CHAPTER ONE
Noah
I had no idea when I purchased my dream home that it would come with the woman straight out of my fantasies.
As I stare down at the brunette reclined on a chaise by my pool, a smile spreads across my face. I have no idea who she is, but I stare. And I stare some more. I can’t stop. In fact, I can barely keep my tongue in my mouth. Holy shit.
A floppy hat covers the top half of her face. A fat paperback lies by her side. I’m guessing she fell asleep in the sun, but that only gives me an opportunity to appreciate the hell out of her uninterrupted.
Inky hair flows down her shoulders to a truly spectacular pair of breasts and banging curves. Even her navel is somehow sexy. I’m sure I’ve seen her tiny screaming-red bikini in a dirty dream or two. Would she notice if I ran my tongue up her fair, now slightly pink skin? Yeah, I’ve always had a thing for that. My mom’s family is from Hawaii with ancestors from Samoa. And there’s nothing I love more than seeing my darker hand glide across the silk of a pale woman’s skin. I can’t see this stranger’s eyes, but her lips… Rosy. Bee-stung. Wide. They would look great wrapped around my cock.
Now I just have to figure out who she is and why she’s squatting at the very private estate I recently bought. In fact, this is the first time I’m seeing it in person. It’s everything I wanted. My rep, Lian, was spot on. Sick views of the Pacific. Beach, swaying palms, infinity edge pool that goes on forever, all on incredibly secluded grounds. It’s perfect.
But all I want right now is to stare at my unexpected guest.
“Are you just going to stand there and block my sun or will you explain why the hell you’re trespassing on private property?” She lifts the brim of her hat to peer up at me, her expression somewhere between curious and annoyed.
Her green eyes nearly knock me over.
I want to fuck her. With the kind of urgency I haven’t felt since I was twenty-two, new to the NFL, and discovered a sea of pussy eager to get down and dirty with a newly minted pro athlete.
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same question. I’m here because I own this place as of yesterday. But I have no idea who you are or why you’re on my property.”
That made her sit up. “Shit. You’re the buyer? Noah…” She snaps her fingers like she can’t remember my name. “Noah…”
After being the star quarterback of one of the NFL’s highest-profile teams for the last twelve years, having someone not recognize me is a fairly novel experience. And a little humbling. I almost laugh. “Weston.”
“Noah Weston. That’s it.” She plops her book on the small table beside her lounger and stands, sticking out her hand.
She’s tiny. The top of her head barely reaches the middle of my chest. Another turn-on for me.
I put my hand in hers to shake it. The cursory touch feels anything but casual. My blood scalds, turning to lava in my veins, which rushes, hot and thick, to my cock. If my T-shirt wasn’t so long and loose, she would know exactly what I’m thinking.
“And you are…?”
“Sorry. Harlow, your house sitter. No one expected you for another few days.”
I give my Realtors props. They have damn fine taste in house sitters—and women. Have they set her up at my place and used it as a temporary love shack? Gotta say, I wouldn’t blame them. She’s raging hot.
I’ve only ever spoken to Maxon and Griffin Reed over the phone, when we finalized the sale of this twenty-five-million-dollar pad. The price is steep, I know. But I wanted the privacy. And the islands aren’t cheap. Hey, it’s paradise. More importantly, it’s home. My roots. It feels so damn good to be back in Hawaii while I figure out what comes next in life.
“I decided to come early, Harlow the house sitter. Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. I’ll…um, gather my things. I’ve been here for nearly a month, so I’ve made myself at home. It will just take me a couple of hours to get out of your hair.”
“No rush,” I assure. “I thought I’d grab a little pool time myself. If you’re not in a hurry, I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Actually, when I walked in the door ten minutes ago to set down my luggage, I was thinking more like nap and solitude after my long flight from Dallas. Now I’m wide awake and attuned to this woman. Maybe some flirtation in the water will convince her to get horizontal with me. The view of the crystal ocean and tropical scenery is pretty damn romantic, after all.
“Really? You don’t mind?” At my nod, she breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks. It will take me a while to arrange a ride. I don’t have a car on the island since I’m just visiting.”
So if I want to tap that, I’ll have to work quick. “Where’s home?”
“San Diego.”
I nod. “What’s waiting back there? Job? Boyfriend?”
