Tip of the Iceberg

TIP OF THE ICEBERG An Ellora’s Cave Publication, February 2005 Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc. 1337 Commerce Drive, #13 Stow, OH 44224 ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-916-9 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML TIP OF THE ICEBERG © 2005 ANN JACOBS ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower. Cover art by Scott Carpenter.

Warning: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Tip of the Iceberg has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

TIP OF THE ICEBERG

Ann Jacobs

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Heisman: Downtown Athletic Club of New York City, Inc. Dallas Cowboys: Pro Silver Star Ltd Lexus SUV: Toyota Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha Porsche: Dr. Ing. H. C. F. Porsche K. G Nautilus: Direct Focus, Inc. Mattel: Mattel, Inc. Beretta: Fabbrica D’Armi P. Beretta, S.p.A

Tip of the Iceberg

Prologue

Los Angeles, New Year’s Eve Guilty as hell. That’s how he felt. Relief should have been the last emotion, not the first to have gripped him when Susan finally died. Casey Weldon stripped off the tie that had cut off the circulation in his neck throughout the memorial service and tossed it on the bed. They’d shared that bed for years, before she’d gotten so sick he’d been afraid of hurting her. Good thing his next-door neighbor had taken the kids for the night. He had to say his own goodbyes or he’d go insane. The master bedroom smelled of death. Funny, he’d never noticed the pervasive smell before, above the odors of liniment and air deodorizer and Susan’s favorite roses that he’d had delivered every day. Of course it had been months since he’d dared to lie down with her, for fear he’d inadvertently cause her more pain. He loved her. Though as a football star he could have had any groupie he wanted, and so many of them had whispered that they would do things he’d have loved to do with Susan, he had never given in to even the most blatant of temptations. The plain fact was, he loved her and their children and believed in the vows he’d made to her. He’d honor that last promise she’d exacted from him, even though she was dead now, and leave behind the life and dreams that had driven him since high school. Shaken, he sank down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t want to give up his career, and he didn’t want to move back East. He would, though, because he’d promised Susan. Memories slammed into him, of nights long ago when they’d lain here and talked about their respective days, about Brett’s first day of kindergarten and Lee Ann’s upcoming ballet recital. Of careful lovemaking that had never completely satisfied him, but had been all Susan ever would allow.

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He was a bastard to think about that now. So what if they’d had a fairly low-key, vanilla sex life throughout their married life. It didn’t matter that he’d always felt he had to safeguard her emotionally as well as physically, that he’d never really let loose the power and urges that drove him so strongly, urges to dominate her…restrain her. He’d give all he had to have her back, healthy, waiting at the door when he came home from practice. “I can’t take it.” His words echoed off the stark white walls. Rising, he crossed the room, his footfalls silent on the plush deep green carpeting. And closed the door on his old life once and for all. As he’d done on many lonely nights during Susan’s illness, Casey stripped down and lay on the bed in the guest room, staring out at a frosty-looking moon. He wrapped his fingers around his cock and stroked it to ease the longing there, trying as he did to visualize his wife the way she’d been before the cancer had taken its toll. Susan had been beautiful. Tiny, petite, vivacious. For a moment he thought he heard her laughter, and he turned hard as stone. He reached out, seeking her warmth, the silky touch of her body on his. His balls tightened. His heart raced when she slid his hand off his cock, took over jacking him… Oh God, he was going to come. Needed this. So much. Then her hand turned bony, her grip weakened. She turned before his eyes into a caricature of herself, the way she’d been last week, moments before she’d died. “Shit.” Casey Weldon had just buried his wife, but all he could think about was the fact he needed to come. And that he was a bastard for being human. For being alive when Susan was dead.

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Chapter One

Late January, on the campus at State University, Appleton, North Carolina Casey tossed his blazer on a chair and loosened his tie. The damn thing had been threatening to choke him ever since he’d stepped onto the podium downstairs, ostensibly to tell reporters what he intended to do to straighten up the mess that was State University’s athletic program. To make a visible target had been more like it. And not just for the press. Casey might as well have painted a bull’s-eye on his forehead. Or worn a sign that said “Fall Guy”. He’d had more pleasant encounters with reporters after his team had lost a crucial game. In plain view from a window of his corner office were centuries-old buildings covered with ivy, and a field house named for his dishonored predecessor. Casey followed a line of bare-limbed trees to its end at a redbrick house on fraternity row. He knew the setting well enough. A lifetime ago, he’d spent four years on this western North Carolina campus, two of them behind the imposing façade of that frat house. Shifting his gaze to the quad, he noticed a gangly boy’s hand resting low on the hip of a dark-haired girl. Casey had never needed to resort to such blatant signs of possession. His talent for throwing a football had made girls fall all over him. Until Susan. Until they’d married midway through his senior year. He turned away from the window, his chest so tight he could hardly breathe. His gaze settled on the framed photo on his desk. Susan. Big blue eyes, soft blonde curls

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that brushed her shoulders. A dazzling smile. The way she’d looked before cancer had eaten her alive, sapped her life day by day until she was gone. She’d loved him, loved life, fought like a tiger to beat the odds, get well, stay with him and the kids. She’d lost. He let out a string of oaths, picked up the picture, and laid it facedown in an empty drawer of the credenza. The clash of wood on wood when he slammed the drawer shut reminded him of the sound of the lid closing on her casket, brought a salty sting to his eyes. Maybe someday he’d be able to look at that picture and remember the good times. But he couldn’t now. Before facing that hostile crowd of reporters, Casey hadn’t realized how hard it would be to come back to the sleepy campus where they’d met. It had been bad enough to accept that he’d never play ball again, hear the roar of a Sunday crowd on a day when everything was going right. Why did he have this gut-deep feeling he’d stepped out of purgatory straight into hell? And why did he feel so damn old? Damn it, he was only thirty-six. He’d had three or four good playing years left. Idly Casey picked up last year’s Super Bowl MVP game ball from its bronze stand on his credenza, tossed it from one hand to the other. Instead of playing the game he loved, he’d be riding herd on State U’s troubled athletic program. He’d be the dad Susan had wanted for their kids, coming home after work each day in this one-horse college town nestled in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains. He’d take Lee Ann and Brett to church each Sunday. Join the PTA. He’d promised Susan before she died that he’d put the kids first. Bring them away from the city and its dangers. Keep them safe. And he intended to honor that vow. He’d make a go of this job if it killed him. From the vibes he got this morning when he met the coaches and their assistants and again at the press conference, he figured succeeding here damn well might do him

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in. Not a soul had cheered because Casey Weldon was back on the scene of his youthful triumphs, and damn few appeared enthusiastic about the changes he planned to make. Casey didn’t blame them. What did he know about running a college sports program? For that matter, what did he know about anything except calling plays, throwing a football farther and straighter than most guys could? He glanced at the lone framed diploma on the wall and laughed out loud. Sure, he had a degree awarded by this fine institution fourteen years ago after he’d played out his eligibility, won the Heisman. He’d even earned the sheepskin, which was more than he could say for a lot of pro athletes he knew. Still Casey felt singularly unqualified to manage anything, let alone an athletic program staggering under the shadow of the so-called death penalty.

***** Off campus, assistant security chief TJ Thomas stashed her Beretta and its holster in a kitchen cabinet, brewed a pot of coffee, and shook the local newspaper out of its wrapper. She’d had one hell of a day. The crack party she’d been called to help bust up at five a.m. in an on-campus dorm had only been the beginning. Things had gone downhill from there, culminating when the chairman of her department had cornered her to suggest she might want to modify the basic premise for her master’s thesis. She didn’t just need a caffeine jolt. Her body cried out for it. Inhaling the fragrant aroma, she poured a cup and headed for the living room. Her head pounded and her feet ached. TJ curled up on the sofa, kicked off her shoes, and unfolded the Appleton Daily Ledger.

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She stretched, savored the smell of the coffee as she watched steam rise from one of her mom’s prized porcelain cups. The goose down pillows she propped behind her back gave the kind of soft comfort she couldn’t count on from a man. As delicately as a woman her size could, she lifted the cup, savored the hint of amaretto in the sweet, hot brew, and took a sip. Casey Weldon Returns. The banner headline drew her attention, though the new athletic director’s arrival was hardly news. The name of the all-pro quarterback the regents had hired in the wake of the player recruiting and insider betting scandals that had rocked State U’s sports teams was practically a household word. TJ skimmed the article which dealt more with rehashing Weldon’s illustrious football career than listing concrete steps the man planned to take to clean up the university’s tarnished image. Possibly Weldon hadn’t expounded much at yesterday’s press conference about how he was going to turn the program around because he didn’t have a clue. From what TJ could tell, the man’s only qualifications for the job were his status as State’s most famous alumnus and the prowess he’d shown as a player in the NFL. According to the article, he had only a bachelor’s degree, one she imagined he’d earned with feats of valor on the gridiron, not by his academic accomplishments. No doubt the regents had gotten rid of one incompetent athletic director only to replace him with another, glitzier model. One who, like his predecessor, probably considered winning more important than following rules. Possibly another one who wasn’t above augmenting his income by placing a few high-dollar bets based on insider information. It was no secret that the university was going to miss the post-season and television revenue they’d lost for the next few years. But they’d flaunted the rules. To TJ’s way of thinking the university richly deserved the sanctions meted out by the NCAA—though she doubted many folks in Appleton would agree. State had always been known more for its winning athletic teams than for academic excellence. 10

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“Can you imagine State U making headlines if it failed to meet academic accreditation standards, Mose?” she asked the big gray tomcat who was winding his furry body around a leg of the coffee table. He batted her hand with his head when she reached down to pet him, and the rumbly purr he emitted sounded almost like “yes”. TJ’s gaze strayed to the photo montage at the center of the page. A color picture of Weldon in a State U uniform, one arm cocked back as if to throw the football in his hand, rated more space than the one that showed him on the podium beside Dean Moore at yesterday’s press briefing. The man looked better now than he had as a college boy, if that was possible. No one could deny that Casey Weldon was easy on the eyes. Tanned, fit, with expertly layered dark brown hair and even features that were more rugged than classically handsome, the man oozed sex appeal. In all of the photos, his expression and stance suggested supreme self-confidence. Weldon was a prime piece of beefcake, no doubt about it. One who no doubt took advantage of every off-field scoring opportunity presented him because of his extraordinary face and big, powerful-looking body. TJ fought down the twinge of sympathy that tried to sneak in when she read that he had lost his wife to cancer a few months earlier. Then she glanced at the photos again. Come off it, TJ. Weldon had to attract women the way hot dogs drew flies at a picnic. By now he’d probably found a new one to warm his bed and tend his kids, the way her dad had done years ago. Tears came to TJ’s eyes when she remembered how bad she’d hurt when her father had married Rachel before the ground had even settled over her mom’s grave. She blinked the tears away. She wasn’t twelve years old now. Years had passed since a tiny, curvy and definitely unwanted stepmother had slipped into her dead mom’s shoes, since TJ had begun to learn she should expect disappointment from the men in her life. 11

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All she would allow herself to hope with regard to the new athletic director was that he wouldn’t blindly back his coaches the way his predecessor had. She’d find out soon enough. Last week when Russ Gage, State’s head basketball coach, had demanded that TJ change the failing grade his star forward was earning in the criminology class she taught, she’d balked. Now she had to follow up on the threat she’d made and take up Gage’s demands with the new director. Tomorrow, during her lunch hour. Setting down the paper, TJ grabbed some of her students’ research papers and burrowed deeper into the soft couch cushions. She hated grading papers, but she supposed doing it was worth the satisfaction she got by teaching one class each semester as a change of pace from her regular job.

***** The following day, Casey munched the sandwich his secretary had brought him. Eyeing his appointment list as though it might bite him, he struck through his eleven o’clock meeting with one bold stroke of a broad-tipped pen. He’d seen four coaches this morning. Four guys whining about how impossible it would be to attract decent athletes without scholarships to hand out. Add the chaos he’d awakened to at his new house, and he had ample excuse for the dull pain that throbbed at the base of his skull. He’d have felt less battered if he’d spent the past four hours playing tackle dummy for a dozen enraged three hundred-pound linemen. He imagined his afternoon meetings would hone his headache to a real pounding instrument of torture. “Mr. Weldon?” Casey wolfed the last bite of his sub, washed it down with a slug from a can of orange-flavored sports drink. Hell, no one ever called him Mr. Weldon. Well, he guessed somebody did now.

