She blinked, her mouth opening as if she were about to say something.
“We need to stop doing this,” he muttered, rubbing his hand along his jaw. “I’m hurting you every time we come together and that’s the last thing I want to do.” Without another word, he walked away from her. Sporting a raging boner, a confused brain, and an agonized conscience.
At the worst possible moment of his life, he’d actually dug out his moral compass and used it—flaunted it, even. She was most likely pissed, though hell, he was the one with blue balls while she’d just had the mother of all orgasms. Brought on only by his fingers.
Shaking his head, he shut his bedroom door with a quiet
click
, thinking he might’ve heard an aggravated growl coming from a particular feminine voice on the other side of the door, but he couldn’t be sure. Their already fragile so-called relationship had probably gone right into the toilet with this one gesture. He’d rejected her. Sort of.
And she’d probably never let him forget it, either.
Chapter Ten
“You’re not pulling me from the game.” Jared stood on the sidelines, hands on hips, facing down his coach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Foley bouncing on his heels, dying for a chance to get out there and play.
Not over Jared’s dead body would his second stringer get on that field.
“Hell yes, I am. They’re brutal out there. You can’t afford to take another sack.” Jim held his clipboard in front of his mouth, staring at the field. Their time out was almost up. “The doctor said it wouldn’t be prudent letting you go back out there with so little time left. We’ll use the half to put you on ice, give you a shot, whatever the doc thinks you need. Foley’s in.”
“Fuck you. No, he’s not.” Jared spit on the grass, ground his teeth together to keep from saying more. Such bullshit. They were in Florida, playing against the Dolphins, who were notorious for going after the quarterbacks of the opposing team. That day’s game was no exception.
He’d already been sacked three times and they still had a minute left in the first half.
“They know your vulnerable spot, going straight for the shoulder every single time.” Jim shook his head. “I don’t want to pull you, but it’s doctor’s orders and I gotta listen to him, Jared. I’m not about to have you get all fucked up again by a losing team who has no chance of going to the playoffs. I hate to do this but I’m benching you till the second half. Foley! Get in there!”
“Will do, Coach.” Foley already had his helmet on and after offering a quick salute to both Walsh and Jared, he jogged out onto the field.
Muttering a string of curse words, Jared stalked off, furious at Coach Walsh’s decision. He hated being benched. It didn’t matter if they were winning by a landslide, he couldn’t stand it. Getting old sucked balls. Getting old with an aggravating injury sucked major balls.
Sucked worse that his wife had been flown out to watch him play and he was doing nothing but using his ass to warm a bench.
He glanced up into the stands, momentarily pleased to at least hear the smattering of Hawks fans among the throng of boos when they heard Foley was going in as a replacement. Raising his hand, he waved in the direction of a few navy blue hats and shirts, grinning when they cheered and waved back. A few of them called his name, one female in particular screamed, “Marry me!” and he shook his head.
He’d already done that. And fucked it up real good, too.
Ah, but he did love a crowd. And he loved the game. It was where he felt at home—on the field, with his team and his coaches, their fans cheering them on. Being on enemy ground wasn’t as thrilling, of course. The majority of the people in the stands wanted to see his team lose and lose big. The Dolphins’ defense had been strong, but so had the Hawks’. They were in the lead, and the Dolphins would have to fight like hell to win.
He felt responsible for that score, responsible for the entire team. He was their leader, the one who called the shots out on the field. They listened to him, they protected him and he took care of them for their efforts. Damn it, they were his brothers, his family.
He’d grown up watching the Hawks. They were his team, always had been. Hell, he’d gone to game after game with his dad growing up. Always wishing someday he could be out on that field playing for them.
No way could he give that up. The Hawks needed him.
And Foley could get out there and fuck it all up. The plays were different with Foley. His presence on the field could shift the entire rhythm of the team, and what if he fumbled the ball?
“Don’t let ’em get you down, boss,” said a familiar voice. “Take a break, nurse that shoulder, then get back out there and kick some ass.”
Turning, Jared found Nick Hamilton standing before him, decked out in full uniform and gear, imposing as hell. The man was the size of a mountain, a solid six-foot-four, with shoulders that could bulldoze an entire defensive line, and a face that could make grown women cry.
“It’s my shoulder.” Jared took off his helmet and shook his head, his damp-with-sweat hair flying. “Those assholes keep sacking me.”
