his face into an emotionless mask, he turned.

"Dare, are you okay?” Rachel stood there in a bathrobe, worry lines etched on her sweet face.

"I'm fine. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

She touched a finger to his cheek, and it almost undid him. “Dare?"

"Please, just leave me alone.” Damn, his voice shook.

She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, then stood on tiptoes and brushed her lips across his. “You're a good man, Derek Ramsey."

"Am I?” He didn't feel like one. He felt helpless and ineffectual.

"You are."

He turned away, unable to stomach the adoration in her eyes. He didn't deserve it.

"It's about Ryan, isn't it?” She sandwiched him between her and the horse, blocking his escape route.

"What are you, a fucking mind reader?” He snapped at her, but she didn't flinch.

"Mitch called. He mentioned you came by and spent a couple of hours with his team."

Derek turned away and busied himself with the horse. “Ryan's a nice kid."

"Did Mitch fill you in on his background? It's so tragic."

He didn't want to hear this.

"His dad's in prison. They've never met. His mom works nights as a bartender. She's not around much, not a very involved parent. Ever since Ryan got cancer, she's really not been there for him. I guess you could say Mitch has been his father figure these past few years."

"He's lucky to have a guy like Mitch looking out for him."

"I know. My brother is a great guy."

"He wants me to stay away from you."

"Okay, he's not such a great guy when it comes to you and me. In fact, he's a controlling jerk."

"Like the rest of your family.” He heaved the saddle off the horse and carried it to the tack room. Rachel followed him. “Mitch said something else strange. He told me I owed your dad and to do the right thing. What the hell does that mean?"

Rachel's face turned fog gray. Shutters slammed down over her eyes, but not before he glimpsed what almost appeared to be panic. “You never know what Mitch is talking about. I'll take care of Mac.” She skittered from the room, tripping over a rug and almost going down.

Derek stood still, fists clenched at his sides, and stared at the empty doorway. She wasn't being straight with him, and he hated that. Yet he could tell by her closed expression that neither sweet talking nor swearing would get her to open up. Persistence and good old-fashioned persuasion would be the key. He'd get to the bottom of this. In time.

When he came out, Rachel had put Mac away. She tossed some hay in his stall. He watched her flitting around, nervous as hell. Reaching out, he caught her hand and pulled her to him. She resisted, but he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

"Thanks for taking care of Mac.” He spoke into her ear.

"I don't mind.” Her hands pressed against his chest.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

"Of course, I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about.” She gazed up at him, concerned yet anxious.

For a moment they stared at each other. He needed her and wondered if his eyes conveyed his pain and confusion. “I guess I should be going. It's late. We both have to be up early."

He released her and turned to walk off. Confusion littered his thoughts with doubts he couldn't articulate or wrap his brain around. He'd come late to this party, and no one wanted to fill him in on what he'd missed.

"You're not staying alone tonight.” Rachel wrapped her fingers around his arm.

"I'm not?” Easily swayed, he moved closer, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"No, you're not."

He almost smiled. “Your place or mine?"

"How about yours? Charlie doesn't like sharing the bed with you."

"The feeling is mutual."

"Well then, big guy, let me grab my stuff."

"Okay.” He watched her go inside her house. Warmth spread throughout his body and took away the chill. She filled an emptiness he never knew existed. When he was with her, he actually believed everything would work out just fine. And even if it didn't, he'd handle it.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-three

Rooting for the Underdog

Derek and Rachel made wild and desperate love as if the world wouldn't be there tomorrow. Rachel gave him everything she had, and Derek gave it right back. Stripped of their defenses, raw emotions boiled to the surface and overwhelmed with their sheer power.

Afterward Derek clung to her with a need he rarely, if ever, revealed. Inside Rachel bled for him and for the teenager who didn't deserve his fate. And she teetered on the edge of falling way too far in love with the very wrong man. A man full of contradictions. This man gave so much to others and asked so little in return. Yet the same man had turned his back on her when she'd professed her love in college, and done the same to her dad when Dave McCormick needed him most.

Nothing made sense anymore. She'd live in denial a little while longer, but an inevitable confrontation hovered on the horizon and moved closer every day.

Rolling onto his back, Derek shut his eyes. For the longest time, Rachel listened to his steady breathing, yet she suspected he wasn't asleep.

"Dare?” She turned onto her side and stroked his bulging biceps.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

He chuckled. “We just had mind-blowing sex. Of course I'm okay. I'm a guy. We're shallow."

Derek was anything but shallow. “Was it really?"

"Really what?"

"Mind-blowing?"

He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with a hand. “You have to ask that question? You couldn't tell?"

She smiled. “I could tell. I just like to hear it."

He wound a lock of her auburn hair around one of those long fingers of his. “You have the most beautiful hair."

"Thank you."

"I like it all messed up like this."

"We worked hard to get my hair looking like this."

"We sure did.” His mouth quirked in one corner with his trademark lopsided grin.

She swatted him. “Crawl out of that gutter, mister."

"I like the gutter. It feels like home."

Lately Rachel could relate to that. Maybe she'd slide right back down into that gutter with him.

Home, sweet home.

Flipping to his back, Derek took Rachel with him, pulling her across his chest. She cuddled close. He ran his fingers up and down her spine as if gently taking inventory of each vertebra.

"You know, Rae, I feel like I'm living the old adage: be careful what you wish for."

"How so?"

"I thought once we started winning and I started playing well, all my problems would be solved. Instead success created a whole different set of challenges I never anticipated."

"Like Ryan?"

"Yeah. Kids like Ryan. They're everywhere.” It broke his heart, she could tell. He couldn't visit them all and couldn't cure the ones he met. He was just one guy.

"You do the best you can. All we can do is change the world one person at a time."

"Maybe, but inside I'm as screwed up as the next guy. What gives me the right to think I can help someone when I can't help myself?"

"You did help him. You gave him a little bit of joy; you showed him someone cares. He'll cherish those memories."

He stared at her, his expression dark and haunted. What was he was thinking? Was he wondering how long Ryan would have to cherish those memories? Or was he thinking of his own mistakes? Regrets? Or was he thinking of her? She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Not yet.

Rachel buried her face in his chest and held tight.

For a long moment Derek sat in his truck and stared at the football field. The guys were going through their drills. Mitch and his coaches barked orders from the sidelines.

Despite his intentions to stay away, here he was a week later.

Panic set in as he scanned the field for Ryan and his wheelchair and couldn't locate him. His heart dived through the floorboards of his truck. He clutched the steering wheel and leaned forward, dissecting every part of the field. He spotted Ryan half-hidden behind a group of players and coaches and breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank God.

This was crazy. What was he doing here? He needed to stay away. He had enough going on without taking on another responsibility, another worry. If he had thirty waking hours in his day, it wouldn't be enough.

Yet Ryan struck a need deep inside him. Perhaps he recognized a kindred spirit. Maybe he needed Ryan's quiet strength and positive attitude more than Ryan needed him. Steeling himself for another confrontation with Rachel's disapproving brother, he opened the truck door and hopped out.

Walking across the field, he ignored the surprised stares of the coaches and team. Mitch approached him, not too welcoming, but then he hadn't expected a red carpet. “Did you lose something?"

Derek shook his head. “Nope, just had a few minutes, thought I'd stop by and check in. How're things going?"

He wasn't fooling Mitch. His eyes flicked to Ryan and back again. “He's had better days, but he's hanging in there."

Derek nodded and rubbed his eyes. Damn, he was tired. “When's your next home game?"

"Friday night.” Mitch eyed him suspiciously, as if he suspected Derek had some selfish ulterior motive. Sorry, Mitch. He hadn't shown up with the press in tow, nor did he demand a favor in return. He'd come simply because he couldn't stay away, couldn't stop thinking of Ryan.

"How many seniors are on your team?"

"Eighteen, counting Ryan.” Mitch's mouth pulled into a grim line as if he was trying to figure out what was in this for Derek.

"Tell them to keep Sunday free. I'll have tickets delivered to your office later this week."

"You don't need to do that."

"No, I don't, but I want to."

"You guys are the hottest thing in the Northwest right now. How are you going to get that many tickets?"

Derek raised one eyebrow, almost smiled. “I have connections."

"I still don't want you sniffing around my sister.” Mitch looked away, dug in his pocket for some gum, popped it in his mouth, and chewed furiously.

"I don't really give a shit. I told you, I'm not doing it for you."

Derek hung out for the rest of the practice, gave the team some tips, and shot the breeze with Ryan. He talked with the coaches afterward, then finally trudged out to the empty parking lot. Ryan sat in his wheelchair near his truck, talking on his cell. Derek concealed his surprise and approached the kid. He glanced over his shoulder. Mitch hadn't come out of the building yet.

"Need a ride?"

Ryan glanced up at him. “I can get a ride from Coach. My mom can't make it."

"I have time. I'll give you a ride home."

Ryan hesitated. “I don't know."

"Hey, I'm a decent driver. You'll be safe with me. Let's go.” Derek motioned toward the truck, not taking no for an answer.

"Are you sure?” Ryan chewed on his lower lip and looked away.

"I'm not only sure, but I insist."

Ryan was torn. Torn between spending a little private time with his hero and letting him see the squalor and poverty that was part of Ryan's life.

In the end, Derek helped him into his truck and stowed the wheelchair in the truck bed.

"Do your parents come to all your games?” Ryan tilted his head at Derek.

"Never missed a game in high school or a home game in college. They've made it to a few Lumberjacks games. It's hard for Dad to get away from the ranch."

"You have a ranch?"

"Yeah, it's been in my family for a couple of generations."

"So are you a real cowboy?"

Derek chuckled. “Actually I am. My dad put me on a horse before I could walk. I did high school rodeo too."

"Wow. I've never been on a horse."

"Stop by sometime. I'll put you on my old guy. He's real safe."

"Really? You'd do that?"

A slow smile spread across Derek's face. “Absolutely. So, Ryan, where's home?"

Home for Ryan was a single-wide in a trailer park a few miles from the school. With trepidation, Ryan directed Derek and waited for the pity or repulsion that accompanied a visitor's first visit to the dump.

"This is it."

Derek didn't show any indication Ryan's home was a shack. Instead he got out of the truck, grabbed Ryan's wheelchair, and helped him into it.

"I, uh, Derek, I need help getting into the house. We don't have a ramp."

"You don't have a ramp?” Derek's gaze slid to the front door.

"No.” Ryan ducked his head, embarrassed. “My mom can't afford to pay anyone to do it."

"So once you're in there, you're stuck?"

"Yeah, pretty much.” Ryan chewed on his lower lip. He hated this feeling of helplessness. Only a few short months ago, he ran laps with the guys, threw passes, took hits, and bounced right back. Not anymore. This shit invading his body made it damn, fucking hard for a guy not to wallow in self-pity, but Ryan refused to succumb. He was a fighter, not a quitter like his mom and dad.

Derek helped him into the trailer. He glanced around. His face betrayed nothing, no reaction to the dishes piled in the sink, littering the counters, stuff scattered on the floor, laundry slung across the couch, and the numerous cigarettes falling out of various bowls and ashtrays onto the soiled thirty-year-old shag carpet. Turning back to Ryan, he scratched something on a piece of paper, handing it to him.

"What's this?"

"My numbers. You need me, you call me. I don't care what time it is."

"Thanks."

"It's my pleasure. You need anything else, buddy?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You got dinner?"

"I'll find something. My mom's working tonight.” He made excuses for his mother because he didn't know what else to do. No one needed to know he rarely saw his mother. They wouldn't understand. They'd blame her for being a bad mother. He didn't know if she was any better or worse than any other mother. She was the only mother he had.

He looked up to find Derek studying him. “Tell you what, Ryan. I'm free tonight. How about I order us a pizza and we catch a football game on TV?"

Ryan tamped down the hope rising inside him. How cool to not spend another lonely night at home and to spend it with Derek Ramsey. Not that his buddies didn't come by pretty often and hang with him, but they had their girlfriends and their own families.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. “That'd be cool."

Rachel pushed Derek's hand away from her crotch. “Not tonight, big boy."

His puzzled expression said it all. “What?"

"No, you're dead on your feet."

"If I'm not buried six feet under, I'm not that dead."

"Derek.” She put her hands on both sides of his face and forced him to look her in the eyes. He avoided the subject with sex. Not tonight. She refused to play into it. He wanted to play the invincible macho man. Not happening.

"Come on, Rae.” He reached for her again, but halfheartedly.

"Dare, stop. I know how tired you are, the hours you're keeping. You can't say no to anyone.” It was as if he felt guilty because his life had turned out so well. Or was he making up for past transgressions?

"Saying no doesn't work for me. I won't disappoint people or let them down."

Derek went out of his way to make people like him, always had. Even as a teenager, he'd liked everyone, been kind to the nerdiest geek and defended the weak kids from harassment. He couldn't handle rejection from anyone. It didn't take a psychologist to know Derek's mother played a large role in this particular insecurity.

"I thought you were having an early night tonight?"

"I was. I stopped by your brother's football practice to check on Ryan. I ended up driving him home and ordering pizza and watching a football game with him."

"Oh, Derek.” No wonder he'd seemed so drained and lost when he'd shown up on her doorstep at eleven.

"Do you know he lives in a dump of a trailer? He doesn't even have a wheelchair ramp, so once he's in the house, he can't get out. I'm going to get a couple of the guys together, and we'll head over there after practice and build one. It shouldn't take too long."

Tyler slumped in the backseat and pouted. Derek ignored him. Rachel slid into the passenger seat and squeezed his arm. He smiled down at her and wondered how the hell he ever got so lucky as to have her in his life, even if it was a temporary situation. He looked in the rearview mirror as he pulled onto the highway. Behind him were a half dozen teammates in two trucks.

"Hey, no fucking touching while I'm fucking stuck being celibate.” Tyler leaned between the seats and tapped Derek on the shoulder.

"If you're being celibate, it's your choice, so don't take it out on us. How long has it been—twenty-four hours?” Derek laughed out loud.

Tyler growled and flopped back against the seat. “You don't want to know."

"You're probably right. Your sex life isn't a particular interest of mine."

"How the fuck long is this going to fucking take?” Tyler kicked the back of Derek's seat like an impatient little kid.

"However long it takes."

"I don't know why the fuck I let you talk me into this shit."

"So you can impress me with your command of four-letter words?"

"Fuck off and go to hell. You know I don't do this charity crap unless the press is there to record what a good guy I am."

"Whoa. You're losing your touch, Ty. You just said one sentence without the F word.” Derek snorted and winked at Rachel. She shoved her knuckles in her mouth to keep from cracking up. Derek reached over and put his hand on her thigh.

"Fuck you,” Tyler grumbled.

"That's more like it."

Tyler muttered several choice four-letter words and stuffed earphones in his ears, cranked up his mp3 player and ignored them.

Two hours later, they finished the wheelchair ramp, which actually looked much better than the ratty mobile home it serviced. Rachel, with the punter's help, cleaned the small trailer.

Embarrassed by his living conditions, Ryan had been reluctant to have them there at first. But the group's nonjudgmental attitude coaxed him out of his funk, and he had the time of his life, hosting an impromptu party. Whether he called his buddies or they happened to show up, pretty soon about two dozen kids, mostly teammates, milled around the porch.

Ryan's eyes sparkled with excitement as he posed with his friends for pictures with the Jacks players. Even Tyler roused himself from his grouchy slump. He didn't do much work, but he did amuse Ryan and the group with outrageous stories of his heroic exploits on and off the field.

Afterward they ate pizza and drank soft drinks, then cleaned up their mess.

It was close to midnight by the time Derek and Rachel fell into bed. Derek didn't remember much after that until his alarm woke him at five thirty.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-four

Bringing in the Chains

The next evening, Derek sat across from Rachel at a restaurant. He'd accepted her dinner invitation, sensing something was up. She wore her usual black power suit with a narrow skirt and fitted jacket. A half-empty bottle of red wine sat on the table between them. He watched her with amusement. She treated their night out like a business meeting. He had a feeling it might well be one. The waiter served the main course at the same time Rachel served her proposal.

"You need a handler.” She removed a folder from her bag and placed it on the table in front of him.

"Okay.” Derek stabbed his steak with his fork, cut a piece, and popped it in his mouth. He glanced at the detailed schedule in front of him.

"Then I'm hired."

"Huh?” He squinted at her. She didn't flinch. Damn, this side of her still knocked him off his game.

"I'm your handler, personal assistant. I'm organized. I have common sense. I'll field the demands on your time, decide which opportunities to accept, graciously turn down the ones you can't, and arrange your schedule. Besides, my fees are reasonable.” She radiated confidence and competence.

"How reasonable?” He chewed another bite of juicy steak.

She pushed a sheet of paper across the table with her rates. He studied it. “Have you ever done anything like this before?” He'd make her work a little for it since she'd gone to the bother of wearing a new suit and planning all this.

"When I worked for the Blockbusters, I scheduled the majority of their community events.” A little tremor in her lower lip betrayed her nervousness.

"What about individual players’ schedules?"

"Not really.” Her face fell as if she thought he might turn her down. Not a chance in hell. “But you're overbooked and running on fumes. You need me."

"Well, yeah.” No-brainer there.

"I mean as a handler."

"I need you as a lot of things.” Derek closed his eyes for a moment. “Baby, handle me any time you want, any way you want."

"Men.” She swatted his arm.

"Oh, baby, do that again. Hurt me.” He grinned, feeling pretty damn pleased with himself for tons of reasons. Most of them centered around the woman across the table.

"You're incorrigible."

"Thanks, sweet cakes, I work hard at it."

"Sweet cakes?"

"Uh-huh."

"You do think I can do it, don't you?” She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass and almost toppled it over.

Derek considered what she was saying. “I know you can."

"Anything would be an improvement over what you have now, which is nothing. If you make the play-offs, you'll need someone to fend off the press. By then, I'll be an expert at it."

"I need someone to fend them off now.” He held up his hands. “Rae, I'm sold. You're hired."

She faked a pout. “You don't want to hear the rest of my sell job?"

"You sold me before you opened your mouth.” His eyes roamed over her body.

"Hey, Mr. Ramsey, eyes up here.” Rachel pointed at her face. “This benefits both of us. Your time is more efficiently used. The more experience I have with professional athletes, the better."

His gutter mind considered her words. He grinned but stayed on the straight and narrow. “I bet I can get you a few more guys too."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, we'll start with Ty."

"Do you think he'll bite?"

"I know he will. I won't give him a choice, but he'll thank me later."

Rachel smiled at him. Despite her relief and happiness, a hint of sadness lurked in her eyes, reminding him of how she'd got in this position in the first place. A twinge of guilt for not asking about her father sooner sobered him. He'd been selfish and insensitive.

"How's your dad doing, Rae?"

From her head to her toenails, Rachel's body froze. Her tongue tied in a knot bigger than a Christmas bow, while her stomach churned like an angry sea in a storm. Dumbstruck, she stared at Derek.

"You know, I tried to call him after all this crap happened, offer my support, see if I could help him out, but he never answered my calls.” Sadness filled Derek's eyes. His mouth turned down, and he seemed incredibly sincere.

Rachel pressed her lips together, afraid of screwing things up by saying the wrong thing. Her brother had planted a seed of wariness in Derek's head and almost blown their plans with his impatience.

"I guess it's good charges weren't pressed against him. He won't have to deal with court or anything. I'd like to see him if you think he'd welcome a visit."

"He wouldn't.” She spoke bluntly.

"Okay.” Surprise and hurt dulled his brown eyes.

"No, it's not okay. Dad's a mess. His life's ruined, and all for something he didn't do.” Her words rushed out before she could stop them.

"I'm sorry, Rachel.” Regret flitted across Derek's face, but regret about what exactly?

Rachel should've stayed on the sidelines, but her heart had gotten into the game and kept fumbling the ball. Ignoring her head's warnings, she called her own audibles. “I want to believe that."

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. “Get the check, please. This interview is over."

Puzzled, he waved the waitress down and paid the check.

She'd fallen for him again, harder than ever, if she'd ever fallen out of love with him. Now the ball was in play, and she wished her head had blown the whistle.

If ever a play needed to be blown dead, it was this one.

A few hours later, Derek stared at a sleeping Rachel and tried to sort out his feelings. Right about now, he should feel the trap closing on him. He'd tied himself to her for the rest of the season in more ways than one.

And when the season ended, what if he wanted to fall in love with Rachel? Was he even capable of love? Love like his dad had with his stepmom? Love that overcame all odds, stood the test of time, and all that romantic crap he'd always blown off as nothing but bullshit. What if he was just flat-out fucking nuts?

Somewhere buried under all his false confidence was a frightened, lonely little boy who swore he would never put himself in a position to be hurt by someone he loved.

It'd taken him years to let his guard down enough to allow his stepmother into his heart. She'd been persistent and relentless in her campaign to become a part of his life. His sister had embraced her from the moment his father started dating her. Not Derek. He'd been polite but distant, always holding a part of himself away. But then, he still did, from everyone. Even with his family, the people he trusted most in his life, he still kept something inside.