She wrinkles her nose. “No boyfriend. I finished my master’s program earlier this year. I have a job offer close to my apartment. I’m taking some time off to ponder if that’s what I really want. You’re…um, a football player, right?”
“Just retired.” I peer at her. I’d suspect her non-response to my name and occupation was disingenuous if I wasn’t already convinced she’s for real. “Not into sports, huh?”
“I grew up with brothers. When I was little I tried to keep up. Then I got older and discovered shoes were more fun.”
I laugh. In her defense, I’ll bet she looks good in sexy, strappy platforms. Hell, she probably looks good in dollar-store flip-flops…or nothing at all. How on earth does she not have a boyfriend? Too busy with school to bother? That’s the only explanation that makes sense, because there’s no way men haven’t noticed her.
“I have a sister who feels the same way about anything requiring a ball,” I explain. “At least I have my brother, Trace, to talk pigskin with.”
“Lucky you. I’m the only girl, so I’m outnumbered. My brothers won’t debate with me whether Choo or Louboutin makes a better shoe. I don’t understand why.” With a facetious sigh, she sits again, then sprawls her shapely legs out on the lounger, ankles crossed.
I smile and look for something to keep the conversation rolling. She’s more interesting than the usual jock groupie I meet. I kind of want to know this woman. Of course I want to get her bikini off. But laying the verbal groundwork for that is a little tougher than I expected. I can’t remember the last time I had to do more to attract a woman’s attention than walk into a room and crook my finger.
“How long will you be staying in Maui?” I ask.
“I haven’t decided.”
Harlow doesn’t say more, but her reticence suggests there’s more going on than simple school fatigue or job avoidance. If she’s got a master’s degree, she’s a smart, probably ambitious girl. She didn’t accomplish that by being lazy. I wonder what’s up.
“Want to talk about it?” I offer. “An impartial ear is sometimes best, and I’ve got nothing but time for a few months.”
“Thanks but…” She shakes her head. “No.”
That’s all she says. No niceties. No explanations. No apologies.
She’s hard to read. I’m surprised by how much that intrigues me.
Harlow cocks her head at me. “So what are you going to do with the rest of your life since you’re obviously way too young to sit in your front-porch rocker and watch the grass grow?”
Isn’t that a great question? “Like you, I’m pondering my options.”
It’s another reason I’m hanging out in Maui now. I left the NFL after my last injury. As I played my final game, I knew I would never suit up on a Sunday again. Everything I’d devoted my life to since age six…suddenly gone. To take the field any more would risk my long-term quality of life. Already I have side effects—but I don’t talk about that. The team’s doctors refused to clear me to play next season. My agent absolutely threw a shit fit when I even suggested rehabbing to get back in the game. Truth is, no franchise will gamble the huge salary I command under their cap since they seem to think I have one foot out the door and the other in the old folks’ home. I always promised myself I’d go out on top, so I did—with a really tough press conference and a slammin’ after party.
But now, I have no idea what to do. At thirty-four, I’m old by pro football standards. Endorsement deals are lucrative but not a career. I’m a man used to doing, not sitting back and counting my money. That’s never been why I worked my ass off. I need purpose.
That only makes the offer recently extended my way so hard to resist…but impossible to accept. Still, I can’t bring myself to turn it down.
“You know, I’ll just go.” She gathers her book and makes to stand. “It sounds like you’ve got heavy stuff on your mind and you bought this place for privacy, so I should let you have it.”
“Stay.” I look her way, hold her gaze. “It’s been a long-ass flight, and I’d rather not be alone. You’re…interesting. I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.”
She hesitates, and I see her weighing her options. Something that looks like regret crosses her face, and I know I have to act fast. My name doesn’t entice her. I get the sense money doesn’t, either. I have to try something else. I don’t know if my conversation is sparkling, but I know damn well how much time I spend pumping iron. I’ve been snapped a few times for both bodybuilding mags and GQ.
I whip off my shirt. And I see her eyes go wide. Bingo.
Finally, I’ve impressed her.
With her eyes glued to my pecs, she nods. “I-I guess I could do that.”
The smile that curls up my lips feels slow and wide and so, so satisfied. “Good. We got any food and booze in this place?”