“They’re just doing their job.” Nick shrugged.
Damn, his head wasn’t completely in the game, which pissed him off. Part of the problem? Knowing that Sheridan watched him. She usually only came to the home games.
Harvey had been all smiles when he told him she was coming, Walsh looking grim when Jared asked if he had a problem with that. He knew how his coach operated. Walsh preferred all women to stay home. When the team was out of town and at a hotel, they lived and breathed the game. If they weren’t clustered together watching film of a previous game, season, whatever, they were studying the playbook. Talking strategy. Girlfriends and groupies and hangers-on were a definite no-no. Banned even, though more than a few players knew how to sneak them in.
Once upon a time, he’d been one of those players.
But wives could occasionally slip through the net. And it looked like his wife made it through the other side.
“You’ll be fine once you get back out there.” Nick had removed his helmet already, and he ran a hand through his short, brown hair, the diamond studs in his ears flashing.
“Yeah, yeah.” Jared knew he was right. Hamilton was one of the best tight ends in the NFL. The majority of the Hawks team were top-notch, record-breaking players. That’s what happened when you were a recent Super Bowl winning team.
Made that team want to get back to the Super Bowl even more.
“He’ll put you back in,” Nick said, his voice soft, his expression…kind? “You’re the heart that keeps this team alive, man. Don’t let Foley worry you.”
Jared offered him a grim smile, surprised at his friend’s thoughtful words. They didn’t usually get too deep. “He’s gunning for my position.”
“He’d be an idiot
not
to gun for your position.” Nick laughed and shook his head. “He admires you whether you hate him or not. He wants to be just like you when he grows up.”
They both laughed over that. “Kid walks around with a shiny halo hanging over his head. It’s annoying as fuck.”
“The media loves him and he plays up that saintly attitude to the hilt.”
“They want me to be like that,” Jared said, his laughter fading, his smile vanishing. Was Foley the new ideal? If that was the case, they were all screwed.
“Shit. They want me to be like that, too. Price has been hounding me. Says I need to soften up.” Nick pointed at himself. “Please. The ladies love me just as I am.”
Harvey Price and his ridiculous ideas—though really he was merely a spokesman for the owner. Charlie Monroe was trying to turn his football team into an elite bunch of pansies.
It irritated the ever-living shit out of Jared.
The first half over, they all paraded back into the locker room, receiving the typical
get pumped up and kill them
speech, coupled with the
don’t get too cocky with the point lead
speech—which was a good one because hey, it had happened before. The
who cares that we’re out of town
speech was thrown out there, too. Jared had heard them all. And he was distracted. His thoughts suddenly consumed with his desirable, untouchable wife.
He’d instituted the untouchable rule so he wouldn’t break that shitty clause. No way would he ruin this marriage and have it bite him in the ass with the media and his team. Ownership had good enough reason to send him packing what with his shoulder. He still wasn’t 100 percent.
But, Lord help him, Sheridan was temptation personified. She smiled, he wanted her. She laughed, his dick got hard. He’d caught her in the new studio she’d created at his house a few days ago, recreating the scenery right outside the window. He’d stood behind her in silent awe, watching her paintbrush dash across the canvas, creating the gorgeous view of the ocean out of nothing but paint.
She was amazing. Beautiful. A pain in his ass. Flighty, stubborn, irritating, persistent. He wanted her more than any other woman he’d ever wanted in his life.
“The doc cleared you for the second half. I’m guessing that shot did the trick,” Walsh informed him when they returned to the field. “But the minute I see you wince or stretch out your arm, I’m pulling you for good. I’m not letting you get re-injured by a piece of shit team when the game’s already basically in hand. The doc would never let me hear the end of it.”
Sounded logical, yet it still pissed Jared off. “They can’t hurt me.”
“They can and they will. They have a hard-on for you today, Quinn. They virtually ignored Foley when he was playing.”
“He was out there all of a minute, and it was just a few running plays,” Jared pointed out.
“That minute was technically five. And trust me, they didn’t even bother looking his way.” Walsh poked him in the center of his chest. “They got a taste of your blood and now they want you. They love nothing more than watching a superstar fail. Besides, it’s like they know you’re vulnerable. You baby that shoulder and it shows. Doesn’t help that wifey is watching up in the stands.”
Is that why they were after him? To humiliate him by kicking the shit out of him while Sheridan watched? That was all sorts of fucked up.