If he succumbed to this particular brand of craziness, would the outcome be another broken heart for her and a heavier dose of guilt for him?

He didn't know if he had it in him. Not when he had football games to win and two hearts to protect—his and hers.

"I have a job-warming surprise for you."

Rachel glanced up from the computer as Derek walked into the makeshift office in his house. She studied the large sack he toted in from the garage.

"Job-warming?” She pointed at the bag. “For me?"

"Yeah.” He looked down like he was embarrassed, and shuffled his feet.

"What kind of surprise?"

"Since you've given up voyeurism, I wanted to make sure you continued your path down the road to sexual deviancy."

"I'm with you; doesn't that count?” Anticipation buzzed around her like a pesky fly.

"Hmmm. It's a start. But no, not good enough. Now if I was Tyler, it might be.” His dark eyes lit up from the inside out.

"Let's not go there. I don't sleep with men who measure their IQ by the length of their penises."

"You think I don't?"

"You might pretend to, but you're too smart for that.” She eyed him nervously as he placed a sack from the Sex Store on the desk in front of her. “What's in there?"

"I recall you mentioning something about being tied spread-eagled to a bed and taken advantage of."

"I recall you saying that, not me.” She pushed her chair back from the desk and stood, keeping a safe distance.

"Who said it is irrelevant. It was put out on the table, and I don't remember you protesting."

"I didn't.” She licked her lips. Her body started its pregame warm-ups. Moistness gathered between her legs. Her nipples hardened. Her heart rate spiked. All the usual stuff she experienced when this man walked into a room, and then some.

He apparently liked what he saw. “Good. Then let's get started.” He attacked with the speed of a veteran linebacker pitted against a rookie running back. In one swift motion, he tossed her over his shoulder, caveman style. She shrieked in surprise and pounded on his back, but he wouldn't let go.

"Grab the sack."

She snatched it on the way past. He hauled her butt to the bedroom and dumped her on his large four-poster bed.

Sitting up, she peeked in the bag. Her eyes grew big. Her naughty girl side rubbed its hands with eager glee. “I didn't know you were experienced in this sort of, uh, thing?"

He grinned. “I'm not, but we'll figure it out as we go. Improvisation is the game. And I can always punt."

"I don't have a clue what most of this stuff is for.” She bet he did.

"No peeking.” He snatched the bag from her hands.

Rachel sat on the edge of the bed and ran her gaze up his body. Long, muscled thighs, big bulge in his pants, wide chest, broad shoulders, firm jaw, sexy lips, smoldering brown eyes, short, dark hair. Everything just the way that naughty girl liked it—with one exception. “You're wearing too many clothes."

Derek broke a speed record stripping out of his clothes. His cock stood tall and proud like a warrior poised for battle. Giving her his back, he walked around the room, lighting large candles, then flipped off the light. Rachel admired his ass and the way the candlelight played on the contours of his back. He turned to her, lust and excitement darkening his brown eyes. “Your turn. Off with the clothes."

"You're certainly bossy all of a sudden."

"Honey, that's the name of the game. I'm in charge here. Surrender yourself to me."

Her mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. She should be scared or worried. She wasn't, not really. She trusted Derek. What little anxiety she felt had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her. Ripples of excitement shot through her at the unknown danger of it all.

She looked him up and down, taking her time to appreciate his hard body and harder cock. He watched her, not moving. Instead he stood even straighter and let her eyes take their fill of what he had to offer. Finally she rose to her feet.

"You've seen mine; now I want to see your body, Rachel."

"Why?” She lifted her chin and tilted her head at him.

His eyes lit up at her challenge. “Because I own it. Every square inch of skin, and I'm going to show you pleasure you've never known."

She couldn't wait. Taking off her clothes, she left them in a neat pile on the dresser. He made no attempt to touch her, though the blatant lust in his eyes showed his obvious desire.

Turning to his bag, he dug around and removed a pair of handcuffs. Her eyes grew bigger. “Oh wow."

"Trust me?"

"Uh, I do.” A little unsteady, she held her hands out to him, and he snapped on one cuff.

"Okay, sweetheart, back on the bed."

She lay down on the bed. He pulled her hands over her head, wrapped the empty cuff around the bed post, and attached it to the other wrist.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine.” She squirmed a little, her hands shackled over her head. He moved to the bottom of the bed and slipped a soft, fat rope around an ankle, then tied the ankle to the bedpost. He repeated the process with the other leg, then stood back and admired his handiwork. Rachel squirmed again. She was dripping wet and swore she'd come if he even touched her for a moment.

"Are you sure you've never done this before?” She tested her bonds, but they held fast.

"Positive.” He reached in his bag of tricks and treats and pulled out a red and green vibrator.

"Red and green?"

"Hey, ‘tis the season. At least, almost.” He climbed on the bed between her legs and bent his dark head low. She shuddered as his warm breath skated across her knee. His stubble rubbed her sensitive thighs. Moaning, Rachel pulled against her restraints. He parted her pussy lips and slid his tongue inside.

"Oh. Oh. Oh, Dare."

He lifted his head. “You're pretty wet, baby."

No joke, the evidence was on his face. “You do that to me."

His head disappeared between her legs again, and his tongue and mouth resumed their raid of her defenseless body. He lapped at her juices, thrust his tongue deep. As he withdrew, he ran it upward to her clit, toyed with the nub, and repeated the unbearable torture.

Rachel thrashed on the bed, helpless to stop him or, even better, entice him to go further. She moaned, begged for mercy, but the bastard withdrew and sat back on his haunches. She lifted up her head.

"Don't you dare quit now,” she panted.

"Who's in charge here?” He flicked on the red and green vibrator and held it up for her inspection.

"That's pretty large."

"The better to pleasure you with, my dear.” He wiped his mouth on his arm.

Derek pressed the vibrator against her wet entrance and traced a path to her clit and back. Pausing at her opening, he rotated the purring device like a corkscrew. Going slow, she felt it moving deeper bit by bit. It felt cool at first, but her hot body warmed it in a few seconds. It pulsed inside her, charging her with sexual energy and driving her wild. Rachel bucked her hips in an attempt to take more and more of it. She demanded he give it to her, not that her body was in any position to demand anything. He took pity and slid it deeper. His thumb grazed her clit. Lord, she loved a man who aimed to please.

Derek moved the device in and out of her like a well-oiled piston and established a rhythm. She attempted to increase the speed by moving her hips forward and back and straining against her restraints.

"Damn, you've got great tits.” He watched as they bobbed up and down with each thrust of her hips. Rachel glared at him. He grinned back.

"I can't take much more of this.” Her body quivered. Her hips jerked against the mattress. Her arms strained to touch him, give back a little of the torture he'd inflicted on her.

"Then I'm doing my job."

She tossed her head from side to side and shuddered. He pulled the vibrator out. Rachel struggled, so close to coming, and the male tease had removed her stimulation. She couldn't take care of herself because of the restraints.

"Put that back."

"I don't think so, darling.” He faked a southern drawl.

"Well, sugar pie, you'd better give me some satisfaction soon or I'll have your little bitty hide when you turn me loose.” Damn him. She'd been so close to coming. Again. And he kept pulling the plug.

"Who says I'm turning you loose?"

"Derek.” She pleaded for mercy. He didn't blink.

"Rae. I have more toys we haven't used yet."

"I'm tying you up next time."

"I can't wait."

"And I can't win, can I?"

"Oh, you will tonight. We both will.” He dug in the bag and pulled out another toy.

"What is that?"

"I think they call it a flogger."

"Derek, you wouldn't...” The thing had a handle with several leather straps about a foot long.

"Honey, I don't have to inflict pain to make you scream.” Standing, he slid the flogger over one breast, letting it feather over the swell of it. It slid across her nipples, into the valley between them. Then up to the other breast. He circled her nipple with the lashes. She shut her eyes. It felt so darn good. She did want to scream. The lashes stroked her breasts, over and over.

He journeyed down her body, dragging it across her belly button to her already sensitized pussy. He skimmed it over her crotch, slowly and deliberately. It caught in her wetness and slid between her pussy lips, causing sweet and slow torment. Turning it around, he rubbed her most sensitive spot with the butt of the whip. She fought for control and lost it. Screaming, she thrashed about on the bed, strained against her restraints. Her world dissolved, fragmented, flew apart. She came in waves, over and over.

He watched, way too smug, as she dissolved into a quivering mass of spent and sated woman.

Okay, so she'd asked for this. That didn't mean he needed to listen. For once it would've been nice if he'd done the typical guy thing and not listened. But no, when it came to sex, men actually opened their ears. Not that she was complaining.

"So what else is in your bag of tricks?” She was a sucker for asking. Her chest heaved. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her body melted into the sheets.

"A little out of breath, aren't we?"

Her eyes snapped open. “You are evil."

"And you love every deviant minute of it."

She didn't deny the obvious. “Do I get a turn?"

"Not this time. I planned this fantasy; I get to control it."

Rachel took a deep breath and let it out. She felt spineless, loose, and relaxed. She doubted that'd last long. He'd build her back to a frenzy in no time.

He moved between her legs, parting her pussy lips and sliding his tongue inside. He thrust in and out, then sucked on her clit. Without looking up, he felt for the vibrator, switched it on, and inserted it. Rachel's eyes rolled back in her head, and she pushed against it, trying to drive it deeper.

Just when she honestly thought she could take no more, he pulled out the vibrator and lifted his head. His breath came in short, shallow bursts. His dark eyes reflected the depth of his arousal. A fine sheen of sweat covered his muscled chest.

He slid up her body and kissed her with passion and a burning fever. She writhed underneath him, teasing his cock.

With one hard thrust, he buried himself deep. Rachel moaned and nipped his earlobe, rocking back and forth in an attempt to satisfy them both. He pulled out and thrust harder, deeper. She met his thrusts the best she could, considering her restraints.

Rachel closed her eyes and savored the moment. He filled her, not just physically but emotionally. She felt him, the real person under all the layers of complexity. She knew his insecurities, his weaknesses, his strengths, and his good points.

Helpless as she was, she should feel anxiety or nervousness. She didn't. She trusted this man with her body. He'd never hurt her physically. Now emotionally, that was another story. A story she refused to dwell on because right now, right here, in this place of feeling warm, she felt loved. Even if it was an illusion, she'd take it because it was all she had.

She arched to meet him as his thrusts built in frequency and passion. Just as she teetered on the edge, he came, his seed filling her. She blew into a million pieces and scattered into the wind, floating without care or concern.

In this place and time, she'd been so well loved.

They must have fallen asleep. Rachel woke first, her aching arms still tied over her head. She squirmed and tried to knee the man snoring softly beside her. He had one long, muscular leg straddled across her thigh. She bumped him again.

He stirred but didn't wake.

"Derek? Derek! Dare, turn me lose!"

Derek opened one eye and yawned. “Hmmmm?"

"You've had your fun, big guy. Untie me."

He stretched and checked the bedside clock. “Untie you?"

"Yes. Please."

He stretched and yawned, shut his eyes.

"Untie me!"

He opened his brown eyes. “I like you like that. All spread and ready for action. Mine for the taking.” He rolled onto his side, propped his head on his hand. He assessed her naked body with a slow smile. Leaning forward, he tasted the creamy skin on her breasts. She squirmed, already wet and tingly.

"Then either take me or release me."

"I don't think you're in a position to be demanding."

"I don't think you're in a position to refuse my demands.” She directed her gaze to his hard cock.

"You have a point.” He straddled her. His erection pressed against her crotch. He slid inside her slick opening and met her demands.

Several minutes later, he fumbled with the handcuff key and finally removed her bindings. Then he untied her feet. Rachel rubbed her wrists, getting the circulation back into them. Derek rubbed her ankles.

"Bondage turns you on, doesn't it?” Rachel ran a hand across his washboard stomach.

"You turn me on.” He sprawled on the bed, his long limbs spread in four directions.

"Next time I get to have my way with you."

"Hit me with your best shot, baby. My body is yours."

"Why did I think you'd say that?"

"Because it's true."

Now if only his heart was hers, and she was in a position to accept it.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-five

Thrown for a Loss

Flipping fate the finger, Ryan gritted his teeth and wheeled his ride through the stadium gate and toward the sidelines. The guy who said life wasn't fair knew what he was talking about. Life sucked at times, but death sucked worse.

Wiped and almost whipped, he'd refused Andre's offer to push him. A guy had his pride even though it came with a price. He panted harder than the class nerd after bagging the Homecoming Queen. His shoulders ached, and his arms, once strong enough to bench-press his weight and more, shook from the effort.

Mara, a former girlfriend, fell into step beside him and chattered about nonsense. He kept his silence and stared straight ahead. She didn't notice. Her familiar scent wafted toward him, reminding him of wild times and late nights in his beat-up truck. Mara had a hot body and knew how to use it, but she didn't use it on him anymore. As soon as cancer destroyed his jock status, she'd dumped him for a hotshot quarterback from a neighboring school.

Not that it mattered; he couldn't perform anyway, on or off the field. His days as a jock were long gone, not that he'd ever been a typical jock. Even during the best of times, he'd prided himself on being a nice guy. Everyone liked him, even his ex-girlfriends, which said a lot. Derek Ramsey wore the same nice-guy suit, which explained why Ryan felt an affinity for him.

Mara tossed her blonde hair and stared down at him as if waiting for a response. He faked a smile, hoping he wasn't agreeing to her hair looking like crap or some other trivial bullshit. Duty fulfilled and conscience eased, she waved good-bye and bounced off to join her girlfriends. She couldn't wait to get away from him, almost as if he were contagious.

He tried not to let it hurt. But it did. The sicker he got, the more people avoided him, even his mother. And he was sick. Really sick. The cancer in his body was winning. It was third and goal, no time-outs left, and the clock was running out. Tonight the disease slammed him down hard, but he fought it. He was here for his team, his buddies, his coaches. Winning this play-off game would put them in the state finals and one win from the state championship. He might be sidelined, but he still had a few trick plays left in him. Cancer had sacked his dreams, but it damn well wouldn't cheat him out of living vicariously through his team and being there every step of the way. It wasn't over till it was over.

"Hey, buddy, how's it goin'?” A strong hand gripped his shoulder.

"Hey, Derek, you came.” He twisted his neck, looking up to smile at Derek standing beside his wheelchair.

"I said I would.” Derek's dark eyes assessed him and clouded with concern. “How's the battle?"

I'm losing. Big-time. And you can see it as clearly as Tyler can read a blitz. “I'm still in the game.” He shrugged; no use stating the fucking obvious. “Hey, Rachel."

"Hey, Ryan.” Coach's sister flanked Derek, as usual. She leaned down and squeezed his cold hand. She was a looker—clumsy as hell, but wicked hot. Derek hovered near her, ready to catch her when she stumbled, and she stumbled a lot. Derek found it entertaining. Rachel didn't.

He grinned and felt better for some reason. Watching those two pretend they weren't hooked up amused him. Like they fooled anyone, especially Coach, who got a stick up his ass whenever he saw them together. Some bad history there.

"Great game last week."

"Yeah, we liked it.” Derek grinned. “Seven straight wins. Who woulda predicted that?"

"I would have.” A note of smugness crept into his voice.

"Ah, of course.” Derek winked at him. “We play next on Thanksgiving day."

"I know."

"So do you have Thanksgiving plans?” Derek pried. It made Ryan uncomfortable.

"Family stuff. You know.” Ryan forced his face into a calm mask. He'd be spending the day alone with stale cornflakes.

"Good. You have a big family?"

"Uh, yeah, big enough."

Derek frowned and scratched his chin but didn't press for more information.

Ryan hung with them for the entire game. Derek held Rachel's hand. Coach noticed, and he looked ready to take on the Dallas Outlaws D-line.

Tyler swaggered into the stadium for the second half, causing every girl within miles—and their mothers—to wet their panties. While Derek flew under the radar, Tyler flew above and beyond it. He devoured attention faster than the Jacks’ running back had racked up the yards last week. Slumming with Ryan's team, he took his place on the sidelines and shouted orders to the offense, much to Coach's irritation. Tyler lived to irritate people, and Coach's annoyance only encouraged him.

Both teams fought hard, but Ryan's team squeaked out the win to advance to the state finals. Derek stayed at his side the entire game, listening to Ryan's opinions on certain plays, defensive formations, and offering his own. Ryan forgot about his troubles for a while. Derek made it easy because he treated him like a normal guy.

Afterward Derek and Tyler treated the entire team, their families, and the coaches to pizza. They sang, separately and together, as the karaoke DJ played all sorts of tunes. Ryan wheeled his chair to the front of the room a few times and sang with the guys. He'd pay for this late night, but who gave a shit. He wasn't sure how many late nights he had left in him.

Still high from the victory, Ryan put off going home as long as possible. He hated his dreary, cold trailer. Unfortunately all things come to an end. A buddy drove him home and helped him up the ramp to his front door. No way in hell would Ryan invite him inside. He hated pity. Cancer was bad enough, but his living conditions were even worse. Waving good-bye, he wheeled his chair through the unlocked front door.

Ryan flipped on a light. It cast a dull, yellow glow over the dingy living room. He breathed a sigh of relief he still had power. Shivering, he nudged the thermostat higher—might as well enjoy the heat while it lasted, not that it warded off the gloom.

His stomach growled. He wheeled into the kitchen, pissed at himself for being too wired to eat earlier and too proud to bring home the leftovers. Leaning forward, he reached for a box of cereal in the almost empty cupboard. His fingertips grazed it. Gripping the sides of the wheelchair, he strained with all the strength his cancer-ravaged body had left in it.

His arms gave out. He slumped into the chair, breathing as if he'd run a marathon. A cold sweat broke out on his face. Frustrated, he swiped at his forehead. Just last week, he'd been able to stand and walk somewhat. How quickly he'd gone downhill shocked him.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his eyes. Loneliness seeped through him, empty and looming, a wolf ready to devour what the cancer didn't destroy. He needed someone. He couldn't do this alone. He stared at the door and willed his mother to walk through it and show him she cared.

Who the fuck was he kidding? Over a week ago, she'd come home late. He'd heard a car idling outside, movement in the bedroom. Rummaging in the bathroom. A few minutes later the front door slammed. The car pulled away. The place had grown quiet. In the morning, he found a twenty on the counter. No note. She hadn't been back since and wouldn't be. She'd fucking abandoned him when he needed her most.

Sucking in a deep breath, he rallied his strength. Pushing with one hand on the arm of the wheelchair, his body shook from the effort. As his fingers touched the box, his hand slipped off the chair arm. The damn thing spun backward. He flew out, hitting his chin on the edge of the counter. Twisting his body at the last minute to protect his head, he slammed to the floor. His hip, elbow, and shoulder absorbed the brunt of the impact. The contents of the cereal box scattered around him. To add insult to injury, he peed his pants.

He was screwed. Major screwed.

Mortified, humiliated, and pissed, he lay on the floor, too spent to heave his body into a sitting position. He pounded his fist on the cracked linoleum and welcomed the pain. Tears welled up inside him. He jammed his fist in his mouth. He would not be a frigging baby. He wouldn't cry. Dammit. He wouldn't.

He did.

Sobs racked his body. He quaked from the sheer desperation of it all. Tears flowed down his cheeks and puddled on the floor. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the cool, wet flooring. Corn flakes stuck to his face. Blood trickled from the cut on his chin. His hip and elbow throbbed like hell, not that it mattered at this point. The smell of urine assaulted his nose. He breathed through his mouth and tried not to gag.

This was not supposed to happen to him.

As a junior, he'd been second-team all-state in football and baseball. PAC-10 coaches wooed him. His teammates respected him. Girls fell at his feet. Everything was on track and on time. College, then pros, big bucks, busty cheerleaders, and a one-way cruise out of this hell hole.

Then the bad news...

He hated this crap destroying him cell by cell and leaving his mind imprisoned in a dying body. He didn't want to die. He was scared shitless of dying. He didn't know if he believed in an afterlife or heaven or hell. Didn't know if he'd just disappear into dust. Had never given it a thought because he'd been young and invincible. He might have had a shit home life, but his talent gave him an out.

Not anymore.

He shut his eyes, slept for a while. When he woke, darkness engulfed him. Rain ran down the dirty kitchen window, leaving streaks. His weary body hurt everywhere. Despair swallowed him whole, but he refused to give in and give up.

With a groan, he rolled onto his good hip and fished his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, the one Coach had given him for emergencies. He tried Coach, but no one answered.

He tried a couple of friends. No answer.

His mother didn't have a cell, so that was out, not that she'd give a fuck or pick up when she saw it was him.

With a resigned sigh, he dialed one last cell phone number and waited.

Rachel's breath caressed Derek's skin like a warm breeze drifting across Puget Sound on a hot summer day. Her lips nuzzled his neck. Her nipples rubbed against his bare chest. It was enough to drive a man insane.

Tremors vibrated through Derek's body stronger than an earthquake in a fault zone. More than lust. He knew it, just didn't want to know it. Because if these tremors weren't lust, they were something else. Something he didn't do because being vulnerable was so not going to happen. Not in this lifetime. Not with any woman, and especially not this woman.

