Holding Holly (Love and Football Series) (12 page)

What the hell was wrong with her? It must have been the knit hat covering his famous hair, or finding him in a nonjock hangout like a bookstore. Maybe it was the temporary insanity brought on by an overwhelming surge of hormones.

“Is there a problem?” he said.

“I can’t have anything to do with you. I have to go.”

He shook his head in adorable confusion. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more right now than to run her fingers through his gorgeous hair.

“This is your hotel room. Where do you think you’re going?”

She yanked as much of the sheet off the bed as possible, attempting to wrap it around herself and stand up at the same time. He was simultaneously grabbing at the comforter to shield himself. It didn’t work.

She twisted her foot into the bedding while she hurled herself away from him and ended up on the carpet seconds later in a tangle of sheet and limbs, still naked. Her butt hit the floor so hard she almost expected to bounce.

The number-one reason why Kendall didn’t engage in one-night stands as a habit hauled himself up on all fours in the middle of the bed. Out of all the guys in the world available for a short-term fling, of all the times in her life she thought that might be an acceptable option, of
course
she’d pick the man who could get her fired or sued.

He grabbed the robe he’d slung over the foot of the bed, scrambled off the mattress, and jammed his arms into it as he advanced on her.

“Are you okay? You went down pretty hard.” His eyes skimmed over her. “That’s going to leave a mark.”

He crouched next to her as he reached out to help her up. She resisted the impulse to stare at golden skin, an eight pack, and a sizable erection. She’d heard Drew didn’t lack for dates. He had other things to offer besides the balance in his bank accounts.

“I’m okay,” she told him.

She felt a little shaky. She’d probably have a nice bruise later. She was going down all right, and it had nothing to do with sex. It had everything to do with the fact that if anyone from the Miners organization saw him emerging from her room in the next seventy-two hours, she was in the kind of trouble with her employer there was no recovering from. The interim general manager of a NFL team did not sleep with anyone from the opposing team, especially archrivals that hated each other with the heat of a thousand suns. Especially a star player her own organization was more than a little interested in acquiring.
Especially
before a game that would mean the inside track to the playoffs for both teams.

Drew and Kendall would be the Romeo and Juliet of the NFL. Well, without all the dying. Death by 24/7 sports media embarrassment didn’t count.

He reached out, grabbed her beneath her armpits, and hoisted her off the floor like she weighed nothing.

“I’ve got you. Let’s see if you can stand up,” he said. His warm, gentle hands moved over her, looking for injuries. “Why don’t you lean on me for a second here?”

She tried rewrapping the sheet around her so she could walk away from him while preserving her dignity. It wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t stop staring at him. If she let him take her in his arms, she’d be lost. She teetered as she leaned against the hotel room wall.

“I’m . . . I’m fine. I—”

“Hold still,” he said. She heard his bare feet slap against the carpeting as he grabbed the second robe out of the coat closet and brought it back to her. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s your decision, but I don’t understand what’s wrong.”

She struggled into the thick terry robe as she tried to think of a response. He was staring at her as she retrieved the fabric belt and swathed herself in yards of fabric. Judging by his continuing erection, he liked what he saw, even if it was covered up from her neck to below her knees. He licked his bottom lip. Her mouth went dry. Damn it.

Of
course
the most attractive guy she’d been anywhere near a bed with in the past year was completely off-limits.

“You don’t recognize me,” she said.

“No, I don’t,” he said. “Is there a problem?”

“You might say that.” She finally succeeded in knotting the belt of the robe around her waist, dropped the sheet at her feet and stuck out one hand. “Hi. I’m Kendall Tracy. I’m the interim GM of the San Francisco Miners.” His eyes widened in shock. “Nice to meet you.”

About the Author

JULIE BRANNAGH
has been writing since she was old enough to hold a pencil. She lives in a small town near Seattle, where she once served as a city council member and owned a yarn shop. She shares her home with a wonderful husband, two uncivilized Maine Coons, and a rambunctious chocolate Lab.

When she’s not writing, she’s reading or armchair-quarterbacking her favorite NFL team from the comfort of the family room couch. Julie is a Golden Heart finalist and the author of contemporary sports romances.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
hc.com
.

Also by Julie Brannagh

Catching Cameron

Rushing Amy

Blitzing Emily

Give in to your impulses . . .

Read on for a sneak peek at six brand-new e-book original tales of romance from Avon Impulse.

Available now wherever e-books are sold.

AN HEIRESS FOR ALL SEASONS

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By Sophie Jordan
INTRUSION

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By Charlotte Stein
CAN’T WAIT

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By Jennifer Ryan
THE LAWS OF SEDUCTION

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By Gwen Jones
SINFUL REWARDS 1

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By Cynthia Sax
SWEET COWBOY CHRISTMAS

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By Candis Terry

An Excerpt from

A Debutante Files Christmas Novella

by Sophie Jordan

Feisty American heiress Violet Howard swears she’ll never wed a crusty British aristocrat. Will, the Earl of Moreton, is determined to salvage his family’s fortune without succumbing to a marriage of convenience. But when a snowstorm strands Violet and Will together, their sudden chemistry will challenge good intentions. They’re seized by a desire that burns through the night, but will their passion survive the storm? Will they realize they’ve found a love to last them through all seasons?

