Play: Free Romance eBook (Completion 1) (2 page)

I exhaled slowly and gave in. “Thank you.”

He took my hand.

Cripes, this man liked to touch
.

He escorted me out of the suite and then the hotel. A valet brought his car around. Not what I expected. No flashy sports car, but a BMW. He opened the door for me and I sank into the blissful leather.

“Buckle up.” His hand was already pulling the strap across my chest and sliding it effortlessly into the clasp next to my hip.

I gulped and prayed the sound was silent. Killian MacGregor was taking me home to my semi-rundown apartment, a mile from the state college. I took another breath.

Him…the car smelled just like him. They could bottle this and make a fortune.

Would leather show stains?
I so needed a towel under my ass.

“Where to?” One confident hand held the steering wheel.

“The university.”

Even though I couldn’t see them in the dark interior, I felt his eyes on me. His head dipped slightly. “Dancer?”

My thighs slammed together.

“Runner.”

He didn’t comment, just pulled around the long circular drive and headed out to the main road. The campus was twenty minutes away without traffic, and for once I wished there was a mile-long pileup. I wanted to breathe in his scent for the rest of the night; hell…the rest of my life. Sable-haired babies; tall, coordinated athletes. We’d make the perfect children if they looked like their father. A laugh escaped my lips. Crazy. I was absolutely certifiable.

“Do you want to share the joke?” In the close confines of the car, his thick, molasses voice made me fidget.

My good-girl sense of honor got the best of me and I spilled part of the beans. “This is unreal. I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but really. You…Killian MacGregor, driving me home.”

He gave a low, sexy chuckle. “My mother would be proud.”

“Oh gosh…you even have a mother.”

This time he laughed and every nerve ending I possessed went on high alert. My nipples tightened, my breathing grew shallow, and I clenched my thighs tighter.

“Yes, and I was even created the old-fashioned way.”

He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.

His next words drew me out of my fantasy.

“How old are you?”

I turned and looked at his profile—the line of his jaw, the curve of his nose…still perfect even in shadow.

I took a long a breath. “Twenty-one and old enough to know better than to let my sister drag me to a party like the one we just left. Sorry, no disrespect, but that’s not my scene.”

I had completely blown it now. Given away the fact that “slutty college girl” wasn’t my thing even if, for the first time in my life, I wanted to qualify for the slut Olympics. I couldn’t help thinking about what he saw…my favorite skirt, a tad too short, but it accented my legs, which were my best feature. Unfortunately, when it came to my chest, there was nothing much to show. I’d worn a peach-colored, button-up blouse with just a touch of lace on the shoulders for sleeves; more clothes than any two girls at the party wore, including my sister. My nothing-special brown hair had been curled, but was now in complete disarray. I was tall and gangly looking, though he had no idea I was usually quite coordinated and lithe. Well, maybe he did. He asked if I was a dancer.

He glanced at me and the headlights from an oncoming car showed that sexy tilt to his lips.

“Do you run for the college team?” He turned his head back to the road.

“Yes. Scholarship.” I wasn’t ashamed.

“So you’re good?”

Well, maybe I was ashamed. “Middle of the pack.”

He didn’t say anything after that. I gave directions when we got closer. He pulled in front of the dilapidated college-like dorm apartments and my hand went to the door handle.

“Do not touch that.” There it was again, his “don’t mess with me” voice.

Funny, because I didn’t even consider going against his order.

“I’m sorry as fuck about tonight.” He turned his head my way, remaining completely in shadow, but I could picture every gorgeous line on his face.

My heart thumped so loud I knew he could hear it. “I’m okay. No harm, no foul.”

His deep, throaty chuckle was back. “You a baseball fan?”

“Not really.” I ran track, but wasn’t much for any sport, and didn’t they have fouls in football?

“Football?”

“No.”

“But you came to a football party?”

I would dream of his voice tonight. “My mistake, but thank you for your help.”

“You made the party…interesting. I watched you all night. I don’t suppose you’ll be at any others?”

He watched me!

“You suppose right.” I would give anything to stop the chit-chat and let him fuck me silly. Why was I pushing him away?

“You attached?”