Yet he owed her some kind of explanation regarding this situation they'd fallen into. He avoided the word relationship even if this thing between them was beginning to feel like one. He didn't do relationships. They were too permanent, too confining, too emotionally dangerous.

Pulling her close, he both loved and hated how well she fit. “Where do you think this is heading?” He held his breath and waited. The only sound in the room came from Simon's snoring and the rain beating on the window.

Rachel opened her mouth to answer, but his cell jangled and startled them both. Derek groped in the dark for it. People didn't call this late unless something was wrong.

"Don't answer it if it's my brother.” Rachel sat up beside him and clutched his arm.

Derek checked the display and didn't recognize the number. “Hello?” He hoped like hell it wasn't some rabid fan. The more the Jacks won, the more the crazies crawled out from under the bleachers.

"Uh, Derek, hi, it's Ryan.” The kid's voice broke, and every nerve in Derek's body went on alert.

"Hey, bud. Everything okay?” Derek forced his tone to be nonchalant, while he strangled the life out of his cell phone. He glanced at the clock and frowned. It was late, really late—after two in the morning. Not good. Not good at all.

"I, uh, this is embarrassing, but I can't reach anyone else. You said I could call you if I needed something.” Ryan's ragged breathing alarmed him.

"Sure. Are you okay?"

"I fell out of my wheelchair. I can't get up.” Ryan's voice shook with emotion.

Derek's heart dropped on his big toe. “You okay?"

"Nothing's bruised but my pride."

Derek heard the weary humor in the kid's voice. He chuckled. God, he loved that kid. “I'm on my way. Hold tight."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He jumped out of bed and flicked on the nightstand light. Hopping on one leg, he yanked on his jeans, not bothering with the boxers. Taking care not to catch his package, he zipped them up.

"What's wrong?” Rachel blinked, bleary-eyed, and watched him from the warmth of the bed.

"Ryan fell out of his wheelchair and can't get up."

"Oh no. I'm going with you.” Rachel stumbled out of bed and tried to put both feet in one pant leg. He hoped to hell he didn't have two people to take care of tonight.

"I think he's embarrassed. When we get there, you'll need to wait in the truck.” Derek steadied her as she attempted to dress herself. A simple feat for most people, but for her an accident in the making.

"I don't mind.” She untangled her legs and finished the job without bodily injury to either of them.

Derek tore down his driveway and drove like a crazy man to get to Ryan's trailer. He made it in record time. A single light glowed inside the house; no car was parked in the gravel driveway. Where the hell was the kid's mother? He'd not had the privilege of meeting her. According to Mitch, she'd never attended Ryan's games, even when he'd been healthy and a star.

Derek rattled the doorknob, but it was locked. Shit. He debated on busting down the door but decided to test his other options first. Walking around the dump, he found an unlatched window. He lowered his big body through it, slipped, and landed on his ass between a chair and the wall.

"You okay?” He heard Ryan ask.

"Just bruised my butt. It's not the first time that's happened."

"Rachel's wearing off on you."

Derek chuckled, glad to hear Ryan's sense of humor hadn't deserted him. He pulled himself to his feet and hurried into the kitchen. Ryan, no more than a sack of bones and a shadow of his former athletic self, lay on the floor, peppered with cereal flakes. Derek caught a whiff of urine and feigned ignorance.

He knelt next to the kid, who smiled feebly up at him. “You sure nothing hurts? You didn't break anything?” He ran his hands down Ryan's body, checking for broken bones but not finding any. Grabbing a nearby towel, he wiped the blood from the kid's chin and face. The cut appeared superficial.

"Nope. I'm fine. I'm really sorry I bothered you."

"You are not bothering me. Hang on. Let me get you up.” Setting the brake on the wheelchair, Derek put his hands under Ryan's shoulders and lifted him. The kid's light weight alarmed him. Setting him in the wheelchair, he knelt and brushed the cereal off his clothes. His eyes met Ryan's. If he'd inherited one shred of acting ability from his mother, he called it forth. No way did he want Ryan to see how much the kid's rapid decline unnerved him.

"Where's your mom?” He ground his jaw so hard his head hurt.

"Um, uh, working?” Ryan ducked his head and wouldn't meet his eyes. Derek knew instantly. She wasn't coming back. He'd seen the same expression in his bathroom mirror as a little boy.

"Working? Are you sure?"

Ryan shrugged one bony shoulder.

"Ry, be straight with me. Where's your mom?"

"I haven't seen her in over a week. I think she skipped out. Some of her stuff is gone."

"Oh fuck. Are you serious? You've been all alone for a week?” Derek knew all about mothers who didn't give a shit. If he got his hands on the woman, he'd use her for a tackling dummy.

"She's done it before, but I was able to fend for myself until she came back. This morning I could put myself in the wheelchair, but tonight I couldn't.” Ryan bit back a sob, his positive attitude deteriorating with this recent humiliation. “This sucks."

Derek stroked his ruffled hair. “I know it does, buddy. I know.” He'd gladly trade places if he could.

"Even worse, I wet myself."

"Hey, no big deal. We'll get you cleaned up."

"Are the child services people gonna take me away and put me in a home to die?"

"Not a chance.” Derek gulped back the conflicting emotions boiling inside him: concern for Ryan's living arrangements, white-hot anger at the kid's mother, grief for a young life without a future.

"What's going to happen to me?"

"We'll figure something out. You're not alone, buddy. You've got me, your coach, Rachel, all your teammates. We'll be here."

"Do you mean that?” Ryan swiped at the tear sneaking down his cheek. Derek's throat tightened, but he pulled it together.

"Of course I mean that. I'm here now, aren't I?” Ryan looked up at him with such despair that a wave of pain jolted him. Derek swallowed. Shit. How could this happen to a kid like this? He had everything going for him, his whole life ahead of him.

It wasn't fair. It fucking wasn't fair.

He wanted to shake his fists or break something and shout to the heavens at the injustice of it all, but now wasn't the time. Ryan needed him to be strong.

Tears streamed down Ryan's cheeks and dribbled off his chin, leaving wet spots on his T-shirt. Kneeling, Derek wrapped his arms around the stricken teenager. They hugged each other tightly as sobs racked Ryan's body.

This once vibrant, active kid had been reduced to this. A lone tear left a wet track down his cheek. He held on tighter.

"I love you, buddy,” he whispered.

Minutes later, Rachel found them that way, hanging on to each other.

Rachel helped load Ryan's stuff in the back of Derek's truck; then they took him home. Derek cleaned him up and dressed him for bed while Rachel fixed him a sandwich.

An hour later, she peeked in the door of Derek's guest bedroom. Sprawled on his stomach and buried under a mound of blankets, Ryan slept soundly. His mouth lolled open. The thick down comforter concealed his thin body. Derek peered over her shoulder.

"He crashed."

"I bet that's the first good sleep he's had in a while. No kid should be shouldering the burdens he has in the shape he's in.” Rachel left the door slightly ajar.

"His mother should be thrown in jail for neglect and abandonment.” Derek's face hardened, lined with tension and frustration.

"She probably would be if we could find her."

"The bitch isn't worth the effort.” He shook his head in disgust and walked down the hall. Rachel followed.

"What are we gonna do? You're not here enough to take care of him. Even if you were, you don't have the time. I could be here for him, but I'm not strong enough to lift him."

"You lifting Ryan conjures up a scary vision. You're challenged maintaining your own balance."

She glared at him but couldn't refute the facts.

"Let's worry about all this tomorrow. It's late.” Derek rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Sure.” She followed Derek to the bedroom as a plan formed in her mind.

Ryan would spend his last days knowing he mattered and people cared. She'd see to it.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-six

Big Play

Rachel threw open the door and hugged her father. Stepping back, she looked him up and down. “Dad, you look really good.” She sniffed the air but didn't smell any alcohol on his breath. He'd combed his hair, put on clean clothes, and shaved. No bloodshot eyes, plus his alert expression boded well for the day.

"Thanks, hon.” He smiled and almost reminded her of the father she remembered. Almost. She'd take almost any day compared to where he'd been a few months ago.

"How's your new job?” He'd taken a job at a gym about a month ago and worked with several college athletes. It wasn't coaching, but at least he felt involved in sports again.

"Keeps me busy and out of trouble."

"Good.” For the first time in months, a seed of hope took root inside her. Perhaps everything would be okay after all.

"And yours? Are you keeping those jocks in line?"

"Yes, Daddy, I am. I picked up some rookies too, along with Derek and Tyler."

"You'll do great. You're so organized.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Dang, Rae, that smells good. You'll make someone a good wife yet.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Dad, you know I'll never be anyone's wife. I'm too much of a tomboy for that."

"I guess I'm to blame."

"I guess you are.” She tucked her hand around his arm and escorted him into the small living area where Mitch, their oldest brother Riley, Riley's family, and Ryan watched football. The noisy, raucous group brought back fond memories of Thanksgivings when her mother was alive and life had been so different.

She stood there for a moment and watched her father take a seat between two of her brothers. Immediately the men launched into a spirited discussion regarding the Thanksgiving Day game between the Jacks and the Buccaneers.

Hustling to the kitchen, she hurried to finish the meal before the game started. She didn't want to miss a second of it.

Several hours later, she stood on the porch and waved good-bye to the last carload of McCormicks. Thanksgiving had gone off without a hitch. The food was cooked just right, the men fat and happy. Her father stayed sober. And Ryan had one of his good days, soaking up the novelty of what was most likely his first “family” Thanksgiving.

Derek, Tyler, and teammates treated them to a nail-biter, but they pulled out a victory in the last minutes.

The next few weeks sped by. She spent her days scheduling activities for various players. Her father was right. She did have a knack for it and managed to sock away a little money.

Derek and Tyler were in high demand. They couldn't possibly meet all the requests, so she funneled several appearances to her other clients, offering two rookies in place of one of them. Most organizations were glad to get a Jack at all. The team was a hot commodity in the Northwest and getting hotter with every win.

Through the players, she met their wives and significant others. Their generosity made it possible for her brother to offer Ryan a home. Rachel worked out a schedule so someone was always with him. The poor kid deteriorated a little every day, but he hung in there like a true competitor.

Her brother's team won the state championship, and the Jacks, well, they kept winning—the hottest team in the league at nine and four with three games to go before the play-offs. They were fighting for the division championship and a bye for the first play-off game. They weren't blowing their opponents out, but finding ways to win. When one guy had an off day, another stepped in to take up the slack.

Rachel worked with Derek and Tyler one or two nights a week, though their tight schedules didn't allow for more than that.

Football fever consumed the city like nothing it'd seen since the Sonics won the World Championship back in the seventies.

Through it all, she refused to look to the future, kept putting off a confrontation, convincing herself she needed more time.

The wild ride just got wilder. Rachel held on tight and kept Derek sane.

"Rachel, you're having second thoughts. Going soft on me, aren't you?” Mitch's angry whisper barely carried to her ears. He threw himself back in his chair in a dramatic display of exasperation. Lacing his hands behind his head, he glared at her.

Rachel glanced toward Ryan's open door and lowered her voice too. “No, it's not that. I find it hard to believe the Derek I know would do such a thing."

Mitch snorted. “Oh really? And what would the Derek you don't know do?"

"Mitch, don't be a jerk.” Rachel grabbed his arm. He allowed her to pull him out of the chair and lead him outside. She shut the door behind them.

"Me? Be a jerk? What about you? You're backing out, just like I knew you would."

"I'm not backing out—exactly. I think we need to talk to Dad again. Get more information. I think we jumped to conclusions."

"Dad's done all the talking he wants to do. How about I talk to Derek and get more information?"

"No, Mitch, please don't.” Panic welled up inside her. If Derek suspected what she'd been up to all these months, he'd never forgive her, let alone trust her. He already had trust issues with women anyway. “I know him. He's not the type of person to shave points."

"You're saying our father is? Our father. Yours and mine. The man who lived and breathed football, loved the game like no one else. The man who taught us both everything we know."

"No, not Dad. Never.” Rachel's mind rebelled at the thought.

"Then who?"

"Tyler?” Even as she said it, she struggled with picturing Tyler as the guilty party.

"If Tyler did it, his cousin sure as hell knows. Do you think knowing but not doing absolves him of guilt?"

"I don't know what to think.” She looked away, as confused as ever. “There has to be an answer to all this."

"You'll never find it unless you ask the right questions."

"I will. I promise."

"I want to be there."

Rachel shook her head and spoke through gritted teeth. “Mitch, I said I'll handle it."

"He's using you, Rachel, and you're in denial. You've built a fantasy relationship around a fantasy man.” Mitch squared his jaw and lifted his chin, the epitome of stubbornness.

"If he's going to come clean, it'll be to me alone. I can't have you there.” Anger and fear battled for dominance inside her.

Mitch considered her words, not looking the least bit happy. “When are you going to talk to him?"

"Give me two weeks."

"You've got one. The deeper you get into this, the more your objectivity is compromised."

Rachel glared at him. “Fine. I will handle it."

Mitch snorted in disbelief.

Derek knocked on Mitch's door and waited. Derek ignored Rachel's brother at the best of times and plotted his imaginary demise at the worst of times. Hard to believe they'd once been good buddies.

Mitch opened the door. His smile fell from his face. One side of his lip lifted in a snarl. The man wore his displeasure with as much pride as a soldier wore his medals. Derek beat down the urge to growl in response. What the hell were they—a couple of cavemen battling for prehistoric supremacy? Well, this Neanderthal refused to be baited into a fight.

"Where's Ry?” Derek kept his expression blank as he drummed his fingers on the doorjamb. Tension ricocheted off their bodies like a barrage of bullets hitting steel.

"Tyler's treating him and his buddies to pizza.” Mitch started to shut the door. Derek stuck his big foot in it.

"Do you know where they went?"

Tyler spent quite a bit of time with Ryan. The entire team did. Ryan's problems made Tyler forget his own, not that Tyler admitted to having any issues. Only Derek caught the sadness in his eyes when he let down his guard.

Mitch shrugged and pushed on the door. Derek pushed back, and they wrestled for male dominance with a damn door.

"Did you coordinate all this?” Mitch gripped the door and put his weight into it. Derek suppressed a smile and shoved his shoulder into the door.

"All what?"

"The visits.” The muscles in Mitch's arms shook from the effort.

"Give it up, Mitch. I work out for a living; you don't. You sit on your ass in a schoolroom."

Mitch opened his mouth, but Derek cut him off by forcing the door open another six inches.

Mitch set his jaw. “Every night at least one of your players shows up to hang with Ryan, talk sports with him. Their wives arrange car pools to drive him to medical appointments and stay with him when he's too sick to go to school.” Mitch panted and sweat beaded on his forehead.

"They're not my players.” Tyler might make that claim, but not Derek. “The guys did it on their own, and your sister organized it."

For a second, Mitch's expression softened and both men reduced their pressure on the door. “I hadn't realized it was her. It's really taken the heat off me. I wasn't sure how I'd deal with Ry living here, me being single and so busy and all."

"The team loves him. It was the least we could do. He's turned into something of our mascot."

"Well, tell Rae thanks for me."

"Tell her yourself.” Having proved his point, Derek let go of the door. It stayed open.

"She's not happy with me right now."

"Maybe you should try treating her like an adult for once.” If Mitch expected an apology, he wasn't getting one. Derek hadn't created this mess.

"Maybe you should leave her the hell alone."

"Fuck you."

"I couldn't have said it any better.” Mitch slammed the door in his face.

Derek stared at the closed door, conflicting emotions warring with his conscience. Shaking his head, he turned for home, tired after a long day of practice and verbal sparring with Mitch. He'd crash in front of a mindless reality show and forget the Mitches of the world for a while.

Twenty minutes later, he walked into his den and flopped into the overstuffed leather armchair next to a roaring fire. Rachel looked up from the neat stack of papers on his desk, a laptop nearby. He liked her being there when he came home. Her presence transformed his cold, empty house into a home. “Working overtime?” The stress fled from his mind and body as fast as the crowd used to flee Lumberjacks Stadium during their losing seasons. His gaze locked onto the view her body provided. She insisted on dressing in business attire even in his home, but the suits appealed to his basically horny nature. Of course, Rachel in a grain sack with a paper bag over her head would hike his ball.

"Yeah, my boss is a taskmaster.” She dipped her head and gazed at him through lowered lashes. Her coy act did crazy stuff to him. His heart rate skyrocketed, and his dick prepared for liftoff. He considered a plan of attack that involved a desk, naked bodies, and lots of friction.

Something soft and fuzzy brushed across his face. “What the fu—” He whipped his head around, coming face-to-face with Charlie, crouched on the back of his chair. The cat gazed at him with a feline smirk. Derek spit out a mouthful of cat hair. Charlie reached out a paw and patted his cheek. Fucking cat.

"What the hell is this cat doing in my house?"

"Lounging, it looks like."

"My furniture is covered in cat hair. Rachel, you know I don't like cats. Besides, he terrorizes poor Simon. No wonder he was cowering in the utility room when I got home."

"Simon holds his own."

Derek snorted. “He's scared shitless of that cat."

"He doesn't steal when Charlie's around."

"He's too busy shaking in his paws."

"Wuss. Perhaps he'd like it better back in dog prison."

"Some compassionate animal lover you are."

"Criminals like him shouldn't be out on parole. He's way beyond three strikes.” She snorted and switched topics. “How was practice?"

"Grueling.” He sighed as the cat crawled down his chest like a climber descending the Alps. Only this climber used sharp claws. “Damn! Ouch. You little shit.” Charlie, unaffected by Derek's ranting, turned a few circles and affixed himself to his shirt. He dug his claws in and out and purred with gusto. Derek winced.

Rachel's lips twitched.

Derek ignored the cat. “We're in the hunt, so close to a play-off berth Coach can smell it, and he's showing no mercy.” He pointed at the sports magazine on the coffee table. “Have you read that?"

"Uh, yeah."

"What the hell do we have to do to get any respect?"

"Make the play-offs?"

He raised one eyebrow.

"Win the Super Bowl?"

"Heck, I bet even that wouldn't be enough."

"Probably not. The Pacific Northwest might as well be a foreign country."

"No joke. And me?” He pointed at his chest. “They predict I'll crack under the pressure. I won't be able to catch the big one or make the plays when the Jacks really need me. Haven't I been making plays all season?"

"Yes, you have.” She poured a glass of wine from his bar.

"Are you drinking on the job?"

"I'm a lush."

He laughed. “Just be careful not to spill. Or worse.” She'd already broken half his wineglasses.

"This one's plastic. I put away your good crystal."

"What was left of it.” He held his breath when she bumped the glass with her hand. Wine sloshed around as the glass teetered but didn't tip. Lucky. “So do you believe I can do it? Think I can go the distance without screwing up?"

"It's not what I believe. It's what you believe.” Gingerly, she reached for the glass and almost tipped it over again.

"Yes, yes, I do.” He held his breath until she held the goblet firmly in her grasp. “Is there something wrong with your depth perception?"

"No, why?” She was all wide-eyed innocence. “I'm hypersensitive to gravity."

"That's one way to put it."

"Any word on Ryan's mother?"

"Nothing."

"Poor kid. His mother's a real nutcase."

"I'd call her a bitch.” Derek tensed. He avoided conversations about screwed-up, self-serving mothers. It hit too close to home.

"You ever met her?"

"Nope. Never set eyes on her. Don't have any interest in doing so."

"Mitch met her once."

"And?"

"She's just what you'd picture. Unfortunately."

"That sucks."

"Thanks so much for taking Ryan under your wing. You've really revived his spirits. Going to the Jacks’ home games are the highlights of his week."

"You're the halftime highlight of my week."

"Halftime's over, champ. It's time to put the ball in play.” She leaned forward. Unbuttoning a few buttons on her sweater, the little vixen tantalized him with a generous view of cleavage. He licked his lips. Lifting his eyes, his heat matched hers. She stood and skirted the desk, stubbing her toe and yelping. Derek reached out, grabbed her, and pulled her onto the arm of his chair. Charlie glared at both of them but didn't vacate his position on Derek's chest.

He touched a bruise on her arm. “This is new."

She glanced at it in surprise. “I don't know where that came from."

"Am I going to have to wrap you in Kevlar?"

"I'm fine."

"You scare me. I worry about you.” Derek frowned as the damn cat turned a few circles and made itself at home on his lap. He glared at the furry intruder yet made no move to put it on the floor.

"You're a little tense tonight.” Rachel's fingers massaged the back of his neck.

"I'm tired.” Derek absently stroked the cat, then stopped when he realized what he was doing. The finicky feline purred in response and rolled onto its back. Simon whined a jealous protest from the safety of the doorway.

"You look really tired."

"You've been keeping me up too late."

"You're insatiable."

"I didn't hear you bitching last night."

"And you won't."

"You're not clumsy in bed."

"No gravity to battle.” She smiled, warming his heart.

"So what do you hear from Cass? I see her cheering on the sidelines but never get a chance to talk to her."