“If we didn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” she vows with attitude. “I’ve been slow-cooking a side of cow all day. I’m a red-meat girl. But I’m also not uncivilized. I’ve got a nice selection of wines to serve with that slab of meat. I’ll even give you a fork and a glass.”
“Cow sounds awesome, but I’ll pass on the vino. Got anything stronger?”
She raises a brow at me. “I’m breathing, aren’t I? Booze is essential. But I’m warning you, I can drink most men under the table.”
“Not me,” I promise her. “I will crush you.”
Harlow scoffs. “You wish. Ever had a liver transplant?”
“The operation?”
“The drink.” She laughs at me. “There’s a reason it’s called that. If you’re not careful, I’ll get you plowed.”
I’d rather be the one doing the plowing, but I digress… “You’re on. What’s in this drink?”
“Rum, vodka, four flavors of liqueur, a few fruit juices, along with some sweet-and-sour mix. It goes down smooth like a punch because it’s loaded with sugar, but it packs a hell of a wallop. It will sneak up and set you on your ass.”
After the last few months of malaise, an evening with strong booze and an even stronger woman sounds fantastic.
“I don’t know… Is that some fruity girls’ drink?” I can’t resist teasing her.
“They all say that—at first. Come with me.”
She heads to the kitchen, which I hadn’t even been able to find on my first pass through the enormous house. I didn’t realize how big over eight thousand square feet really was until I roamed the joint. Trace will come visit me now and then. But otherwise, what am I alone going to do with this much house?
Another problem for another day.
Right now, I far prefer to focus on Harlow’s fine ass, swaying gently from side to side as she leads the way toward the heavenly scent of slow-roasting meat and potatoes.
“That smells so good. And you eat that?” I nod at the Crock-Pot once we reach the kitchen.
“You don’t?”
“I love it.” And it isn’t as if I have to maintain the strict chicken-and-rice diet I did during my pro quarterbacking days. I can splurge every so often now. “Most women I know are too busy watching their figures.”
She snorted. “I may be carrying a few extra pounds but if I have to choose between being a bag of bones and eating hearty, I’m totally picking food. Separate me from cupcakes, and we’ll have a real problem.”
I laugh. Nothing about this woman is artificial. Not her hair, her nails, her breasts, or even her glow. Certainly not her personality.
I can’t remember finding my last five girlfriends put together half this amusing.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Mix me a drink, woman. Some booze and beef is just what I need.”
Harlow has an easy way in the kitchen. It’s not organized or neat, but somehow she makes a few homemade biscuits, which are ready at the same time the roast and veggies come out—all while mixing the drinks. We talk. And we laugh. My own mother hasn’t directed me to set the table since I was maybe twelve, but Harlow does it with a snap of her fingers and without missing a beat.
I’m still smiling as I sit to eat. She presses a few buttons on her phone and some old-school Nirvana roars through built-in speakers. It’s like she’s speaking my language.
Then I take my first bite of the roast and moan.
“Good?”
“Amazing.” I sip the drink. Like she warned, it’s sweet but not syrupy or cavity-inducing. I gulp down half of it in a few long swallows. “So is the booze. You’re gorgeous and have good taste in music. You know, I think we should get married.”
Harlow laughs me off. “Oh, god. None of that for me. I’m happy with just sex.”
I can barely swallow the bite of roast I just shoveled in my mouth. Now there’s a subject I can warm to.
Bracing an elbow on the table, I set my fork down and level a smoldering stare her way. “I can make that happen.”
A little smile dances across her face. “I’ll bet you can.” Her gaze slides over my shoulders and chest, and I swear she’s so potent it almost feels as if she’s touched me with her hands. “You look more than capable to me.”
I see interest and speculation on her face. She’s wondering what I’d be like in bed.
“I’ll give you whatever you want, Harlow. However you want it. As long as you want it. As hard as you want it. All you have to do is say the word.”
She doesn’t speak for a long moment, merely sips her liver transplant from a red Solo cup and stares at me over the rim. “How do I know you’re not an ax murderer?”
She’s teasing. I think. “You weren’t worried about that when I approached you all laid out by the pool.”
“Yeah, but I was watching you. The only harm you were causing me then was blocking my rays. I figured that if you had murder on your mind, you would have done far more than stand there gawking at me.”
“I wasn’t gawking.”
“You totally were. I know I surprised you by being here, but once you got over that you checked me out. You going to deny it?”
