Field of Pleasure

He resumed his gentle caress up and down her back, his fingers tingling from the warmth. “I told you everything would be okay, didn't I?”

“Yes, you did,” Chyna murmured against his chest. She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “Thank you.”

The words were so soft, Jared barely heard them. Or maybe her voice just seemed hushed because he could hardly hear anything past the blood pounding in his ears.

Gazing at him with those brilliant gray eyes that would put Bambi to shame, Chyna slipped her hand up his neck, her fingertips applying gentle pressure at the base of his head. She tilted her face up, and it was all the invitation he needed. Jared lowered his mouth and connected with hers.

The supple give of her soft lips sent a jolt of desire shooting through his body. He glided his hand up her spine to the back of her head, holding her in place while he melded his lips to hers. He couldn't take a second more of this closed-mouth business. Prying her lips open with his tongue, Jared plunged inside.

Good God, she tasted like heaven.

He swallowed Chyna's low moan and pulled her tighter, needing to feel her against him. It was no use denying the arousal hardening just beyond his zipper. If she didn't see how much he wanted her, she damn sure could feel it.

Dear Reader,

First, I must admit that I am both humbled and thrilled at the overwhelming response to my New York Sabers series. It warms my heart to know that readers have come to love my sexy football players as much as I do.

The third installment,
Field of Pleasure,
features laid-back, fun-loving cornerback Jared Dawson. Many readers have asked me if Jared would get his own book since he seems to already have everything going for him. Jared has the perfect job, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect life…until it all comes crashing down around him.

It takes a strong woman to help lift Jared out of the dark place he finds himself in, and I believe Chyna McCray is one of the strongest heroines I've ever written. She is Jared's perfect match in every way. I have a feeling this couple will win over many hearts.

Contact me on Facebook, Twitter or at my website, www.farrahrochon.com, to let me know what you think of
Field of Pleasure.
And stay tuned for the next book in the series! Finally, Theo Stokes and Deirdre Smallwood get their own story.

All the best,

Farrah Rochon

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

E
nsconced in a plush velvet chair, Jared Dawson observed the LCD screen with disdain as the punt returner for the New England Patriots was brought down at the eighteenth yard line.

“Pitiful,” he huffed. “At least get it to the twenty.” He brought a cut crystal tumbler glass to his lips, mumbling, “I would have taken it to the house,” before downing a generous portion of the casino's top-shelf Scotch.

Every seat in the ultra exclusive Players Club at Atlantic City's Rio Grande Casino was taken. It was the biggest gambling day of the year—Super Bowl Sunday—and everyone wanted a piece of the action. Jared glanced over at the craps table, able to gauge who was winning and who would have to take out a new mortgage on their house just by studying the players' body language. He'd been on both sides of that coin before.

He could
not
go back there.

Which was why, for about the thousandth time this hour, Jared asked himself just what in the hell he was doing in this casino.

He usually wasn't one for self-sabotage, but that was the only reasonable explanation he could find in a mind that was marinating in more alcohol than he usually consumed in a month.

One of the conditions of his agreement with the New York Sabers, the NFL team that should have been playing in today's Super Bowl, was that he steer clear of all gaming establishments. Even though Jared had never gambled on a Sabers game, the bet he'd placed on a Raiders-Broncos matchup a few years ago was enough to get him thrown out of the league for life. The NFL had a strict policy on employees gambling on NFL games. It wasn't tolerated. Ever.

Sabers upper management had decided to keep the incident in-house and not report him to the league, but Jared had been required to meet with the team's shrink for months to ensure that his betting wasn't due to a more serious gambling addiction. He had signed an agreement promising to refrain from all forms of gambling. For the past three years, he'd done his best to honor that agreement. Other than the occasional game of zero-stakes poker when his teammates grew tired of their weekly dominoes game, he hadn't come remotely close to anything to do with gambling.

But every man had his breaking point.

Losing in the first round of the playoffs had been a crushing blow, but this wasn't the first time the Sabers had come up short. They always had next year, and at thirty years old, Jared figured he still had another five years in the league, easy. It was walking into his hotel room six months ago to find his girlfriend of ten
years—the love of his life—Samantha Miller, in bed with his recently traded ex-teammate Carlos Garcia that had nearly sent Jared over the edge.

Jared slipped his right hand into his pocket and fingered the five-carat radiant cut diamond he'd envisioned sliding on Samantha's finger today. The fantasy had played out a dozen times in his dreams. Amid the confetti and thousands of roaring fans, he would drop to one knee and pop the question. And because it was
his
fantasy, he, of course, would have just scored the game-winning touchdown to give the Sabers their first Super Bowl win.

