Marriage. Kids. Travel. Fantastic job.
This opportunity slipped through my fingers, even more tragic since it was all I had left in my life.
I hid my trembling hands. “Jolene, I promise—”
“Before you go back to work, I just have to say that Jack Carson isn’t the right man for you.”
I stared at her, wide-eyed. “You aren’t firing me?”
Jolene frowned. “I’m not worried about your job performance.”
“You’re not?”
“I’m worried about you.” She sipped the coffee before dumping three packets of sugar into the mug. “You know Jack’s reputation better than anyone. I know he must be fun, but he’s never going to give you what you need.”
“I—”
“You aren’t looking for a fling. Don’t let Wyatt’s behavior scare you away from a real relationship.”
“It’s not that—”
“Do you still want to find the right man? Settle down? Leah, you couldn’t wait to have kids.”
I pretended the folder full of information from the local fertility clinic wasn’t sitting in the bottom drawer of my desk. I wanted a family more than anything. Hell, I wanted it more than the marriage with Wyatt. It was unconventional, but I wondered what Jolene would protest more—an apparent relationship with the renowned manwhore Jack Carson…or the information on sperm donors I had meticulously catalogued in a hidden folder.
Both ideas were sounding crazy to me at the moment.
“Jack will not give you that life.” Jolene held her hand up. “This is me talking as a friend. He’s only going to run around on you. Do yourself a favor and stop before you get hurt. You’re a smart, lovely girl. Don’t let him break you.”
“Jack Carson will never break me.”
“I hope so, Leah. Just…consider my advice. End this before it gets too serious, for your own sake.”
She was right, more than she realized. I excused myself and marched to my office. My emails dinged with a dozen new requests for information, interviews, statements, and explanations. My first priority was spinning the accident and details of Jack’s latest indiscretion.
But I couldn’t do it now.
Jack’s plan wouldn’t work. We had to stage a breakup before the lie spiraled any further out of control.
I took an early lunch and raced to the Rivets’ practice facility, slipping through security with a flash of an issued badge courtesy of Ironfield’s star, trouble-making quarterback. Usually publicists didn’t get access to the field, but most publicists handled normal clients—clients who showed up on time, did their jobs as best they could, and managed their sponsorships with an ounce of professionalism.
I stormed through the tunnels and onto the field. The team wasn’t in training camp yet, but the players were encouraged to return to standard practices and exercises in preparation for the season. I thanked my lucky stars Jack was back where he belonged. He could make a spectacle out of himself on the field instead of in a bar, public restroom, concert venue, or roadside accident.
I didn’t recognize the receiver who caught the pass in the end zone, but he circled around the goal posts and walked beside me on the sidelines. His dreads clacked with crimson beads, matching his eventual uniform once the guys donned pads to practice. He grinned. It was a nice smile, but I knew where his goodwill was aimed.
“Hey, there, baby. I was hungry for something sweet.”
He was a worse flirt than Jack. I wasn’t in the mood. Didn’t stop him from trying.
“You’re the little drop of chocolate I’d love to—”
Caleb West, the largest man on the team as well as the gentlest teddy bear they signed, thundered from the sidelines to my side. He carried a water bottle and nearly chucked it at the receiver’s head.
“Whoa.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s too good a girl for you. Beat it, rookie.”
The receiver scowled, took his chances, then bolted when Caleb took a step too close.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem, little lady.” Caleb grinned. “You’re not here for me, are ya?”
“Not today, but do you remember you have a radio show tomorrow afternoon, broadcasting live from the new sushi place on fifth?”
“Yes, ma’am. Looking forward to it. Bringing my kids so I can see their faces when I give them raw fish. They still haven’t forgiven me for squid ink pasta.”
“Why can’t all my clients be like you?”
He laughed. “You here to kick Jack’s ass?”
“Changed out of my heels into flats to do it.”
Caleb pointed to the crowd of players running exercises. The men were working on a feat of strength that ached my abs just watching.
“Give him hell…but leave him in one piece?” Caleb said. “We’d like to make it back to the championship.”
“A quarterback doesn’t need both kneecaps, does he?”
Caleb sauntered away, shunning me as a hellcat. He had no idea.
I picked a cautious path between segments of the team completing their conditioning exercises and running laps. Now was the toughest time for the players. Eighty men competed for fifty-three active roster spots—every one of the players bigger, badder, and built stronger than the last.
Jack was no exception.
In the hot July morning, he shed his shirt and sweated with every completed rep of his crunches. He didn’t take a break or a breath before flipping onto his stomach and leading his men in a variety of push-ups that only tightened every muscle in his absolutely flawless form.
His entire body was ripped, bulging with muscles, tattoos, glistening sweat.
Perfect.
I forced myself to remember that the striking body I admired belonged to the arrogant and infuriating man who dared to tangle with me.
He was lucky he was so damn big—one of the largest quarterbacks in the league. If he were just one foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter…I might have taken the chance to stomp really hard on his toes.
The rookies collapsed against the turf. An offensive lineman fell too. Jack counted off another five one-armed pushups before letting his men groan against the field. Now was my chance.
“Jack.”
The bastard grinned like he won the lottery while getting blown by a porn star. He waved.
He made no attempt to move. The entire offense stared at me like I was a piece of meat Jack was about to drag back to his cave. I was so glad my skirt was knee-length and respectable.
“Jack? I need to talk to you.” I smiled at the quarterback coach consulting with his other specialized personnel. He shrugged—that same hopeless resignation the coaches shared when Jack Carson was causing a scene. “Please?”
He leaned to the player next to him, the team’s real criminal and the absolute worst influence on Jack. Bryon Washington was a gifted running back, but if he wasn’t careful, he’d spend the best years of his career behind bars—where he belonged. He and Jack laughed like I was the punchline to their own secret joke. Bryon whistled and outlined my figure with a wave of his hand.
Enough of this.
“Jack-ass! Come here!”
The team hooted. Jack rose to his feet. “The little woman calls. See the shit I put up with?”
“Now.”
“I pay her to abuse me like this.”
“Not nearly enough.”
Jack took long strides to reach me, his signature swagger. He wasn’t flirting. He was baiting me, like he always did. Waiting for the moment I’d snap and he’d have his fun.
It ended now.
“Hey, Kiss.”
Jack sauntered before me. He rubbed the sweat from his face with a towel, but he didn’t bother to cover his chest. I wasn’t used to seeing him without a shirt, and I tried my hardest to not admire the dozens of tattoos and colorful ink cradling his muscles. It was just another reminder of his misbehavior and arrogance and how unbelievably built he was…
His voice rumbled deep inside me. “Couldn’t stand to be away from me?”
My eyes snapped up to his. I cleared my throat. “We need to talk.”
“Uh-oh.” He got off on teasing me, but at least he wasted billable time. “Trouble at home, Mrs. Carson?”
He laughed, that cocky baritone always at my expense. I forced him away from the field. He followed me to the tunnels leading from the grass to the locker room. The practice facility was too busy for this kind of talk—coaches and staff and players beginning their workouts. Half the team funneled between the field and the recently renovated, two-story weight room. I had to keep my voice down. That only encouraged Jack to tease my temper.
He stretched his arms, every motion bulging muscle on top of muscle. “Think we could talk inside? I’m kinda bruised from the accident. We could sit in the spa tub together.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Would you prefer the hot tub in our honeymoon suite?”
I poked a finger into his chest, instantly regretting touching his heated, fiercely defined body. A shiver trembled from the tip of my finger all the way through me, centering in a very wrong place.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” I said.
Jack glanced me over, amused. “I got us out of trouble.”
“No. You got you out of trouble. You put me in the middle of all of this!”