And probably true.
Ignoring his coach’s words, he ran out onto the field. The energy from the crowd was palpable, like a living, breathing thing, its magic weaving a spell over the players on both sides. The Dolphins were pumped.
“Watch out for that one.” Nick cocked his head, indicating a Dolphin player who sounded like he was growling. “He wants you. Any way he can get you.”
Jesus.
“You watch out for me and we’re good,” he said to Nick, slapping him on the back.
“Yeah, well. You know I always have your back when I can, but I can only do so much. And that guy is bat shit crazy.” Nick stepped closer, lowering his voice. “He’s growling. He sounds like a rabid dog.”
Ignoring the growler, Jared went into position, as did the rest of his team. Glancing to his left, then his right, he made the call, his gaze lifting to meet the growling Dolphin, who sent a feral smile in his direction. A shiver moved through him, that familiar, low ache starting in his bad shoulder, and an ominous feeling settled over him, making him cold even in the Florida heat.
His team ran and Jared aimed the ball, glancing to and fro, making sure no one was coming after him. He had it figured out, knew exactly who he wanted to throw it to but the hit came out of nowhere, from his left, taking him to the ground. His head jarred against the sides of the helmet as he fell on his right side, blinking up at the glorious, clear blue sky. Three Dolphins piled on top of him in a show of overkill, one of them slamming their elbow into his now wildly throbbing shoulder and he groaned in agony, and cursed like a pissed off trucker.
Great. The fuckin’ Dolphins got exactly what they wanted with their dirty pile up. His utter humiliation on the field, all while Sheridan watched.
Chapter Eleven
Sheridan had stood the second Jared was hit, a gasp escaping her when he was slammed to the ground. Covering her mouth with shaky fingers, she had watched, breathless, as a pack of Dolphins dog piled her husband until all she could see were his legs sticking out from the bottom.
“Omigod.” She was stuck up in a fancy skybox, sitting with the elite few who had the privilege to join Charlie Monroe and his entourage. Harvey had been hovering around her for most of the game, probably afraid she’d make one wrong move and blurt out something that might blow everyone’s cover.
It was best she didn’t say much. She pretended to be completely engrossed in the game, though that had been hard during half-time, when there’d been nothing to watch but a bad lineup of cheerleaders shaking their moneymakers in their über-revealing costumes.
No, what she’d been completely engrossed in was Jared. Watching him move, watching him play. Recognizing his frustration when his coach pulled him and sent Flynn out as a replacement. Even from so far up, she knew her husband was irritated. Saw it in the way he strode the sidelines, in the grim way he held himself.
And that’s why she knew she needed to see him. Make sure he was okay.
Damn it, every single one of those players was still on top of him. Despite the whistles being blown and the referees running out toward them. Despite the Hawks who ran toward the pile, looking ready to brawl.
A little cry of distress escaped her and Harvey was at her side immediately, settling a hand on her shoulder in a soothing gesture. “He’ll be fine,” he reassured. “This sort of thing happens all the time.”
Sheridan didn’t believe him, but she nodded in reply. She’d been to a handful of home games since the wedding, almost always bringing a few friends with her. That one time she’d brought her mom, it had turned into a fiasco, what with her trying to throw her imaginary weight around as Jared Quinn’s mother-in-law.
Yeah, that had gone over real well.
That day, though, she was 100 percent focused. And worried.
Terribly worried…
All the players picked themselves up off the ground, with the exception of Jared. His coach ran out onto the field, kneeling beside him, his head bent close to Jared’s as if he were listening to what Jared had to say. If he was even conscious…
“I need to see him,” Sheridan said, clutching Harvey’s arm.
“There’s nothing you can do for him right now. He’s in excellent hands. If he’s in trouble or hurt, the medics will come onto the field and take care of him. Let’s wait and see what happens,” Harvey explained.
She didn’t want to wait. She wanted to see Jared and make sure he was really all right. His old injury was a sensitive subject, something no one was allowed to talk about. And when she said no one, she meant no one. Not even Jared talked about it.
But it bothered him. She saw it in the way he stretched his arm. How he iced it. How he favored that arm, treating it with extra care.
Harvey told her he’d lost almost half the season last year to that shoulder. And if he didn’t watch it, it was going to happen again.
