I'll Catch You
“Hey!” she protested. “I thought this was supposed to be
touch
football?”
“Exactly,” he whispered against her neck. His hold tightened, his strong hands spanning her waist, his fingers inches from her breasts. Before she could utter a protest, Cedric’s lips connected with the one spot on her neck that drove her mindless.
Payton gasped with need, covering the arms that latched around her and throwing her head back to give him better access. Still locked together, Cedric shuffled their bodies over to the wall. He turned her around and pinned her against it, then zeroed in on her neck again, kissing and licking and nipping his way up and down.
He found her breast. Despite the layers of clothing separating his hand and her skin, her body’s reaction couldn’t have been stronger if they were both naked. Her nipple puckered, instantly drawing tight. Her skin burned from the inside out.
Cedric released her neck from his erotic assault. His hand continued to caress her breast as he stared into her eyes, seeking permission. With a slight nod, Payton put an end to both their miseries.
Permission granted.
Books by Farrah Rochon
Kimani Romance
Huddle with Me Tonight
I’ll Catch You
FARRAH ROCHON
had dreams of becoming a fashion designer as a teenager, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code.
When Farrah is not penning stories, the avid sports fan feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.
I’ll Catch you
FARRAH ROCHON
For my Dreadnaughts,
I cannot imagine my life without all of you.
“A friend loves at all times…”—
Proverbs
17:17
Dear Reader,
Do you remember those days when there was a clear line between a man’s and a woman’s work? As we forge ahead into the twenty-first century, that line has become blurred, but there are still a few careers that lean heavily toward male dominance. The sports agent profession is one of them. Being the type of person who loves to push the envelope, I just knew I
had
to have a female sports agent.
When creating the heroine in
I’ll Catch You,
Payton Mosely, I wanted to devise a character who was smart and strong enough to thrive in this male-dominated profession, yet also feminine enough to knock the hero, Cedric Reeves, off his feet. I think I accomplished both. I think you’ll agree that the chemistry between these two really sizzles.
I hope you enjoy this second glimpse into the world of the New York Sabers football team. Get ready for teammates Jared Dawson and Theo Stokes, whose stories are coming soon, and be sure to check out Torrian’s story, the first in the Sabers series, in
Huddle With Me Tonight.
Don’t be a stranger! Visit me at www.farrahrochon.com or seek me out on Facebook and Twitter. I love hearing from readers!
All the best,
Farrah Rochon
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Susan Renee Sutphen for contributing to Brenda Novak’s Diabetes Auction.
Thanks to my uncle, Terry Roybiskie, for his insights into the game of football.
To my aunt, Dr. Madeline Borne. Belated thanks for your help in coming up with the perfect eye ailment for Torrian.
Contents
Chapter 1
T
he aroma of sweat and dirt blended with a myriad of expensive colognes, creating a nauseating odor that suffused the locker room and clung to Payton Mosely’s nostrils.
Payton tamped down the urge to pull her shirt over her nose. None of the other reporters seemed affected by the overpowering smells attacking her olfactory system with the force of the entire New York Sabers defensive line. They were used to this, and if she wanted to maintain her facade long enough to accomplish her goal, she had to suck it up and deal.
She ducked and weaved her way through the crowd of reporters wearing press passes identical to the one that hung around her neck. The names printed on theirs probably matched the names on their driver’s licenses, something Payton could not claim. Today she was Susan Renee Sutphen, sports writer for the
Buffalo Daily.
Nothing short of a full day of pampering at a day spa would be suitable to thank Sue for allowing Payton to use her press pass. If she was caught, Sue’s paper would likely be banned from the Sabers locker room. And that was the best scenario. Her friend could lose her job over this.
The crush of reporters surrounding the Sabers’s punt-return specialist, Jared Dawson, whose ninety-eight-yard kick return for a touchdown set a Sabers record and sealed today’s victory against the Philadelphia Eagles, slowed her forward momentum, but Payton would not be deterred. She wasn’t here to get a quote from the game winner. She would never put up with this stink for something as simple as a recap of today’s football game. Payton had her sights set on a much bigger prize, and she was going to be waiting at his locker for him.
He emerged from the shower room, bare-chested, with sweatpants that hung low on his waist.
Cedric Reeves.
Payton’s steps halted. That confidence she’d been building over the course of the game needed a pep talk before approaching the man who would make or break her career, especially if she had to go near him in his current state of undress. He had a running back’s body, solid and strong, without an ounce of visible fat lurking, only muscle and a whole lotta attitude.
Dark brown skin glistened over the rippling muscles of his supremely defined abs. The six-pack looked as if it had been created by a master sculptor with the sole purpose of driving the female population crazy.
Payton’s palms itched with the urge to glide across all that glorious skin but she reined in the impulse. She wasn’t here to admire his physique; she was here to convince Cedric Reeves to become the first client of Mosely Sports Management. Despite the stomach-turning affects of the pungent locker-room air, she sucked in a deep breath and used one of the pranayama breathing techniques she’d learned in yoga class to calm her rapid heartbeat.