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When he looked up he saw a willowy blonde coed with the body of a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader and a worried look on her face. “Yeah, that’s me. What can I do for you?” “I’m Ashley Champion. I—I need to speak to you.” She glanced at the open door, looked downright scared. “Could we talk in private?” “Close the door.” He could always yell for Mabel, the secretary he remembered from his own college days, if this girl turned out to be a quarterback groupie. “Make yourself at home.” He gestured toward a sofa as he rolled the chair further under his desk and tried not to notice how soft Ashley’s blonde hair looked…or dwell on how many years it had been since he’d run his hands over a taut female body like hers. Ashley bit her lip and ran a hand through her long, straight hair. “Coach Evans is sleeping with Coach Marsh,” she blurted, her cheeks reddening when she looked Casey in the eye. Casey stifled an oath, searched his memory. Who the fuck were these people? Then it came to him. Hal Marsh and Lisa Evans, the men’s and women’s swim coaches. “What makes you think that?” He hoped he sounded calmer than he felt. Ashley looked as though she might be making a detailed analysis of the fibers in the carpet at her feet. Why had he taken this job? Oh, yeah, he’d come here to honor his wife’s dying request. “Explain,” he snapped, dreading what he was about to hear. At least his inconvenient hard-on had just wilted, for which he was grateful. “Coach Evans and I shared a room when we went to the conference invitational last week. I’d gone out with the rest of the team to eat. When I got back and opened the door to our hotel room, there they were. In bed. Together.” Holy shit. If he didn’t have enough trouble already… “I’ll check into it.” Casey had thought nothing could top the hassles he’d faced this morning. Wrong again. Standing, he tried for a reassuring smile.

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“They’re both married, Mr. Weldon.” Not to each other, he surmised. Wonderful. Fucking wonderful. Ashley looked as if she was about to cry. Casey wished he could pound the crap out of something. “I walked in on them. Mr. Weldon, I wouldn’t have said anything, but my dad cheated on my mom and she found out some of her friends knew but thought they shouldn’t say…and they’re both married.” He strode to the door. “I’ll take care of it. You did the right thing by telling me.” He opened the door, and thankfully Ashley took the hint and left. What the hell did he do about sex and discretion, or the lack of it, when it involved his coaches? Casey watched the swimmer round the corner toward the athletes’ dining hall. He wished he could discount the girl’s revelation, pass it off as a disgruntled team member who’d been cut from the first lineup, or as a vengeful groupie who’d hit on Coach Marsh and been rebuffed. But he couldn’t, not after Ashley’s tearful explanation. All hell was going to break loose. He knew it, as surely as he’d always been able to tell when he was about to get sacked for a loss. “Don’t you think she’s a little young for you?” Casey met the icy gaze of a woman tall enough to rest her head against his shoulder. A woman who wore her ugly brown suit like armor and whose expression would freeze hell in August. He’d met women like her before, women who instantly put up their guard when they had to approach a man with his looks and celebrity status, certain that those two qualities meant he was no more trustworthy around anything in skirts than a hound dog that hadn’t been neutered. Of course, all the media publicity about NFL players who did live up to that reputation didn’t help. But he sensed something in her beyond her acerbic tongue, something he was surprised to recognize in her. She showed every sign of being a woman who thought she wasn’t beautiful enough to be around a guy like him—that she wasn’t his standard fare. If that’s how she felt, her defensive attitude probably came from shielding her 14

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insecurities by taking them out on him. She obviously doubted her own attractiveness. She also must not have looked in a mirror lately, because the woman he was looking at could easily have turned herself into a knockout. He considered how he might disarm her, but came up blank. Ignoring the woman’s barb was doubtless his best option, so he bit back the retort that came to mind and shot her a smile. “Well?” Her soft, low voice dripped with sarcasm. “Well, what?” “I suggested the young woman you were ogling might be a trifle too young.” That did it. Deliberately, Casey let his gaze slide down the woman’s body and up again, until he settled for staring at what appeared to be full, firm breasts hidden by a blazer jacket that almost matched her reddish-brown hair. “As opposed, say, to yourself?” He glanced at her face, saw a hint of hurt in the tight set of her lips. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” He shouldn’t have taken out his anger on this woman, no matter how much she’d goaded him. “I’m TJ Thomas. We have an appointment.” He stood back and motioned for her to go on into his office. Model-tall, yet too curvy to be a runway model, Ms. Thomas filled out the skirt of her suit nicely. Not too skinny, she had curves in all the right places. Firm, lush curves. Too bad she had her hair scrunched back, because it reinforced the uptight image she projected with her disapproving expression and the stubborn set of her shoulders. She perched on the edge of a straight chair and stared Casey down. Her disguise didn’t work. Though by her manner it was apparent sex was the last thing on her mind, TJ Thomas exuded sex appeal. Either that or it had been far too long since Casey had taken his sexual needs in hand, which most likely was the case.

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His cock stirred before he managed to squelch a mental picture of Ms. Thomas naked, spread out for his delectation. Jesus, it had been so long. Too long. Still, that gave him no excuse. Ignoring his untimely lust and shoving the problem of the amorous swim coaches to a corner of his mind, he leaned back and braced himself for more trouble. “What can I do for you?” She riddled him with an accusatory gaze. “Do you agree with the previous athletic director’s policy that varsity athletes must not be allowed to fail?” The regents who’d recruited him had glossed over that particular charge, one the NCAA apparently had investigated but come short of proving. Casey opted to pretend complete ignorance, which wasn’t too far from the truth. “You need to fill me in on what his policies were. I haven’t had a chance to look into the players’ academics yet. Losing new scholarships seems to be pretty much the only thing on the coaches’ minds at the moment.” If looks could kill, Casey figured he’d be dead. “The policy was, in essence, that no instructor could give failing marks to scholarship athletes without the athletic director’s personal say-so. Coach Gage is insisting now that I alter Riley Stark’s grade, give him marks he hasn’t earned.” Riley Stark. Casey searched his memory. Bingo! The six-foot, seven-inch forward had been a major topic of Casey’s conversation with basketball coach Russ Gage this morning. Gage had told him the kid had trouble reading, that the only way he could pass his classes was with a lot of help from his professors. Casey should have realized what kind of help Gage was talking about. He made a conscious effort to smile. “And you don’t want to do that, right?” Ms. Thomas pursed her lips. “It’s not going to do Riley much good to get a degree he hasn’t earned, Mr. Weldon.” “Casey.” This time he shot her his best ice-melting grin, the one his agent used to say sold aftershave by the truckload. 16

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Ms. Thomas shifted, apparently not fazed by his attempt to disarm her. “What is your position?” “Athletes should earn their grades but get extra help if they need it. They spend a lot of time playing and practicing for the glory of old State U. Didn’t we arrange for Riley to have a tutor?” “Of course. But Riley has apparently decided he has better things to do than meet with her and try to learn enough to pass.” “Then Riley should fail.” She stood and stared down at Casey. “I have your permission to fail him if he doesn’t bring his grade up?” Casey didn’t like this prickly woman looking down on him. He rose. Yeah, it was a childish gesture, but it gave him a jolt of satisfaction when Ms. Thomas had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. The woman might intimidate some guys with her height. But not him. There were other advantages to being six-foot five than good visibility over the heads of one’s teammates and the opposing linemen. “It’s your call. I don’t expect to tell you how to do your job. I’d appreciate you letting me know, though, when you have student-athletes who aren’t taking advantage of their tutors. We’re paid to educate them as well as help some of them graduate to professional sports.” “The way you did?” Her gaze didn’t waver. This woman made Casey downright mad. He fought to rein in his temper. “Not that it’s any of your business, Ms. Thomas, but I graduated cum laude, without help from tutors or professors willing to give me a free ride.” She had the decency to look chagrined and the apparent wisdom to cut their meeting short. Casey walked her to the door, smiled though he would rather have scowled, and wished her a good day.

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He couldn’t help noticing as she moved away that TJ Thomas had damn sweet legs. A nicely rounded ass, too. Too bad for her that she didn’t have a personality to match.

***** At four-thirty, after his last appointment, Casey headed for the aquatic center. Investigating Ashley Champion’s accusation wouldn’t wait any longer. Coughing at the chlorine-filled air inside, Casey went to find Hal Marsh. The men’s team coach was on deck, fiddling with a stopwatch while eight lanes full of swimmers moved along in the water, their powerful freestyle strokes eating up distance. Casey glanced beyond a bulkhead and watched a diver tumble cleanly into the diving well from a three-meter board. Casey couldn’t think of a whole lot he wouldn’t rather be doing. But he’d taken this job, so he didn’t have much choice. He strode across the bulkhead, made a quick right, and stopped in front of Marsh. “We need to talk. Your office?” “Sure.” The coach tossed his stopwatch to one of his assistants and led the way to a glass-windowed office that overlooked the pool. The first thing Casey saw was a framed photo of a pretty woman holding a baby. “Your wife?” “Yeah. Gayle. And Trevor, our pride and joy. He’s going to earn Olympic gold in twenty years or so, the way I would have if I hadn’t busted up my knee.” Casey reined in an urge to snatch Marsh out of his chair and beat him to a pulp. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe Ashley had been lying for whatever reason. “Nice family,” he said, making an effort to keep this civil. “You settling in okay? Find a housekeeper, schools, and so on? Must be rough without a wife to take care of things on the home front.”

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Marsh had no idea how tough it was. If he did, he’d clean up his act and thank God he had a beautiful, healthy wife and son. The man also apparently didn’t have a clue why Casey had ventured into his domain. Casey cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and looked Marsh in the eye. “I’m managing. Look, one of the swimmers came to me today, said she saw you and Lisa Evans in a compromising position at a meet last week.” “Compromising? We weren’t compromising a damn thing. Lisa was fucking my brains out. So what?” “So you’re giving a hell of an example to the kids you’re supposed to be role models for. Is Ms. Evans around?” Marsh picked up the phone and punched in some numbers. “Lisa, come on down to my office. We’re about to get our hands slapped.” Casey’s palms itched. He’d like nothing better than to pound Hal Marsh into the concrete floor. He’d have died before betraying Susan. For months he’d done without, after she’d become too sick to want more than a gentle hug or kiss. Why had he lost her when this jerk had a beautiful wife he didn’t deserve? It took every shred of self-control Casey possessed to stay in his chair, keep his hands and his thoughts to himself. “Hello, Coach Weldon. Or would you rather I call you Casey?” A slender, athleticlooking woman stepped inside, took a seat in the only other chair in Marsh’s small office. Out of habit his mom had ingrained in him, Casey stood and offered Lisa Evans his hand. “Either will do.” “So, I suppose Ashley came tattling to you about what she saw?” Lisa’s gaze was frankly assessing. Her tongue darted out from a corner of her full red lips, as if she was imagining a feast—on his flesh. She reminded Casey of the groupies he’d had to dodge since high school.

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“Well?” “Yes, she did.” “The little bitch.” “Lisa, be quiet,” Marsh warned. At least now he had the grace to look embarrassed. Casey wanted nothing more than to do what he had to do and get out. “Look. You both disgust the hell out of me. I can’t control what you do on your own time, but if I hear another word about you screwing around at swim meets or anywhere else where students are close by, you’re gone. Both of you.” “Understood.” Marsh got up, leveled a warning stare at his lover. “Lisa?” She looked at him and grinned before dropping her gaze to Casey’s crotch. “Our new director said it loud and clear. No fun for coaches on the road or the deck. He didn’t say anything about his office, though. How about it?” Casey blinked, not sure he’d heard her right. He’d run into more than his share of female sexual predators over the years in his position on the team, but Lisa Evans was blatant—especially for a woman in her position. She was daring him to remind her what that position was, certain her looks would make her subject to no more than the wrist-slapping Marsh had suggested. “Mrs. Evans,” he said, underscoring her marital status deliberately, “if you want to keep this job, you will keep your hands and your mind off the cocks of your co-workers, at least while you’re working. If you don’t, I suggest you tender your resignation and take up a profession more suited to someone of your libido. In the meantime, if you ever proposition me, I’ll have you suspended for sexual harassment. Is that clear enough for you?” “Want to do the propositioning yourself, huh, big guy? Well, that’s okay, too. Call me if you change your mind.” Lisa Evans had Casey wanting to see if he could still run the fifty in four-point-five, just to get away. Although he knew he’d made himself an enemy, he somehow felt cleaner than he had when he’d come into the pool complex. “I won’t change my mind,” he told her before he turned to Marsh. “I don’t give second warnings. Remember that.” 20

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Casey couldn’t get out of the aquatic center fast enough. While he doubted the coaches would clean up their act, he imagined they’d be more discreet. He hoped to hell he’d never have to confront them again about a subject he’d always considered strictly personal and private. Personal and private. The part of his life he hadn’t had now since long before Susan had died. The life he shouldn’t even be thinking about now, because every time his cock got hard, he got eaten up with guilt. As Casey drove home, he tried to concentrate on the can of worms he’d opened by taking this job. In less than a week, he’d unearthed problems far beyond those the NCAA had addressed and punished. And he was too much a pessimist to believe he’d discovered the last of the misdeeds today. If Casey didn’t miss his guess, the violations which had brought the death penalty down on the athletic program here were only the tip of the iceberg.