“No, I am not. That is one banging bikini you’re wearing. You look damn fine in it.”
“Thank you. My brothers hated it and suggested something with a skirt down to my knees.”
“They’re your brothers. When my little sister got married last year, I winced every time someone talked about what they’d be doing on their honeymoon. I just…can’t think about that.”
Her smile turned into a sparkling laugh. “I hear you. My brothers are newlyweds. It’s one reason I’ve stayed here. Their wives are sweet as pie, but if I bunked with them until I head back to San Diego… Let’s just say I don’t want to hear my sisters-in-law crying out in passion or whatever.” She winces. “Just no.”
I laugh. “How do you know there’d be screaming?”
“Please. My brothers are macho enough that they’d insist on that whole conquering, chest-beating thing. I also suspect they’re trying to get their wives pregnant, and I’d rather not be under the same roof for that momentous occasion.”
I pause and consider. There’s no way I’d want to hear Samaria conceiving. “I see your point. Yet another reason for you to stay the night.”
Harlow leans back in her seat and sips her drink. “Back to the sex thing, huh?”
“You brought it up,” I remind her.
“So I did.” She shrugs, and I get the feeling she’s used to saying whatever’s on her mind. “Did I surprise you?”
“A little bit. But in a good way.”
“Aren’t you pro athletes used to women throwing themselves at you?”
“It happens.” A lot. And I’ve grown more discerning over the years. But I still haven’t run across one like Harlow in the last dozen years. Maybe ever. Most of the women looking to collect a “trophy” by sleeping with a celebrity sports figure lure the guy with her body, not her personality. Harlow seems to have tons of both. “I don’t often say yes these days.”
She raises a dark brow at me as she lifts a forkful of meat. “But you once did?”
I think about dodging, but she’s pretty straightforward. This likely won’t be a long-term relationship, so there’s no reason for jealousy or accusations. “I admit that I was once twenty-two and stupid.”
“We all were.” She rolls her eyes, seemingly poking fun at herself, too. “I did a lot of ridiculous things as an undergrad. Thankfully, I outgrew it. I’m guessing you did, too.”
“I like to think so.” Though when it comes to Harlow, I suspect some parts of me are smarter than others. My brain is trying to keep up…but most of the blood in my body is flooding to my cock. The two heads don’t always work simultaneously, and right now I’m having trouble keeping up with the conversation. First, Harlow has boobs. Great boobs. And I’m just a man with an oral fixation. Second, the time difference is catching up with me. It may only be seven p.m. in Hawaii, but my body is still on Dallas time, where it’s midnight. I don’t want to think about why being tired distresses me so much.
And right on cue, my head up north starts a dull throb. After all, why should the one down south be miserable all alone?
“If you’re all enlightened and mature now, why didn’t you ever tie the knot?”
It’s a question I’ve asked myself more than once. A lot of my teammates started out wild and have since settled down. “Maybe I never met the right person. You?”
She hesitates. “I thought I might get hitched once but it didn’t work out and splitting up was for the best. I’m not really cut out for attachments and commitments.”
I frown. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right person, either.”
Harlow looks as if she might argue, then she wipes the expression from her face and gives me an easy-breezy shrug I don’t believe for a minute. “Maybe so. Seconds?”
I don’t argue. What’s the point?
When I glance at my plate, I’m surprised to see it empty. Ditto for my bright plastic cup. “I think I’m good for now.”
She stands and heads to the kitchen counter she’s turned into a makeshift bar, then proceeds to pour herself another drink. “Sure thing, lightweight.”
At her teasing, I lounge back in my chair, arm slung over the back, and watch her. “When I haven’t spent all day traveling and I’m not feeling like I’m in the wrong time zone, I’ll prove you wrong.”
“You’re on. I’ll cut you a little slack tonight since you’ve been on a plane.” She stirs her drink, then sits back in her chair. When she lifts her lashes and pins me with a flirty gaze, I know I’m in trouble. “Does that mean you’re too tired for sex?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been too tired for that.” I refrain from mentioning the marathon with the blonde bombshell after my last Super Bowl win. All I needed after one of the hardest games of my career was a shower. Then I was good to go. Don’t see why tonight will be any different…
As long as we don’t have to talk.
She sends me a sultry glance. “Good to hear.”