H
is eyes flashed, appearing darker in that moment, the blue as deep and stormy as the waters she had crossed to arrive in this country. “Who are you?”

“I’m a guest here.” She motioned in the direction of the house. “My name is V—”

“Are you indeed?” His expression altered then, sliding over her with something bordering belligerence. “No one mentioned that you were an American.”

Before she could process that statement—or why he should be told of anything—she felt a hot puff of breath on her neck.

The insolent man released a shout and lunged. Hard hands grabbed her shoulders. She resisted, struggling and twisting until they both lost their balance.

Then they were falling. She registered this with a sick sense of dread. He grunted, turning slightly so that he took the brunt of the fall. They landed with her body sprawled over his.

Her nose was practically buried in his chest.
A pleasant smelling chest
. She inhaled leather and horseflesh and the warm saltiness of male skin.

He released a small moan of pain. She lifted her face to observe his grimace and felt a stab of worry. Absolutely misplaced considering this situation was his fault, but there it was nonetheless. “Are you hurt?”

“Crippled. But alive.”

Scowling, she tried to clamber off him, but his hands shot up and seized her arms, holding fast.

“Unhand me! Serves you right if you are hurt. Why did you accost me?”

“Devil was about to take a chunk from that lovely neck of yours.”

Lovely?
He thinks she is lovely? Or rather her neck is lovely? This bold specimen of a man in front of her, who looks as though he has stepped from the pages of a Radcliffe novel, thinks that plain, in-between Violet is lovely.

She shook off the distracting thought. Virile stable hands like him did not look twice at females like her. No. Scholarly bookish types with kind eyes and soft smiles looked at her. Men such as Mr. Weston who saw beyond a woman’s face and other physical attributes.

“I am certain you overreacted.”

He snorted.

She arched, jerking away from him, but still he did not budge. His hands tightened around her. She glared down at him, feeling utterly discombobulated. There was so
much
of him—all hard male and it was pressed against her in a way that was entirely inappropriate and did strange, fluttery things to her stomach. “Are you planning to let me up any time soon?”

His gaze crawled over her face. “Perhaps I’ll stay like this forever. I rather like the feel of you on top of me.”

She gasped.

He grinned then and that smile stole her breath and made all her intimate parts heat and loosen to the consistency of pudding. His teeth were blinding white and straight set against features that were young and strong and much too handsome. And there were his eyes. So bright a blue their brilliance was no less powerful in the dimness of the stables.

Was this how girls lost their virtue? She’d heard the stories and always thought them weak and addle-headed creatures. How did a sensible female of good family cast aside all sense and thought to propriety?

His voice rumbled out from his chest, vibrating against her own body, shooting sensation along every nerve, driving home the realization that she wore nothing beyond her cloak and night rail. No corset. No chemise. Her breasts rose on a deep inhale. They felt tight and aching. Her skin felt like it was suddenly stretched too thin over her bones. “You are not precisely what I expected.”

His words sank in, penetrating through the fog swirling around her mind. Why would he expect anything from her? He did not know her.

His gaze traveled her face and she felt it like a touch—a caress. “I shall have to pay closer attention to my mother when she says she’s found someone for me to wed.”

Violet’s gaze shot up from the mesmerizing movement of his lips to his eyes. “Your
mother?
”

He nodded. “Indeed. Lady Merlton.”

“Are you . . .” she choked on halting words.
He couldn’t be
. “You’re the—”

“The Earl of Merlton,” he finished, that smile back again, wrapping around the words as though he was supremely amused. As though she were the butt of some grand jest. He was the Earl of Merlton, and she was the heiress brought here to tempt him.

A jest indeed. It was laughable. Especially considering the way he looked. Temptation incarnate. She was not the sort of female to tempt a man like him. At least not without a dowry, and that’s what her mother was relying upon.

“And you’re the heiress I’ve been avoiding,” he finished.

If the earth opened up to swallow her in that moment, she would have gladly surrendered to its depths.

An Excerpt from

An Under the Skin Novel

by Charlotte Stein

I believed I would never be able to trust any man again. I thought so with every fiber of my being—and then I met Noah Gideon Grant. Everyone says he’s dangerous. But the thing is . . . I think something happened to him too. I know the chemistry between us isn’t just in my head. I know he feels it, but he’s holding back. He’s made a labyrinth of himself. Now all I need to do is dare to find my way through.

An Avon Red Novel

H
e said no sexual contact, and a handshake apparently counts. I should respect that—I do respect that, I swear. I can respect it, no matter how much my heart sinks or my eyes sting at a rejection that isn’t a rejection at all.

I can do without. I’m sure I can do without, all the way up to the point where he says words that make my heart soar up, up toward the sun that shines right out of him.

“Kissing is perfectly okay with me,” he murmurs, and then, oh, God, then he takes my face in his two good hands, roughened by all the patient and careful fixing he does and so tender I could cry, and starts to lean down to me. Slowly at first, and in these hesitant bursts that nearly make my heart explode, before finally, Lord; finally, yes, finally.