"She's madly in lust. This is her last year as a pro cheerleader. She's making plans to move to Chicago with her new guy. How's Ty doing?"

"Instead of drinking and perfecting the art of being a man-slut, he's studying game film until all hours of the night and spending a lot of time with Ryan."

"What? He's building character?"

"You didn't hear that from me."

"Did the world stop and someone forgot to tell us?"

Derek laughed. “It seems that way. Have you eaten dinner?"

"Nope, I was waiting for you."

Fuck, they sounded like an old married couple, which couldn't be further from the truth. Married couples had a future. They had no future. Feeling out of his comfort zone, Derek backed off a little.

He'd seen the disastrous results of a long-distance relationship with his mother and father and how ambitions got in the way. He had no intention of going there.

The whole damn thing made his stomach ache.

Remote in hand, Ryan was sprawled on the couch. Tyler walked in. Grinning, he dropped next to him and propped his feet on the coffee table. He fixated on the college game on TV.

"Hey, you came.” Ryan offered a feeble smile.

"You asked.” Tyler bristled a little.

"Is Mitch gone?” Ryan craned his neck to see into the kitchen.

"He went out for some beer. Said he'd be right back."

"Good.” Ryan struggled to sit up, coughed, and took a drink of water. It trickled down his chin. He wiped it with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I need to talk to you. Alone."

"Shoot.” Tyler helped himself to the bowl of chips on the coffee table.

"I need a favor."

Tyler hesitated, popped several chips in his mouth, and chewed slowly.

"So can you do me a favor?” Ryan took another sip of water, and his scrawny arm shook.

Tyler avoided looking at him. Ryan knew why. A skeleton had more meat on its bones. Tyler shrugged. “I suppose.” The words slipped out, as if he was reluctant to commit.

"I need you to find my mother."

"Your mother?” Tyler choked and crammed more chips in his mouth.

"Yeah. Please, Ty. I need to know where she is. I want to see her before—before—well, you know.” Ryan fought to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"Why didn't you ask Derek?"

"Because I want the truth. Derek's too nice. He'd never tell me the truth if it was bad news."

"And I would?” Something flickered in Tyler's blue eyes.

"Yeah. You're a tough guy. A badass. You say what you think and to hell with everyone else. I don't want anyone worrying about my feelings. I need to know."

"You think you'll get that from me.” Tyler's words sounded constricted.

"Yeah, I will because you won't be concerned about hurting me. You'll just do the job. You take care of yourself; nobody else matters."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's me. I'm a selfish bastard."

Ryan punched his arm. “Then you'll do it?"

"Yeah, sure.” Tyler stared at the images on the TV, not looking at him.

Full of dread, Ryan dragged in a breath around the boulder crushing his chest.

Two-minute warning. Bulldogs in the lead, 24-20.

Hollywood couldn't have scripted it better. Monday Night Football. The last game of the regular season, with everything on the line for the Bulldogs and Jacks. Winners to the play-offs, losers to go home.

The Seattle Lumberjacks took the field and ran a couple of quick pass plays and a running play. Each was successful, but none stopped the clock. A field goal wouldn't win it. Only a touchdown would do. One more shot to make the play-offs for the first time in Seattle's dismal thirty-plus-year history as a pro-football team. Thirty-six yards to go with two seconds on the clock. One play left. One chance to redeem countless years of mediocrity. One opportunity to silence their East Coast critics. One incredible New Year's present for the fans.

Sixteen games in a long season came down to one single play.

HughJack called their last time-out. They gathered in a tight huddle, eleven men with one common purpose. The stadium rocked with the mental power of sixty-five thousand rabid fans emotionally charging their players. Derek chewed on his lower lip and checked the Velcro on his gloves. Bruiser bounced on the balls of his feet. Tyler gripped the ball, turning it in his hands, communing with the leather. Horse Price cracked his knuckles. Eleven pairs of eyes focused on the coach and strained to hear him above the din of the crowd.

"Okay, men, this is it,” HughJack shouted. “Time to prove the old Lumberjacks don't exist anymore. We're a team who rises to the occasion. We find a way to win and keep winning. This is a team of destiny. I have faith in every one of you.” He paused and made contact with each player. “Now go out there and prove it to the rest of the country."

HughJack put his hand in the middle of the huddle. The guys did the same. “Play-offs! Lumberjacks!"

Their final play came as no surprise to anyone. Tyler would throw it up for grabs, Derek being the mostly likely candidate. How he got to the end zone and with how many defensive backs hounding his every step would be up to his superior speed and maneuverability.

Tyler hesitated as they broke the huddle and gave him the look.

Breathing deeply, Derek filled his lungs with the oxygen he'd need and took his position at the end of the line. Horse snapped the ball. Derek broke away from two DBs by faking one way and streaking past the other. He sprinted for the end zone. Glancing over his shoulder for the ball, he prayed that Tyler would put it on the money.

The ball rocketed toward him, a hard-ass spiral that'd sting like hell when he caught it. Two Bulldogs barreled toward him on a collision course with destiny. As a group, they leaped into the air. Three sets of arms strained for the ball.

Oh, shit. It was coming down short. Derek batted it out of the defenders’ hands. It bobbled. He stretched his arms, his whole body, and dove for the pigskin. His fingertips grazed the ball. Somehow he hauled it in. Wrapping his fingers around it, he hung on with everything he had. His feet were knocked out from under him as he slammed to the ground in the end zone.

Derek gripped the ball with both hands and rose to his knees, protecting the ball. The whistle blew. Winded and disoriented from the hit he'd taken, he saw the referee signal a touchdown.

There is a God. And he'd chosen to put his money on a ragtag bunch of misfits who'd never accomplished anything on their own.

His teammates piled on top of him like ants on an anthill, driving the oxygen from his lungs. He gasped for breath, but some remote part of his brain registered the truth.

They'd made the play-offs.

And he'd caught the big one—the tough, pressure's on catch, the highlight clip to be analyzed ad nauseam for the next week on every local sports station. He and his teammates had risen to the challenge.

A celebration erupted on the field. The thirty-year play-off drought ended.

Tyler yanked his cousin to his feet and pounded on his back until Derek's vertebrae rattled and his neck suffered whiplash. The human mass on the field swept Derek away, still clutching the ball. Reporters shoved microphones in his face; cameras blinded him until all he could see were little points of white light. The crowd stomped their feet and rocked the stadium to its foundation, cheering loud enough to be heard in Idaho.

Derek shook his head. Tried to clear the cobwebs. Tried to see beyond the white spots. Blinking several times, he squinted and scanned the crowd in the first few rows, using every inch of his six-feet-five frame to see above the fans flooding the field. Almost desperate, he searched the stands, unaware of the people surging around him, unmindful of the reporters clamoring for an interview. Like a boulder in a stream, he held steady. Teammates, coaches, and fans grabbed at him, slapped his back, and shouted their congratulations.

He needed Rachel. She'd been his rock, his staunchest supporter, his most constructive critic, the reason for his success. Without her, he wouldn't be cradling the game ball and looking at a play-off future.

Then he spotted her in the first row with her brother and Ryan in his wheelchair. Dressed in his number eighty-five jersey, she waved a blue and gold towel and jumped up and down. Her face flushed red as she screamed her lungs out. He held his breath, prayed she wouldn't do bodily harm to herself or others. Too late. He cringed as she slipped, almost fell, and grabbed the railing for support. Damn, he needed to get to her soon before she caused mass destruction and injury.

Derek slogged through the celebration to the stands. Sensing his single-minded determination, the crowd parted and the cameras followed. He reached the stands, skirted security, and looked up. With a smile, he handed the game ball to Ryan.

"Keep this for me, buddy,” Derek yelled above the crowd.

"Are you sure?"

"It's yours.” Derek nodded.

"Win the Super Bowl and I want a new one."

Derek shook his outstretched hand. “Deal."

Even Mitch smiled.

Turning to Rachel, he held his arms out to her. She leaned over the railing. He grabbed her and hoisted her over the top rail, whirling her around in circles. She screamed and laughed, begging to be put down. He placed her feet on the ground but didn't take any chances with her balance impairment. Derek held her to him and stared into eyes sparkling with joy and pride.

God, he adored this woman.

He kissed her with emotion he usually repressed. She kissed him back with a promise of tomorrows better than yesterdays. Today he wouldn't change one thing in his life. It was perfect as it was. Tomorrow might be a different story.

A broad grin crossed his face. He tucked her next to his side, holding her tight so she wouldn't trip. A gang of reporters jabbed microphones in his face and fired questions above the chaos. Smiling, he fielded their questions and posed for pictures with Rachel.

What little anonymity Derek and the Lumberjacks had washed away in the incessant Seattle winter rain.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-seven

Home Field Advantage

Derek checked his voice mail. He had several calls. Tyler wanting to meet before the play-off game tomorrow. His dad asking him to call. Rachel checking on him. His agent with a few endorsement offers. Tyler again, calling him a fucking asshole. He grinned at that one. Effin’ A back to you, buddy. His agent again, demanding a callback. Rachel offering some homemade stew for dinner. Yummmmm. Ryan, worried about him.

Oh shit, Ryan. Ryan shouldn't be worried about him. He needed to call the kid.

With a sigh, he disconnected from voice mail. Tomorrow he'd play in the biggest game of his career so far. With each win, the next game became the biggest until there would only be one left—the ultimate prize for any football player. The media didn't give them a chance in the game tomorrow against the New York Wildcats.

All those little injuries and twinges nagging him throughout a long season combined for a weary, aching body. Pain became his constant companion. He recovered slower after each game. In some cases the hurt never lessened and accompanied him everywhere. He played through it because not playing wasn't an option. His head spun from all the demands on his nonexistent free time. Prioritize, Ramsey. Football's been number one all week; time for a little downtime to recharge your batteries.

First he returned Ryan's call and made plans to have dinner with him after the game, win or lose.

Second he dialed Rachel's number. He'd barely talked to her since the game last week. He'd been wrapped up in game video, practice, interviews, and team publicity stuff. He was being pulled in fifty different directions with barely time to sleep, let alone see Rachel or Ryan. Guilt rolled over him like a rogue wave on a Pacific Ocean beach.

Tonight belonged to Rachel. He needed her steady, calm support. Okay, he admitted it. He needed her body too. He needed the intimacy, the feeling of coming home he only got with her. And yeah, he needed some purely physical get-down-and-get-it-done sex.

"Hello?” The object of his current fantasy answered the phone. She sounded out of breath, which conjured up several fantasies.

"Hey, babe.” He grinned, ready to forget the demands of his chaotic life and engage in a little phone sex before the main event.

"Dare?"

"Yeah.” He leaned back against the overstuffed cushions of the leather couch in his living room. Propping his feet on the coffee table, he took a long, cool swallow of his beer and willed his tired, battered body to relax.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you tonight.” He detected a note of hurt in her sweet voice. He knew women; time to tread lightly. His absence this week hadn't gone unnoticed.

"You weren't?"

"No.” More hurt, even a little annoyance.

He chose the popular path of any red-blooded American male: he played dumb. “Did I interrupt something? You're out of breath.” His smile faded. He sat up straighter.

"I was just coming from the barn. I ran to catch the phone."

Good. That made him feel better. He relaxed back into the cushions and wished he was relaxing into her. “It's good to hear your voice. I'm sorry I've been so busy this week."

Silence.

"You still there?"

"Yeah. How are things going with the team?” Her voice smoothed out, didn't sound so ruffled.

"Okay, but I'd rather not talk about football tonight. How about some of that stew?"

"You bet, big guy.” Her voice sounded normal. She'd forgiven him, somewhat. Damn, he didn't deserve a woman like her.

"Good.” The tension drained from his tense body. He'd been wound up all week preparing for that first-round play-off game.

"Your place or mine?” Rachel posed the question.

"How about mine. I have a better bed."

"No one said anything about needing a bed for eating stew."

"It's the after-stew activities that require a bed."

"Oh really, do they? Since when?"

"Tonight this boy is tired and sore. He requires a bed.” He laughed. His cock hardened at the teasing in her voice.

"I'll be up in a flash with dinner."

"I'll be looking forward to it."

All of it.

The one-week deadline imposed by Rachel's brother had come and gone. For the past several days, she'd embraced denial and blissfully gone about her business. Now dread edged out bliss as she fretted about whether or not her brother would follow through on his threat. He'd never been one to make idle threats, and she doubted he'd start now. She just needed more time to sort out her conflicting feelings. Surely she could convince Mitch to wait longer. With a nagging feeling that she was operating on borrowed time, Rachel pushed her fears aside and concentrated on enjoying the evening.

Derek ate second and third helpings. Afterward he rubbed his still-flat belly, set his plate on the coffee table, and put his arm around her, pulling her close. She snuggled in the crook of his arm. Lord, she'd missed him this week.

He'd wormed his way into her life in subtle ways she hadn't noticed until he'd been absent for a while. Until tonight Rachel had gotten leftovers in the form of a few text messages during the week. But now he was here, and she planned on making the best of it.

She turned her head to admire his handsome face. His smile lit up her everyday life so it didn't seem so everyday. His determined attitude infused the same energy in those around him, and his laugh was infectious. Then there was that body. Ripped and hard with masculine grace, he moved like a cheetah and just as fast. His body crackled with so much sexual energy the FCC should give him his own frequency.

"Rae?” She felt his breath on her ear. “You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"

"Not a chance, buster.” She was falling—actually had fallen—but not asleep.

"Damn, I'm gonna be so weighted down tomorrow I'll be slower than a lineman."

"You didn't have to eat three bowls."

"I couldn't help it. Nothing like good ol’ down-home cooking. All I've been eating this week is stuff I can't even pronounce, let alone identify."

"You'll need to work it off somehow."

He turned to her, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose. “You bet your sweet ass I will, and you do have the sweetest ass.” His big hand slid lower and rubbed the small of her back.

"Your ass isn't so bad either."

His dark eyes bored into hers, suddenly intense and serious. He traced a finger down her jaw, then cupped her chin. “You ground me, Rae. I need that."

She squeezed her eyes shut, fearing he might see the tears there. He didn't notice, just pulled her close to his chest and held her tight. She wrapped her arms around him, and he flinched.

"Are you injured?"

"Nah, just beat-up. Comes with the territory. Guys compete for the chance to slam me to the ground several times every Sunday."

"Let me see.” She couldn't help but worry about him. He'd taken some scary hits during the last game, and each time he'd gotten up a little slower. “Take off your T-shirt."

He started to lift his arms, then grimaced. “Fuck."

"I'll help.” Rachel pulled the shirt off his head. Not an easy feat because of his reluctance to raise his hands very high above his head.

"Oh, baby.” His torso looked like a prize fighter's after a particularly nasty fight. She touched one colorful bruise the size of Mercer Island. “Maybe we shouldn't do this tonight. We could just sit and talk."

"Talking isn't quite what I had in mind tonight."

"Hmmm.” Rachel pulled back and rubbed his erection through his jeans. “Sure you're up to it?"

"Oh yeah. I'm up. Just go easy on me.” He laid his head against the couch and closed his eyes.

"You have more of an issue than your fat tummy and your bruises, mister. You've got a goalpost between your legs."

"Maybe you can do something about that. For the good of the team, of course."

"Of course. Anything for the team."

"You are a dedicated coach's daughter."

"That I am.” She unzipped his jeans and was rewarded with his groan. “Your jeans are too tight."

"They fit just fine until you walked in the door."

She felt evil, naughty. She wanted to show him what he'd been missing these past few days. She pulled his cock out of his pants. Like a good soldier, it sprang to attention. Rachel bent down and flicked her tongue across the tip.

"Oh fuck.” He gritted his teeth and rocked the back of his head against the couch.

"That comes later, big guy."

"Rae."

"Don't be such a wuss. I haven't even done anything yet."

"I have a great imagination."

"I know. I've been on the receiving end. Tonight I get a turn.” She knelt between his legs. He lifted his hips, wincing a little, as she pulled off his jeans and boxers.

"I wanna see your tits. Even better, I want to see you naked while you take care of my...uh...goalpost."

She laughed and sat back on her heels to pull off her shirt. She left the lacy red bra on. He licked his lips as he stared at it. His pupils dilated until all she could see was black.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Cass dragged me on a shopping trip to the lingerie shop again."

"I love that woman."

"There's more, but you'll have to wait.” Rachel giggled, then bent back to her task between his legs. She ran her tongue up and down his velvet length. After wrapping her fingers around him, she pumped while sucking on the tip. He threw his head back and tossed it back and forth, his eyes shut, his jaw clenched, his hands fisted. Cupping his balls, she squeezed gently. He muttered a few unintelligible words. She took him in her mouth, deeper with each thrust until his cock touched the back of her throat. He stiffened. His dick twitched.

"Okay, enough. I'm going to come right here, and I really don't want to. I want to come inside you."

"Take me right up the middle.” She gazed up at him, certain the lust shining in his eyes was reflected in her own.

"That's my intention.” His dark eyes glazed with need. He held his arms out. Rachel suppressed a smile. She shimmied her jeans down her legs. His breath caught when he saw her little lacy underwear.

"Come here and ride me, baby."

"What if you buck me off?"

"I'll buck, all right, but I'll make sure you hang on."

Placing one leg over his body, she rested her knee on the couch, straddling his lap. His hard-on pressed against her now wet crotch. His mouth covered hers. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, letting him explore. The toned muscles of his thighs strained under her bare butt. Rachel rubbed against him. He grabbed her ass and pulled her closer, his cock probing her opening.

She rose and eased herself down onto him. He stopped her. Holding her by the waist, he leaned in and licked an erect nipple through the transparent lace of her bra. He sucked harder, taking more inside his mouth. She writhed against him. He switched to the other nipple, using his teeth to pull the lace down and expose her to him. He nuzzled the skin around her nipple, nipping, then sucking, leaving his mark on her. She squirmed, trying to free herself from his grasp.

"You like that."

"I hate it."

"Coulda fooled me. You're hot for me."

"Maybe. Maybe I'm just working for a good tip."

"I'm a big tipper if I'm happy. Make me happy."

She might be the world's most uncoordinated person, but that didn't matter. She rubbed her breasts against his chest, over his face. Her hips swayed to and fro in her inept version of a belly dance. Derek didn't seem to mind. He reached up to grab her breast, and she slapped him away.

"House rules. No touching the dancers."

"It's my house."

"Just play along, will ya?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Rachel touched his biceps, ran a finger over his tattoo. The light from the lamp played off his body, accentuating the cords of muscle running up those strong arms. She bent down and nipped his shoulder. He growled, a deep animal growl.

She slid down his body like a horny pussycat, then back up again, undulating her hips and rubbing his huge cock. Slipping back down, she caught his cock between her breasts and slid back and forth. He buried his fingers in her hair.

"Oh hell. That's enough.” In one labored movement, he was no longer on the bottom. He pushed her onto the couch and positioned her on her side with jerky, desperate movements. Grasping her ankle, he raised one leg over her head, then slid into her sideways with slow, deliberate strokes.

"Don't hurt yourself. You have a game tomorrow.” Rachel squirmed but couldn't move much. She was pinned like a butterfly.

"I don't fucking care.” His eyes glazed over. He'd gone to that place he went when he'd mentally vanquished the pain. He drove her mad by taking it slow. He'd fill her and flex her hips to drive him deeper; then the bastard would leisurely pull out. Like the hot blood of sex wasn't driving through his veins as it was hers. She grabbed a fistful of his fine ass and tried to muscle him into doing her bidding. Bad idea. Her feeble strength was no match for his.

"Turn around.” He ordered, his chest heaving, his dark hair all mussed and sexy. She didn't protest.

She flipped onto her hands and knees. Leaning forward, she planted her hands on the coffee table. He repositioned her hips, giving him the best angle to penetrate her from behind. He teased her, rubbing his cock up and down against her wet slit. She gritted her teeth, wanting him to fill all those spots only he could fill. Wanting it down and dirty, wanting him to brand her as his and his alone. Wanting it all, even if only for a little while.

"Talk dirty to me, baby. I love it when you do that.” His gravelly voice was pure sex itself.

She still wasn't all that comfortable with dirty sex talk, but she'd give it a shot if it'd make him quit being a pussy tease and get on with the show. “Take that big cock of yours and slam it deep inside me. Now."

"Now?” How the hell he could sound so casual in a position like this, she couldn't fathom.

"Hell yes, now!"

"I don't want to satisfy you too soon. You like it when I drag it out.” His erection rubbed her thigh. Not what she had in mind.

"Derek Cole Ramsey, do I have to take care of myself?"

He hesitated as if considering the options.

"Derek?"

"What?"

"You know what."

"I do?"

She couldn't stand it any longer. “Please fuck me.” She begged. He chuckled.

"God, now you know why I love it when you talk like that.” Holding her hips still, his dick touched her throbbing opening. He thrust inside her, hard and deep. She bit back a scream of need. He moved in and out, long and slow, but deeper with every stroke. He reached around and pinched her nipples, pulling on them almost to the point of pain, but it only drove her frenzy to a higher level. His strokes gathered speed, and she matched his rhythm as it accelerated and built in tempo and power. Their two bodies slapped together faster and faster. Harder and harder.

