Her heart may be in more danger than
her job.
Intercepting Daisy
Love & Football #6
Julie Brannagh
Released Sept 6th, 2016
Avon Impulse
From USA
Today bestselling author Julie Brannagh comes the next fun and
incredibly sexy novel in her beloved Seattle Sharks series.
When Daisy Spencer wrote an erotic
novella about the Seattle Sharks' backup quarterback and her #1 crush, Grant
Parker, she never expected it to become a runaway bestseller. If anyone
discovers she wrote the sexy story, her days as a flight attendant for the
Sharks would be over. But once she gets to know the real man behind the
fantasy, her heart may be in more danger than her job.
Having Seattle fans think squeaky
clean Grant is wild in bed is the last thing he needs-even if it might be
closer to the truth than he will ever say. As he spends his days, and nights,
with the gorgeous Daisy, he's not interested in going back to the lonely life
he once led. But when the real author of the novella is finally outed, Grant
and Daisy must both reveal the secrets they've hidden away or risk losing a
love that's better than any fantasy.
Grant Parker heard a loud crack as he rolled over in his date’s bed
and onto something buried in the sheets. He looked at the sleeping form next to
him and sighed in relief when she didn’t stir.
He extracted an e-reader from under one of his hips as he sat up and
stared at a large horizontal fracture in the screen in the dim light from her
bathroom. Crap. Grant couldn’t remember her name, but he was willing to bet she
remembered his. Even more, she was probably going to be pissed about the broken
e-reader.
Shaking his head to clear out some of the cobwebs, he knew he needed
to get his ass out of here. He had a hundred bucks in his wallet. He’d leave
the money to replace the e-reader (along with a note) ten seconds before he
walked out the front door of her apartment. Still too drunk to drive, he would
call Uber as soon as he got outside.
He’d met her at a bar last night. She was exactly what he’d wanted: a
woman who wanted one night with him. They’d had a lot of drinks, and they’d
taken a cab to her place. Minutes later, they were naked. He’d had her twice
before they both fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. He wondered what the
biggest aphrodisiac was for the women who fucked his brains out on a regular
basis: that he played pro football or that they were delighted to discover he
was an excellent lay. She’d have several orgasms to remember him by.
The Sharks’ PR department worked overtime to craft his squeaky-clean
image. Grant had arrived in Seattle as a result of being drafted out of his
small, conservative Christian college’s football team. The Sharks had cut their
former backup QB after a DUI and a sexual assault arrest. Grant was in the
right place at the right time. Grant’s parents were also the nationally known
pastors of a megachurch in Texas, which seemed to seal the deal for the Sharks.
It was clear in Grant’s combine interview with the team’s head coach
and the general manager that any hint of bad behavior in his personal life
would not be tolerated. The team believed Grant’s background and football
skills would go a long way to smoothing things over with angry fans. Grant wanted
to play for Seattle. It was the perfect situation.
The Sharks’ PR department circulated pictures of him to the local
media with approved dates—girls from the local Christian college, for instance.
He’d take them to dinner and a movie or a game. He’d walk them to their front
door by ten pm, kiss them on the
cheek, and make sure they were safely inside before he got in his car and went
looking for what he really wanted: raw, anonymous sex with someone he knew he
had no intention of seeing again.
He didn’t lie to anyone he was with. He had told each woman before they went to her place that he was in for
one night and one night only. He told them he didn’t have sex without
protection, which he provided. They nodded, smiled, and tried every sexual
enticement in their arsenal to change his mind. It seemed that the women he
dated always wanted what they could not have. If he met someone who boinked his
brains out and told him to leave as soon as he got dressed, he’d be back for
more. So far, it hadn’t happened.
He knew he was playing with fire for being so public. He knew he should find a woman who was interested
in a mutually beneficial (and highly confidential) arrangement. He wasn’t
callous or cavalier toward anyone else’s feelings. He just wasn’t interested in
getting tied down to anyone, at least in the short term. If he got caught
having multiple one-night stands, his carefully constructed image would blow up
in his face, and any chance he had of succeeding Tom Reed, the Sharks’ starting
QB, would be gone.
He understood his behavior could be chalked up to doing the forbidden,
to the idea he was getting away with something he shouldn’t do. What kind of
idiot would jeopardize eight million dollars a season for standing on the
sidelines with a clipboard sixteen Sundays a year by taking such a risk? The
Sharks organization wanted their fans to believe Grant spent his evenings with
his playbook and turned in early. Alone. Preferably after reading a few pages
of the Bible and saying his prayers. He was a normal, healthy guy with a
normal, healthy sex drive. Was this a crime?