“He shouldn’t play.” She stepped closer to Harvey, not wanting anyone else to hear. “I don’t know how much he’s told you or anyone else, but his shoulder still bothers him. A lot.”
Harvey sighed, his gaze locked on the large glass window that overlooked the field. “We know. Everyone knows.”
“So none of you do anything to protect him, then? You just let him run out there and endanger himself every single week.” She was incredulous. Enraged. What sort of league did Jared play for? And what sort of coaches, teammates, owners let him do such a thing? Putting himself at such risk, week in and week out?
“It’s the name of the game, Sheridan. He’s one of the best quarterbacks in the league, if not the best. His old personal habits may have driven Monroe crazy, but he’s the Mighty freaking Jared Quinn. To most, he’s considered unstoppable,” Harvey said.
“But he’s…” Her voice fading, she shook her head, sighing with relief as she watched Jared stand and slowly walk off the field.
Hard to believe not a one of them realized that Jared was just a man. A man who seemingly carried the weight of the entire team on his—granted, very broad—shoulders. But that was incredibly unfair, putting that sort of pressure on him. Especially when he had a vulnerable spot.
Knowing that he cared so much, that he wanted to do right by his team despite his injury, his reputation, the scandals…it touched her. Far deeper than she cared to admit.
Frowning, she shook her head, her gaze never leaving Jared for a second. He settled his big body on the bench, shucking his helmet off and setting it beside him. His hair was a mess, the black lines beneath his eyes smudged, and he’d never looked more handsome. Rugged. Sexy.
Oh man, did she have it bad…
She was too busy pacing to realize how much time had passed, but when she saw Flynn Foley run out onto the field, she knew they’d pulled Jared from the remainder of the game. She fell into a chair with a big sigh, knowing how much that must’ve killed Jared.
“He’ll be angry after the game, you know,” Harvey said to her matter-of-factly when he sat in the chair beside hers. “He’s been grumpy for weeks and everyone’s wondering why since he should be a happily married man.” He sent her a measured look. “You’re failing on the job, Sheridan.”
“Stay out of our marriage, Harvey,” she said as she stood, angry as hell. How dare he say that to her? The man was constantly meddling, telling her how to handle Jared. She was sick of it. “I mean it. It’s none of your business.”
“It’s definitely my business, especially when Jared’s acting like an ass to everyone and no one gets why. Remember, I’m half the reason you two are together.” Harvey stood as well, glaring at her.
“What do you want, a medal? Or maybe you want me to tell Jared you’ve been harassing me?”
Finally, a reaction from the emotionless man. “You don’t need to bring him into this.”
“Fine, then keep your nose out of our business.” She crossed her arms in front of her. Just because their marriage was fake didn’t mean she’d let anyone interfere with it.
She could handle this—and Jared—all on her own.
…
Jared snuck into the hotel suite, his footsteps light as he shut the door with a quiet
click
. The room was dark, save for the dim light directly overhead, and he hit the switch, shrouding the area in complete darkness.
He moved through the room, the scent of her lingering in the air. Fresh, floral, uniquely Sheridan. Just knowing she was near eased his weary bones, his tired head. His shoulder ached like a bitch, even after the PT and the cortisone shot. He’d grown tired of everyone hovering, trying to fix him.
Broken. That’s what he was. At least, he felt like it that night. A broken-down, old man who was now regularly replaced by his second string QB. He was so damn sick of dealing with it all.
He just wanted to shut down and forget.
Shedding his clothing, he let everything drop to the floor until he was down to his boxer briefs. The two-bedroom suite wasn’t the normal type of room he stayed in while on the road, so he guessed it had been reserved for Sheridan’s benefit. And lo and behold, he’d found her in the smaller bedroom last night, curled up asleep in the center of the bed when he’d crept into the room just before midnight.
She’d come to him after the game, waiting for him just outside the locker room. Her face anxious, her eyes bright, she’d run up and embraced him, surprising the hell out of him. The tremor that had moved through her body when he carefully placed his hands on her back had nearly been his undoing.
Her concern had touched him. But she hadn’t hovered or offered any meaningless platitudes. She’d asked if he was all right and he’d answered honestly.
Not really.
So when she’d leaned up on tiptoe and sweetly covered his mouth with hers for a too-brief moment, he’d been surprised. And then when she’d tugged his head down so she could whisper in his ear, “I’ll take care of you later,” he’d been intrigued.