This was it: make or break time. Two possible outcomes: either she convinced the Sabers running back to take her on as his new agent, or she threw her dream in the gutter and headed back to West Texas.
Payton tossed away that idea before the image of tumbleweed could roll through her psyche. The only thing that would take her back to her small hometown was a visit with her mother. Her life was here, in New York. And her profession was sports agenting.
All she needed was a client.
“All or nothing, Mosely,” she whispered under her breath.
Payton’s eyes zeroed in on Cedric. He stood before a wooden alcove that sported his name engraved on a teal nameplate above it. The locker room contained about eighty identical cubbyholes made of a beautiful solid oak, gleaming, as if the wood had been polished by hand. They made a semicircle around the room, each with a cushioned folding chair in that same Sabers teal that was the color of choice for just about everything at Sabers Stadium.
A couple of reporters surrounded Cedric with their various recording devices shoved in his face. There was too much noise for Payton to hear what he was saying, but he either made quick work of answering their questions or blew them off, because within a few minutes they were gone.
Payton took another deep breath, straightened her shoulders and walked with a confidence born of countless mini-pep talks like the one she’d just given herself. Just as she approached Cedric, another reporter stepped in front of her and stuck a voice recorder in the running back’s face.
“Any truth to the rumored meeting you had with the Sabers general manager, Cedric?”
Cedric tossed the towel he’d had around his shoulders onto the floor and pulled a platinum herringbone chain over his head. A diamond-studded cross lay in the center of his chest, gleaming from the florescent lights that tracked along the locker room’s ceiling.
“The key word there is rumored,” was Cedric’s answer as he pulled on a long-sleeved T-shirt and covered up that beautiful chest. The shirt couldn’t hide the well-defined muscles of his arms and shoulders, though.
Salivating over his body was
so
not the right thing to do at the moment. She had to be professional.
“Come on, Reeves,” the reporter continued. “It’s common knowledge that your agent dropped you after that incident with the fan in Baltimore. Word is the Sabers are looking to do the same.”
“As much as I would love to spend the next three hours talking about this, I’m due for a massage with one of the trainers. I’m sure you saw the nasty hit I took at the end of the third quarter.” He retrieved an alligator-skin duffel bag from the base of the locker, then turned in the direction of the shower and training rooms where the press was not allowed.
Payton intercepted him before he could take another step. “Mr. Reeves, can I have a word with you?”
His shoulders stiffened as he turned. “I just said ‘no more’—” he raised his head and after a pause finished “—questions.” His eyes widened with interest as they traveled from her head to her feet. Despite being fully clothed, Payton felt as naked as a stripper at the end of her pole-dance routine.
Cedric ended his perusal at her face, then he squinted. His forehead creased in a deep vee and he pointed at her. “Don’t I know you?”
“Not really,” Payton answered, her shored-up confidence washing out to sea with that one accusing question.
“Yes, I do. You’re that agent chick who’s been stalking me.”
Payton’s eyebrows shot up in indignant surprise. “I have
not
been stalking you.”
“No? What would you call it?” He ticked a list off on his fingers. “You’ve emailed me about a dozen times, called the Sabers front offices and tried to trick the receptionist into giving you my cell number and friended me on Facebook. Nice profile picture, by the way. Although it doesn’t do you justice.”
Payton felt her face heating. Listening to a detailing of her activities over the past few weeks, she thought she did sound a little stalkerish.
He leaned in closer and read her press pass. “And now you’re pretending to be a reporter. Where’s Susan Renee Sutphen? Locked up in the trunk of your car?”
Payton had known her ruse would be discovered as soon as he spotted her, but it had gotten her what she wanted, face time with Cedric Reeves. She figured she had about a minute to make her pitch, and she wasn’t going to waste another second of it.
“The only reason I resorted to this is because you’ve ignored all of my other attempts to contact you,” she said.
“Most people would take the hint,” he replied.
“Is there a reason you refuse to talk to me? I may be just the agent you’ve been looking for.”
“What makes you think I’m looking for an agent?”
Payton quelled the impulse to roll her eyes, frustrated but not surprised by his reluctance to even admit he needed her.
“It’s common knowledge that you and Gus Houseman have parted ways, and that you haven’t been able to find another agent willing to take you on.”
He folded his arms across his broad chest and leveled her with a stare that said loud and clear he wasn’t happy with her assessment of his situation, but Payton surged forward.
“It’s also common knowledge that you become a free agent at the end of the season, but other teams haven’t been biting.”
“Wow, sounds like I’m the talk around the watercooler. Tell me, what else have the Common Knowledge Guys said about me?”
“I’m being dead serious, Mr. Reeves. If you go into negotiations with the Sabers unagented, you’re going to get screwed. That is, if they negotiate with you at all.” Payton stepped up to him and got right in his face. “You need me.”