But it hadn't happened that way, had it?

Instead, he was watching the big game on television like everyone else, while Carlos was doing only God knew what with the woman Jared had given ten years of his life to.

For a split second he had contemplated an assault, but he didn't want his mom to have to explain to her friends that her son was being tried for a criminal case. Instead, Jared had set out to do a little self-destruction. He was one Scotch away from killing his liver and one bet away from flushing his career down the toilet.

As the normally fifteen-minute halftime show stretched into a thirty-minute glitz-filled concert, Jared pushed himself up from his seat and, with glass in hand, strolled around the casino's private club. In the far right corner a high-stakes poker game was in progress. A familiar tingle inched along his skin as the tension radiating from the table seeped into his bones. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, recalling the rush of excitement laying down that first bet always induced.

He needed to step away. Now.

Before he reached his hand into his pocket and drew out his wallet.

Before he slid his black American Express to the pit boss and made an irrevocable mistake that would cost him so much more than whatever money he would lose at the craps table.

Jared didn't get a chance to make another move. A set of strong fingers gripped his biceps and spun him around so fast that Scotch sloshed over the rim of his glass.

“What the hell?” Jared barked.

“That's my question,” Torrian Smallwood, ex-wide receiver and current assistant coach with the Sabers, growled. He was also one of Jared's best friends. It didn't surprise him that Torrian had tracked him down.

“Are you out of your mind?” Torrian bit out. “You
trying
to ruin your life?”

“Maybe.” Jared washed the flippant answer down with the remainder of his Scotch.

Torrian's gaze darted around their immediate area. Grabbing Jared's arm, he tugged him to a darkened corner where they were partially shielded by burgundy curtains.

“Why don't you think about someone other than yourself for a minute?” Torrian snapped.

“Aren't you and the rest of the guys always telling me I need to stop taking care of everybody else and start taking care of myself for a change?” he snarled.

“Don't give me that, Jared. This is irresponsible and you know it. You have an entire team counting on you. Hell, I'm missing the Super Bowl running after you.”

“I didn't ask you to come here,” Jared stated.

“I've been waiting for something like this to happen. You've been living on the brink of destruction for months now.” Torrian ran an agitated hand down his face,
frustration evident in his tightly clenched jaws. “Look, I know what went down with Samantha hurt you, but don't do this to yourself. You've worked too hard at getting things right with the team. Don't throw it away.”

It was the concern in his teammate's eyes that did Jared in. Torrian cared enough to track him all the way to Atlantic City in an attempt to save his sorry ass, when Jared wasn't so sure it was even worth saving. It was the kind of devotion only men who'd been through the fire together could share.

“How could she do that to me?” Jared choked out. “After everything—”

Unable to hold his emotions in check a second longer, Jared tumbled into his friend's arms and sobbed out the agonizing heartache of a betrayal handed to him by a woman he'd loved more than life itself.

 

Fingers planted on the running track's rubber surface, Jared focused his eyes on the white flag that marked forty yards. He counted down with the trainer as he got on his mark, set and took off down the track. In less time than it would take to write his full name, he was putting on the brakes. Jared checked the stopwatch. He'd improved his time by three tenths of a second, but he still needed to cut another five.

After where he'd been just six weeks ago, when Torrian found him wallowing in Scotch and on the verge of ruining his career, Jared was grateful to even be back here at the Sabers' practice facility. But having this second chance wasn't enough for him. He had to
do
something with it. He would show the team he was one hundred percent in this, which was why he was determined to run the forty in under four-point-four seconds
by the start of next season. He still had the rest of the off-season and training camp to make that happen.

“You…do all right…for an old guy,” his fellow teammate Randall Robinson said through several pauses while he tried to catch his breath.

“Better than you,” Jared countered with a playful jab to Randall's shoulder.

“That's why I'm here instead of lounging on a beach somewhere. I can't afford to spend the off-season fooling around.”

“I hear you,” Jared said. “I need the extra conditioning.”

And the reservation he'd made for a monthlong engagement celebration in Cabo San Lucas was in both his and Samantha's name. Right now it was more tempting to drink battery acid than make a solo trip to Mexico.

Jared figured that enough players used the excuse of wanting to buff up during the off-season that no one would give his opting to do so a second thought. But he worked with some savvy men, and those who had known him for a while saw right through his crap.

Randall was one of them.