"Aww, shit.” Suddenly he stopped and clung to her. At first she thought he was teasing again until she turned her head to look at him. His breath rasped. His expression was a study of agony and arousal.

He straightened with deliberate care. The lines on his face were defined by discomfort. Rachel turned to face him. She held his arms, supporting as much of his body as she could. “Are you okay?"

"Yeah, give me minute. My back's a little tweaked, and my leg's cramping. Fuck. That hurts."

"I'm sorry.” She helped him as he slumped on the couch. Sweat dripped off his face.

"That was so stupid. I know better.” He ground his teeth together.

"Let me help.” Rachel massaged his calf, relaxed the tight muscles. Finally he lay back on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

"Damn, I'm so hard. It almost hurts more than the rest of my body."

"I have a cure for that."

"Be my guest.” His gaze latched on to hers, burning beyond the pain, pleading with her for satisfaction.

She moved to him, straddled his hips, and lowered herself onto his waiting cock.

His breath escaped in a long whoosh. “Ah hell, that feels so damn good."

He attempted to lift his hips, but his body spasmed.

Using her hands and her body, she tortured him with desire. Splayed helplessly under her, he closed his eyes and let her work her magic, which took a matter of seconds for both of them. Sweat mingled with the smell of their arousal. She screamed his name, wavering on the edge of reality and some other higher plane.

She took him there. Step by step they climbed, leaving mortal earth far behind. They soared, they rejoiced, they sailed weightless in a place without time or physical restrictions. She touched his soul, and he touched hers. Then together they floated back to earth.

After a night with Rachel and a couple of painkillers, Derek felt decent, not as relaxed and loose as usual, but it'd have to do. He'd played through pain before; he'd do it again. He ran his pregame warm-ups with a little more care than he usually exhibited. Excitement filled the crowd as they filtered into the stands. Blue and gold dominated the landscape, just like it'd dominated store windows and billboards on his way to the stadium this morning.

The stands filled, and his nerves got the best of him. His body was strung tighter than HughJack after a fifty to zero loss. Swiping nervous sweat from his brow, he looked to the stands, locating Rachel, her brother, and Ryan. He waved, then turned away, warding off another bout of nausea. The buzz in the stands morphed into a roar. The sellout crowds were ready to do their part.

Then the game began.

Tyler sent a bullet of a pass and hit him directly in the gut. The ball bounced off his hands and fell to the turf. Damn. That hurt. He almost lost what little breakfast he'd eaten.

"Hey, catch the fucking ball next time,” Tyler growled at him. “Don't you fucking crack on me. Got it, asshole?"

Why they called it butterflies, he'd never know. Right now it felt like Muhammad Ali and Joe Fraser in their prime were pummeling his stomach with blow after blow. Each hit added a new layer of aches and bruises. His muscles protested the abuse. His high pain threshold threatened to ditch him when he needed it most.

HughJack watched him like a cat watches a bird about to wander into his killing zone. Razor grimaced, spat on the ground, and shook his head. He said something to HughJack.

"Ramsey!” Hughjack bellowed across the field.

Derek knew what was coming. He jogged with difficulty to the sidelines. “Yeah?"

"Get your act together. This is it. Time to raise your play to another level, not knock it back down to mediocrity."

Considering his physical state, Derek wasn't certain he had another level. In his opinion, he'd been playing above it the entire second half of the season. The first half of the game proved that. By halftime, they were down 24-0. Tyler threw two interceptions; one was run back for a touchdown, proving even he wasn't immune to the pressure. Derek dropped two easy passes, tripped and fell for a loss on another.

Their Cinderella season had struck midnight, and they were turning into pumpkins, big, fat, orange ones about to be smashed by a team ready to grind them to pumpkin dust.

HughJack chewed major ass at halftime, but the discouraged and demoralized team just hung their heads.

As they trudged from the locker room, HughJack grabbed Tyler and Derek by the arms. “Make something happen.” He looked each of them in the eyes. “You can do it. The team is depending on you. One big play is all it takes to turn the momentum."

The cousins nodded, then ran out the tunnel onto the field. A deafening cheer they didn't deserve greeted them. Their fans hadn't given up. Derek couldn't either. His tank might be empty, but he could still run on fumes.

The defense held the Cats to three and out, getting the crowd into it. They huddled up, and Tyler's gaze hit Derek. “HughJack means it. Long bomb to you, buddy.” Derek listened to the play Tyler called. HughJack was putting this first play where his mouth was.

They came out of the huddle as a united group, feeling like a different team from the one that had played the first half. Ignoring the protests from his legs and sharp pains shooting down his back, Derek ran his pattern and sprinted for the end zone sixty yards away. He left his defenders eating his dust. Tyler had the best arm in the league; he'd get the ball there.

Derek hauled in the pass for six. The stands erupted. He did a little dance with the guys, tucked the ball under his arm, and ran to the sidelines to hand it to Ryan. If he had his way, the kid would have quite a collection before the season ended.

The kicker added another point. The momentum shifted, and the Jacks never looked back. They were on their way.

One down.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-eight

Unnecessary Roughness

Derek took another long draw from his beer. His eyes narrowed as he glared at his cousin. “What's your problem?"

"What do you mean?” Tyler glared right back, obviously itching for a fight instead of basking in his glory.

"Why are you in such a surly mood? You should be insufferably pleased with yourself."

"I am, which is why I'm being such an ass."

"No, I've seen you be an ass after a big win before. This is nothing like that.” Derek propped his chin on his hand and watched him.

Tyler shrugged and ordered another beer.

"It's almost midnight. I don't need this shit. It's been a long day. I'm going home.” Derek whipped out a twenty and put it on the table.

"Ah, hell yeah, you just leave your cousin drowning in misery while you go home to Rachel."

"I'm not seeing Rachel tonight. I saw her last night.” Though the idea did have its merits. Big ones in the form of soft skin, sinful lips, a wickedly sweet smile, and long legs wrapped around his straining body. Damn. His cock grew to painful proportions.

"You really are a dumb shit."

Derek yanked himself back to reality and scowled, pissed that Tyler's attitude had ruined a good fantasy. “Me? Hell, what did I do? I played a fucking good game today. You can't fault me. I caught every damn ball thrown my way in the second half and scored two fucking touchdowns and made the crucial block for a third."

"Well, congratulations to you for doing your job.” Tyler scowled and threw back his beer. He slammed the beer glass on the table, over half full. “This is just fucking great. You've even ruined my appreciation for good beer."

"Fuck yourself."

Tyler laughed. “Hell, I have been. I haven't had a real woman in a few months.” He sat back and leveled his best intimidation glare at his cousin.

So that was Tyler's problem. “With an attitude like yours, you'll be waiting several more.” Derek sobered, breathed in, breathed out. “Look, Ty, why didn't you join us for pizza? Ryan asked about you."

"I couldn't get away from the press. Had to do a couple of TV interviews.” Tyler sat back, obviously fighting to control his infamous temper.

"I don't give a shit if you're an ass about everything else; you need to go see him."

"I will. I'm just not great company right now."

"You're never great company.” Derek snorted.

"It's not like you've got all the answers. You're the stupid fucker."

"Go to hell."

"I'm already there. It's nice and warm. You should join me.” Tyler sneered at his cousin.

"I have no clue what the hell you're so pissed about. If there's more you want to say, go ahead, get it out of your system."

"It's Rachel. Don't fuck this up like I did with Cass. She's the best thing that ever happened to you."

"It'll never work out."

"Because you don't want it to. Did you ever stop to think that your successes lately might be related to Rachel being back in your life? You have balance now, someone who cares and listens."

"In that case, why are you doing so well?"

"Obviously because I thrive on pain and chaos. We're not made the same. Admit defeat about Rachel and get on with your perfect little life together."

"There is no future for Rachel and I. Get it? We don't have a future. Just a right now. I don't want one and neither does she.” Just saying the words crushed his chest, like being buried under four of the league's biggest linemen.

"You're dumber than I gave you credit for if you buy that bullshit. The only person you're bullshitting is yourself."

"That's enough, Ty."

Tyler ignored the threatening tone of his cousin's voice. “She's in love with you, and you're going to break her fucking heart again because you're a chickenshit coward."

"Enough.” Derek gritted his teeth, barely able to force the words out.

"You're in love with her, you idiot."

"I said shut up.” His head spun and denial raged inside him even as the truth of the words settled in his heart.

"You don't deserve her."

Derek slammed his fist on the table so loud others turned to stare at him. “Rachel is off-limits in any conversation with you from now on. Got it?"

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead, be a lonely dumb shit. Enjoy yourself.” Tyler tossed a few bills on the table and stomped out of the bar.

Ryan lifted his head when he heard the rap on his bedroom door. “Come in."

"Hey, bud. Slummin’ it?” Tyler Harris slipped through the door. His gaze flicked to Ryan's deteriorating body, then to his face. Tyler's eyes reflected the same story he'd seen on every other person who'd walked into this room the past few days. Ryan had quit looking in a mirror months ago. What he'd seen there scared the crap out of him. He didn't recognize his own face. His body resembled a skeleton with a layer of paper-thin skin spread over it.

"I'm doin’ okay. You should be doing great."

"Oh yeah. Definitely.” Tyler faked a smile, but it didn't work. Ryan had become an expert at reading people in the past year. The quarterback was uncomfortable around him.

"You've been avoiding me, and I know why."

"No, I haven't. I've been busy. You know how that is."

"Actually, I don't. At least not anymore.” Ryan fiddled with the edge of his blanket. He gathered the courage to force the next words out of his mouth. “Have you found out anything?"

"Uh, no. Still looking.” Tyler refused to meet his eyes.

"Liar. You know something.” Ryan's stomach twisted in a tight knot. He waited for the bomb to drop.

"Ryan, let's just leave it alone."

"I have to know. I asked you to find my mother, and you said you would. You're keeping something from me."

"Hell no. I'd tell you straight if I knew anything."

"Bullshit. You found her.” Ryan reached for Tyler's hand and gripped it hard considering his weakened state. “I have to know. Where is she?"

Tyler held on to his hand and sat on the edge of the bed. Their eyes met. The pain in Tyler's eyes didn't surprise him as much as it should have. “In Vegas."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? What's she doing?” Ryan stared at the picture on the dresser of his mother and him in his football uniform taken last year at the only game she'd ever attended. She'd left by the second quarter.

"Working in an exotic dance club."

"She's a stripper?” Ryan shook his head.

"Uh, some people call them that.” Tyler picked at lint on the comforter with his free hand.

"Give it to me straight. She's been one before.” Hope snuck in and ambushed him as he said his next words. “Did you tell her about me?"

"Yeah.” Tyler avoided his eyes, a bad sign, really bad.

"What did she say?"

Tyler bit his lower lip and stared at a point on the wall. He shrugged, and a muscle jerked in his rigid jaw.

"Is she coming home?"

"Uh, not for a while."

"I don't have a while.” Her abandonment sucked the remaining warmth out of his body. With one hand, he tugged the blankets up to his chin, but the bone-deep cold settled in his core. He should've known she wasn't coming back. Wasn't going to stay with him during his last days. She really didn't love him. His head sank back against the pillow.

"You have us. All of us. We love you, man. We're your family now. We'll be there every step of the way."

Their eyes met. Ryan's throat constricted. The truth behind Tyler's words penetrated his pain. He squeezed the quarterback's hand and pointed at the picture. “Would you take that away for me? I don't want it in here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah.” He choked on a sob. “Thanks for dropping by, but I'm really tired.” He shut his eyes and faked falling asleep.

A few minutes later, Tyler squeezed, then released his hand and crept from the room.

Once the door shut, Ryan opened his eyes. The picture was gone. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and sobs racked his body. She hadn't been much of a mother, but she'd been the only mother he had. He missed her.

He needed her.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-nine

Broken Tackle

"You don't deserve her.” Tyler's words infiltrated Derek's brain until he couldn't think of anything else. Tyler spoke the truth, and Derek knew it. Maybe he hadn't deserved her in the past, but he was playing on an entirely different field now. He'd fooled himself all along, and so had she. They'd mired themselves in an emotional relationship they'd sworn wouldn't happen, yet they knew it would play out just like it had.

He'd been an idiot to think he could have a strictly physical affair with Rachel of all women. Hell, she'd always been the one he couldn't forget. What a stupid dumb-ass he'd been.

By some cruel twist of fate and a boot in the butt by two interfering friends, they'd been forced together, and he didn't regret one moment.

Sex with Rachel had never been a quick screw. It went so much deeper. Deep enough that he'd fallen for her all over again, only worse this time. This time he didn't want to let go. Ever.

His heart dug in its heels and fought for all it was worth. Even while denial fought to dominate the line of scrimmage, the reality of their situation smacked him up against the goalposts. Like a well-orchestrated game plan, things between them clicked along until all the pieces fell into place and left him with one undeniable truth.

He loved her.

Weird. Crazy weird.

He always thought love would be a trap, claustrophobic and unwelcome. He didn't feel trapped or smothered; he felt freed and content. In fact, he felt damn good.

Rachel filled every empty part of him. Gave him new life and a new outlook. When she had his back, he believed he could do anything. She'd given him back his game, his desire, his confidence. He'd grown to trust her with his innermost secrets and, more importantly, with his heart.

Which led him to an unlikely spot—her father's doorstep.

Derek rapped on the door and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. His hands shook, and he jammed them in his pockets, mortified that anyone, especially Rachel's male relatives, might see him as such a nervous wreck.

Mitch opened the door and glowered at him, the disgust on his face clearer than the headlines on Monday's sports page. Without a word, Rachel's surly brother stood back, allowing Derek past him into the dark, dreary spaces of the mobile home.

Derek hesitated and waited for Mitch to lead the way into the cramped dining room. Coach sat at the Formica table, an unreadable expression on his face. Derek's once formidable high school coach didn't look so formidable now. He'd aged decades in a few short years. His hair had grayed, and his eyes were devoid of their usual intensity and energy.

Mitch dropped into the chair next to his father, leaving Derek the only empty space across the table. Derek sat, keeping his hands anchored to his thighs and out of sight. He shifted in his chair and stared at the table, gathering his thoughts. Lifting his head, he faced a tough crowd.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to meet with me today.” His voice sounded clear and calm in direct contrast to the turbulence buffeting his insides.

Both men stared at him. Not a word, their faces etched in stone and giving nothing away.

"I wanted both your sons here, but I guess Riley couldn't make it.” Derek addressed his old coach. The man just nodded and munched on a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the table.

Mitch snarled something unintelligible.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Derek dived into enemy territory. “I want to marry your daughter."

"What the hell?” Mitch tried to rise to his feet, but his father clamped a restraining hand on his son's shoulder. Mitch sat back down. His gaze shot daggers at Derek from across the table.

"Is she pregnant?” Dave McCormick spoke for the first time. Their eyes met momentarily before Coach focused his attention on finding the best kernel of popcorn in the bowl.

"No, sir, she's not.” Derek swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead.

Mitch started to open his mouth, but Coach shut him up with a withering look.

"Let me handle this, Mitch.” Dave McCormick sat back in his chair and assessed Derek with shrewd eyes. Derek fought to keep from squirming in his chair. For a moment, he was transported back to his high school days when his coach approached him on the sidelines and evaluated his performance with a few effective words. Always spot-on. He hadn't a clue if he passed muster this time around.

"Why do you want to marry my daughter?” Coach put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, abandoning his interest in the popcorn bowl.

"I love her.” There, it was out. Just saying it liberated him.

"Bullshit.” Mitch snorted and rolled his eyes.

Coach glared at Mitch, then turned back to Derek. “I don't find that so far-fetched. Rachel is a catch for any man.” Spoken like a true devoted father.

Derek almost grinned. “I'd prefer to have your blessing. I know I have a lot to prove to you and your family. Give me a chance. I promise I'll make her happy."

Coach rubbed his chin and considered Derek's words. “It takes a lot of guts coming here. I respect that."

Mitch shot to his feet and leaned over the table. This time he ignored his father's protests. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve coming here with your bullshit. You don't love Rachel. You're here to buy her silence and ours."

Confused, Derek stared up at Mitch. “Silence? For what?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Ramsey. You sold Dad out. You ruined his career, his future, and took Rachel and me down with him."

"What the hell are you talking about?” Derek glanced at Coach. The man wasn't looking at either of them; instead he'd become absorbed in that damn bowl of popcorn once again.

"You helped Tyler shave points. Admit it.” Mitch glared down at him.

"What?” Derek stood to his full height and angled his body into Mitch's personal space. Eye to eye, nose to nose, they stared each other down.

"You two shaved points in the championship game, did too good of a job, and lost the state championship."

"You're fucking crazy. I never did any such thing.” Derek gripped the edge of the table to prevent slamming his fists into Mitch's smug face.

"Maybe you weren't directly involved, but covering for Tyler is as good as doing the deed yourself."

"I never covered for Tyler. Ty didn't shave points any more than I did. What the hell would we have to gain?"

"Money. Everyone knows Tyler's a greedy bastard, and you always have his back."

"Ty didn't need money growing up. His family had plenty."

"If neither of you did it, then you're insinuating my father did it.” Mitch slammed a fist into the table.

"No, I'm not. I haven't a clue what happened. All I know is I went up for a Hail Mary in the end zone and ended up fighting my own teammate for the ball. Why don't you ask Jacob Lantz who shaved points? The guy was in my face all night, tripping me up every chance he got.” Odd, he'd never even thought about Jacob until now. Everyone knew Jacob was accident-prone. Derek had never considered the possibility his teammate had intentionally gotten in his way that night. Until now.

Derek rubbed his face and dropped back into his chair. Weariness settled over him. He looked to his one-time mentor. “Tell him, Coach. Ty and I didn't have anything to do with it. You know us better than that."

Coach shrugged, avoiding Derek's gaze. “I don't know what to think. Jacob didn't play enough to influence the game. Even though he got excited on the last play and fought the wrong guy for the ball, stuff happened to get us to that point, stuff he didn't participate in."

Derek stared from father to son, speechless and shocked. He struggled to find the right words. “Coach, you can't think I—or Tyler?"

Coach shrugged and avoided his gaze.

Mitch sat down and leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs. “Know what, Ramsey? Rachel thinks you were involved too. Do you think her being on your farm was fate? Hell, yeah, it was deliberate fate. She set it up so she could get close enough to you to find out the truth, to clear her father. To help her career. Did you really think she loved you? That she cared? Hell, she cared about herself and Dad. Not you.” The front legs of Mitch's chair slammed to the floor with a bang.

Derek flinched. His stomach churned. The bottom dropped out of his world. He'd sworn he'd never hurt Rachel again. Now she was the one doing the hurting. Life changed its game plan and left him warming the bench.

His mind drifted to an image of his father standing in the bay window, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Bone-deep pain etched in his father's strong features, forever a symbol burned into Derek's mind of what loving someone did to a person.

And he'd almost made the same damn mistake.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirty

Block in the Back

Rachel muted the sound on the game DVD they'd been watching. “Are you okay? You're acting strange."

"I'm fine.” Derek's tight voice said he was anything but. He slid a little farther away from her on the couch, his body stiff and unyielding and sheltered by an emotional brick wall. She itched to put her arms around him, to pull him close, to wipe the misery from his face. Yet she held back and postponed the inevitable bad news.

Instead Rachel endured two hours of emotional torture, unable find the courage to insist he tell her what was wrong. Unable to take it any longer, she donned her ice princess facade and waded into the frigid waters.

"Derek, what's wrong?” she croaked. The lump lodged halfway down her throat stayed where it was. Perhaps he was just uptight about the upcoming game.

He faced her, his gaze accusing in its intensity and grief-stricken in its misery. Her heart sank even deeper. This had nothing to do with football and everything to do with them. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat. As if the words he needed to say were too painful to be uttered.

"How could you do this to me?” The sheer agony in his voice cut right down to her soul.

"I didn't do anything.” Rachel gripped the seat cushion and looked into his eyes, at the devastation reflected there. She could think of only one thing that could make him look at her with such disillusionment. He knew. Somehow he knew.

His eyes narrowed. “I met with your dad and Mitch last night."

Rachel's heart stalled; fear coursed through her veins. “About what?” The ice princess ran for cover and left her with no armor, no backup plan.

"About you and me.” He laughed a cynical, dry laugh. “I was stupid enough to think we had a future."

"A future?” She echoed his words, hanging on to them like a life raft in stormy seas.

He rolled his eyes. “Give me the idiot award. I didn't see it coming. I thought you loved me too."

"Too?” She gripped harder, savoring the meaning behind his words, and ignored the contradiction in his eyes.

"Yeah, too. I was in love with you, Rachel."

She ignored the past tense and clung to the words. “I do. I love you."

"Yeah, right. Love isn't a four-letter word for nothing."

She cringed at the disgust in his voice. “I love you, Derek Ramsey, with all my heart and soul.” She laid it all out on the table and reached for him. He jerked to his feet and paced the floor in front of her. Helpless, she stared up at him.

