Stone

“So, she’s been married five times, you said?” I’m trying to keep my voice low as Savannah and I sit on the stone bench outside her father’s house and discuss some woman who seems to frequent these parties as though they are her only source of amusement.

Although it’s long past dark outside, the place is lit up like the surface of the sun, both inside and out. Somehow Savannah found a dimly lit corner of the veranda and we’ve been here long enough that my ass has gone numb. Thankfully for her, there has been a waiter delivering wine to her, which she seems to be enjoying quite a bit.

For the past hour, she has been discreetly pointing people out and giving me the dirty details she has on each of them. I find it amusing that she knows so much about these people, as well as slightly terrifying. Sure, it’s a good way to pass the time, but some of the things she’s said…Like Malcom Owens, the veteran tight end, has live alligators out at his lake house. Not the kind that lurk up from the swamp either. These he apparently keeps on his property. As fucking pets.

And how about Alton Tarryton, the former defensive coordinator for the Saints. According to Savannah’s vast knowledge, Alton brings escorts to functions such as this one. Instead of his wife. It’s a fucking wonder the man still has a wife.

Not that I’m shocked by any of this. I’ve been around long enough to have seen damn near everything there is to see. But it’s always interesting to get the lowdown. For the time I’ve been with the Wranglers, I’ve heard plenty of rumors, but I’ve learned not to put much stock in them. I figure half of them are bullshit, and the other half are exaggerations of the truth. That’s normally the way it works.

“Yep,” she says, taking another sip of wine. “Mark Delarosa is husband number five.” Savannah jerks her head my way. “Seriously? At what point do they start issuing marriage licenses that say something along the lines of ‘think long and hard on this one’?”

“Maybe they should allow for a waiting period.”

“Right?” She seems genuinely intrigued by this idea. “Like a full year. After that point, if you still want to get married, proceed with caution.”

I laugh and not because the idea is absurd. But because it actually makes sense.

“Or how about they just issue pretend ones. So when they go to get a divorce, the lawyer simply says, ‘No worries. It was fake. You can take a breath now.’ ”

I bark a laugh. She really might be onto something there.

Savannah sighs, then sips more wine.

“Were they all football players?” I ask. “Her husbands?”

“Nope. One was a hockey player, another a baseball player. Then there was Alejandro Paladino, you know, the famous tennis pro.”

“With the current husband, that’s only four,” I point out, smiling when she looks up at me.

Savannah Andrews is absolutely stunning. Even when she’s tipsy. The way her square chin tilts just so as she regards me. And the way she peers out from beneath the dark fringe of lashes. I’m happy to say, Savannah isn’t wearing those thick fake things that a lot of chicks are wearing these days. Hers are au naturel, just like the rest of her is. The best part is, I really don’t think she realizes how truly gorgeous she is.

“Right. Umm…” She appears to be thinking. “Husband number four was…” Savannah snaps her fingers. “Shit. He was a businessman of some sort. I don’t know who he was, but that one only lasted a month, so I’m not sure it counts anyway.”

“Well, I’ve got one better than that,” I tell her. “Simon Idoron. You know, the head coach for the Eagles, back in the early nineties?”

She nods.

“He was married five times to three different women.”

Her eyebrows arch and I wait for that to sink in. “Wait. Five times but only three women?”

“Yep. He was married to his first wife and his second wife twice.”

“Huh?” She frowns. “In what order?”

“First, second, third, second, first.”

“So he’s gone full circle?”

“Pretty much.”

“I bet that shit was expensive.”

Savannah’s shoulder brushes my arm, and I do my absolute best to ignore the physical contact, but I won’t lie, the fact that she’s sitting close enough I can smell the exotic scent of her perfume mixed with the sweetness of her hair has my body in a complete uproar.

Not once has either of us mentioned what happened the night we met, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it regularly since I saw her. On the positive side, the woman hasn’t bolted, which honestly has me a little baffled. She disappeared from my bed without a word or a note.

Then again, her opinion of me might’ve been biased since she clearly knew who I was.

On the not-so-positive side, my dick is being a nuisance in my pants and with this damn suit, it’s not easy to conceal.

“So, what about you?” She turns to face me.

“What about me?”

“How many times do you plan to get married?” She’s teasing, I’m pretty sure.

“None,” I say quickly.

“None? Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You sound like you have a reason, so lay it on me, stud.”

I huff another laugh and straighten. “It’s not in the cards,” I tell her honestly.

“Because…you’re a football player? Or you don’t believe in the sanctity of marriage?”

“Partly, yes. To both of those.”

“And you don’t think you could be faithful?”

Another laugh is ripped from my chest. “I don’t think I’d have a problem with that.”

What I don’t tell her is that I’m not willing to settle down with a woman who is going to sneak around behind my back and screw half the team. In the locker room. After practice. Been there, done that, don’t need another T-shirt.

I mean, come on, it happened to me not once, but twice. With two different women. And two different teams.

I figure I’ve made it this far in life without getting hitched, no reason to go and fuck up a good thing.

“Ah.” Savannah is studying me intently.

“Ah?” I mimic. “What does ‘ah’ mean?”

“I knew you’d be jaded,” she says, giggling.

“Jaded? How can I possibly be jaded?”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-four,” I tell her, although I figure she already knows that.

“And you haven’t been married yet?”

“Not that I know of,” I tell her.

“So, there’s a possibility?”

“No.” I just like giving her a hard time.

“Well, I guess it’s possible you just aren’t that good.”

“At…?”

“You know. In bed. Maybe the ladies are willing to get into position, but then they decide to take a knee, let the time expire. Move on to the next.”

Football analogies. And the woman said she’s not as into the game as much as she once was.