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Chapter Two Driving along uneven brick pavement, slippery from freezing mist that distorted the streetlights’ yellow glow, Casey shelved concern over his new job and its unwelcome challenges. A greater challenge lay ahead. He had to go home, bury his worries, swallow his grief. Deal with a new house, new housekeeper, and his grieving children. When he’d promised Susan he’d take care of their kids, he hadn’t realized how daunting a task single parenting would be. His son’s shriek greeted him as he pulled Susan’s silver Lexus SUV into the garage, next to the black Porsche roadster he loved but which hardly fit his lifestyle now. “Did not!” Brett howled, his tone indignant as only an eight-year-old’s could be. “You did, too. I’m telling Daddy.” No rest for the wicked. Brett and Lee Ann were clearly out of control. They’d been that way most of the time since their mom died. At least they were making noise instead of skulking about the house like shadows, the way they had for a while. That had to count for something. Casey stepped into the kitchen of the sprawling ranch-style house he’d bought sight unseen. His stomach growled, and he managed to ignore the chaos long enough to trace the mouth-watering smell of apples and spice to a pie on the counter. For a moment he fantasized that Susan would appear any minute. That they were back at home in LA. “Kids!” he yelled over the high-pitched wails of his children when he couldn’t ignore their squabbling any longer. Red-faced and teary-eyed, Brett got to him first. “Alice took my football away.”

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“After you knocked out a neighbor’s window.” That was Lee Ann, too serious for a ten-year-old but apparently determined to get a dig in at her little brother. Brett shot Lee Ann a murderous look. “I didn’t mean to.” “Brett can’t go throwing footballs through other people’s windows.” Alice Simmons, the rotund woman Casey had hired to keep house and watch the kids, looked exhausted and not nearly as neat as she had this morning. Casey figured she, too, must have experienced the day from hell. Brett’s mouth opened but shut again quickly, as if he’d thought better of arguing. When Lee Ann poked her brother in the gut and laughed about it, Alice put her foot down, literally, hard enough that dishes started rattling in the cabinets. Should he go back outside, try his entrance again? What had happened to his well-behaved, happy family? Why did his normally nice kids alternate between being obnoxious monsters and sad shadows of their former selves? Hell, Casey knew exactly how, when, and why they’d changed. When Susan had died, their world fell apart. Just as his had. He forced a smile and lifted Brett, hugged his sturdy son who had been getting too old a year ago for outward shows of parental affection. Now he couldn’t seem to get enough. Alice stomped out, gathered her coat and purse from the hall closet. As much as he loved his kids, Casey couldn’t blame the woman for wanting to escape. He just hoped she wouldn’t decide he and the kids were too much to handle and that she needed to find herself another job. She whirled around, hands on hips. “Don’t you intend to discipline that boy?” Casey set Brett down and reached over to ruffle Lee Ann’s soft blonde curls. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he told the housekeeper. “Go on, kids, wash up for dinner.”

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He opened the door of Alice’s aging sedan, leaned against the doorframe after she sat in the driver’s seat. “Don’t come down too hard on the kids. They’ve been through a lot.” Her expression softened. “I know. But we can’t let Brett think it’s okay to go breaking neighbors’ windows, accidentally or not.” “No. But I’m happy Brett wants to play again. Since his mom got sick, he’s spent most of his time holed up in his room.” Alice shook her head. “Still—” “I know. Brett will come around. We all will.” He patted her hand. Aside from the fact Alice was a decent, hardworking woman who’d come to him with glowing recommendations, she seemed to love the kids. Casey would be in a hell of a fix if she walked out and he had to try to cope with everything on his own. “I’ll talk to him. See you tomorrow?” Alice nodded, turned the key in the ignition. The sputtering of the car engine drowned out her reply. The fried chicken, scalloped potatoes, and southern-style green beans were as good as any Casey had ever eaten. That was another reason he’d hate it if Alice decided to quit. Lee Ann ate more than usual, and Brett conned his way into getting a second slice of pie. He should have thanked Alice for making them a real meal. As he shoveled the last of the pie into his mouth, Casey made a mental note to compliment her in the morning. While Lee Ann got ready for bed, Casey read a story to Brett and tucked him in. He’d had a big day for a little guy—broken window and all. Casey couldn’t help smiling at the way his son drifted off to sleep, the paw of his tattered panda bear clutched in his fist.

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He kissed Brett’s cheek before checking on his daughter. With her soft curls tousled against a bright blue pillowcase, Lee Ann looked so much like her mother that Casey’s breath caught in his throat. Looking at shelves full of the frilly treasures Susan had picked out for their little girl made Casey feel as if he were intruding into an alien world. How could he ever figure out what sorts of china dolls and delicate figurines would make his daughter squeal with pleasure? Casey doubted he could make it as both dad and mom. But he’d try. Somehow they’d survive. His headache had come back, in spades, so he went to his room and grabbed some aspirin before heading for the gym he’d set up in the basement. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered with daily workouts, but the habit had become too ingrained to break now that his job no longer depended on him keeping his body in topnotch shape. By the time Casey finished stretching and began his workout on the Nautilus machines, his headache had pretty much gone away. Sweat poured from his skin. Performing the familiar routine released tension, left him pleasantly exhausted by the time he finished. Upstairs, he stripped and lay back in the hot tub. Times like these, late at night, he missed Susan most. Not just the sex but the sharing. He’d told her what he’d done at practice, and she’d shared details of her day with Lee Ann and Brett. Casey had liked being married. He’d loved Susan almost enough to make the pain he’d gone through when she got sick and died bearable. He wished he could remember her healthy and vital, but the image etched into his brain was of her during those last awful months. A shadow of the woman she’d been before ovarian cancer and the chemotherapy they’d tried in a last-ditch effort to save her life had taken their toll. Brett and Lee Ann must remember their mom that way, too. That troubled Casey. 25

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Almost as much as it bothered him now to doubt he’d be able to keep the promise he’d made Susan to create the kind of life she’d wanted for their kids. He lay in bed—a new one, stark in its contrast with the canopied one he’d let go with the LA house. Shadows played on the walls, and a fierce winter wind whined outside a bank of shuttered windows. Tired, he closed his eyes. But sleep wouldn’t come, not while his cock ached for fulfillment and the vision of an uptight teacher’s long, sexy legs and nicely rounded tush fed his desire…and his guilt.

***** While Casey lay in bed, TJ sipped coffee in the kitchen of her frame shotgun cottage several blocks off campus in the opposite direction. She stood and stretched the kinks out of her tired muscles as she stared at the stack of test papers on the table. TJ clenched her right hand into a fist. She’d written too many comments, gripped her red pen way too hard. The bold “F” she’d put on the front of Riley Stark’s blue book ate at her, made her think about Casey Weldon and his request to be told if athletes weren’t taking advantage of the tutoring they were offered. She glanced back at Riley’s paper. Although he’d earned the “F”, she sensed that he’d tried. Had he ditched his tutor because he’d been too far behind for the other student to help? For a moment TJ considered offering to help the boy herself, but she quickly discarded that notion. She suspected Riley could barely read, that he’d been shoved through high school and into college because of his uncanny ability to toss a basketball through a hoop. If her hunch was right, Riley was dyslexic, and if he was she didn’t have the kind of skills to teach what he now needed to learn. She went over the paper for the third time. No way could she honestly eke out even an additional point or two for Riley, much less the fifteen it would take to change the “F” to a “D”.

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She pictured the good-natured stringbean of a kid. He reminded her of a pup who hadn’t yet grown to fit huge paws. He lived and breathed hoops, according to Coach Gage, who had assured her he’d make it in the pros after playing out his eligibility. She had no doubt that Riley would be decimated if he couldn’t play his game. Maybe Casey Weldon could arrange for Riley to have a reading tutor. One who knew how to work around dyslexia, if that was what was causing the problem. TJ wasn’t certain, and as a part-time graduate assistant whose main job was being a campus cop, she didn’t have the credentials to diagnose or treat learning disabilities. Weldon would do something. He’d impressed her as supremely self-confident—a take-charge kind of guy. She’d call him, try to get Riley tested and find him the kind of help she thought he needed. Tilting her head, TJ stared at the kitchen ceiling. That reminded her how she’d had to look up at Weldon, an unusual occurrence given her height. He’d made her feel feminine—practically fragile. She wasn’t about to speculate about that. She was over fantasizing, through with dreaming. Although…if one had to put a face on one’s fantasy, it might as well be that of the very big, very hot former NFL quarterback. Staring out the window into a moonless night, she reminded herself what she’d found out the hard way a long time ago—that men as tall, good-looking, and downright sexy as the new athletic director inevitably were drawn to women who looked like Barbie dolls. Yes, her pulse had quickened as a result of experiencing Weldon’s brief, dazzling smile. And no woman could have failed to notice how his blue eyes turned stormy when he was angry. No woman, that is, who still breathed. But TJ had no business imagining how his eyes might glow with passion. Because his eyes wouldn’t light up that way for her. She had about as much chance of attracting a hunk like Weldon as she did of flying to the moon under her own power. Zip. Zero. Zilch. 27

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She was losing it. Hadn’t she been the one less than twenty-four hours ago who’d been maligning the character of men in general, and specifically men like Casey Weldon? What was wrong with her that she was suddenly going all starry-eyed like some celebrity groupie? She didn’t get overwhelmed by a pretty face, or a buff body, either. There was something about Casey, though. Something solid, decent—and magnetic. The way he’d looked at her, as though he knew he could take care of her, was etched into her brain, as though he was silently promising that he wouldn’t disappoint her. All this showed TJ she needed to use that simple vibrator she kept in the drawer of her bedside table—more often, much more often—because obviously her hormones were doing some weird mojo on her mind. Shaking her head, TJ stuffed the test papers into her briefcase. She’d best try to sleep now, or she wouldn’t be getting up in time to teach her class tomorrow. It wouldn’t do for the teacher to be late, any more it would for the campus cop to sleep through the beginning of a watch.

***** The next day, Casey stared down at the big, red “F” on the blue book Russ Gage slapped down on his desk. “Damn it, Weldon, do something about this. I told you Riley needs help to keep him eligible. I’ve got no new scholarships to hand out for the next few years, so I need every player I’ve got.” Gage slammed his fist onto the desk, on top of Riley Stark’s test. Already a fixture at State when Casey was a student, the basketball coach had to be pushing sixty. His legendary appetite for down-home cooking showed in quivering jowls, a distended vein that throbbed in his thick neck, sweat that beaded on his deeply etched brow. “Calm down, Coach. You don’t want to have a stroke.”