"You thought I was involved in the points shaving.” His cold, emotionless voice scared the crap out of her.

"No, not anymore.” Her answer rang true. She'd known it in her heart for months, and her words only reinforced the truth.

"Then you think I let your dad hang out to dry to cover for Tyler."

"I wasn't sure at first, but now I don't think it's possible."

"You don't think it's possible?” His anger and hurt slammed into her, leaving her breathless. “Get this straight, Rachel. I'd never make your dad pay for someone else's mistake, not even Tyler's. You don't know me very well if you'd think so little of me."

"I don't believe Tyler did it either. Not anymore."

"You played me for a fool. You took what I had to offer and used it to your advantage, all the while probing for weakness. You betrayed me."

"No, it's not like that."

His pacing grew more determined, his turns sharp and crisp. His long legs ate up the length of his living room in a few furious strides. He whipped around in front of her and stopped, hands on hips. Raising his head, he regarded her with indifference, which alarmed her more than the anger.

"Let me tell you something about that game. Something I've never told anyone. That night, last play of the game. We were behind by four points. The other team had our number on the running game, but your dad kept running the ball. Coach called a sucker play, one he'd called several times with no success. I couldn't figure out why the hell he kept going back to it."

Rachel held her stomach, sick with dread. Derek resumed his pacing. “Ty didn't call the play your dad wanted. He called a pass into the end zone instead. Lantz and I went for it. I swear to God he batted it out of my hands. Pissed me off, but I figured he'd just gotten taken in by the moment and didn't realize he was fighting his own teammate for the ball. Yet when all this came out, I wondered about the whole weird-assed night. Mostly I wondered about the plays your dad called. Tyler trusted him, kept running them until the very end."

"But my father wouldn't have sold out his team. Football is his passion. His life."

"They say every person has a price."

"Do they? What's yours?” Rachel challenged him.

"Nothing money can buy.” Sadness flickered in his dark eyes.

She winced as if he'd slugged her in the stomach.

"Who do you believe?” He threw the challenge back in her face.

"I believe you.” She stood and moved toward him.

"The real question is, do I believe you?” He backed away and crossed his arms over his chest, creating a concrete wall with his body.

"Only you can answer that question."

"I thought we had something special going on, Rachel. You. Me. Our history. Our love of football. What you do to me every time I see you smile. How you filled up all the empty spaces and made me look forward to coming home every night. Hell, I even grew fond of your damn cat. I thought with you I could get beyond my mother's abandonment and betrayal. Then here you come and do the same damn thing to me."

"It's not the same.” She pleaded with him, but he glared back, unmoving and emotionally detached.

"It is in my book.” Derek walked to the door and jerked it open.

Rachel fought for control. She felt his eyes on her, but she stared straight ahead. With a Herculean effort, she didn't flinch, didn't soften, didn't show the least bit of emotion. She walked woodenly out the door, hiding her face from him.

A woman had her pride too. She wouldn't beg.

Rachel's heart shattered like a crystal goblet dropped on concrete, irreparable and final.

She glanced back at Derek and almost caved. The stark agony on his face weakened her resolve, yet the determination in his stance pushed her away. Steeling herself against the pain ripping her in half, she hardened her heart. Hiding her agony, she stumbled down the steps and out of his life one last time.

Half blinded by tears, she ran down the driveway to the refuge of her little house. She didn't slow down until she threw herself on her bed. Huge sobs of grief racked her body. Nothing had ever hurt her so much, not even her mother's death, not their long-term estrangement. Nothing.

She'd seen it coming, yet a small part of her had held out hope for a happy ending. Somehow they'd find a way. Well, life wasn't a fairy tale. Derek wasn't Prince Charming, and no way in hell was she Cinderella. He'd fallen in love with her, a dream come true turned to a nightmare. In his eyes she'd betrayed him, mistrusted him, been no better than his mother.

Something cold touched her face. Startled, she turned her head to see Simon nosing at her. She wrapped her arms around him and cried into his fur.

A day later, Derek sat in the easy chair in Mitch's home and watched an old action-adventure movie with Ryan. He'd be damned if he'd let the situation with Rachel and her family keep him away from a dying kid. To Mitch's credit, he didn't say a word when Derek showed up. Instead he left him alone.

Ryan lay on the couch and didn't say much, in as much of a funk as Derek himself. Which suited Derek just fine. Still reeling from confusion and sadness over Rachel, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Her green eyes had haunted his dreams last night. Not seeing her smile dimmed his day. He'd walked through the motions of living, numb and disengaged. His game suffered, and he knew he needed to get it together and soon.

Derek shook his head and pressed his palms against his scalp. His head pounded, and the pain in his heart became unbearable. He knew better than to get attached to a woman. They screwed you over the first chance they got.

She hadn't trusted him. They'd worked and played side by side all these months, not because she cared but because she thought he had information she wanted. He'd opened the gate and let her in, only to be played for a fool.

When Ryan suddenly spoke, Derek jumped half out of his chair. Ryan chuckled at his reaction but immediately sobered. “Did—Did Tyler tell you?"

"Tell me what?” Derek's mind spun in circles in an attempt to decipher Ryan's words.

"I had him do a little research for me."

"What kind of research?” Derek sat up straighter, giving Ryan his full attention.

"I asked him to find my mother."

"Oh. Did he?” Wary of another emotional minefield, Derek trod lightly. Ryan's mother and his shared the same mold.

Silence. Cold, dead silence. Derek craned his neck to see if Ryan had drifted off again. Instead their eyes met, and Derek knew the answer. His own dilemma seemed petty in the wake of this kid's struggles. Ryan's pain became his pain. It choked him, constricted his throat, slid through him like a knife gutting him from the inside out. He waited, giving Ryan time.

"He found her in Vegas.” Ryan stared at the ceiling.

"Is she okay?” Derek leaned forward in his chair.

"Oh yeah, she's a stripper. Again.” The kid's breath hitched.

He didn't have a response to that.

"She's not coming back."

"Ry, I'm sorry.” Derek knelt by the couch and touched the kid's shoulder. Those simple words, powerful in their sincerity, had never contained so much meaning.

"I never thought it would hurt this much.” Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, but a few tears leaked out.

Derek knew how much it hurt. He'd been there. Not even time completely healed the wounds caused by a disinterested mother, and time was something Ryan didn't have. Silence permeated the room, each lost in their own thoughts.

Ryan broke the silence first. “What's your mother like? You never talk about her."

Yeah, for a damn good reason. “My mother isn't a part of my life."

"Do you miss her?"

"I don't know her. Do I miss having a mother? Yeah, at times, but I miss having a mother like Tyler has, not like the mother I have. I'm lucky to have a great stepmother. She's essentially my mother."

"Did you ever want to contact your real mom?"

"I did once. When I was a teenager, I called her. I thought she'd invite me to visit or tell me how much she missed me and regretted her decision to leave me behind. Yeah, I had this stupid fantasy. The reality of it was something quite different."

"What happened?” Ryan swiped at his face.

"She told me to go to hell and never contact her again."

"Oh. Wow. I'm sorry.” Ryan chewed on Derek's revelation for a moment.

Derek shrugged. “It is what it is."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does, buddy. Sometimes it does."

Great teams find a way to win even when they play like shit. Never had that been so true as it was Sunday.

The Jacks won by a field goal in overtime with no help from their star wide receiver.

For the first time all season, the other team got to Derek. They double- and triple-teamed him and disrupted his concentration. He didn't actually screw up, but he played a mediocre four quarters. He caught short passes, didn't make the big plays. His timing was nonexistent. His connection with Tyler severed. Nothing gelled. Nothing felt right.

Their plane landed close to midnight after a rough cross-country flight capped by a frigging snowstorm over the Rockies. All Derek wanted to do was crawl into a warm bed and pass out. His entire body ached. He had bruises on top of bruises; his knees throbbed. His head hurt. At intervals knife-blade pain stabbed him in the back. Yet none of it compared to the pain in his heart.

But the Jacks had won. They'd lived to play another day. He felt no joy in the victory, only numbness and relief, like he'd cheated fate one more time.

Sleep showed Derek no mercy either. He'd give his left nut for some dreamless z's. Instead he lay awake and stared at the ceiling. Random, yet somehow connected thoughts bounced around in his head.

He was so fucking confused.

Sighing, his mind drifted to Rachel. If only she lay next to him right now. He missed her humor, her gentle teasing, her common sense, her ability to pull him from a funk, her football knowledge and insight. Hell, he missed everything about her.

Stupid. Fucking stupid.

They were through, and it was best left that way. He'd gotten too attached, and they had no future.

Even though it hurt like hell, he didn't see another option.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirty-one

Late Hit

Tyler opened the door and rubbed his bleary eyes. “Aw crap. What the hell do you want?"

Rachel pushed past him into the two-story foyer of his water-view condo. Professionally decorated, the cold, modern interior did nothing to reflect Tyler's personality or tastes.

"Good to see you too, Ty."

"Whatever,” he muttered. Why he'd become everyone's go-to guy, he hadn't a fucking clue. It had to stop. If talk got around, people would think he'd gone soft. He liked being an ass. It fit his lifestyle. Being a nice guy did not.

"Did I wake you up?” She didn't look the least bit contrite.

"Hell, yeah, I was up late partying."

"It's noon.” Her skeptical expression conveyed she didn't buy his bullshit.

"Wow, that early."

Rachel rolled her eyes. “I need a favor."

"Too bad. I'm fresh out. You'll have to find another sucker.” He took her arm to lead her back to the door. She dug in her heels and refused to move. Asshole or not, he didn't muscle women around, though the thought of throwing Rachel over his shoulder and tossing her out on her ass brought a smile to his lips.

"Sorry, you're the only sucker up to this job."

Just what he needed, another tough one. No thank you. “Can't do it.” Tyler released her and shuffled into the kitchen. She dogged his every step.

"You don't know what I'm asking."

"If it has to do with Derek and you, keep me out of it.” Tyler grabbed the milk and drank from the jug.

"I need your help.” The annoying woman wasn't taking no for an answer.

Tyler slumped onto one of the kitchen stools and propped his head up with his hands. A mother of a headache was coming on thanks to Rachel. “If I listen, will you go away and leave me alone?"

"No."

"I was afraid of that."

Derek balked when he saw Rachel sitting in the backseat of Tyler's monstrous SUV. Next to her sat her brother. Mitch didn't say a word. He stared out the window, fingers wrapped around a newspaper as if he wished it were Derek's neck. Ignoring them all, he snapped open the paper and concealed his face.

"Get in.” Tyler growled.

"I think I'll pass. A road trip with the McCormicks doesn't appeal to me.” Derek turned to leave, but Tyler blocked his exit.

"I said, get your ass in before I kick it from here to Sunday.” Tyler ground out. His determined expression didn't allow for any deviation from the plan, whatever the hell it was. Against his better judgment, Derek slid into the front passenger's seat. Tyler stalked to the driver's side, got in, and started the engine.

"Hang on. Spending my day with the three of you is not my idea of a fun day off."

Rachel smiled sweetly at him and patted his shoulder. “We appreciate you, Ty."

"We? There's no we in this.” Derek fastened his seat belt as Tyler gunned the black gas-guzzler down the driveway. “Where are we going?"

"You'll know when we get there.” Tyler fishtailed onto the county road and blasted down the blacktop. No one uttered a word, probably scared shitless. Derek gripped the armrest, leaned his head against the headrest, and prayed for a quick, painless death.

The three-hour trip up Highway 101 and the Olympic Peninsula lasted a lifetime. Tyler cranked up some classic rock and sang along as his SUV careened around the curves hugging Hood Canal. Rachel, who couldn't carry a tune, joined in. Every once in a while, Derek heard Mitch's newspaper rustling, then a snap as he turned to a new page. Tyler took tailgating and road rage to a new level as he blew past every slow-moving vehicle.

They rocketed through a small town near the Straits of Juan De Fuca. Tyler slammed on the brakes in front of a community church. Derek pressed his face against the window, not believing what he was seeing.

"Church? You? Have you lost your frigging mind?” Derek stared at his cousin.

"Just saving your sorry souls, buddy.” Tyler grinned and glanced in the rearview mirror.

Derek looked around for a bar nearby, but there weren't any. Tyler got out and climbed the steps to the church's front door. He motioned to the rest of them to follow.

"What the fuck?” Mitch emerged from behind his paper and wadded it into a tight ball.

"Couldn't have said it better,” Derek added.

"For once we agree on something,” Mitch shot back.

Rachel sat in the front pew flanked by Derek and her brother. Tyler leaned against the far wall, not venturing too far into the sanctuary, almost as if he feared God would strike him dead.

Jacob Lantz, former Fircrest High School third-string wide receiver, regarded the trio with a way-too-tranquil expression. Rachel hadn't seen him in years, had actually forgotten about him. A one-time party boy and all-around screwup, Lantz had dropped out of school and disappeared shortly after the ill-fated state championship. The man had aged, evidenced by the lines around his eyes, yet contentment replaced his once restless energy.

"You came to talk to me about the game.” He dragged a piano bench in front of them and took a seat. “I'm surprised it took so long."

"So long?” Tyler's voice echoed through the empty building from the back of the room.

"For someone to ask me about it.” Pastor Jake, as he'd requested they refer to him, motioned for Tyler to move closer. Tyler balked.

"We're asking now.” Rachel smiled encouragement. She caught Derek's quick glance out of the corner of her eye. Avoiding his gaze, she fingered the zipper on her sweatshirt; no power suit today for reasons she understood but couldn't articulate.

Not one person questioned which game. They all knew and nodded in unison.

"We need to know the truth,” Derek spoke up.

"Ah, the truth.” Pastor Jake rubbed his chin. “Truth is a relative term and sometimes overrated when it comes to the greater good."

"We need the truth. What happened? Were points shaved?” Rachel met the man's kind gray eyes. His compassion struck fear in her. He knew the truth, and she wasn't going to like it, which implicated either her father or Derek. She wasn't sure which was worse.

"Are you sure the past isn't best left buried?” Pastor Jake waited with the patience of the saint-in-training he'd become.

Derek glanced at Rachel. “Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Rachel nodded, numb with fear, and turned to check with Mitch.

"Get on with it.” Mitch grimaced and shifted his weight. He'd gotten all stiff and defensive beside her.

The pastor sighed, not enjoying his task. “Not points shaving exactly. Fircrest needed to lose, and you guys almost screwed it up."

"Why did Fircrest need to lose?” Derek leaned forward.

"Because Rizzoli, a local bookie at the time, had a son who quarterbacked the opposing team. He was willing to pay big bucks to assure his son of the state championship. Rizzoli had fixed games before. It wasn't any big deal to him."

"So you took the money and attempted to fix the game."

"No, I didn't take the money.” Jacob's steady gaze fell on Rachel, then Mitch. “Your father did."

"Dad wouldn't.” Rachel shook her head, denial battling with her gut feeling Jacob told the truth.

Jacob patted her hand. “I'm sorry. He took the money and asked me to help. I wasn't going to have enough credits for graduation, and I was developing an expensive drug habit. Your father caught me dealing in the locker room. Since I was eighteen, juvenile laws wouldn't protect me. I left town shortly afterward with your dad's promise he wouldn't turn me in for possession."

"I was a senior on that team.” Mitch choked on the realization. “My own father cheated me out of a state championship."

Rachel linked her arm through his. “Mitch. I'm sorry."

"Why would Dad do such a thing? Cheating goes against everything he ever stood for. What could be so important he'd sell out his own son and disregard his values?"

Jacob shrugged. “I don't know. I wasn't privy to his personal life."

"What about you? How do you feel about this?” Derek spoke up, directing his question to Pastor Jake. “You've not breathed a word of this to anyone until now."

"I've forgiven myself and him and moved on, while Coach McCormick is paying the price every day."

"But—"

"Derek, God has forgiven me. My congregation believes in me. God will judge him when the time comes."

Derek shook his head in amazement. “You really mean what you're saying."

"I have faith, because without faith we have nothing."

Rachel felt Derek's eyes on her. She glanced at him. He raised one eyebrow.

"Hear that, Rachel. Without faith we have nothing."

A few days later, Rachel cornered Derek in the barn. He hadn't cut her any slack, still holding a grudge he couldn't seem to let go of. Maybe someday when the wounds were healed—if they ever healed.

"Are you okay?” She walked down the aisle wearing jeans and a Jacks sweatshirt. His body didn't believe in holding grudges. It wanted her. His gaze flicked over her attire, but he made no comment.

"I'm fine.” He picked up a broom and starting sweeping the aisle.

"Derek, I'm sorry."

"I know you are.” He swept a cloud of dirt her way, and she backed up.

"Mitch and I confronted Dad."

"What did he say?” Derek didn't look up, just kept sweeping.

"He denies everything. Claims Jacob is lying."

Derek shrugged. “I'm guessing you believe him."

"No, I don't."

The sadness in her voice caused him to pause and look up.

"I really am sorry.” For once his sentiment was genuine. Being disappointed by a parent hurt like hell. They were supposed to be beyond reproach, infallible. He'd been struggling with his former mentor's fall from grace himself.

"What about Mitch?"

"He's dealing. Right now Ryan is his first priority."

"Your other brother?"

"We saw no reason to tell him."

"Good idea."

"Mitch tried to call you a few times to apologize."

"He doesn't owe me an apology."

"I told him he does.” Her movements stiff and mechanical, Rachel crossed the aisle to stroke Mac's big head. The old horse snorted and angled his head toward her.

Derek shrugged and leaned on the broom. “Why do you think your father compromised his ethics and his future?"

"We think Dad had a gambling problem, along with his drinking problem, which might explain why he needed the money."

"Had?” Skepticism crept into his voice.

"Yeah, so far he's doing better. He's in the running for an assistant coaching job at a local private college."

"He's going to coach again?” Anger flashed across Derek's face. “I swear to you, Rachel, if there's even an inkling of anything shady, I'll expose him. You tell him I'll be watching him."

"That's fair.” Rachel swallowed. “I shouldn't have doubted you.” She ignored Simon as he grabbed a glove from her pocket and raced down the aisle with it.

"But you did."

"Only at first. Even then, I'm not sure I ever really bought into you or Tyler shaving points. The alternative was just too painful to face."

"Yeah, well, you did what you needed to do."

"What about us?"

Derek shrugged. “I need time to think."

"Are we going to be okay?"

"Hell if I know, Rachel. Hell if I know."

A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away. Head down, shoulders slumped, she shuffled out of the barn, only tripping once over an abandoned glove in the aisle.

Derek watched her go and fought the urge to run after her, pull her into his arms, and forget the whole damn mess.

But he stayed anchored to the spot and let her go. A piece of his heart dropped at his feet.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirty-two

Threading the Needle

Derek stood on the sidelines and waited for the kickoff. One more game remained between his team and the Super Bowl. The dream of every little boy who ever played football. The dream of every Jacks fan, new and old.

Derek glanced into the stands of the raucous Dallas crowd and scanned them for a friendly face. He knew she wouldn't be there, but he missed Rachel. She was watching the game at her brother's house with Ryan.

His father, stepmother, and sister sat a few rows up behind the bench.

Besides the Jacks’ championship shot, the story dominating the local papers centered around Ryan and how the team had adopted him as their honorary little brother. Thinking of Ryan sobered him. He'd seen the kid before they flew out and had been shocked at how much he'd gone downhill in a few days. Yet his eyes had still sparkled in his gaunt face with a determination purely Ryan. Damn, he had guts, but guts didn't stop the deterioration of his body or the pain he lived with every day.

It'd been a weird week, full of high expectations, joy, sadness, worry, and most of all heartbreak in the form of one clumsy, green-eyed beauty who'd stolen his heart despite his denial to the contrary.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Derek turned back to the field. He was a professional. He would not let his personal life interfere like last week. Not today of all days. He needed to focus. For the next three hours, the game was all that mattered.

The undefeated Dallas Outlaws were formidable and a team they had yet to play this year. The oddsmakers predicted the Outlaws as the winner by a large margin. After all, the hard-luck Lumberjacks shouldn't even be here. They should've lost in the first round.

Derek watched as the Jacks’ defense buried the Outlaws again and again. The guys had come to play. Jazzed up to the max, the defense slapped backs, pumped fists, and swaggered around the field after every play, getting their rocks off by taunting a hostile Outlaw crowd.

It was the Seattle Lumberjacks against the world, just like it always had been. Despite the defense's enthusiasm, one of their DBs tripped on a pass play. Dallas, famous for taking advantage of every opportunity, scored.

Shit, 0-7.

Derek strapped on his helmet and went to work.

Rachel chewed her fingernails to the quick as she sat in the living room with Ryan, Mitch, and several of Mitch's players, every one of them on pins and needles. Ryan lay in the recliner, hooked up to oxygen, not doing well at all. Despite the excitement of the game, he drifted in and out. His chest rose and fell in labored shudders. Pain shone in his eyes, but he'd refused any more painkillers. He didn't want to sleep through the whole game.

