Beautifully, wonderfully, toe-curlingly complex.
That's Killian O'Sullivan-running back for the New York Vulcans-complete with lucky green jockstrap and an appetite for trouble. A smart woman would steer well clear, but I've decided to head right for the pretty blue eyes of the storm.
I find him one night half-naked in an alleyway (long story) short on pants but definitely not short on something else. Helping a stranger in need is one thing, but dating a Vulcan is quite another. He lives on a knife's edge. Me? I've got . . . complications (even longer story).
It's a solid no-go. Absolutely not. Still, there's a flicker of desire that's working itself between my legs that seems damn near unstoppable if I let it burn unattended. But a guy who looks good in a skirt (yep, another story) and smells like a bottle of Jameson?
I have an inkling, a little tingle that tells me it would be a bad, no good, terrible kind of idea.
Because getting into his pants is one thing. But getting into his head is quite another.
Contains mature themes.
The football star bad boy with the blue eyes and broken memory.
Harrison Miller is making waves on the Brain Injury Ward, and as his therapist, I have close, intimate access. Amnesia is a rare and sometimes dangerous condition, even for an alpha male. But the more time we spend together, the further I fall into his orbit, connecting on a level far deeper and private than I ever imagined.
I said I wouldn't date a guy like this again, that I'd keep my clean slate and simple life. That's to say nothing of the ethical issues at play.
But every time those upturned icebergs look my way, I'm lost, worried if I let myself drift to him I'll go down hard and fast, unable to draw breath again.
Every part of my life has been so carefully planned and orchestrated until now, but he is the wild card I never expected.
I want to tear myself open and let him see it all, the black and inky heart of a sinner. I want to share all of my secrets with him, painful as they are.
Contains mature themes.
Bad is the new good. Unless you're the most hated man in New York.
A bad boy quarterback who can't perform is one thing, but Liam Sharpe's on a special kind of downward spiral. But it's not a spark when our eyes meet; it's a forest fire-all consuming, sucking the very breath from my lungs. And I'm crushing hard.
I'm an up-and-coming popstar about to make the big time. We shouldn't be together. He's an old soul. I'm . . . well, nuts, but worlds collide when we come together. And between the sheets? Sweet, sinful skills, and stamina galore.
The problem? My manager says I shouldn't attach myself to a falling star, that it could kill my career before it starts.
I know heartbreak isn't required material for a singer. But the more I resist, the more it feels right. So. God. Damn. Right.
One shot at happily-ever-after. One risky play to bring it home.
Contains mature themes.
The definition of trouble is a pro football player. Change my mind.
Ryder Summers-The big, bad New York Vulcans linebacker with an anger-management problem to match. He's being sent to an exclusive beachside retreat to 'heal' and 'refresh.' Read: save his career. And I'm the sucker who has to escort him.
I didn't go to Harvard to babysit an oversized toddler who can't control his temper, and I'm sure as hell not giving into his endless pickup lines and bad boy wiles. I'm a professional. I don't fall for guys like Ryder, even if he is a hundred kinds of hot-sinful, seductive, and oh so gorgeous. But the more I get to know him, the more I wouldn't mind a taste, just a teaser of what it's like to actually live.
One 'O'-one back-breaking, headboard-shaking climax is all I want, just to know it's not a myth. I have no doubt Ryder can deliver, but the secret I'm guarding could destroy both our careers, nothing but disaster incarnate to follow. So why the hell am I hungering for his touch, ready to throw caution to the wind and whip my panties off?
One thing's for sure, sports fans. Things are about to get crazy.
Contains mature themes.