“Are you complaining?” I ask.

“Well, no.” Her blush is cute. “Perhaps that was a one-off or something.”

I laugh. One-off, my ass. That night was incredible and she knows it. And no, sex for me isn’t always like that. But when two people have the sort of chemistry we have…well, it translates into phenomenal sex.

Leaning in so my mouth is close to her ear, I lower my voice even further. “Give me an hour and I’ll prove it wasn’t a one-off.”

“An hour? Really?” She cocks one chestnut eyebrow. “I’m impressed. You like to run out the clock, huh?”

I pull back and smile down at her. “You got a problem with that?”

She shrugs and her bare shoulders draw my eyes. Then my gaze travels up the length of her slim neck, her slightly squared chin, and right to her luscious mouth. When I meet her eyes, I realize she’s caught me staring. Again.

In my defense, it’s hard not to.

The woman makes me want things I have absolutely no business wanting.

Savannah

Jason Stone is absolutely not what I expected him to be. He’s hot and smart and knows how to carry a conversation. Did I mention he’s hot?

Plus, I’m on the far side of tipsy at this point.

Which is a dangerous combination.

Add to that the sexy rumble of his voice, the warmth of his body next to mine, and the heated glimmer in his eyes and a girl could find herself flat on her back, ankles by her ears, begging for a Hail Mary.

Oh, wait. I did that.

The thought has a chill racing down my spine and I outwardly shiver.

“Are you cold?” he asks instantly.

Before I can say no, he’s pulling off his jacket and placing it over my shoulders.

“I, uh…” Damn. I don’t even know what to say because now I’m inundated with his uniquely sexy scent, the jacket warm from his body heat. I fight the urge to snuggle into it and inhale deeply. Instead, I rasp out a quick, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He peers up at the back of the house. “So, how long do these things usually last?”

“Depends,” I say, sipping more wine and staring at the many people meandering in and out of the house. “The sooner you want them to end, the longer they seem to last.”

Stone chuckles.

“However, I think you’ve stayed longer than is required by social etiquette, so you could safely leave whenever you’d like.” I peer up at him as I wait for his response.

“I’m not ready to leave just yet.”

His voice is low and seductive and I find myself staring at his lips. The man has nice lips. I can’t help but think back on that kiss we shared at the club, the way he completely threw me for a loop by how gentle and skilled he was.

I’m curious as to whether it would be the same now. If he kissed me again.

And now I know I’ve had too much wine because it isn’t like me to want a repeat. Certainly not with a football player.

Stone’s still staring back at me when he says, “So what is it that you do?”

I frown, processing his words, but unable to get them to make sense.

His lips curl up at the edge and I realize he’s silently laughing at me.

“I’m sorry. What?”

This time he lays a full-fledged grin on me, and I get my first glimpse of the all-out bad boy that is Jason Stone. Sure, I know he’s got a rather lengthy list of women in his past, never one to settle down, but I seriously doubt it has anything to do with a lack of skill in the bedroom. I had been teasing him because the night we spent together was quite possibly the best sex I’ve ever had.

In fact, I get the feeling that he’s the kind of man who’s overly attentive to the women he dates. At least in a sexual sense. And I know from experience that in the confines of the bedroom, this man is dirty. In the best possible way.

I suck in a breath.

“For a living? What is it that you do?” he repeats.

Shaking off the fantasies that are starting to play in my head, I turn back to the house. “I work in public relations for the team.”

“As executive vice president?”

I smile. “Been doing some snooping?” I’m not sure when he had the time to do that, but apparently he’s taken a peek at the team website.

“You look nothing like the picture on the website, by the way.”

I cock an eyebrow.

“Before I met you, I was merely curious about the team.”

“Or nosy?” I take another sip of wine. “But yes, that’s my official title.”

“Ah, well, that makes sense.”

“Does it now?” I turn to him, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“You’re the one who makes all the dirt disappear for the team?”

“I do,” I assure him. For the most part, anyway.

“So, since you’re all up in everyone’s business, does that mean you attend the games?”

I shake my head. “Not usually, no. But I do watch them. Most of them, anyway. Usually not live. I record them. And yes, I typically fast-forward a lot. I’m more interested in the commentators’ perspectives, the things they say about the players. Those are the things I work to put a spin on. Exploit if necessary.”

Yes, for the record, wine and cute guys tend to make me ramble. Where is that waiter, anyway?

“Are you coming to Sunday’s game?”

I glance over at him. “I don’t know. It’s been a really long time since…”

“I’d like you to come,” he says, his voice a dark whisper that wraps around my senses and makes me want things I haven’t wanted in a very long time.

“Would you now?” My voice is raspy as I stare into his eyes.

God, I wish he would lean forward just a little more.

He doesn’t.

Damn it.

“Will you come to the game on Sunday, Savannah?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Always about you, huh?” His eyes are still locked with mine, and I can see the amusement there. “Well, for one, you’ll get to see one of the best quarterbacks in the league play.”

“Yeah?” I rack my brain trying to remember who we’re playing. Oh, right, the Cardinals. “You think awfully high of Monroe, I take it?”

He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that wraps around me, warming me from the inside out.

“Keep it up,” he says, his voice low. “I might just have to put you over my knee.”

Heat slams into me, obliterating the warmth and consuming me with fire.

“So, you’ll be there on Sunday?” he asks, his grin both sexy and mischievous.

Before I have the good sense to get out of this, I find myself nodding. “Sure. I’d like that.”

His smile is front and center, and I acknowledge once again that Jason Stone could possibly be the man who changes my view on…

Everything.

Yep.

That’s it.

I’m officially cut off.