The Jacks battled back with a long, grinding drive to the end zone, ending in a quick pass to the tight end. Derek didn't contribute much, but he threw a few good blocks. Tyler, determination etched in the set of his jaw, carried them on his back with pure strength of will.

Tied 7-7.

The tension in the room grew thicker than fog on Elliot Bay. At halftime the score hadn't changed, and it was largely a defensive battle. After halftime, Tyler threw an interception, and Dallas scored but missed the extra point: 7-13.

One quarter left but no fingernails. Ryan rallied and found the strength to concentrate on the last quarter. Rachel alternated between keeping an eye on him and watching the game, especially number eighty-five.

The man who held her heart in his hands.

The Jacks answered with a time-consuming drive ending in a field goal. Watching from the sidelines, Derek prayed the defense held Dallas to a field goal. They did, but Dallas took the clock down to 1:54.

Score: 10-16.

A herd of buffalo stampeded in his stomach as he fastened his helmet and took his place on the end of the line. He made a diving catch for eight yards. Bruiser pounded it ahead for a first down. Derek served as a decoy, drawing two DBs, and The Bruise ground out three more first downs, taking it to the nine. First and goal. The next three plays went nowhere. A penalty set them back on the fifteen on the fourth down. For the second game in a row, the entire season came down to one last play.

Fourth and goal.

In fact, the press had recently dubbed them the Fourth and Goalers.

Tyler didn't like the defensive formation and called an audible. HughJack raged from the sidelines, clearly not happy with Tyler's call. He couldn't do a damn thing about it with no time-outs and five seconds on the clock.

Derek sprinted toward the end zone, hounded by three defensive backs. He executed a sharp turn and lost two of them. Pivoting, he looked for the ball. He'd drawn all the defenders to his side, not giving Tyler a clear path. Faking a throw Derek's way, Tyler sent the ball rocketing toward the rookie, Josh Spinner. But Pro-Bowler “Mad Max” Brown saw it coming and stuck to the kid like glue. Together they hurtled into the air. The ball sailed into Max's outstretched arms. Spin strained to reach over Max's shoulders. His fingers touched the ball. They crashed to the ground, wrestling for possession as they came down.

But Spin wanted it more.

The final whistle sounded. The crowd was hushed as the referees sorted out the mess in the end zone. Fighting his way out of the pileup, Spin emerged, clutching the ball. He sought out the referee. The zebra raised his hands over his head and signaled a touchdown. Next thing Spin knew, his teammates attacked and drove him to the ground, burying him in a frenzy of ecstatic blue and gold.

The kicker split the uprights for the extra point.

The Jacks were going to the big game of all big games.

The crowd in Mitch's house erupted, yelling, backslapping, high fives all around. Mitch held up his hand to high-five Ryan. The kid, a smile on his face, raised his arm in a feeble attempt to slap his hand. Then Ryan's hand fell to his lap. His eyes lolled back in his head.

"Shit!” Mitch shook him. Hard. “Ry? Ry? Can you hear me, buddy? Ryan! Oh fuck, call 911!"

Mitch grabbed Ryan, dragged him out of the chair, and started administering CPR.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirty-three

Final Play

The team landed late evening at Sea-Tac. Half the city turned out to welcome them back. Security attempted to hustle them through the crowds to a private lounge area, but the team hung back and enjoyed the party. By the time they got to their cars, it was hours later.

Derek settled into the passenger seat of Tyler's sports car. He switched on his cell phone and checked messages. “Damn, Rachel's left six messages on my phone."

Tyler glanced over his shoulder. “She's hot for you, cuz. Better call her before she comes to her senses."

Ignoring Tyler, he listened to the messages, a sinking feeling in his gut. Something wasn't right. He listened as her voice sounded more and more frantic with each message.

"Oh shit. It's Ryan.” Derek blinked, trying to see through a thick haze.

Tyler's face drained of all color. “What about Ryan?"

"It's time.” Derek clenched his jaw.

"Is he—” Tyler shot a questioning look in his direction.

"Not yet. We have to get to the hospital. He's asking for us."

Tyler gunned the car. It screamed down Seattle streets slicked with rain. He ran two red lights and floored the gas pedal as they rocketed onto I-5, the engine whining. Good thing it was late at night with very little traffic.

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the windshield. He swallowed. His throat constricted, and he choked up. The road swam in front of him like he was underwater.

He put his head back against the headrest and said a verbal prayer. “Hang in there, buddy. We're on our way."

Tyler glanced at his cousin. “He's not going to make the big game, is he?"

"No. Fuck the championship. We need to get there in time tonight.” Derek took a deep breath and let it out. Tyler gripped the steering wheel tighter, but Derek saw his hands shaking.

Tyler hit the off-ramp to the hospital at Mach one. The car skidded to a California stop and rounded the corner, tires screeching. Derek pounded his fist on the dashboard in frustration.

They had to make it in time.

Derek stood outside Ryan's ICU room. He pressed his head against the wall for a moment and shut his eyes, summoning every ounce of strength he possessed. Stone-faced, Tyler went in ahead of him.

Straightening, Derek entered the kid's room. The lights were dimmed. Mitch looked up, frowning. Without a word, he slid past Derek and hissed in his ear. “About time you made it."

Derek cringed as Mitch slipped out of the room. Forcing a smile he didn't feel, he sat in the recently vacated chair. The place smelled of antiseptic and something worse. If death had a smell, it hung in the room, permeated every corner, and sat heavy on Derek's chest.

"Hey.” Ryan smiled weakly at him and held out a shaky hand, frail and thin. Derek took it, shocked by how cold and bony it was.

"Hey, yourself."

Tyler rose from his perch on the windowsill across the room, his face pale, his eyes haunted. He squeezed Ryan's thin arm. “Ry-man...” His voice broke. Derek looked away and swallowed. He'd never in all their years together seen Tyler lose it. He didn't want to watch him now.

Ryan managed a lopsided smile. “Love ya."

"I love you too, champ.” Bending down, Tyler hugged Ryan's fragile body. He turned to walk out as tears gathered in his blue eyes.

"Ty?” Ryan called after him.

"Yeah?” Tyler hesitated in the doorway.

"I was wrong.” Ryan paused, his chest heaving as he fought to fill his failing lungs with oxygen. “You do care. About people."

Tyler nodded. His face a grim mask, he shuffled out the door.

"You're here.” Ryan turned his head with great effort and smiled. His voice came out as a croaked whisper. Derek leaned closer to hear.

"Of course. You're the little brother I never had.” He swallowed a huge lump of grief and blinked back his own tears.

"Brother. I like that.” Ryan smiled, a strange, content, other-world smile. It unnerved Derek.

"Me too, buddy.” The plastic chair creaked under his weight.

"You won. You're going to the Super Bowl."

"Yeah.” It seemed hollow, a bittersweet victory. He'd trade a hundred trips to the Super Bowl for a miracle tonight.

"I'm dying.” Ryan sought his eyes. Derek stared right back.

"I know.” He saw no reason to sugarcoat the obvious. He squeezed Ryan's hand.

"Tonight. I saw an angel. He looked like—Tyler.” One corner of his mouth quirked, and a weak chuckle escaped his dry lips.

"An angel like Tyler? Now that's scary.” Derek forced a smile, but he wasn't fooling the kid.

"Yeah, minus the F bomb every other word."

"That makes me feel a little better. You doin’ okay?"

"I saw the other side.” A series of hacking coughs racked Ryan's sick body. He struggled for oxygen and gasped from the effort. When the coughing subsided, he closed his eyes for a few moments. Derek waited and watched the shallow rise and fall of the kid's chest. When Ryan spoke again, Derek put his ear next to his mouth in order to catch the words.

"Going to a better place."

Derek nodded, words lodged in his throat.

"Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't fuck it up with Rachel."

"I'll try to do the right thing,” Derek rasped.

A long pause. Ryan licked his lips. Derek gave him a sip of water.

"Win the Super Bowl for me."

"I'll give it everything I've got. We all will. The whole team's outside the door."

"It's foggy in here. And cold. So cold. But there's a warm light. Do you see it?"

"Yeah, I see it.” Derek wiped the sweat from his brow. The room was so hot it was stifling. He held Ryan's cold hand tighter. “I love you, buddy."

Another long pause. Derek thought he was gone, but his mouth moved. “Love you, Derek. Remember me."

"I could never forget you."

Ryan closed his eyes for the last time. His body managed a few shuddering breaths. Then the monitor near the bed showed a flat line. The room grew quiet. Ryan's hand went limp. A slight smile curved his chapped lips.

Derek pressed his forehead against Ryan's shoulder and swallowed the sobs building in his chest.

No way would he ever forget Ryan. None of them would.

Derek stumbled out of the hospital room. He felt numb, and his feet didn't want to work.

He took in each person, one at a time, seeing the intense pain reflected in their glum expressions. The silence was louder than the fans at a Jacks game.

Ryan's mother was a no-show. No one mentioned it, but everyone noticed. The waiting area was filled with teenagers, friends, and fellow teammates. Hulking Jacks players, alone or with their wives, flowed out into the hospital corridor.

Exhaling, Derek did the hardest thing he'd ever done. “He's gone."

More silence.

Every person knew it was inevitable, but it didn't make it any easier. A teenage girl wearing a letterman's jacket broke the quiet with wailing, so soft and subdued it sent chills down Derek's spine. The dam broke after that. Big linemen, who played through pain every week, sobbed quietly, paying silent homage to the teenager who had fought so long and hard and never lost his positive attitude. They were his family, the only one he had in the end.

And this was the place they chose to be rather than celebrate their victory.

Mitch sat with an assistant coach, two single men comforting each other by saying nothing, just staring straight ahead.

A normally self-absorbed Tyler pressed his forehead against the opposite wall and softly pounded his fist on it, lost in grief. He chanted, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” over and over. Derek didn't have the energy to tell him to shut up. Hell, these teenagers heard worse and said worse every day. Maybe tonight fuck said it all when it came to the unfairness of a young man with the world at his feet dying before his time.

Maybe only the good did die young.

Cass appeared from nowhere and stood behind Tyler, wrapping her arms around his waist. He turned in her arms, held her to him, and buried his face in her hair.

A black hole of emptiness overwhelmed Derek. He turned away from Tyler and sought out Rachel. She only looked at the floor. He couldn't blame her, even though he wished she'd hold him like Cass held Tyler, and fill this gaping hole in his heart.

He looked out the window at the stars. Was Ryan up there already, grinning down at them? Wishing he could tell them he was in a better place? Was he standing on a perfect green field with all the football greats, having the game of his life? The thought warmed Derek a little. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

An eerie stillness permeated the room. It didn't seem right because it wasn't the way Ryan would have wanted it. Even the wailer had gone silent. Pushing his own grief aside, Derek cleared his throat. It was like dropping a bowling ball in the midst of a library. Tear-stained faces gazed up at him from around the room.

"Ryan would want us to celebrate his life, not mourn his death. Let's get pizza, sing, and remember our buddy and teammate the way he'd want to be remembered.” He glanced at Rachel. She stood near her brother, rubbing his shoulder.

Mitch rose to his feet. “Derek's right. Let's go, guys."

Pushing away from the wall and plastering a smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes, Tyler nodded. “Pizza on me."

"What, that cheap-assed bastard is paying? Holy turd on the asphalt, has the world ended? Good thing you got a big bankbook, buddy, ‘cause I got a big gut.” Ernie, a huge lineman, patted his stomach. A small spatter of laughter spread across the room and broke some of the tension.

Together they shuffled out of the hospital and into the windy, rainy night. Derek paused and waited near the doorway. He caught Rachel's eye as she stood several feet away as if waiting for him. “Rae?"

She hesitated, then crossed to stand in front of him. Her green eyes mirrored the genuine concern and compassion in her soul. “Are you okay?"

"I'll survive. We all will.” He cupped her elbow and shielded her from the rest of the group with his big body. “I owe you an apology."

"Not tonight.” She attempted to skirt around him, but he blocked her escape.

"Okay. Not tonight.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. She didn't pull away but squeezed back. Then, true to her forgiving nature, she put her arms around him. He held tight, like she was the only real thing in his crazy chaotic world, because she was. She laid her head on his chest. He inhaled the scent of lavender so uniquely her. Rachel healed that emptiness in his soul, filled in the cracks and broken places.

Maybe there was a chance, a way to make it work.

They filed out of the pizza place, sad, tired, but somehow feeling better than when they'd walked in. As everyone went their separate ways, Derek hung back. He waited for Rachel and volunteered to drive her home.

"I don't mind driving you, sis.” Mitch intervened and tossed a threatening look in Derek's direction, though it lacked conviction. Damned if the guy wasn't softening.

"It's out of your way, Mitch. I'll catch a ride with Derek."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Will you be okay?” She directed that last question to her brother.

"As good as I can be.” He pointed at his friend and assistant coach. “Mike is coming home with me. We're probably going to get shit-faced and pass out."

Rachel almost smiled. She hugged him and followed Derek to his truck, which one of his teammates had driven there for him. They rode in silence until he turned in the driveway.

"Rae. I know I have no right asking this, but would you stay with me tonight?” Holding his breath, he waited for her answer.

She opened her mouth. Then shut it. Tamping down his disappointment, he slowed down in front of her house and turned to look at her.

"Keep driving.” She touched his arm.

"Okay.” Grateful for her company, he took her home.

They stripped their clothes and stripped their defenses. He stared into her eyes and saw the truth written there. A truth that should've scared the hell out of him, yet it doused the loneliness, connected him to another soul, gave him hope for the future, even in the face of such devastating loss.

He entered her body as if in slow motion. The rawness of his emotions thickened his responses, slowed time, and made him savor every second, drawing out the act until it formed an eternity of memories. She clung to him as if he was her lifeline, even though he was certain she was his.

He made love to her like he'd never made love before. Slow, tender, and deep, feelings exposed, no longer buried beneath protective layers. She held his face in her hands and gazed into his eyes, past all his carefully erected barricades. His resistance to her particular brand of sexual magic shattered at her feet. An easy desire swept over him like a warm wind on the Palouse hills and banished the numbness of grief.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel. No thinking. No analyzing. No pretending. Just feeling. Her softness hugged his hardness and surrounded him, sheathing him, giving him a place to call home. He slid out of her and back in, grasping for the tender thread between them, unwilling to shatter it by hurrying the process. In. Out. Easy. Gentle. Achingly tender.

His heart filled with compassion while his cock filled her physically. His measured thrusts, so agonizing and heartfelt, affected his body as much as wild, out-of-control passion. Rachel shifted underneath him and maximized his ability to go deeper. Her mouth sought his. Her lips nibbled on his lower lip. Her tongue stole into his mouth and mated with his tongue, as slow and easy as she mated with his body.

The passion, the need built inside him. Not the frenzy of fevered lust or the raging of hungry desire, but a craving for something undefined, something almost within his grasp, something so much more important than winning Super Bowls or making money.

He thrust deep with an unexpected fierceness. She was his. No one else's. She needed to know that. He needed to sear it on her body, write it across her emotions. His mouth sealed the deal with a deep, aching kiss at the same time her body took him to heaven. Better than anything they'd ever had. With one final thrust, he emptied his essence into her and joined her body and soul. Derek clung to her and cried out her name.

He held her afterward in a possessive embrace. A sense of peace enveloped him. His bones melted into the mattress. They lay together, just being for a long time until Rachel broke the silence. “Congratulations. You're going to the Super Bowl."

His brain took a moment to slog through the events of the past twenty-four hours. “Yeah. Thanks. It seems surreal right now. I'm sure it'll sink in later this week."

"I have news too."

He stiffened. “Really?” A sense of foreboding filled him.

"I've been offered a job as an executive assistant to Miami's head coach. It's not a scouting job, but it's a foot in the door."

"Well, congratulations to you too.” He forced false cheer into his voice. “When do you leave?” Miami? She was leaving Seattle for Miami. It might as well have been the moon.

"I start the first of March.” She ran her fingers over his abs.

"Wow. That's soon.” He bit back the words on the tip of his tongue, words that would beg her to stay here with him.

"Yeah, it is.” She didn't sound any more excited than he felt. Even though Ryan's death put a damper on things, he sensed it was more than that.

"Rae?” He stroked her hair back from her beautiful face.

"Yes?"

He hesitated and blundered on. “Are you sure leaving Seattle is the right choice for you?"

"No, I'm not sure about anything anymore."

"Neither am I, baby, neither am I.” Nothing made sense in his life but the sweet, giving woman lying next to him.

She snuggled her soft, naked body against his bare chest. It felt so right, so perfect. He wanted to wake up every morning for the rest of his life, just like this. He didn't care if they had to live through a few years of being separated. Rachel wasn't his mother. She'd be faithful to him.

The realization slammed the air from his lungs faster than a shot to the groin.

He always had loved Rachel. Always would.

And he knew what he was going to do about it, long-distance relationship be damned.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirty-four

Fourth and Goal with Everything on the Line

The next couple of days passed in a whirlwind. Rachel attended Ryan's memorial service with Derek. The cousins sang one of Ryan's favorite songs, not leaving a dry eye in the packed house, including hers and theirs.

Derek and his teammates flew out the next day for the week of practice and festivities leading up to the game. The farm seemed deserted without him. Then Cass showed up on her doorstep.

"I'm hopping a plane tomorrow for San Diego.” Cass swiped Charlie from his perch on a barstool and sat at the counter in Rachel's kitchen. Her blonde hair boasted streaks of blue and gold. Charlie stood near her feet and glared a deadly cat glare. His tail twitched indignantly, and Rachel suspected revenge scenarios ran through his mind. He'd never been fond of Cass.

"You are? But you're not a cheerleader anymore.” Ironically the team had dismissed Cass when an old picture surfaced of her with Tyler, making it obvious they'd been an item. Yet at the time, they'd been broken up for a month.

"I know. Ty invited me to the pregame festivities."

"Ty? What about your boyfriend?"

"He left town with a masseuse."

Boy, was Rachel ever in the dark. She'd been so busy wallowing in her own self-pity she hadn't spent much time with Cass.

"I was so through with him anyway when he suggested a threesome with another woman. Now another man—maybe.” Cass, typical flake, didn't seem the least bit affected by the loss of a man she'd professed to love a few months ago.

Rachel kept her opinions to herself. Cass and Tyler. Together again. Two flakes who deserved each other, though lately she wondered if Cass deserved Tyler.

"Hey, are you expecting a delivery?” Cass looked out the window from her vantage point at the kitchen counter.

"Delivery?"

"There's a florist's van outside."

"Tyler probably tracked you down.” Rachel opened the door for the delivery man and gasped.

"What is it?” Cass came up behind her. She stared in amazement. “Holy shit."

"They have to be for you.” Rachel shook her head. The Jacks’ flashy quarterback never did anything halfway.

Four delivery men marched into the house with dozens of red roses in blue and gold vases. They placed them on her kitchen counter. As they filed out, the last man handed her a white envelope with her name—not Cass's—on it.

Holding her breath, Rachel pulled out a card with a Lumberjacks logo on the front. She opened it and recognized Derek's illegible scrawl.

Rae, I can't play in the Big Game without you. I miss you. Derek

Simple and to the point. So typical Derek.

She pulled out several airline tickets, room reservations, and tickets for fifty-yard-line seats—one for each member of her immediate family, even her father.

"That man loves you, especially if he's willing to tolerate your asshole brothers.” Cass grinned as she sniffed the roses.

Rachel laughed. “I can't believe this."

"Honey, the roses are red. Not white. Not yellow. Not pink. Red. You know what that means."

"I doubt it means the same to Derek. Roses don't come in blue and gold.” Heck, he probably wanted to reinstitute their good-luck, pregame sex ritual.

Charlie slinked across the floor and distracted her. He climbed into a large planter and proceeded to dig in the soft dirt. Satisfied, he sauntered toward them, leaving a trail of fresh dirt in his wake. What was that cat up to now?

"I can't believe you're leaving Seattle.” Cass pouted and reapplied her lipstick.

"I'm pursuing my dreams."

"Pursue them here."

Charlie took his cue and rubbed around Cass's legs. He possessed inbred cat radar and gravitated to the one person in the room who hated cats. Cass glared down at him. Charlie stretched upward, placed his paws on her white designer jeans, and left two tracks of mud down her legs.

"You damn little bastard!” Cass shook him off her leg, but not before he had the last word. “Ouch! Shit! He dug his claws into me."

Rachel shrugged and suppressed a smile. “Don't mess with him. He always wins in the end."

"He's a feline terrorist. Look at the dog cowering in the corner."

"He always cowers when Charlie's on the prowl."

Cass huffed. “Whatever.” She cast one more murderous glare at Charlie, who ignored her as he cleaned his paws. “Ty says you're a lifesaver. You have him so organized he has free time for us."

"I love doing their scheduling. I'm good at it.” Rachel swelled with pride.

"But you're still leaving?” Cass scrubbed her jeans with a wet paper towel.

"It's what I've always wanted to do."

Cass's gaze flicked over her face. “You could do it here. In time, you'd find an opening with a college or even the Jacks."

"I have to go. I'm committed. If I stay, it'll only trap Derek into something he doesn't want. I would never do that to him. He'd hate me."