His teammate clamped a hand on Jared's shoulder and gave him a commiserating squeeze. “I've been meaning to ask how you're doing, man. That was cold what Carlos did to you. I don't know how you stopped yourself from kicking his ass.”

Easy. Jared had been too enraged to do anything but storm out of the room. He'd had two choices that night: leave or pummel his ex-teammate.

Six months later, and he still remembered every disgusting detail. Samantha's shocked gasp when he'd walked into his hotel room two hours earlier than he'd been expected to return and found her naked and
straddling his former teammate. The floor littered with their clothes, pillows and linens. Carlos's smug smile as he'd stared at Jared from the bed. The scene would be forever etched into his mind.

“I'm over it,” Jared lied.

“After all the time you and Sam were together?” The look Randall shot him was the very definition of incredulous. Yeah, some of his teammates knew him all too well.

“Fine, I'm still pissed,” Jared admitted as he marched down the sideline of the enclosed practice field. “But I'd be more upset with myself if I had acted a fool over her. Sam made her choice. I'm dealing with it.”

“You need any help dealing with it?” Randall asked as they came upon a table with a half dozen Gatorade dispensers and stacks of folded towels.

Jared snatched a towel and ran it over his face and neck, mopping the sweat from his skin. “What kind of help?”

Randall nodded toward the far right side of the practice field, where a pretty awesome display of female flesh danced to one of the songs that usually played during timeouts at Sabers home games. The team's cheerleading/dance squad, the Saberrettes, was working hard.

He had to admit, even without the barely there outfits they donned for the games, every single one of the girls was smokin' hot. Jared had always taken a barely-look-and-never-
ever
-touch approach when it came to the Saberrettes. He'd been one hundred percent faithful to Samantha from the minute they'd officially started dating back in their sophomore year at San Diego State.

“I don't know about that,” Jared said. “You know the team has a no-fraternizing rule when it comes to the cheerleaders.”

“Man, nobody pays attention to that rule. What's the big deal?” Randall shrugged. “I'm not suggesting you propose marriage. Just, you know, try hooking up for a night or two.”

Jared's first instinct was to tell his teammate he wasn't interested in “hooking up.” Hell, he'd been with the same woman for so long, he didn't even know
how
to have casual sex. But as the image of Carlos clutching Samantha's naked back flashed in his head—something that still occurred way too often—Jared reconsidered Randall's suggestion. At least a night out with a beautiful woman would give him something else to think about.

“I need to call the day care and check in on my little man,” Randall said. “Give me fifteen minutes, and then we can try the forty again.”

As he watched his teammate jog across the field, Jared felt the familiar twinge of envy that pulled at his chest whenever he thought about Randall and his two-year-old son, Christopher. The guy was brave as hell, fighting his lunatic ex-girlfriend for custody and raising his son on his own. Jared didn't envy Randall going at it alone, but he would have given just about anything to have a son.

Samantha had never wanted kids. She'd never made much of a push to get married, either. Made perfect sense to him now. It was so much easier to break off a ten-year relationship than to dissolve a marriage.

Jared bit back a curse and turned his attention to the smorgasbord of firm thighs, surgically enhanced breasts and mile-long legs on full display across the field. As much as it would do his body some good, he wasn't all that interested in hooking up for a couple of nights of casual sex, especially with a member of the team's dance squad. What would happen once they'd had their fun?

At least with someone he met in a club the chances of
ever seeing the woman again would be slight. He wasn't sure he could handle running into someone he'd slept with and just pretending nothing had happened between them.

Then again, if one of the Saberrettes was game for a little naked Twister, what was the harm? After what he'd been through these past six months, he was due for a bit of pleasurable entertainment.

Jared filled his paper cup with Gatorade and tipped his head back, downing the drink in one long gulp. He looked up and nearly choked on the liquid he'd just swallowed. Heading toward him was easily one of the hottest, most drop-dead gorgeous women he'd ever laid eyes on.

She strode confidently across the practice field's artificial turf, carrying an empty plastic water bottle in each hand.

She was absolutely stunning, her creamy skin like milk with a hint of coffee swirled in. She had a dancer's body, tight and toned. But it was her exotic gray eyes that nearly dropped him to his knees. They were mesmerizing and mysterious, and had Jared taking a second to catch his breath.

As she approached, a pleasant but innocuous smile drew across her face. “Hi,” she said with a polite nod. “Just coming over to steal Gatorade.”

“By all means,” Jared said, going for smooth. “Feel free to help yourself to anything you see here.” Okay, that was lame as hell.

She thought so, too. The smile pulling at the corner of her mouth said she was more amused than charmed by his blatant come-on.