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Gage stomped over to a window and turned on Casey, his expression belligerent. “Then set this woman straight.” “I’ve already met with Ms. Thomas. Riley has to earn his grades.” “Like I told you, Riley’s got problems. The kid can barely read. Tutors don’t help. They just frustrate him when he can’t catch on. Ruins his game to be all uptight about stuff that doesn’t matter. Where does the bitch get off, thinking she can—” “Stop right there. We’ve got enough trouble without giving the NCAA something else to nail us for. Besides, we’re supposed to be giving Riley an education in return for his twenty points a game. We’ll get him more tutors, better tutors. Whatever he needs. See that he makes use of them.” “Son of a bitch. Thought you’d have learned by now that not every jock’s as smart as you.” Gage twirled and glared at Casey. Sweat pooled in the deep creases of his brow. Then he backed away. “Don’t tell me that freaking Amazon turns you on. If she— ” “Get out.” Gage picked up Riley’s blue book and shoved it in Casey’s face. “Fix this.” “No.” Casey rose, strode to the door. He held it open and stepped back to let Gage pass. Much as he’d like to, he couldn’t hit a guy old enough to be his father. And he couldn’t fire Russ Gage, either. Thirty-some-odd years of tenure gave the basketball coach job security that was damn near irrevocable. “You sanctimonious bastard.” Gage stomped out. Casey stared at Gage’s back until he disappeared into an elevator, then flopped down on the sofa in his office. Up until now he’d just felt out of his element, much as he’d felt as a rookie quarterback the first time the coach sent him in to relieve an injured starter. That had been before he’d heard enough to convince himself varsity sports were

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in far more trouble than the regents had let on when they’d asked him to take on the director’s job. The program had cancer. Malignant, invasive—all the fancy words doctors had used to tell him Susan was going to die in spite of all the tortures they could devise to prolong her agony. Who the hell had Casey thought he was, to have presumed he could walk in, cut out the rot, and save the university’s sports program that gave him his start? He strode to the window and stared down at the quad. Late January in Appleton could make a good day bad and a bad day worse. Naked limbs of walnut trees, grayish brown against a sooty sky, dripped melting ice onto the sodden ground. The temperature hovered just above freezing. Snow had dotted the ground this morning, but now all Casey saw was dead grass and mud, cracked concrete walkways tracked by thousands of booted feet. Endless blending of browns and grays, death and sickness. An occasional bright jacket or scarf, a cone-shaped evergreen tree against the close horizon reminded Casey of hope, a coming spring. Made him think about Lee Ann and Brett, for whom he would suffer anything. Even this fight to provide them the kind of life Susan had wanted for them. There had to be hope for State’s beleaguered teams. Ways to keep the athletic program alive. If the situation had been hopeless, the regents would have trashed it, retired legends like Gage, put this whole mess behind them. They wouldn’t have hired him or anyone else to try to resurrect something worthwhile from smoldering ashes. Casey went back to his desk and read through Riley Stark’s failed test. He was no expert, and he doubted Coach Gage was, either. Still, it didn’t take a shrink to figure out Riley couldn’t read. The answers he’d picked on multiple choice questions made no sense, and the responses to essay questions hinted that while Riley knew quite a bit of 30

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peripheral information close to the subject, he hadn’t a clue as to what the specific question was that he was supposed to answer. Setting the blue book down, Casey asked his secretary to arrange for some testing for Riley Stark. Then he left a message for TJ Thomas to let her know what he’d done. Still seething about Gage’s attitude, Casey pulled out the statistics from the last few basketball games. In less than an hour, he and the basketball coach would be doing a TV interview about State’s prospects this year. He didn’t intend to leave all the talking to Gage. Casey waded through the numbers, player by player—hoops made, three-pointers, assists, steals. Missed shots. The stats took on a certain sameness. A weird sort of pattern that seemed to involve different players in different games. Seventy percent shooting accuracy in the first three quarters, twenty in the last. Or dozens of steals early in games, virtually none later on. What Casey thought he saw made him want to puke, because if he was right, the shit was going to hit the fan. If he’d seen football statistics this bizarre, he’d have sworn there was point-shaving going on.

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Chapter Three But what did he know? Though his height had made him an object of interest for basketball coaches, Casey had always tossed a football a hell of a lot better than he shot baskets. He’d avoided playing basketball, even in high school when he might have managed both sports. Coach Gage, for all his faults, knew hoops. Casey couldn’t imagine him putting up with such inconsistent play for long. But his suspicion wouldn’t go away. After the interview, he went back to his office and pulled the videos of four games for which the stats hadn’t made sense. It didn’t take a genius to pick out the player who had caused the skewed stats in the first game tape. In the first half, the star point guard had been red-hot. He’d spent most of the third quarter on the bench, but when he’d come back in, he’d suddenly turned cold. His shots went wild, bounced into his opponents’ hands. His previously sure hands had turned to jelly, let defenders steal the ball. Casey inserted the next tape. This time it was another player who went from hot to cold in the final quarter of the game. State’s six-eleven All-American center suddenly started losing rebounds late in the game to an opponent at least six inches shorter. He apparently hadn’t been able to find the basket, either, even though he could reach up and touch the rim. Halfway through the last tape, Casey shut it off. He had to do something. No way did players go from great to lousy so fast. Not by coincidence. He glanced at the clock. Almost five. Hell, he’d taken this job so he’d have more time to spend with his kids, but so far he was getting less. He picked up the phone but then set it down. He needed to get home. This could wait until tomorrow. 32

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But it shouldn’t wait. Not if what he suspected was true. Lifting the receiver again, he asked Alice to stay late again with the kids. Then he tried to rub away the persistent ache in his head. What the hell was he going to do? Uncertain of where to turn, Casey punched in the extension for university administration and asked to speak to the dean of students. Less than five minutes after their phone conversation, he had company. “Dean Moore said you’ve got a problem. I’m Dale Layton, head of campus security. The dean asked me to check into it first, before we involve outside law enforcement.” Casey put out his hand to a spare man who would blend into almost any crowd. Layton’s receding hairline and lack of height and bulk seemed incongruous with his ratty gym clothes and the sweat that dampened them around the chest and armholes. “I’m Casey Weldon. Thanks for coming so quickly.” “No problem. I was at the field house, working out. How about we take a look at those tapes you told the dean about?” Casey picked up the remote control and started the tape. “This is last week’s game against Wilder College,” he said as the other man’s gaze shifted from him to the screen. “Watch number forty-seven.” Somehow it didn’t bother Casey as much to think of a number cheating as it did a student-athlete with a name. A human being. “Well, what do you think?” Layton asked after they’d watched the films. “That players are shaving points. Do you agree?” “I’d say so. It’s going to be hell to prove, though. Different starters making the same kinds of mistakes. No one player looks bad in more than one game, at least not on the tapes we’ve watched so far.” Casey got up, stared out the window. It was dark now, a moonless night lit only by the carriage lamps along the quad. One player, yeah. Two, maybe. But four or more? This didn’t make sense. “Why?”

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Layton cleared his throat. “You got me. If I had to guess, I’d say drugs, money, or both. Most folks would tell you money’s a long shot, considering how much of it those boys were making from their phony jobs with the local alumni. But that well went dry when the NCAA handed down the death penalty.” “Drugs?” Athletes certainly weren’t immune to them. Casey recalled former teammates who’d used pot, cocaine, illegal steroids, not to mention handfuls of prescription painkillers meant to be taken one at a time. What he didn’t remember was ever having heard about a player selling out his team to support his habit. “They’re a pretty big problem on campus. We bust students all the time.” Great. Just great. Casey had taken this job to get his kids to a small town where they’d be safe, where they could play and learn without facing the dangers Susan thought were rampant in LA. Apparently Appleton had its dark side, too. Each day Casey learned something more disturbing about the place Susan had thought ideal to bring up their family. If he hadn’t given her his promise, he’d pack it in, break his contract, take his losses, and get the hell back to the comparatively safe environment of suburban Los Angeles. “What now?” Layton stared at the blank TV screen. “We watch. See if somebody does something incriminating. We need to keep this quiet, y’know. Can’t risk getting any more bad press now after all the trouble we’ve had.” Yeah, the NCAA would frown on players shaving points, not to mention using illegal drugs if that was what they were doing. But the regulators would find out eventually. If what he and Layton suspected was true, players would get arrested and this all would become a matter of public record. Casey gave Layton a noncommittal nod. “I’m going to put my assistant in charge of this. Her name’s TJ Thomas. Before she came here, she spent several years with the Atlanta police department. Worked in homicide.” 34

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“Doesn’t she teach some classes?” “One criminology class. You know her?” Casey pictured the Amazon with the great legs and razor-sharp tongue. “We’ve met.” No one had ever said retiring from pro ball and taking on a real job would be easy. Of course, no one had told Casey he’d be jumping into the proverbial fire, either. “TJ knows her stuff. More than I do, if you want the truth. I was damn lucky to get her here.” Layton looked at Casey, as if seeking his approval. “Who you put in charge is up to you.” Casey glanced at the clock. “Might as well call her now. I’d like to get this over with, cut out the rot, and see if anything can be done to salvage our sports programs.”

***** A half hour later, TJ Thomas stepped through the doorway to Casey’s office. She looked different. More approachable. A damn sight more attractive than she had the other day. When she looked like this, he easily understood why his cock rose in silent tribute. Good thing he was sitting behind his desk, or it undoubtedly would have embarrassed him. Her clean, fresh scent filled his nostrils, and her snug blue jeans revealed a taut, curvy body he’d love to feel beneath his own. The bright blue sweater she had on called attention to firm, full breasts and brought out the color of her eyes. TJ Thomas wasn’t exactly a beauty queen, but she looked damn inviting with her reddish-brown hair curling loosely around her shoulders. “Come on in.” Casey gestured toward the sofa where Dale had settled to watch the tapes. When she sat next to her boss, Casey couldn’t help gawking at those impossibly long legs again. Imagining how they’d feel wrapped around his waist. Oh, fuck, he had to get his mind off sex and onto the problem at hand. 35

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“What’s going on?” Her soft, low voice seemed incongruous with her tough, nononsense look and manner. Casey summarized what he’d discovered before replaying the last game video so TJ could see for herself. “We suspect point-shaving. And that at least four players may be involved,” he told her as he rewound the tape. “What makes you think that?” Leaning against the back of his chair, Casey explained the pattern he and Dale had seen. “Manipulating the point spread is as serious as actually throwing a game,” he said when he noticed TJ’s puzzled look. “I know. What I don’t understand is why players would agree to do it.” Dale cleared his throat. “Drugs?” TJ looked over at her boss. “Could be. We can’t rule out blackmail, either, though it’s not as likely since several players seem to be involved. Since gamblers are obviously involved, I can’t help wondering if we’re dealing with organized crime.” “That or dedicated amateurs. Weldon, what do you think?” Casey thought he’d rather be anywhere else on earth. He looked over at Layton. “If this were pro ball, I’d bet on organized crime. But as far as I know, professional gambling on regular season college games isn’t all that widespread.” “So you think some amateur might be paying players or supplying them with drugs to get them to shave points?” TJ shifted, folded one leg beneath the other. One long, shapely leg that seemed to go on forever. Casey reined in thoughts he had no business thinking, looked TJ in the eye. “Could be. State has always had a lot of rabid fans. Some probably bet big on games. One of them might need to win and not mind cheating to do it.” “You could be right. Dale?”

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Layton met TJ’s questioning gaze. “Somebody from around here seems more likely to me than the mob. Weldon, you played ball here. Do you have any idea who—” “No one ever approached me to shave points or fix a game, but that doesn’t mean much. It’s been fourteen years since I graduated.” Casey stood, looked down at Layton and TJ. “You sound defensive, Mr. Weldon.” When TJ looked at Casey, he sensed her challenge. He forced a smile. “I’ve always played by the rules, Ms. Thomas. The idea of selling out my team—myself—makes me sick.” “I’m sorry.” Again Casey noticed how different this woman seemed tonight. Still prickly, yet softer. Feminine despite her casual clothes. Layton stood. “What’s the plan?” “Surveillance, twenty-four hours a day,” TJ said. “Dale, I’ll need overtime authorized for about twenty officers.” “Shall I arrange for you to talk to the players we suspect?” Casey asked. TJ shook her head. “We don’t want to spook them. I’ll check out their family situations, their finances.” She gestured toward the TV screen. “You keep looking at game tapes. See if you can identify more players, more games. Go as far back as any of the players you’ve identified were here. What other sport besides basketball is most likely to attract gamblers?” “Football. Season’s over, though. And we’ll have a new coach coming on next year. I watched tapes of several games before I signed on, and I didn’t see evidence that anything suspicious was going on.” “Okay. Seems as though we’ve got enough to check out now, without digging for much more. We’ve done as much as we can tonight. When is the next basketball game?”

