Me: ?
CJ: Your name?
Me: Melanie Sanders.
CJ: Can call u Mel?
Me: No. It's Melanie.
CJ: K, Mel. C U tomorrow.
"Take off your shirt."
It comes off over his head and he smirks arrogantly when my mouth drops open. Sure, I've seen plenty of athletes but this guy is by far, the most ripped. Pressing my lips together, I grab a drink from my water bottle, and pretend not to notice. That gorgeous pack of abs is just damaged tissue, nothing more.
CJ
No longer New York's favorite quarterback, I'm in a jam. The car accident did far worse than mess up my knee, it ruined a sweet advertising deal. Now, there's only a few weeks to rehab my image along with my knee or kiss my career goodbye. That's when I overhear my far-too innocent physical therapist on the phone and offer up a win-win deal.
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Modern Romances
Busted Play (The Series)contains:
Busted Play
Counter Play
Final Play
The CEO’s Valentine
The CEO’s Lucky Charm
The CEO’s Redemption
Kit
Slate
Dangerous Code
Medieval Romances
How to Train Your Knight
Year of our Lord 1276
“By God, drag her down here! Naked if you must! Bread and water from now to eternity if you can’t!” Sir Marcus Blackwell slammed his fist on the well-worn table and the sound echoed back from every direction. Of all the bad luck. Forced into marriage with a foul-mouthed, murderous widow.
He clenched his teeth when the next bout of high-pitched screams and curses exploded from the floor above. Crashes, clanging, and banging followed. He cringed as the Lady Ann’s strident screaming rang throughout the stone manor and probably into the courtyard.
“He can’t steal my lands this easily. He’ll live just long enough to rue this day. I shall never, ever, turn my people over to a blood-thirsty, gold-grabbing beast. I’d rather be cursed to hell. Nay, verily, I’d rather marry the devil himself, than see myself married to him.”
Beast? He’d strangle the minstrel who’d taken his sword’s odious name and baptized him with it, instead. He was a holy crusader, deserving of respect, not an animal. Crossing himself while counting to ten, he paced the dark hall lit by a single weak torch. Shadows danced across dark tapestries, beyond a hearth the size of two horses, and over enough tables to feed a small army. Thatch crunched under his boots, releasing a perfume of lavender and grasses. He stopped for a respite of blessed silence. What in God’s creation have I stepped into?
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