Cass looked pointedly at the roses and back to Rachel. “Something he doesn't want?"

"Give it up, Cass."

"So you're going through with this?"

Rachel nodded her head and tucked her hair behind her ears. Charlie climbed into her lap. Purrs rumbled in his chest. She stroked his soft fur.

Cass's skeptical expression said it all. “I need to go. I have tons of packing to do. I'll see you there."

Rachel nodded.

Cass shot one last zinger at her as she disappeared out the door. “Just remember, what about Rachel? What do you want?"

What did she want? Weren't the toughest decisions always the right ones?

She thought about her future. Really thought about it. Ever since Ryan's death, she'd spent a lot of time examining her life, her priorities, her needs and wants.

She mourned for Ryan and for the loss of her relationship with Derek.

She hadn't seen much of Derek except for the funeral. Organizing players’ calendars kept her busy night and day as everyone clambered for a piece of the Conference champions. How did he feel? What was the real message behind all these red roses? Did she dare hope?

She stood on the edge of a cliff, water rushing through the canyon below. She could jump and pray she could swim to safety. Or she could back away and take the safe route. Her heart knew the answer, even as her head argued against it.

What advice would her mother have given?

She almost smiled as the answer came to her. Jump in with both feet, don't look back, and hold on with all you've got.

Sneaking past the Secret Service to see the president would have been easier. Getting near Derek prior to the game was nearly impossible.

Rachel and her family stayed at the same hotel as the team. She shared a double-queen room with Cass. Her family's rooms were one floor down, along with Derek's and Tyler's families.

Throughout the next few days, she had fleeting glimpses of him. Once he caught her eye, waved, and winked as a crowd of reporters and team officials swept him into the hotel elevator. She attended the Super Bowl festivities with her family and Cass, who wasn't having any luck getting near Tyler either.

Derek called her late every night, talking slow and quiet so he didn't wake Tyler. His sexy voice was tinged with weariness. She begged him to get lots of sleep. He promised he would. He wanted to win the Lombardi trophy for Ryan. The whole team did.

If she'd been confused before, being here in the midst of all the hype and chaos didn't clarify her future. In fact, it clouded it.

As if it wasn't confusing enough, she ran into Derek's agent in the lobby that morning. He wanted to talk about a possible affiliation with his agency.

She loved juggling the guys’ schedules, the challenge of satisfying everyone involved, especially when it came to the kids. Nothing beat seeing the smiles on terminally ill kids’ faces when a player surprised them in their hospital room. Could she make a career out of being a handler? At least for the immediate future? She'd been approached by more players this week and put them on hold.

She had a lot of thinking to do.

Derek flopped on the bed in the hotel room. “Shit, I'm wiped. I had no idea the league would own us all week long.” Wearing nothing but sweats, he threw his hand over his head and squinted at the overhead light, nursing a brain burner of a headache.

"I'm fucking loving it.” Tyler stretched on the opposite bed and grinned. His eyes sparkled with excitement. He flipped through the channels, looking for clips from the day's events.

"I'm sure you are.” The limelight energized Tyler, while it wore Derek down.

"Hey, what time is it?” Tyler sat up and swung his feet to the floor in one swift, fluid motion.

"Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because I'm sneaking downstairs to meet Cass."

"Whatever happened to the boyfriend?"

"I'm the boyfriend. So cover for me; I need to ease a little tension."

"This isn't high school. If you sneak out, you're on your own. HughJack will have your head.” Derek could use a little tension relief himself.

"He won't know, just snore loud enough for both of us. She's sharing a room with Rae."

"So now you're into exhibitionism?"

"Nope, I'm sending Rachel down here.” Tyler winked at him.

"Then what are you waiting for? Get your ass out of here.” Derek lobbed a pillow at Tyler's head, and it came zipping back at him. He ducked.

A couple of minutes later a knock sounded at the door. He yanked it open and pulled Rachel inside. Plastering her against the door, he kissed her with every bit of passion and feeling he possessed.

"Wow. Have you missed me?” Rachel drew back, hands on Derek's broad shoulders, and took a moment to admire his naked body, a hobby she'd never get tired of.

"You have no idea. It's been one weird-assed week.” He nibbled on her earlobe. “Damn, I need to lose myself inside you."

"Well, Alice, how are things down the rabbit hole?” She massaged his tight neck.

"Strange and getting stranger."

"Hmmm. Thanks for the tickets, the roses, everything. My brothers might even rescind the bounty on your head."

"I'd like that. It's tough being a hunted man."

"I doubt I'm here just so you can earn points with my brothers. Care to enlighten me?"

"I wanted you here.” He didn't disguise the stark need in his eyes. They'd progressed way beyond that. No more pretending.

"So we could sleep together before the game?"

"Hey, it's worked before, though I don't think sleep is an accurate term.” He grinned. “And the game doesn't get any bigger than this."

Rachel leaned into him, fisting her hands in the curling hair on his chest. She rubbed her hips against his, sliding her stomach over his erection. He sucked in a breath. She backed him up to the bed, pushing him down onto the soft mattress. Rachel fell on top of him, her mouth all over his. She gave as good as she got, her kisses hot and demanding.

He surprised her by pulling back, his eyes glimmering with a wicked light. Oh man, how she loved it when he got that look.

"You know, beds are highly overrated.” He gestured toward the sliding glass doors opening onto a somewhat private balcony.

Her eyes opened wide. “There?"

He nodded. “Under the stars. In the warm night. No one will see."

"And if they do?"

"We're ten stories up. My teammates should be in bed. We'll be quiet."

"And if we aren't?” Her arguments were for argument's sake. She'd already warmed to the idea. Little thrills of pleasure thrummed through her.

He stood and picked her up in his arms. She helped him out by yanking open the patio door. A cool breeze blew in off the ocean, but the night was still warm. He turned her so she faced the patio railing while he stood behind her.

"Hang on tight, baby."

Rachel bent down and grabbed a couple of rungs of the railing. Derek moved behind her. He slipped his hands underneath her and pushed her t-shirt and bra upward, baring her breasts. His fingers tugged at her nipples. He rolled each nipple in between his forefingers and thumbs. His talented fingers teased with just the perfect amount of pressure.

Rachel moaned and pushed back against him, rubbing her jeans-clad butt against his crotch. Below her, cars pulled up to the hotel, people came and went. Taxis waited for their next fare. They were too far up for anyone to make out their faces or body parts even if they happened to look upward. Still, the excitement of doing it in a somewhat public setting heightened the urgency of the act. The scent of salt air mixed with asphalt assailed her senses.

Leaving her nipples sore and aching for his touch, he unzipped her jeans and slid them down her legs. Her underpants came next.

A couple of fingers slipped inside her, testing her wetness, only to be replaced a second later by something harder and more substantial. She sighed as his cock filled her, absorbing all the empty places. No tender, sweet lovemaking tonight. His tension told the story of a body held tightly under control, of barely leashed passion. She'd unsnap that leash and set him free. Set them both free.

"Show me what it feels like to make love to a Super Bowl winner."

"We haven't won yet."

"You will. Now show me."

With an animal growl, he withdrew and plunged into her with a fury as he released the physical and emotional tension racked up over the past week. He pounded into her as she gripped the balcony rungs. His cock rode high inside her. One of his hands snaked underneath her body and fingered her clit. She shuddered and closed her eyes, listening to the slapping of their bodies, his grunts, her gasps. Her body shook. Her knees weakened. Her heart raced.

She loved this man. Loved everything about him. Loved how he could be so tender at times and so crazed at others. He took her higher and higher, breaking her body into millions of parts that came together with him into a larger whole. She'd only be complete with him. Her body knew what her heart worked so hard to deny.

With a final groan, he leaned over her, holding her tight against him.

Below them, life went on about its business. But on a balcony on the tenth floor, life would never be the same for either of them.

"If you've just joined us, welcome to our coverage of the Super Bowl. The underdog Seattle Lumberjacks versus the highly favored, undefeated Boston Rebels.” Bob Conlon sat in the announcer's booth overlooking the football stadium and consulted his notes. Below him, pregame festivities shifted into high gear.

"Bob, a lot of people are asking why the Jacks are wearing number thirteen on their jersey sleeves.” His broadcasting partner, Chris Mackey, paused and waited for the answer.

"Chris, as you know, it's in honor of a local Seattle high school football star, Ryan DeGrazio, who lost his battle with cancer two weeks ago at the age of seventeen.” Everyone loved a good human interest story, especially one like this. The broadcast showed a picture of DeGrazio in his days as a high school quarterback.

"I understand he became something of a team mascot. He attended every home game the second half of the season."

"The team has dedicated the Super Bowl to Ryan.” They flashed to a clip of Ryan in his wheelchair hugging Derek after they won their first play-off game.

"A brave young man who made a mark on every life he touched."

"That he did."

The cameras panned to Derek and Tyler walking out to the center of the field, fully suited up and sans helmets.

"Now here's a special treat and a closely guarded secret leading up to this Super Bowl. Derek Ramsey and Tyler Harris will be singing ‘The Star Spangled Banner.’ Let's listen."

Derek took a deep breath. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. Damn, he was nervous. Not just about singing but everything—the game, the aftermath, everything. The pressure squeezed the air out of his lungs like an elephant sitting on his chest.

Tyler stood beside him, flashing his trademark grin for the international audience. If he felt the same inner turmoil, you couldn't tell. He was as cool as ice cubes in a freezer. Tyler ate up the attention like a starving dog being thrown a steak.

Why Derek had agreed to sing and add additional stress to an already stress-filled day, he sure as hell didn't know. Call him a fucking idiot.

As they each took a mike, Tyler elbowed him and bounced on the balls of his feet, keyed up and ready for action. “Ready?"

"As much as I'll ever be."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ sang by Lumberjacks players, Tyler Harris and Derek Ramsey."

The crowd hushed and rose as one. Derek and Tyler put their hands over their hearts. Tyler nodded. In unison, they sang the national anthem just like they'd rehearsed it, straight from the heart, no artistic renditions. They belted it out as Francis Scott Key meant for it to be sung. Derek didn't forget the words, thank God, and his voice didn't crack.

As they sang the final note, the din of the crowd deafened them. Adrenaline rushed through Derek, transforming pregame nerves into anticipation. This was it. The day every football player dreamed of, and he was living the dream. Only a few short months ago, he'd been close to giving it up.

The Jacks won the toss and elected to receive.

The entire team gathered together in a huddle on the sidelines with Tyler in the center. He pointed to the heavens, then looked each teammate in the eye. “This one's for Ryan!"

They stuck their hands into the center of the circle, big meaty lineman's hands, smaller punter's hands, hands in gloves, hands wrapped with tape, one hand with a finger in a splint. All these different men of different ethnicities and different backgrounds together for one purpose—one goal. Above the crowd's roar, they shouted as one: “For Ryan!"

Derek sprinted onto the field and took his place as a kick returner. He hadn't returned kicks since his college days, but HughJack wanted the fastest guy back to receive, so he'd practiced fielding kicks for the last two weeks.

The ball sailed end over end and backed him into the end zone. A glance upfield revealed holes. He caught the ball, tucked it safely against his body, turned on the speed. He powered himself to the Rebels’ forty before they brought him down with a bone-crushing gang tackle.

The Super Bowl had begun.

The intensity of the Super Bowl surpassed any game Derek had ever played in.

It was one of those nail-biters where neither team dominated. The defenses held and the offenses sputtered. At the two-minute warning, the scoreboard showed 10-14. The Jacks’ lone touchdown came in the third quarter, a seven-yard strike from Tyler to their rookie tight end, Josh Spinner.

The Rebels’ defense shut Derek down, at times double- and triple-teaming him. Frustrated, he couldn't shake Emil Lewis, the best defensive back in the league with speed to rival his own. Emil took every opportunity to slam him to the ground. Every chance the Rebels got, they piled on him. His body hurt in places he'd never hurt before. His knees protested, his back screamed, and one ankle felt like it was on fire after he twisted it late in the third quarter. The trainer wrapped it and sent him back out.

Tyler limped to the huddle, not in much better shape than Derek. Arnie, aka The Bulldozer, their left guard, sported a black eye. Spin, the tight end, wandered around with a dazed, deer-in-the-headlights expression. Their right tackle dislocated his thumb but played anyway. They were beat-up physically, but so was their opponent.

Everybody felt it—the building desperation—but nobody wanted to give it credence because that made it real. Too real. Once it became real and this shaky thread binding them together unraveled, the game would be lost.

The Rebels gained possession at the two-minute mark on their own twenty-seven. Derek closed his eyes and prayed—to God, to Ryan, to anyone who'd listen. They needed a miracle, a fumble, an interception, something.

Someone upstairs was listening. The Rebels fumbled. Jacks recovered.

The offense ran to the field. This was their last chance. Originally, getting here had been enough. Now Derek knew it wouldn't be enough. He wanted a ring.

Bruiser found a hole and ran to the nine before being buried under the defense. The clock ticked down to forty-five seconds.

Three plays later, their hopes fizzled like the end of a sparkler. Penalties set them back on their asses. Fourth and goal on the twenty-three, they huddled behind the line of scrimmage with three seconds and no time-outs left.

"Okay, assholes, this is it.” Tyler's steel blue eyes bored into each one of them, personally holding them accountable to him for what happened next. “Hold the fucking line. Give me some fucking time, and I'll make it happen."

Tyler's confidence instilled them with renewed hope. He was good at that. There was no quit in Tyler. As they broke the huddle, he grabbed Derek's arm. “Get in the fucking end zone, shake the fucking defense, and the fucking ball is yours."

Nodding, Derek moved to his spot at the end of the line. He rubbed the thirteen on his shoulder. Looking skyward, he mouthed, This one's for you, Ry. Help me out here, buddy.

The center snapped the ball. Derek sprinted downfield, cutting left to elude one DB. He pivoted to avoid another. Time. He was wasting too much time. It was a footrace to the end zone between Emil Lewis and him. Derek pulled away. His legs pumped furiously, his heart pounded, and his twisted ankle screamed in protest. The roar of the crowd spurred him on. He crossed the goal line and looked over his shoulder for the ball. Shit. It was underthrown.

He stretched out his long body, straining with every muscle he possessed, and dove for the ball. He wasn't going to make it. It hit his fingertips and glanced off them in the wrong direction. No chance of hauling it in. Then it took this weird bounce, almost as if someone tapped it back into his hands.

A microsecond later, he smacked into the ground, mindless of the pain. They'd fought so hard, only to come up short. Disoriented, he sat up. Something jabbed him in the ribs. He looked down. He clutched a football in his hands, jammed tight against his stomach.

Scrambling to his feet, he frowned and shook his head. No way had he caught the ball. He'd seen it bounce off his fingertips and felt the emptiness in his hands. Yet there it was—crazy as it sounded.

He looked to the heavens and raised the ball in the air.

Thank you, Ryan. We couldn't have done it without you.

Derek fought his way through the hordes of fans, players, and personnel swarming the field. Reporters shoved microphones in his face. Legions of security and police held back the fans in the stands. The cheering deafened him. Frantic, he looked for Rachel as he slogged through the surge of humanity to the railing near the fifty.

Where the hell was she?

Other players surrounded by wives and families celebrated on the field. He spotted his father first because of his height, followed by his stepmother and sister. Rachel stood with them, her family flanking her. Everyone had big smiles on their faces. The men slapped each other's backs; the women hugged and cried.

Derek bullied his way to them. A cadre of reporters stuck to him like fleas on a dog. He hugged his family, especially his stepmother and father, elbowing the microphones out of his face.

He shook hands with Mitch and hugged his old high school coach, then turned to Rachel. The cameras followed him, not allowing one moment of privacy. Fucking bastards.

She flew into his arms, squealing and laughing. He swung her around in a circle, taking out a few cameramen in the process. Served the assholes right for invading his space.

"I love you, Rachel,” he yelled above the din. “I'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes."

She opened her mouth. He couldn't hear her response, but he read her lips. It was all he needed to know.

She was hearing things, or he was saying things he didn't really mean in the heat of the moment. She had no time to think about it as Derek wrapped an arm around her waist. Facing down the rabid pack of dogs disguised as reporters, he answered their questions. His ability to form coherent sentences amid all this chaos impressed her. All the while, he pushed through the crowd to the podium. After all, the man had a date with destiny, and he dragged her along with him.

He pulled her through the crowd, not allowing them to be separated. She protested every step of the way but was no match for his strength and determination. No way was she going up on the podium with him. She dug in her heels but didn't slow him a bit. His teammates waved him up there. He towed her up the steps to stand among these hulking men. Derek glued her to his side. He smelled of sweat and dirt, but she didn't care.

Official speeches were made and the Lombardi trophy was presented. Tyler spoke and pumped his fist in the air, raising the trophy high for the fans to see, his beaming face transmitted to televisions all over the world.

"You're on, buddy.” Tyler tossed the microphone to Derek. As if rehearsed, his teammates stepped back, giving Derek space.

He gripped the mike and looked out at the sea of faces. Rachel followed his gaze. It didn't appear anyone had left the stadium. Derek let go of her hand and took something from Tyler. Seeing an opportunity to escape, Rachel started backing up. She hit something solid.

"Oh no, you don't.” Bruiser stood behind her, blocking the exit route. She looked to the side. Mountain Morris grinned down at her. She wasn't going anywhere.

Accepting her fate, she focused her attention on Derek. As soon as his victory speech was over, she was outta here.

Derek's speech was short and sweet. “This one is for the fans who stuck with us through all the lean times. And for Ryan. We love you, buddy."

Instead of passing the mike to another player, Derek turned to her. “Rachel, I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for you. In fact, I'm not sure any of us would be. I'm not one to do things halfway, and you need to know how serious I am."

She swiped at the tears that fell down her cheeks. He handed Tyler the mike and took her hand. Her eyes grew big as he dropped to one knee in front of his entire team, a stadium full of fans, and the world. Her heart pounded in her chest. Somehow her knees held her upright. Derek's brown eyes met hers, full of love and the promise of a bright, happy future.

"I love you, Rachel Anne McCormick. Will you marry me? I'll wait for you, however long it takes.” He spoke into the microphone Tyler held near his lips.

Rachel's mouth dropped open. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She stared down at this man, her man. He looked so nervous and earnest gazing up at her like that. Did he really think she'd say anything but yes?

The crowd momentarily hushed, holding their breath for her answer.

"Rae? This is killing my knee. If I'm down here much longer, I won't be able to get up, and I'd like to walk out of here on my own."

That brought a cheer from the stadium. Rachel caught herself on the big screen, then looked back at him. “I love you, Derek Ramsey. Of course I will."

He opened his palm to reveal a diamond engagement ring. It wasn't overly large or gaudy. It was just perfect. He slid it on her finger.

She threw her arms around him, and the din faded as they became the only two people on earth.

"You don't have to wait for me, you know."

Derek chuckled and drew her close. They sat together in a booth in the back corner of the hotel bar. Several of his teammates were scattered around the room at the tables. Cass and Tyler had disappeared an hour ago after making out like teenagers in the booth opposite them.

"I think I do. That ring says as much."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You aren't? What about the job?"

"I turned it down. I'm working on a deal with a local college to do some volunteer scouting of high school players. I'm also going to expand my business. Your agent wants to contract me to organize several of his clients. This'll give me great ins, and eventually I'll work into a pro scout position. Actually I'm hiring Cass to help out."

"Cass? Organize?"

"I'll do the organizing; she'll do the charming."

He nodded. “Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to trap you."

"Honey, if this is a trap, throw away the key."

"I promise. You'll be handcuffed to my bed for the rest of your life."

"Oh, baby, make me hurt. I'm in for the long haul."

"So am I."

"Does your family know?"

"About the handcuffs?"

Derek chuckled. “About your decision?"

"They do. They're okay with it."

Derek grinned. “That's a start. We have the rest of our lives to straighten out those relationships."

Cupping his hand behind her head, he pulled her into a long, deep kiss and sealed the deal.

On fourth and goal with the clock ticking down to the last second, they'd pulled out a victory.

THE END

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Loose Id Titles by Jami Davenport

Fourth and Goal

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Jami Davenport

Jami Davenport has been writing since she was old enough to know the alphabet. An advocate of happy endings, Jami writes sexy romantic comedy, sports hero romances, and equestrian fiction. Jami lives on a small farm near Puget Sound with her husband, a former Green Beret turned plumber, a Newfoundland cross with a tennis ball fetish, a prince disguised as an orange tabby cat, and an opinionated Hanoverian mare.

She works in IT for her day job and is a former high school business teacher. In her spare time, Jami rides and shows her dressage horse and grows roses. An avid boater, Jami has spent countless hours in the San Juan Islands, the setting for her first two books. In her opinion, it is the most beautiful place on earth.

Links to reach Jami Davenport:

Main Web site: www.jamidavenport.com

Blogs: jamidavenport.blogspot.com and equestranink.blogspot.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/jamidavenport

Visit www.loose-id.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Loose Id Titles by Jami Davenport

Jami Davenport

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