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Dale pulled out his wallet and checked a calendar. “Thursday night. A home game against Northern Kentucky. We all ought to go.” “In the two years I’ve been here, I’ve never attended a State U game. It would look peculiar if I were to start now. We don’t want to arouse suspicion.” “Get a date,” Dale suggested. TJ shook her head. “I don’t date.” For someone who sounded so hard, TJ had a voice that drove Casey wild. Why didn’t she date? It would be a damn shame if she hated men, not to mention a waste of those gorgeous legs. “You could go with me. People would think we were on a date.” Casey wasn’t sure why, but he wanted her to say yes. This woman was definitely not his type, even if he were looking, which he wasn’t. There was something, though, that made him want to learn what made her tick. “You don’t have a significant other?” What kind of creep did this woman think he was? If she read newspapers, she had to know he’d been widowed a very short time. “Only my son and daughter,” he told her, making an effort to smile. Dale cleared his throat. “Casey’s right. No one would think twice about you being at the game if they thought you were with him.” “All right.” TJ looked from Dale to Casey. Her expression left little doubt in Casey’s mind that she’d rather go anywhere else—probably with anybody but him. That shouldn’t have bothered him, but for some reason it did. “Good.” Dale moved toward the door, paused. “We can meet later, compare notes.” With that comment, he left. “Here, let me help,” Casey said when he saw TJ struggling to get her arms into the sleeves of a gray nylon parka. When he held the jacket, he grazed her neck with his fingers. Electricity crackled.

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She jumped back, laughed. “Sorry. Seems as though I’m always apologizing to you.” He smiled at her, felt the tightness in his jaw give way. “Come on, I’m on the way out, too. I’ll walk you to your car.” Outside, fat snowflakes drifted down, caught on TJ’s eyelashes and the fleece lining of her hood. The strands of hair that framed her face looked like burnished gold, and her cheeks glowed. To Casey, she represented a picture of vibrant health. Life. He couldn’t imagine her not dating. If she always looked the way she did tonight, men would flock to her. Hell, she attracted him, and he certainly wasn’t in the market for a woman. “Why don’t you date?” he asked after she pointed out her midsize sedan at the near end of a staff parking lot. She stiffened, then sped up her pace. “That’s none of your business.” He took her key, opened the car door. “Are you a lesbian?” She whirled, faced him. “Not that it’s your concern, but no. I’m attracted to men, not other women.” She paused, as though searching for words. “I just don’t kid myself. I’m no Cinderella. There’s no Prince Charming coming to take me to the land of happily ever after.” Watching a muscle contract in her slender neck made Casey feel as if he’d kicked a wounded sparrow. “I can’t believe you believe that.” TJ’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Men want tiny, pretty women—especially men your size, men a woman like me could be with and not feel like a giraffe.” “You’re wrong.” He reached out and brushed her cheek. “It’s what’s inside a woman that counts, makes a man love her.” “You shouldn’t lie, not even to be kind.”

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“Kind? It was hardly kind for me to pry, make you unhappy. Besides, I told the truth.” Part of it, anyhow. He didn’t dare tell TJ how she turned him on, fired sexual urges he’d suppressed during Susan’s long, miserable illness—urges that had seemed to die with her until… “Sure. I’ll bet you married a gorgeous woman with a body that wouldn’t quit, and I’ll lay odds she was at least a foot shorter than you. Blonde, or maybe a redhead. Jocks like their women flashy.” She paused, looked into his eyes. From her horrified expression he guessed she sensed the pain that suddenly tore through him, made him wince. “God, Weldon, I’m sorry. I knew— I know your wife died not long ago. I should have kept my big mouth shut.” “Susan was five foot three. A blonde, before she lost all her hair. When she died, she weighed just sixty pounds. I still loved her. I always will. You see, TJ, looks don’t matter. I didn’t lie.” He fought to keep his voice steady. “We’re a hell of a pair, aren’t we?” With surprisingly soft fingers, TJ touched Casey’s cheek, wiped away the melting snowflakes and the tears he hadn’t been able to hold back. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “How about us calling a truce? If we try, maybe we can keep from tearing each other apart.” “Who knows?” She tilted her head back, met his gaze. Her slow smile made him think of sweaty bodies and tangled sheets. He tamped down that image, tried to concentrate on smiling back. “Hey, Weldon, it feels good, having to look up to a man for a change.” “Was there a double meaning in there, Miss Thomas?” He had to grin. But what he wanted was to sip the snowflakes from her lips. He didn’t, though, because if he did, he was certain he’d pay for that kiss with guilt and renewed grief. “Call me Casey,” he whispered against her fingers before he headed for his own car.

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***** Soft. When they’d decided to call a truce the other night, Casey’s lips had felt soft against her hand. As soft as she imagined the rest of him was hard, corded muscle. Tonight she’d enjoyed feeling the gentle abrasion of his callused palm against her fingers. And the security of his hand at her back after the game as they made their way through a sea of fans to his Porsche. She’d basked in the reflected attention from locals who’d mobbed Casey to get his autograph, a lot more than she’d liked standing by and watching the dozens of coeds who simpered and fawned over him. That sleek black sports car might as well have been a glass coach. TJ wouldn’t have been too surprised if it had turned into a pumpkin while they watched the game. But TJ was no Cinderella. That fact had been brought home too emphatically for a fool to miss, the day her former fiancé had strolled into the suburban Atlanta precinct house with a stripper and announced that he’d just married the woman. That bastard had been a loser compared to Casey. And TJ had enough smarts to realize Casey’s casual gestures of affection were only window dressing for their partnership—a tie that would end as soon as they solved the point-shaving mystery. Unfortunately her body didn’t want to listen. She tried to ignore the tingling in her nipples, the dampness between her legs. When she couldn’t, she discounted the cause as hormones. Nothing more. Any woman would react the same. Casey Weldon was a major hunk of sinew and testosterone. He even seemed to be a decent, honorable man. The living, breathing fulfillment of every woman’s fantasies. But he was the last man on earth who’d fall for her. The world’s worst choice for TJ to go after in the unlikely event she ever decided to end her moratorium on men. Since she couldn’t sleep, TJ tried to persuade herself that Hank Tyburn’s poor last quarter performance tonight might be coincidence. She couldn’t. Unless the evidence lied, at least five players had shaved points in the last five games.

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The question was why? Under what rock should she look to find a creep who’d turn college kids into criminals to facilitate his own crimes? The sound of the phone violated TJ’s silent haven and made her shiver. Before she grabbed the receiver, she drew the covers to her chin. “Thomas here.” Though the muffled voice on the other end of the line sounded incoherent, TJ caught a few words—“point-shaving”, “quad”, and “front of Coleman Hall”. She stood, held the phone with her chin as she used her arms to tear off her nightgown. “I’ll be right there. You don’t move. I’ll need to get your statement.” Glancing at the caller ID, she jotted down the phone number the call had come from and called Dale for backup. Then she threw on clothes and sprinted out the door, shoving the Beretta into the back waistband of her jeans. Her car ignition ground for a moment before it caught. Icy air chafed her cheeks and the smell of raw gasoline stung her nostrils. Freezing rain made the narrow streets slippery, slowed TJ’s progress. What a nasty night. Damn. She had no idea who had called, but he’d mentioned point-shaving. No one except she, Casey, and Dale knew they were investigating that. Did they? God, but the ice made driving treacherous. It was slowing her down too much. Finally she reached the parking lot behind Coleman Hall. The car slid sideways when she hit the brakes and slid to a stop in front of a pile of dingy snow. TJ looked out over the barren campus. She’d been a cop long enough to trust her gut, and the hair on the back of her neck had risen. Something was off about this situation. Very off. Moving deliberately, she took off her gloves and then, after a moment’s thought, reached in the glove compartment and grabbed an extra clip which she stuffed in the pocket of her jacket. If God was looking down on Appleton tonight, the call had been a false alarm and she was overreacting. But instinct told her it wasn’t.

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She had the feeling God was busy watching over some other campus and some other cop. Some other athletic director with troubles of his own. Some other studentathletes who’d been drawn over their heads into evil. When she got halfway across the quad, she saw it. A body, underneath a carriage light in front of Coleman Hall. It lay, arms and legs akimbo, atop a snowdrift. A snowdrift stained crimson with blood.

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Chapter Four She sprinted the rest of the way, tugging off her gloves. Come on. Live. Nothing. A shudder racked her body. Soggy snow penetrated the knees of her jeans as she knelt, felt for a carotid pulse. Some sign of life. She’d come too late. He was dead. Blood still seeped from the gash low on his throat, stained the frozen ground. TJ pulled out her cell phone and called for help. Then she noticed the State U letterman’s jacket. And the number forty-seven on its bloodstained sleeve. Forty-seven. One of the players they suspected of shaving points. Steeling herself, she glanced at his face. Frozen in a death mask, drained of color. But she still recognized the skinny, sullen-looking player who’d fed basketballs to State’s giant center earlier tonight with robot-like precision. Watch number forty-seven, Casey had whispered while offering popcorn during the first quarter. Fragrant, crunchy popcorn, still warm from the popper. She’d never munch another morsel without remembering. Number forty-seven. The call that brought her here too late. The blood and senseless death. TJ had seen murder victims before. Bodies of kids even younger than this one. Bodies with far more marks of trauma than the knife wound that apparently had ended number forty-seven’s life.

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But viewing the ultimate proof of man’s inhumanity to man got no easier with repetition. She stood, looked away from the carnage, trembled as the night wind blew through the corridor between two classroom buildings on the quad. Sirens wailed, their mournful sounds intensifying as the cars approached. Tires squealed as they sought purchase on the icy concrete. The wailing sirens quieted one by one. Booted feet pounded along the sidewalk toward Coleman Hall. Once again TJ made herself look at the silent victim. “Who killed you? And why?” “TJ. You all right?” Dale took her hands, chafed them between his palms. “You’re freezing. Here.” He took off his gloves and put them on her. “I’m okay.” But she wasn’t. Until Dale touched her, she hadn’t realized her hands were cold. Dale gestured toward the body where two paramedics checked for signs of life. “You think he’s the one who called you?” “I don’t know. But we need to secure the scene.” If she’d been in charge, she’d have made the sheriff’s men stand back. Wait. But this was Appleton, not Atlanta—and murder came under the jurisdiction of the man in khaki who’d hurried across the frozen grass and hunkered over the corpse as if to get a better look. Sheriff Billy Joe Smith. “Jesus Lord Almighty. Elton Timms. He’s dead, all right. Dead as a doornail.” Billy Joe shook his head as he stomped over to where Dale and TJ stood. “Hey, Dale. Any idea what’s going on?” “No more than you do. TJ took a call at home and came to meet the caller in front of Coleman Hall. When she got here, she found Timms lying there the way you see him. She called me, and I got hold of you right away.”

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“You Dale’s big-time homicide cop he lured away from Atlanta, aren’t you?” Billy Joe hiked up his pants just under a belly that looked as though it stowed more than its share of beer. TJ nodded. Being in close proximity with a corpse had never put her in the mood for casual conversation. Billy Joe glanced over at the paramedics. “Go on, boys, load him up and get him to the hospital morgue. Tell Doc Banes to hurry up with the autopsy. Ain’t often we get ourselves a murder to solve. Right, Dale?” “Right. You want us to question the students?” “Yeah, but chances are it wasn’t anybody from around here. Looks like one of them random things. I figure old Elton here just wandered into the wrong place, the wrong time, the way so many folks these days seem to do—and that whoever got riled up enough to do him in will be long gone by now.” Billy Joe turned to TJ. “Dale said you were the first one here, sugar. Maybe you can tell me what this boy’s doing dead. Lord, the basketball team’s gonna suffer. Timms was one of Russ Gage’s best players. You ever see this boy play?” “Last night.” Billy Joe grinned. “Good game. Too bad State’s not gonna have a shot at number one for a few more years. You meet the new athletic director yet?” “Casey and I went to the game together,” she said. They’d have to tell the sheriff soon enough about the point-shaving they suspected, but that was Dale’s call, not hers. The once-over Billy Joe gave her resulted in a look of shock on his round, ruddy face, but at least he restrained himself from making the incredulous comment TJ imagined lurked on the tip of his tongue. “Yo, Billy Joe. Rachel over at dispatch said we’ve got a murder on our hands.”