“You’re serious.” About the sex. About us having it. I don’t ask her because it’s not a question.
She lifts a shoulder in an offhanded shrug. “I’m single. You’re single. We have this damn nice place to ourselves. I’m attracted, I admit. I think you’d only block my sun to gawk at me if you liked what you saw. So why not?”
Honestly, she isn’t using rationale I haven’t used myself. It seems logical. Obvious, even. But something about the way she’s coolly propositioning me gives me pause. I want to get to know her more. Spend time with her. I’m not sure why, exactly. Maybe because she’s not my same old-same old. But I have a nagging suspicion that if I take her upstairs and give her a very personal tour of my master suite, she might well be gone by morning.
Normally, that would seem like a great outcome. So why am I not down with her vacating the house I bought for my private retreat? No idea, but there it is. I’m rolling with it.
“Why don’t we swim first? I never got to test the pool before you fed me this amazing meal.”
“Sure.” She stands as if she doesn’t have a care in the world, but suddenly she won’t look at me as she lifts our plates to clear them from the table.
As Harlow bustles to the sink, I follow her, wrapping my fingers around her arm. “Hey.”
Somehow, she manages to ease out of my grip yet still set the plates in the sink. “If you’re not interested, it’s no big deal. I’ve heard no before.”
From a blind man? “Baby, I’m not saying no. I’m just saying that I’d rather not rush this. We have all night.”
Some of the ice melts from her chilly posture. “All right.”
“And not to sound like a fainting Victorian belle or anything, but I have a bitch of a headache.”
Concern creases her face. “Do you want something for that?”
I wish a good, old-fashioned orgasm would cure it…but probably not. “Ibuprofen and a cup of strong coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll start the pot. Tablets are in the pantry over there.” She points me in the right direction.
“Thanks,” I call over my shoulder as I walk into the enormous closet off the kitchen that Harlow has stocked with a few spices and canned goods. I shake out withdraw a couple of pills before putting the bottle back on the shelf.
When I emerge from the pantry, Harlow is staring at the coffee brewer, watching it drip. “How do you like it?”
Then it happens, just like before. One minute I’m in the moment. The next…nothing. And I know what’s coming. I start to sweat. Still, I try to open my mouth and form words.
I know if I push the sounds through, nothing coherent will come out. I’ll blurt some sound that can’t even pass as a “huh?” or “what?” I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and try again to remember the conversation. What did she ask me?
“You okay?”
Since there’s nothing wrong with my motor skills, I merely nod.
“Want your coffee black? Or do you just want to call it a night?”
I still can’t find my words, but at least I know she was asking me about coffee before I spaced out. Fuck. Why is this still happening to me?
I shake my head and try to snag the cup from the brewer. If I whip it up to my lips, maybe she won’t notice the silence. Black coffee is my preference. Why can’t I say that right now? I know the words. They’re in my head. I just can’t seem to get them to my mouth.
“Sit down.” She smooths out a frown. “I’ll wash the dishes and clean the kitchen.”
I’m afraid to look at Harlow again. Confusion on her face would be bad, pity way worse. I grip my mug and stare down into the dark brew, wondering how long the episode will last this time. I know sleep will help, but damn it, I don’t want to give up tonight with this woman. I’m not sure the chance will ever come again. Until this shit, I didn’t have much in the scintillating conversation department anyway, but to have zero? How can I get naked with her if I can’t even talk to her, ask her what pleases her?
Stubbornly, I shake my head.
She frowns. “Really. I’ve got this. Why don’t you hang on the sofa and I’ll join you when I’m done. It will only take ten minutes.”
I want to argue, but without words, how? Then Harlow makes everything easier when she leads me to the living room and fluffs a cushion on the island-casual couch, then gives me a saucy wink. “When I’m done, if you still want to have your wicked way with me, I’m totally game.”
Finally, I look her way. Really look. I don’t see pity. I see concern. Weirdly, that turns me on.
Unfortunately, I can’t seem to summon the verbal skills to thank her. I promise myself I’ll show her my appreciation in bed later.
When I hear water running in the kitchen sink behind me and the pop of the dishwasher opening, I close my eyes. Maybe a ten-minute power nap will resurrect my verbal agility. If not, I’ll simply have to show her that I’m really good with my tongue.