“Attached?” Did I really need to repeat everything he said?

“Significant other?” I heard the laughter in his voice and knew his dimples flashed. “Boyfriend?”

“Uh, no.”

“I’ll walk you inside.” He stepped out before I could protest.

My door opened and his hand took ahold of my forearm and then slid down to my hand. I couldn’t remember the last time I held hands with a guy; grade school maybe. I entered the security code at the lobby entrance and turned to say goodnight.

“To your door.” Again, no room for argument, and I scurried along like a trained puppy straight to my apartment door.

“Key.” The hand not holding mine came out.

I dutifully placed the key in his palm and watched his large, deft fingers unlock my door.

He looked up.

I failed to breathe.

His incredibly full, sensuous lips leaned in and he kissed my forehead. I mean really…my forehead.

“Goodnight, Webecca.”

I couldn’t get any words out and just turned to walk inside.

“And, Legs…”

I peered over my shoulder.

“If you do come to any more parties, say hello.”

I nodded then shut and locked the door behind me.

Holy fucking shit. The dream father of my future children just walked away and I knew I’d never see him again. But I would fantasize and my vibrator would get more use than it had this past year.

Killian MacGregor’s warm lips had touched my forehead and I was a goner.

The entire week after THE party, I spent every available minute on the Internet researching Killian like some obsessed fan. I couldn’t help myself.

Twenty-five years old, star quarterback in college, first-round draft pick when he turned pro at twenty-one. Two years ago, he took over the starting quarterback position for the Scorpions. One year ago, he was one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. But, as always, there was a downside—he was known to have a quick temper, use his fists when push came to shove, and for a non-thug position like quarterback, he had a thug reputation. And I couldn’t forget… the face of an angel.

I dug deeper. His single mom raised him along with one brother, but no other articles gave insight into his family. An in-depth feature about his high school years shed some light on his temper. He grew up in Richmond, California, and attended a predominately non-white high school. There, he learned to use his fists until his throwing arm caught the eye of the varsity football coach his sophomore year. His teammates became his gang and they had his back. An early picture showed a big, cocky white kid, surrounded by five dark-skinned teammates, and the same angel’s face without the refinement it showed now. The boys all sneered with their arms strung across each other’s shoulders.

Killian MacGregor was a bad boy.

What every girl found attractive. But not me. At least not until Killian MacGregor held my hand and then kissed my forehead when he said goodbye.

I couldn’t get him out of my mind, so I did what I always did. I ran. Albeit early in the mornings because the desert heat tried to melt my body to the concrete, but I ran nonetheless.

I slipped on running shorts over my sheer-blue bikini panties, followed by a form-fitting sports bra and a white tank top. My socks and favorite running shoes came next, then I secured my hair in a tight ponytail. I jumped on my toes a few times, circled my arms, and set off at a leisurely pace for about a mile. Then I stopped, stretched my warmed muscles for ten minutes, and began the real part of my run. The endorphin high entered my bloodstream on the fifth mile.

Legs…he’d called me Legs
.

I continued running until all thought focused on my next step. At twelve miles, I reached a point where nothing mattered—the scenery, temperature, or Killian memories, and I kept going. Eventually, I hit the last low-angled hill, which took me back to my apartment.

But… it didn’t matter how many miles I ran, I still couldn’t get a good night’s sleep.

Two weeks after the party, I wore out my track shoes and bought a new pair. I hit the pavement hard. Three weeks and I stopped watching television news, reading Internet articles, or even listening to gossip about Killian MacGregor or his team. I realized I needed sleep, food, and a shrink; the order was optional. I was nothing but a lovesick groupie who had to get on with her life so…one month post the party I did.

I still hadn’t forgiven my sister, but per in her usual demeanor, this didn’t seem to bother her. I was boring and no fun to hang out with and basically a complete stick in the mud. She’d asked if I saw the girl at the party who came between Stump and Killian. She had no idea it was me, and I wasn’t going to tell her. She didn’t even apologize for not being around to give me a ride home.