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TJ couldn’t tell which of the three Billy Joe clones had yelled from halfway across the quad, but it didn’t matter. They all looked about the same as their boss, even up close. “Hey, boys. You all sure took your time getting here. Tape off the area between these two buildings, all the way from the quad to the parking lot. And don’t let anybody go trekking through. Come first light, we’ll be going over the area with a finetooth comb. Not that I imagine we’ll be lucky enough to find a calling card from the guy who cut Elton’s throat, but it won’t hurt to take a look. Might get lucky, mightn’t we, sugar?” Dale cleared his throat, as if to keep TJ from saying something rash. “What did your caller say?” Billy Joe asked. “Not much. Just ‘Coleman Hall’, and ‘the quad’. And something about—” Dale shook his head, just barely, but it was enough to keep TJ from mentioning the reference her caller had made to shaving points. “Was it a man or a woman, or couldn’t you tell?” “A man, I think. Could have been a woman with a real low voice. But I couldn’t place any accent. The person wasn’t on the phone long enough.” “Hmm. Might’ve been Elton. Or the murderer. Hey, what’s Weldon doin’ out here?” TJ wondered, too, as she watched Casey cross the quad. “Dale?” “I called him when I couldn’t reach Coach Gage. Thought somebody from the university ought to be the one to tell Elton’s family.” That made sense. What didn’t was her reaction when Casey joined their small huddle at the murder scene. The sudden warmth that bloomed inside her despite the frigid wind, the feeling of security his casual touch evoked. The tingling in her most sensitive spots when she breathed in his clean, masculine scent. “Sorry I took so long. Had to find somebody to watch the kids.”

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The sound of Casey’s deep, quiet voice sent shivers down TJ’s spine. She had to get a grip, concentrate on the tragedy that had drawn them here tonight. But a little later, when he asked her to go with him to pull Elton Timms’ personal information file and view more game tapes, TJ’s hold on reality took another sucker punch.

***** “I hate death.” Yeah, Casey knew it was inevitable. But for old folks, not kids at the beginning of what should have been a bright future—or women in the prime of their lives. A few hours after dawn had broken on another dreary day, he stared out his office window at the murder scene. Yellow tape waved obscenely in the wind while khakiclad sheriff’s deputies meandered around, ostensibly searching for clues. He hated this town, this job. This seemingly safe, benevolent place that had suddenly sprouted an aura of evil all its own. TJ’s silent presence lent warmth to a room that otherwise reminded Casey of the tragedy that happened within view from this window. She’d shared her strength when he most needed it, sat across from him and held his gaze while he told Bart and Sally Timms their son was dead. If only he could hold her, draw on her courage. Nothing more. He couldn’t want more. The hell he couldn’t. From things she’d said, he got the impression she believed being tall and curvy turned men off. At one time he would have agreed. But now Casey looked at TJ and saw a woman blooming with good health, a woman who wouldn’t shatter if a man forgot in a frenzy of desire to be gentle. A woman with whom he could unleash his passion without fear. 48

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A woman as different from Susan as she could be. The guilt that slammed into him couldn’t squelch the flame coming to life in his grief-stricken body. “Casey?” She had a bedroom voice, low and melodic. A voice he imagined whispering an erotic invitation. Blood slammed into his groin. He had to get a grip. Remember why he was here. Remember Susan. “I’m sorry. Do you want to look at more tapes?” “We’ll wait for Dale. He should be here soon.” “All right. What do you think? Did somebody kill Elton because he was shaving points?” TJ nibbled her lower lip. Her brow creased slightly, as if she was considering Casey’s question. Then she met his gaze, her expression troubled. “If there’s a tie-in, and it seems likely there is, we’re in over our heads. We’re going to have to notify the NCAA about the point-shaving. And let Billy Joe know, for whatever good that may do.” “Okay. But why would a gambler want to kill somebody who’s helping him win his bets?” TJ shrugged. “Blackmail?” “You think Elton was threatening to expose him?” “Either that, or Elton was developing a conscience, threatening to expose the operation. Anything’s possible.” “Damn.” Casey might as well have moved his kids to east LA, the way Appleton was shaping up. Only difference was, he wouldn’t be stuck squarely in the middle of whatever was happening on those gang-infested streets. “I’m going to see if I can send my kids to Susan’s sister until this mess is over.”

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TJ joined him at the window, stared out at the sheriff’s men. “Maybe you should wait. I may be wrong.” “Do you believe that?” “Not really. But it could be. Stranger things have happened.” When she touched his forearm, the jolt that went through Casey had little to do with the comfort she was offering and everything to do with sexual awareness. She must have felt it, too, because she jerked her hand back as if his flesh had scorched her. Self-conscious, he shoved the sleeves of his sweater down to his wrists and tried not to calculate how long it had been since he’d made love to Susan for the last time. He crossed the room, picked up the MVP ball from its polished cradle. For a minute he held it, before tossing it back and forth between his hands. Over a year ago. After last year’s conference championship game. He’d realized then that he had hurt her, though he’d tried to be gentle. And he’d never let himself touch her in a sexual way again. Celibacy. His penance for keeping on living while Susan had died more day by day. “Casey?” He set the ball on its stand. Faced TJ. Noticed her unshed tears—and the fullness of her breasts beneath another blue sweater, this one a shade lighter than her shining eyes. He couldn’t resist taking her hands, drawing her close, sharing her warmth. For a long, silent moment he stood there, enjoying the softness of her breasts against his chest, the tightness of his rising cock against her flat, jeans-clad belly. “It’s been one hell of a day, and it’s not noon yet,” he muttered, stepping back before his arousal became unmistakable. It got no better as the hours crept by. Coach Gage took furious exception to Casey’s allegation that basketball players were shaving points. Lisa Evans cornered him after the emergency meeting he’d called for all the coaches and blatantly tried to seduce him. Susan’s sister lectured when he

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called that he should have left his children with her in the first place, instead of dragging them with him while he settled in on a new job, annoying him enough that he decided to wait a few days before putting the kids on a plane. To top off a miserable day, Sheriff Billy Joe held firm to his theory that Elton had died because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, even after Casey, TJ, and Dale had told him they suspected Elton had been involved in a point-shaving scheme. By the time Casey got home, he wanted to toss it in, leave State U’s can of worms to the next sucker to clean up. Too bad his dad had taught him quitters never win. He made a decision, though. No matter how much he’d miss them, no matter how bad it might be for their bruised psyches to be separated from him awhile, he was going to send Lee Ann and Brett to Susan’s sister. He couldn’t stand the thought of maybe losing them, too.

***** Why kill the goose that laid the golden egg? Suddenly chilled in spite of the gas log burning in the fireplace, TJ burrowed deeper under the soft plaid blanket on her couch and mentally replayed the meeting she’d sat in on this afternoon between Casey and the basketball coaches. Mose snagged a corner of the covers, as if to protect his spot at her side. She hadn’t realized how many assistant coaches, trainers, and student managers were involved in putting together a college basketball team until at least a dozen had filed into Casey’s office like a small, defensive army. Understandably, they’d all shared a shell-shocked expression with Coach Gage. Every one of them seemed insulted by the allegations that players might have been shaving points. Deadly silence. Indrawn breaths. Openmouthed disbelief.

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And anger. Fury, more like it. TJ had halfway expected Coach Gage to drop dead of a massive stroke before he finally let out with a stream of profanity that apparently lessened the pressure that had turned his jowls an interesting shade of purple. Even after Casey had showed the veteran coach the stats, he’d vehemently denied point-shaving was even a possibility. TJ couldn’t understand why, when even an amateur like herself could see something fishy was going on. Loyalty to his players, Casey had suggested after the meeting adjourned. TJ wasn’t at all sure. After all, Gage hadn’t been home to get the call Dale made after she found Elton Timms’ body. And he’d left the chore of notifying Elton’s parents to Casey. As far as she was concerned, Gage had acted like a man who had something to hide. She’d noticed him exchanging furtive glances with Tom Enright, one of his assistant coaches, while Casey voiced his suspicions. TJ stroked Mose’s furry back, was rewarded with a loud purr. Would Casey purr if she stroked his stubbled cheek? A pine-scented candle flickered on the table, its fragrance winding to her nostrils. Pungent. Clean-smelling. Not too different from the scent of the aftershave Casey wore. She needed to get real, keep in mind that she and Casey were spending time together strictly for business—the business of getting to the bottom of the point-shaving mystery. But there was that spark whenever they touched. He felt it, too. She’d seen it today in his eyes, and in his hurried effort to shove his sweater sleeves all the way down. In the way he’d picked up that football from his credenza and tossed it between his long, callused fingers. She’d felt the tension in his big body when he’d drawn her to him, held her. The steely length of his erection against her belly. Forget it. She hadn’t been able to hold on to Todd, and he’d been a very ordinary sort of guy. What the hell was she doing, mooning over a major hunk like Casey Weldon?

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They had a crime to solve. And she had a feeling they’d better do it fast. Before somebody else ended up dead.

***** “You’re not going to die, are you, Daddy?” Brett asked at breakfast the following morning. The pancake Casey had been flipping hit the floor with a splat. “I’m not planning to, at least not anytime soon. Why?” “Trevor’s daddy told him bad things started happening to the basketball players after we came to town, and it was all your fault. Besides, you’re sending us away.” What the hell? “Trevor’s dad is wrong,” Casey ground out between clenched teeth. “The trouble started long before I took this job. And you’ll be back from visiting your aunt before you know it.” “That’s what I said. But he laughed at me. Then I socked him in the nose.” “And you’ve got a week’s worth of detention for that, dummy,” Lee Ann said. “Bet they don’t forget about it while we’re gone.” Casey saw her stick her tongue out at her brother when he turned to put a plate of pancakes on the table. “Lee Ann, that’s enough.” “Alice would have told you if I didn’t.” She drizzled syrup in a neat circle on top of her pancakes before passing it to Brett. Casey sat, drained his juice in one long swallow. “Brett, you know you aren’t supposed to solve problems with your fists.” Good thing he’d decided to get the kids out of town until this mess got settled. “But Daddy—” “Eat your breakfast. We’ll talk more about this later.”

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“When we get back, will you take me to get a new dress for the Valentine’s Day party at school?” Lee Ann asked. What did he know about little girls’ party dresses? “Maybe Alice will take you.” “All the way to Charlotte?” He envisioned the housekeeper’s ancient sedan conking out somewhere along the highway. “She could use your mom’s— I mean the Lexus.” Maybe he should leave the SUV for Alice to use every day, now that he thought about it. Her clunker could as easily die on a short trek to pick up the kids at school. Lee Ann didn’t look happy, but at least she shut up and let him choke down rubbery pancakes. “Brett, tell your aunt you’re grounded for a week,” he told his son as he pushed back from the table. When Alice arrived, she agreed to use Casey’s SUV for driving the kids to the airport that morning, but not to take Lee Ann shopping once they got home. “You need to get your friend to do that. I’m not much on fashion,” she said. His friend? It took a minute for Casey to figure out she meant the woman he’d taken to two basketball games in the past week, less than that to decipher Lee Ann’s stormy look and decide asking TJ to take his daughter on a shopping trip was not a good idea. “Maybe Aunt Mary Lou will take you shopping while you’re there. They’ve got lots of stores near where she lives. Both of you could use some new clothes.” “But Daddy…” Brett’s lower lip stuck out, as clear an indicator as any complaint he might have made that he didn’t like the idea of joining his aunt and cousins. “It’s settled.” Casey’s head pounded already, and he hadn’t even begun his day. The roar of the Porsche’s powerful engine punctuated his headache when he finally pulled out of the garage and headed to face troubles of a different kind. Troubles that included briefing the coaches about what was going on as well as the usual hundreds of small chores that made up his workday.

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Chapter Five He’d not only had to deal with coaching staff, but also to reassure players and their worried parents who’d heard about Elton’s murder and wanted to hear the facts. Dale and TJ had taken over his conference room and were interviewing players one by one, trying to sort out facts and pry out information from their suspects. No closer after the interviews to proving Elton Timms and the other basketball players had been shaving points than they’d been when Casey first suspected it, Dale brought Billy Joe into his confidence. Overall it had shaped up to be a day from hell. Only bright spot, Casey mused, was the good report he’d received from Riley’s new tutor. And TJ. The best part of his day had been the part he’d spent near her. She’d looked prettier today than Casey had ever seen her. Softer. More feminine. Maybe it was the rosy red sweater that brought out the color in her cheeks. Or the plaid skirt that had hugged her rounded butt and brushed the tops of knee-high leather boots. When they’d walked to the Union for lunch, the fierce wind had tugged wisps of hair from that awful bun she wore, curling them around her face. Casey’s fingers itched to loosen her hair, find out if it was as soft as it looked. Every time he saw TJ, she had his cock turning hard as rock and his brain thinking thoughts that made him feel distinctly disloyal to his dead wife’s memory. Damn. He had to get his mind off his deprived libido and onto this stinking job. There weren’t enough hours in the day. Already it was dark by the time he strode from the office to the parking lot. He shivered at the blast of freezing wind that suddenly penetrated his jacket.