And later, there she lay in
his
bed, most likely warm. And soft. In his darkest, wildest dreams, completely naked…
Lust shot through him despite the pain and carefully he tugged back the covers, slipping into the big bed beside her. He was a man who preferred to sleep alone, always had. Most of the women he’d been with escaped as soon as possible—or else he escaped.
Funny how he wanted to grab hold of Sheridan and pull her close. Sleep with her in his arms all night long.
Pushing the disconcerting thought far out of his head, Jared flipped on his side, facing her. She murmured in her sleep, scooting closer to him. Without thought, he slung his arm over her and pulled her in, her face against his chest, her smooth, bare legs tangling with his.
“You’re back,” she whispered, nuzzling her cheek against his chest. Shit, it was too easy, how agreeable she was. How pliant and curvy and freaking perfectly she fit against him.
He could get used to it. Having her greet him after a particularly brutal game with open arms.
“Shh.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing deeply the fragrance of her hair. “Go back to sleep.”
“How’s your shoulder?” She smoothed her hand along his side, his eyes nearly crossing at how good it felt. “Poor baby.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He smoothed his hand over her hair, his fingers catching in the silky tresses. “I’ll be fine. Thinking about getting a massage early tomorrow before we fly home.”
“I could give you one right now.” She lowered her voice, her concern evident. “I want to, Jared. You take care of everyone else. It’s about time someone took care of you.”
She wanted to take care of him. No one ever really had. His dad had always been about the push, push, push. So were his coaches, his publicist, his agent…his entire team. There had never been someone just—there. Willing to listen, wanting to nurture, longing to touch.
He pulled away from her, his shoulder aching with the movement. “You want to?” Because he definitely wanted her to. The idea of those slender hands all over his body…Oh yeah, his dick most assuredly wanted her to. And considering he could think with his other head, it meant the pain couldn’t be too bad.
Or he just wanted Sheridan so damn much the pain didn’t matter.
“Of course I do. You were brutalized out there today. Watching you get hurt…it scared me.”
Her admission touched him. Had anyone been scared for him before?
“Where do you want me to start? What hurts the most?”
Everything.
Not that he could tell her that but, hell, it was the truth. His entire body ached. Despite the earlier treatments, the long shower, and the pain reliever, he was a fucked up mess.
“My right shoulder,” he admitted, sure she already knew. They all knew his faults. “That pileup you saw on the field was brutal.”
She sighed, the sound full of longing and…something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Not that he wanted to dissect it. “Okay. Lay on your stomach.”
He could hear her smile and it made him want to smile in return, even though she couldn’t see it. The blackout curtains certainly did the trick.
Sheridan slipped out of bed and went to the wall of windows, cracking open the curtains so a shard of light shone within. “That way I can see you,” she explained as she came back to the bed.
He watched her, his mouth going dry when he saw she wore a teeny pair of cotton boxer shorts and a Hawks T-shirt with his freaking number on the front, a giant six right in the center. Her hair was a sloppy knot on top of her head, loose strands falling around her face. This was how he liked Sheridan best. In her natural state, no makeup, casual clothes. No one really saw her like this.
Except for him. That she wore his number sorta did it for him, too, not that he understood why. Lots of people wore his number. His jersey was the team’s top seller. But seeing Sheridan wear that T-shirt, knowing that his name was emblazoned on the back of it as well, made him feel possessive.
Like he wanted to grab her, sling her over his shoulder and scream, “Mine” while he beat his chest with his fist.
She crawled into bed, went to his side, and rested her hands at the center of his back. He waited breathlessly for her to start, his entire body tense, and when he heard her sigh, he lifted his head, squinting at her. “What?”
“Do you mind if I straddle you?” She smoothed her hands down his back. “It would be so much easier if I could, like, sit on you and rub your shoulders. Otherwise, you’re so broad and my hands are small.”
Did he mind if she straddled him? His cock sure as hell didn’t. It was already twitching in anticipation of feeling those long, silky smooth legs clamped on either side of his body, her hands on his skin. “I don’t mind,” he choked out, closing his eyes. He sounded like a damn fool.
“Oh wait.” She hopped off the bed again, went into the bathroom and turned on the light. Rummaging around for a while, she finally came back into the room and resumed her position. “I brought lotion.”
Jesus.
This was either going to be absolute torture…
Or end with the both of them experiencing exquisite pleasure.