Grant wanted to watch the Sharks’ starting QB Tom Reed on the
sidelines holding a clipboard as Grant threw TD after TD. He wanted to be the
guy in the hundred-foot-tall mural screen painted on the side of Sharks
Stadium. He also wanted to be the guy who’d get his pick of twice as many women
who all wanted to do him. After all, the ladies wanted the real thing: a
starter.
He clicked on the small button that activated the e-reader. It still
worked, despite the cracked screen. He saw the title of the last book she was
reading, Overtime Parking; a picture
of him crossing the tarmac at an airport to get on the Sharks’ team plane was
on the cover.
He’d been the subject of a lot of press, but someone had written a
book about him? He hadn’t seen this yet. He was surprised his agent or the team
publicist hadn’t told him about it. He’d have to call them both tomorrow. Maybe
he should take a look at a page or two to figure out if this was an
unauthorized biography.
He touched the unbroken part of the screen with his fingertip, and the
text appeared.
And I shoved Parker’s football pants
down with both hands. He was naked beneath and sporting a gigantic erection.
“Want it?” he said.
“Yes.” I unzipped my jeans and
wriggled until both jeans and underwear slipped to my knees. I unhooked my bra
and pushed my sweater up around my neck. I lay back on the hood of his car in
the team’s parking lot, spreading my legs, entirely exposed to him. In full
view of anyone walking past. The parking lot was full of cars; it was a matter
of time before we were discovered.
I reached down to touch myself, to
move my fingers in the wetness I felt dripping out of me. I wanted to show him
I could come from staring at him and stroking my clit. I wanted him to see it
all and to want me as badly as I wanted him.
“Fuck me,” I said.
He yanked my jeans and my panties off
and pushed my legs up over his shoulders. I couldn’t concentrate on anything
besides his arms caging me, his mouth on mine, his hard, massive dick entering
me seconds later. I arched into him, my nipples scraping against his rock-hard
chest. He grabbed my ass to pull me into his pistoning hips. Somehow, it was
even more thrilling to know we might have an audience, and I ground into him as
a result.
“Oh, God. Fuck me! I have to have
you!” I told him as I moved against him. He pounded into me, over and over. I
heard flesh slapping against flesh and the muffled groans of satisfaction deep
in his throat. I wrenched my mouth from his, raked my nails down his back, and
let out a loud cry.
“More!” I cried out. “Harder!”
“Oh, I’ll give it to you harder,” he
growled as he thrust again. I wrapped my legs around his hips as tightly as I
could. My clit rubbed against his pelvis as I moved against him. The hood of
his car was cold but slippery against my back. It was going to be covered with
our juices by the time we were done. There was nothing like the smell of sex;
it surrounded us in the cold night air. I reached down to grab his ass with
both hands, pulling him closer.
“Faster,” I cried. “More!”
“I’ll give you more,” he said
roughly. “I’m going to fuck you, and then I’m going to fuck you again. Right
here. Where everyone can see us. They’ll know how dirty you are, how badly you
want it. How you’d fuck them too.”
He was breathing hard. He thrust
faster, and I could feel myself coming, lust and adrenaline coursing through my
bloodstream as I reached between us to rub my clit. “That’s it,” he said. “You
want it. You want everyone to see you coming all over me, don’t you? Come for
me. Come now.”
I let out a scream as my entire body
convulsed around him. The waves of pleasure and release went on and on. I must
have blacked out for a few seconds; I could hear applause and whistles as I
came to. I saw a knot of guys a few feet from us; I was beyond caring that I
was laid out like a naked, panting feast in front of them. I was limp in his
arms, and he grinned down at me. He turned, made a slight bow to the onlookers,
and turned back to me. His dick was already getting hard again as I watched.
“Ready for round two?” he said. “I’m
going to do every nasty thing to you you’ve ever dreamed of. In front of them.
And you’re going to love every minute of it.”
Grant stared in shock at the broken e-reader’s screen. What the hell
was this?
USA Today Bestselling Author, Julie Brannagh has
been writing since she was old enough to hold a pencil. She lives in a small
town near Seattle, where she once served as a city council member and owned a
yarn shop. She shares her home with a wonderful husband, two uncivilized Maine
Coons and a rambunctious chocolate Lab.
When
she’s not writing, she’s reading, or armchair-quarterbacking her favorite NFL
team from the comfort of the family room couch. Julie is a Golden Heart
finalist and the author of contemporary sports romances.
Crystal, Tasty Book Tours
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