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Ice crackled under his feet. Naked tree limbs shuddered and creaked from their burden of ice. Casey was within twenty feet of his car, looking forward to a blast of heat from the car heater, when someone tackled him from behind and dragged him to the ground. Gut-punched, he fought nausea and pounded his fists into the assailant’s masked face. A satisfying crunch hinted that he’d hit pay dirt. The guy reeled. Casey struggled to his feet. Got off another punch. Took another blow. Gave it back. Again. And again. Heaving for breath, he grabbed for the assailant’s ski mask. Caught it. Drew back his left arm to deliver a knockout blow. And hit air as his assailant fled across the parking lot. Too winded to give chase, Casey leaned against his car, staring at the black ski mask that dangled from his bruised fingers.

***** Somebody obviously had upped the ante. TJ paced the emergency room waiting area while a doctor stitched a nasty gash below Casey’s left eye. She’d set the security officers on the quad to searching, though she imagined the guy who’d attacked Casey was long gone. But they had the assailant’s mask, and it was drenched in blood. His own, not Casey’s, or so Casey had told her on the way here. She’d seen footprints where someone had run across ice-capped snow on the quad, but they’d come to an abrupt halt in a

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clearing just west of the parking lot. Hopefully Casey would be able to give her a better description of his attacker, once he could answer questions. “Hey, lady. Where’s Weldon?” The sheriff needed some lessons in political correctness, but TJ responded with a nod. “He’s in there,” she said, gesturing toward a set of swinging doors. “Did your boys catch the guy who did it?” “No. At least they hadn’t ten minutes ago when I last checked in with Dale.” Billy Joe hiked up his khaki pants. “Must have taken a big one to bring Weldon down.” “I imagine.” It hardly took a rocket scientist to figure that out. “Guess you may be right about the shaving points. Or maybe somebody doesn’t much like folks saying players are messing with basketball scores. But I still don’t want to believe that’s got much to do with Elton getting himself killed. Kid had a smart mouth, made a fistful of enemies.” He paused, stared at the door to the emergency treatment area. “Is Casey hurt bad?” “A cut below his eye that needed sutures. Some bruises. Otherwise he seems okay. He was lucky.” “I’d say whoever attacked him was lucky to get away. Weldon’s a big guy. In good shape, too.” That went without saying. Casey’s hard, fit body had become the subject of TJ’s nightly erotic dreams. Besides, Casey had mentioned on the way to the hospital that his attacker was six-two or so and built like a linebacker. “He thinks he broke his assailant’s nose. It certainly bled enough to have been fractured.” “You get a sample off the ground?” “Casey got hold of his ski mask. It’s soaked in blood. If we catch him, we shouldn’t have any problem making an ID. You might even get lucky and get a DNA match.”

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“Yeah, but I hope we don’t have to wait to find him for the state lab to get those tests done. Hey, there comes Weldon now.” Casey was moving less gracefully than usual, and the left side of his face looked the worse for wear. TJ clasped her hands together, determined to resist the urge to offer more than a sympathetic smile. The smile must have conveyed more sympathy than she intended, because Casey lifted a hand and brushed his bruised knuckles across her cheek. “I’m okay. I’m used to bumps and bruises. Got banged up worse than this, almost every game for the last twenty years or so.” Billy Joe hiked up his pants again as he cleared his throat. “I’ll get word to the docs and hospitals around here to report anybody coming in with bruises or broken bones in their faces.” The sheriff gave Casey the once-over. “Guess the guy who did that looks worse than you, huh?” “Probably. I heard bones crack when I hit him.” Casey sounded tired. And woozy. “I’d better drive you home,” TJ said. “Hold on before you drag him off. I need you to tell me what this guy looked like.” Casey sank onto one of the hard plastic chairs. “A couple of inches shorter than me. Big. Not fat. About two hundred and seventy-five pounds, I guess. Dark clothes. I gave the ski mask he was wearing to TJ.” “Was he white or black?” “White, I think. Not certain. Saw his hands. No gloves. Didn’t get a look at his face, just his back as he was running off.” Casey paused, glanced at TJ. “Should’ve chased him. Didn’t think.” “That’s our job. I’m just glad he didn’t have a weapon.” TJ shuddered, recalled Elton lying on the quad, his throat slashed. “Me, too. Wish I could have…”

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“Seems like you got him pretty good,” Billy Joe observed, eyeing the bloodstained mask in his pudgy fist. “Hope so.” “I’m certain you did. Whoever did this obviously meant it to be a message, not another murder. I doubt he thought ahead about who it was he was delivering that message to,” TJ said, forcing a smile. “Let’s get you home before you collapse.”

***** “My God in heaven, Mr. Weldon, what happened to you?” Alice gasped when she got a good look at Casey’s swollen face. “Nothing much. Did you get Lee Ann and Brett onto the plane all right?” “Sure did. I tell you, neither one of ‘em acted much like they wanted to go see their auntie. She called about an hour ago, said she had them fed, washed up, and put to bed.” Then Alice turned to TJ. “Sheriff Smith needs to get somebody to stay here with you. Whoever did this could decide he needs to finish the job.” TJ realized Alice was right. “I’ll stay.” “You?” Alice shot a doubtful look TJ’s way. “I’m as qualified as anybody from the sheriff’s office. More so than most.” Casey leaned heavily against the counter by an oversize stainless steel sink. “We’ll be okay, Alice. Go on home now. Take the next few days off. I don’t want you staying here in the house by yourself until they catch whoever’s making a target out of me.” “But…” Alice frowned, as though she didn’t want to say what she was thinking. Casey reached over and helped her into her coat. “It’s not your fault you can’t work. I’ll pay you whether you’re here or not. Go on. Stay safe, and get some rest. I’ll call you.”

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They were alone. Together, in Casey’s big ranch-style house. TJ glanced around the family room, saw Casey pick up his son’s football and toss it into a toy box in the corner. Her gaze settled on a Barbie dollhouse, all pink and little-girl frilly. Though they weren’t here, she felt his children’s presence. She was certain Casey must, too, even more strongly than she did. Alone? Yes, but they might as well have been at a basketball game, surrounded by thousands of strangers. “Go to bed,” she said. “You get some sleep. I’ll bunk here on your couch.” “Not yet. I’m hungry.” Casey shrugged out of his jacket, opened the refrigerator and pulled out some containers of food. God, TJ was hungry, too. Starving. But not for the meatloaf and vegetables he was heating in the microwave. She wanted to brush her lips across his bruised cheek, tunnel her fingers through his soft, dark hair…explore every bulging muscle, each square inch of his magnificent body. “I want…” She shouldn’t have spoken, because when he looked down at her, she saw a similar sort of longing in his eyes. “So do I. Not here, though, and not now.” Of course not. Not in this house where his grief still permeated every inch of the supremely masculine space—space that bore not the smallest hint of a woman’s touch. It was as though Casey couldn’t bear reminders…other than the living, breathing legacies of his life before his wife’s death. “I know,” TJ said softly, sitting at the table in front of one of the plates and pretending interest in her food. When—not if, for the chemistry between them was so strong it had to happen sooner or later—they finally came together it would be explosive, set off like wildfire at the first slight brush of skin on skin, the tickle of his breath against her cheek. It would be pure, animal sex. Sensation. An act based on the primal attraction of male and female. Nothing more. TJ knew better than to interpret the warmth in their shared smiles as more, or to expect that if Casey reached out to her it would mean more to him than scratching a

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long-neglected itch. Still her heart beat faster when he pulled his chair closer and lifted her hand. “Hold the thought. I know I will.” He bent, brushed his velvety soft, sensual lips across her palm. “What say we finish eating and adjourn to your place? You can protect me there as well as here.” Protect him? TJ was the one who needed protection from the heat, the need she saw reflected in Casey’s eyes. She needed immunization against the barely leashed desire evident in his bold assessment of her breasts, the damp crotch of her jeans. What the hell? She ought to be running away as fast as her legs would carry her, not only from his incredibly hot body but from the pain she knew would paralyze her heart if she let herself care for him. Only thing was, she doubted she could avoid emotional attachment. She had to resist. Had to remember not to let fantasies crowd out the reality that whatever happened between them would be strictly physical. Nothing more. Her nipples tightened and her cunt grew wet. That was okay. She needed sex as much as he did, but she wouldn’t let treacherous tender feelings intrude.

***** “Sorry, TJ,” Casey murmured. “We could have stayed at my place.” “No, we couldn’t. Besides, Mose would have missed his evening snack.” She bent, stroked along the backbone of the large gray cat that had met them at the door. “Come on, buddy, I’ll fill your bowl.” She was making this easy on him. Casey knew it. Appreciated it. He followed her to the kitchen, taking off his gloves and jacket on the way. While she poured the cat some milk, he slipped his sweatshirt over his head. Then she met his gaze, smiled, and tossed her parka onto an empty chair. His cock hardened. Hell, it had felt like stone ever since she’d smiled and nodded at his suggestion that they adjourn here. Her heated gaze had

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let him know she was okay with it—with doing here what he couldn’t fathom doing at his place. For a moment an image of Susan flashed in his brain, but it gave way with surprising grace to the vibrant picture of the woman standing before him now. “Where’s your room?” TJ looked surprised, but she started down a dimly lit hallway. “This way.” Casey scooped her into his arms. “Let me.” She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, apparently surprised—but pleasantly so. “Careful, don’t hurt yourself,” she murmured. “I’m no lightweight.” “You feel good. Sexy as hell. I can hardly wait to strip you down and taste every inch of your gorgeous body.” Once in the bedroom, Casey set her down, enjoying the soft brush of her sweater against his shirt, the warmth of her satiny cheek when she rubbed it on the sensitive skin of his throat. He cupped her chin in one hand, looked into her eyes. “Tell me you want this, too.” “Oh, yes.” Her touch nimble, she worked the buttons loose on his shirt, tugged the tails out of his jeans. Cool air tickled his abs when he lifted his arms and skinned that cherry-red sweater of hers over her head. Omigod. Her full, creamy breasts spilled over the see-through material of a red bra meant for seduction, not taming the lush orbs. His balls tightened with anticipation, his mouth watered, and his cock swelled painfully against the zipper of his jeans. Like a kid anticipating his first feel of heaven, Casey groped for the bra’s front clasp. “Help me,” he croaked when it didn’t immediately give way. “Take it off. Now.” TJ had his belt loose and was tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “Go on. Tear it.” Her obvious eagerness fired his own desperate need. His swollen cock throbbed so hard, it was a wonder the metal zipper teeth didn’t give way. “You asked for this.” He caught his fingers in the front closure of her bra, pulling the material away from her flesh, bending to taste first one dusky nipple and then the

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other. One hard tug and the flimsy fabric gave way, baring her to his gaze. “God, but you’re gorgeous.” A perfect goddess, all cream and rose and firm, supple flesh beneath his fingers. Casey crushed her to his chest, slid his fingers inside her jeans to cup her rounded ass cheeks in his hands. He took her mouth, devoured it, loving every minute with this woman. Strong, assertive and passionate as hell, TJ gave as good as she took, grinding her hips against his cock, silently asking for more. Demanding more. “Fuck me now, Casey,” she whispered against his lips when he paused to catch his breath. “I’m wet for you.” Oh, yeah. He’d fuck her. He’d burst if he didn’t. Good thing he’d thought to buy some condoms. Even better that he’d tucked a couple in the back pocket of his jeans before they’d left his house. By the time he got his boots and pants off, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Put it on me,” he croaked, handing TJ the plastic packet he’d fished out before dumping his jeans on the floor. “I want you so much, I can’t…” Her touch nearly made him come, but he gritted his teeth. “Honey, it’s been forever for me. Sorry, but this is gonna be fast and dirty.” “That’s how I want you.” She lay back on the bed, pulling him down with her, clutching his shoulders and wrapping those endlessly long, firm legs around his naked ass as soon as he’d knelt in the open vee of her thighs. “Fuck me hard. Fast. Put your big, hard cock inside me. Make me come.” Her cunt fit him like a tight, wet glove when he sank inside. He thrust, she parried, with no hesitation, no holding back. It was all he could do not to start spurting with that first caress of her flesh on his. God, he wanted to come. But he wanted the incredible pleasure to last. She strained, took him deeper until she had him buried to the balls. Her moist slit surrounded his balls, the swollen flesh caressing him like a gentle, incredibly sexy fist. He damn near lost it when she used her strong, tight cunt muscles to clamp down on his cock as if to hold him there. 63

