Rules are meant to be broken. But can a secret romance between this pro football player and a single mother lead to love?
Emmitt Booker wears his playboy badge with pride. And thanks to his boys, he returns to Houston as head coach for a summer youth football camp. The moment his cleats touch the field, his attention isn’t held by the awestruck boys but a very distracting curvy woman with amber eyes and cherry-red lips.
Amber Evans ignores the dolled up, whispering mothers, praying for a second of Emmitt’s time. Men like him—smoky dark eyes, chiseled body, and filthy rich—make women forsake their god and their common sense for a taste.
She went down that road and knows where it ends: heartbreak.
Men like Emmitt don’t settle for one woman when they can have two. Billionaires like him want nothing to do with real women, with real-world ish in their lives. She figures it’s best to focus on one thing, the happiness of her son.
And when Kemen begs Amber to get him on Coach Emmitt’s team, she’ll do anything to make it happen. However, she doesn’t expect Emmitt’s illicit offer.
Fun and games turn to passion and lust as their desire builds into a blinding white heat, intense, all-consuming fire that sets their summer ablaze. On the field, he teaches her son to run, catch, and score. And in the bed, he teaches her to rush, tackle, and soar.
Emmitt aches for her. Amber longs for him, never forgetting that time isn’t on their side. Her satisfaction is his goal. For the first time, he considers the possibility of his life being about more than his boys and football.
But could their little secret be more than a fling? Could this be love?
I stumble to a full stop, and his dark gaze sweeps my body. A parade of fairies flutter in my stomach. The picture did him no justice. The hue of his dark skin, the curls on the tip of his fade, the sharp trim of the goatee. It takes no skill on my part to imagine what he’s working with under that suit as I let my eyes crawl the length of his body.
“Pardon me,” I whisper. He tips his head and returns his attention to the crowd, freeing me to follow Kemen. And I be damn, why did Chanel’s ass pick that seat?
I stop searching the crowd for another seat. But see nothing. Now, I have to walk to the front of the auditorium and sit my ass in the front row.
Fuck me! I stop at the end of the aisle, waiting for him to pass. He comes up beside me, attracting the attention of the others.
“Running a little late, Miss…”
“Evans… Amber Evans. I apologize our last appointment ran late.”
“I’m a stickler for timeliness. The game waits for no one.” He steps closer, bringing his damn scent, and my vajayjay purrs.
Oh shit, now.
Goddamnit, this ain’t the time, my inner voice demands. But my heart’s thumping like my ass learned to play the damn Congo drums, and he’s trying to hold a conversation. My eyes dart to Kemen because I know he’s petrified.
“My apologies. I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Booker.”
A soft groan reaches my ear and our eyes lock. He steps closer. “Emmitt.”
I tip my head, acknowledging his words, not trusting myself to speak. Then he motions in front of him toward my seat. “After you.”
I swear a smile lingers in Coach Emmitt’s eyes, as if he can sense my uneasiness. I’m tired and I had to drive across town and all I want is to sit my ass in that seat. Seconds feel like hours, and we’re at a standstill. Everyone is staring at us and he doesn’t seem pressed to move on until he’s good and ready.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes, and he chuckles until I cross his path. The sharp intake of his breath sends my gaze back to him. Unmistakable fire burns in his eyes and a challenge lurks in their depths.