I applied myself to my summer classes and prepared for spring track season. Ignoring the fact that professional football was gearing up for its first pre-season game, I refused to think about Killian MacGregor. Well almost. Big Ben, my ever-faithful, battery-operated, hot pink, six-inch fountain of joy knew all my deepest, darkest thoughts, and they all centered on one star quarterback.

Regular classes began in August along with twice-weekly practice overseen by my running coach. My fantasy world, or trying to get past it, had me ready for everything the coach threw my way.

Still no possibility of me winning at this level.

In high school I was the star—the tall running giant. Entering the college arena put my Olympic dreams into perspective. I, Rebecca Lesley Cavanaugh, was middle of the pack; nothing special in the world of long-distance runners. On the bright side, many runners didn’t hit their full stride until their thirties. Still, by then I’d be completely into my future career, running simply to stay in shape, and not looking back. I’d given up on my dream long ago and moved on.

My class load was heavy, but I still managed two blind dates, fixed up by my best friend, Amanda. Both times the men and I didn’t quite meet eye to eye. I was an inch or two taller even though I wore flat shoes. My head tilted slightly downward to speak and I hunched my shoulders when I walked beside them. The last thing I felt was small. Obviously, like my previous dates, my height intimidated men. I knew Amanda gave the guys fair warning, but seeing me in person, even in flat shoes, was a lot more sobering. I’d even taken more than my normal time to get ready for the first date—a little eyeliner to make my blue eyes stand out, a touch of blush to liven my tanned cheeks, and my favorite date outfit.

The second man didn’t get so lucky, because I didn’t bother with the extra makeup or putting on my favorite skirt and blouse. Not
that
skirt, I might never wear
that
one again. None of my lack of preparation mattered, because my thirty-something-year-old second date couldn’t get past my tall frame and my ordinary, non-super-model looks. Life sucked, and then I compared every man to Killian MacGregor.

I went back to concentrating on college.

The multi-leveled, stadium-styled classroom held more than two hundred students. I sat in the fourth row dead center, taking notes and trying to stay awake throughout the lecture. The side door opened and a man walked toward the professor. Doctor Lanovitch didn’t bother turning off the microphone when the man spoke.

“I have a special delivery.” The voice resounded through the room as he showed a medium-sized envelope to the professor.

He now had the attention of the entire class.

The instructor’s eyes skimmed us students, landed on me, and said right into the microphone, “Miss Cavanaugh.”

Holy shit.

I stood slowly, squeezed behind the seats of my fellow row mates, and then walked down the side stairs toward the man interrupting my college class. He held out the envelope and after I tentatively took it, he turned and walked out the same door he’d entered.

The professor’s eyebrows shot up before I looked down. Rebecca Cavanaugh was handwritten in a bold scrawl on the front. I muttered an apology, not looking up, and returned to my seat. The lecture resumed and I tried hard to focus but my eyes kept returning to my name. I no longer had any problems staying awake, but at the same time, I didn’t hear another word or take a single note.

After class, I walked outside into the one-hundred-and-ten-degree heat and zombied to the library. My ass hit a chair, I drank half my water bottle, and then went back to staring. The fluttering in my chest had me longing for one thing, but I knew I was being an idiot. Killian MacGregor would never send me anything. I lifted the envelope, took a deep breath, and opened it slowly.

Three tickets slipped out along with a small slip of paper.

Legs,

Bring two friends.

K

I was too young for a heart attack, or so I thought. Yes, the outside heat left my body overly warm, hot even, but all the blood left my head and traveled who knew where. A wave of dizziness washed over me and I took a quick sip of water. I realized that wasn’t helping, so I turned sideways and put my head between my knees.

My reaction…completely ridiculous, over the top and borderline psychotic. But it didn’t matter. Killian sent me tickets to his first home pre-season game. My legs trembled and I rapidly sucked in air, trying to get myself under control. I finally managed, barely, to sit up straight and re-read the slip of paper. The four words and one initial hadn’t changed. I lifted the paper to my chest and stayed like that for countless minutes while I tried not to panic.

Fantasy was one thing, reality totally another. I, simple and plain Rebecca Cavanaugh, was not football god material. I think I liked the dream better. I checked the tickets again. This Sunday, the Phoenix Scorpions played in their first home game and I had three passes.