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He’d promised fast, but he had to slow down. Give her pleasure, too. Casey slowed his thrusts. Desperate for control, he tried to ignore the way her tight, wet cunt was milking his cock and concentrate instead on the feel of her lush breasts beneath his chest, the minty taste of her mouth when he claimed it with deep thrusts of his tongue. TJ loved the substantial feeling of Casey’s big, hard body pressing her into the mattress. The way the heat of his lightly furred skin stoked her desire. She couldn’t help but feel awe at the way his powerful biceps rippled against her sides when he took most of his weight on his arms. How fucking long had it been since she’d had a lover who worried about crushing her? Had she ever? When he fucked her harder, deeper, the answers didn’t matter. “God yes.” Her cunt clenched around his big, throbbing cock. A thousand tongues of fire licked her womb, her nipples, every cell in her body. “Please, Casey, make me come.” She barely recognized the sound of her own voice, breathy, pleading, not at all like her usual take-charge way of talking. Casey had a way of making her feel small, helpless to his will…protected by his strength. As though he knew what she needed, he shifted, pounding into her with reckless abandon. His pulse throbbed at his temple, fast, powerful. When he looked at her, she saw fire in his eyes. “Come for me, baby.” Baby? It should have pissed her off, but his gasped endearment pushed her over the edge. Emotion and sensation merged, a kaleidoscope of brilliant color, white-hot heat that flowed from his cock and engulfed her. “God, yes, I’m coming,” she yelled, sinking her teeth into the salty sweat-stained sweet spot at the base of his thick, muscular neck. Before she lost consciousness she felt the first hot spurts of his climax, wished… …wished she really was his baby. His love. TJ tightened her hold on Casey when he went limp above her, laid her head against his broad shoulder when he rolled them to their sides. “That was good. So fucking

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good,” he murmured against her hair as they lay in the dark. “So fucking much better than I deserved.” Tomorrow they’d go back to being friends and co-workers, TJ knew by the tortured sound of Casey’s voice. A single tear rolled down her cheek, a token of her regret, her understanding of Casey’s still-raw grief.

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Chapter Six TJ hadn’t slept much, between wanting to wake Casey and seduce him, sympathizing with his obviously torn emotions, and worrying that somebody would make another attempt on his life. Restless now as the sun was peeking through the frost on her bedroom window, she got up. She couldn’t help looking down at him. Sleeping, he looked younger, untroubled— not by the escalating violence here or the grief and guilt that had so obviously torn him late last night. The black sutures beneath his eye and the dark shadow of a morning beard stood out in stark contrast with his tanned skin. When his lips curved as though he recalled something pleasurable, she couldn’t resist the need to bend, wake him with a kiss. “Good morning.” He blinked. Then he dragged her back down on the bed and rolled her beneath him. “I thought I’d been having one incredibly hot dream. Glad I wasn’t.” “I am, too.” She loved the feel of him on her, pressing her back into the mattress. His big, hard cock nestled between her legs, prodding her tender flesh. Wanting him inside her now, without preliminaries, she spread her legs, gave him better access. He groaned and slid partway inside her before he pulled away. “Condom. Got to get one. My jeans. You make me crazy. So sexy. So—” “Hurry.” “I am. Here. Found it.” After tossing his jeans back on the floor, he ripped away the plastic wrapper with his teeth, sheathed himself and knelt between her legs. He rubbed his cock along her slit, teasing…taunting her. “Want this?” “Oh, yes. Fuck me now. Please.”

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He sank into her, all the way, stretching and filling her. “Wrap those beautiful legs of yours around my waist. God, you feel so damn good. So tight. So wet and hot for me.” “I love— I love feeling you inside me.” It wasn’t love she was feeling, it was lust. She had to remember that, but it was hard, so hard, when he was moving in her, slow and deep, while his hot breath tickled her cheek and his strong arms held her steady for his thrusts as though she weighed no more than a feather. She molded her hands around his taut ass cheeks, pulled him to her and squeezed her inner muscles against his throbbing cock, as though her body thought she could make it last forever. “You’re—oh Jesus, this feels incredible. There. Squeeze me again. Feels so fucking good.” He bent, took her mouth, tongue-fucked her, claiming her again as he had last night. Her nipples tightened with every brush of his pecs. Her cunt clenched harder around his cock, milking him. Their tongues tangled. “Faster. Harder,” she gasped when he broke the kiss. “Like this?” He nearly withdrew before slamming back into her. “Don’t want to hurt you.” “You’ll hurt me if you stop.” She gripped him tighter with her legs, raised her hips to meet his next thrust. He hit her G-spot every time, sent shockwaves of pleasure all through her body. “Oh, yesss.” “Come for me, baby.” “I— I am. Oh, God, I feel you all the way to my toes.” “Yeah.” His shout of satisfaction filled her ears as the first hot spurts of his climax bombarded her, enhancing her own orgasm.

*****

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Later at her breakfast table, TJ tried to put what had happened into perspective. He’d been lonely, and so had she. She had no reason whatever to think their relationship had changed, that they’d ever again get together and scratch the mutual itch that had brought them together last night, and again a few minutes ago. She sipped her coffee while he put down a second serving of eggs and another biscuit with strawberry jam. Mose purred on her lap, as though he’d forgiven her for locking him out of her bedroom. More likely he hadn’t cared, any more than Casey would if he never took her to bed again. Stop bashing yourself, TJ. You got more than you had any reason to expect. She glanced over at him, read the morning-after discomfort on his face. The stitches gave him a tough, rugged look—more so even than the strong jaw with its night’s growth of beard. Maybe if she concentrated on the case… Who could have done that much damage to Casey? She strained her memory. There weren’t more than a handful of students who fit the description he’d given—and that she figured might have been able to do the job. No basketball players she could think of had the size or skill to do bodily harm to a conditioned professional athlete like Casey. Most likely his assailant was an outsider, which would make it all the more difficult to find and apprehend him. “I need to go home.” Casey set down his cup and rubbed a hand over his bristly chin. “Can’t go to work looking like this.” “Okay. Do you want me to go with you?” “No need. Although it probably doesn’t look that way now, I can generally take care of myself pretty well.” “I’m sure you can. I’ll call Sheriff Smith and ask him to have a deputy drive by your place periodically on his rounds.” TJ wasn’t going to chase him. She wasn’t. She’d come up way short against the competition of an Atlanta stripper, and she wasn’t about to get into competition with Casey’s beautiful, much-missed dead wife.

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“Thanks.” As though he had to do something to occupy his hands, Casey set to clearing the table. “You be careful. This whole business is getting damn spooky.” “I will. You take care of yourself, too. Don’t forget to put ice on your cheek.” That made him grin. “Yes, Mother. I’ve had a few cuts and bruises in my time. About last night, it was good, really good. Wish it didn’t—oh, never mind.” At the door, he bent and brushed his lips over hers but pulled away as though he’d been burned. As if he’d scorched himself with the heat between them. Unwelcome heat. “What is it about you that makes me want…what I shouldn’t even be thinking about?” Hormones. It had to have been his deprived hormones suddenly restored to full potency. TJ couldn’t delude herself into believing there could have been more than that to Casey’s sudden desire. “Go on, go home before we do something more that we’ll both regret.”

***** For the next four nights Casey lay in the dark, his balls aching worse than the stitched-up cut below his eye. He started to grasp his cock but stopped. He didn’t want to jerk off. He wanted to give and take pleasure from another human being. From TJ. How could he have felt any other way? Until the other night, it had been well over a year since the last miserable, guilt-ridden time he’d made love to Susan. Longer than that since she’d been well enough to do more than lie there and let him get off. Now she was dead. Gone. She wasn’t coming back, and he couldn’t imagine her wanting him to spend the rest of his life remembering… They’d had good times. Lots of them. Times that made Casey cringe with guilt because she’d been gone hardly three months and here he was, fantasizing about a healthy, vibrant woman who gave as good as she got. Whose arms held him as strongly as he held her, whose passion fired his own. Whose lovemaking had been as hot, as wild and undisciplined as he’d often wished he dared to be with his wife. 69

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God, he wanted to feel TJ’s nails digging into his shoulders, her mouth sucking his cock. He wanted her to take him deep in her tight cunt, to stroke and taste every inch of her taut, fit, healthy body. A body that seemed to need and want his the way he needed hers. His cock throbbed in protest when he imagined stripping away her pubic curls and feasting on flesh that would be smooth as silk. TJ’s flesh. Dominating her the way he’d never have dared try to dominate Susan. That couldn’t be so fucking wrong, could it? After all, he was alive and he had needs. Needs TJ obviously shared. Casey eyed the phone and picked it up to dial. What sounded like a shot rang out, piercing the night. Glass shattered. Casey dropped the receiver, leapt out of bed, wrapped an oversize towel around his hips, and charged toward the kids’ rooms. Then he remembered. Thank God he’d sent them to Susan’s sister. They didn’t need to go through this. Shivering in the cold breeze that was billowing the curtains next to the picture window, he made his way through the house to survey the damage. Whoever the hell was fixing games and killing ballplayers apparently was deadly serious. “Weldon, get out of Appleton,” read the note attached to a good-sized chunk of granite that rested on one of the leather sofas in the great room. Casey stared at the rock and then at the shattered window. He wasn’t about to turn tail and run. As much as he wanted to toss in the towel and head back to LA, he’d taken on this nightmare and he’d stay and see it through.

***** The next morning Casey wasn’t so sure about that, especially when he found Dale and TJ waiting in his office when he arrived for work. “Thank God you made it here okay. We’ve just found out it’s Russ Gage who’s been the mastermind of shaving points at the games,” Dale said, a sober look on his usually pleasant face.

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“Damn it, no. It can’t be. Not Coach Gage.” The man epitomized basketball at State U, had since before Casey had come here as a student. “I wish it weren’t, but it is. Apparently he’s buried in debt. Gambling habit. The people he owed got to him. Jesus, this is going to look like shit when it hits the news.” Dale shook his head. “I hope to God he’s not connected with Elton’s murder, too, or sports at State will be history.” Fuck. What the NCAA would do about further censuring of State’s athletic programs was the least of Casey’s immediate concerns. “Where is Gage now?” he asked, glancing out the window past lazily swirling snowflakes toward the gym where the team should be getting ready for practice. “At the sheriff’s office with his lawyer, presumably fingering the people who put him up to it. The ones who made actual contact with the players. Go on. I want you out of here until this is over. TJ’s going to stick with you like glue. Go to your place or hers, and stay there. I’m beginning to think—” “—I’m not about to cower like a rat. How the hell do I go about firing Gage? And who do I put in charge of the team—or what’s left of it?” “You can’t fire Coach Gage. He’s got tenure. The Regents will have to buy out his contract unless it has a clause where he can be let go for wrongdoing,” Dale said. “I guess you do need to name an interim head coach, though. Doubt old Russ will be able to make bail.” “All right. Jesus, I’ll have to think about this. Can we be sure Gage’s assistants weren’t in on his scheme?” TJ laid a hand on Casey’s arm. “Hopefully we’ll know that after Billy Joe finishes talking to Coach Gage. Come on. We don’t want you in here where you’re a sitting duck for anybody with a grudge and a hunting rifle with a scope. Sorting out who’s going to coach basketball for the rest of the season can wait. You’re right to worry that some of the assistant coaches may be involved. Our main concern at the moment is keeping anybody else from getting killed over this. Including you.” 71

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That convinced Casey. He shouldn’t have needed reminding he was all that stood between Brett and Lee Ann being orphaned. “I guess I have no choice. Come on, let’s go. Dale, we’ll be at my place. I have to get a broken window fixed before it starts to snow in earnest.”

***** “He’d have worn gloves. Too cold not to.” Casey eyed the hunk of rock that had shattered the window while a sheriff’s deputy TJ had called dusted it for fingerprints and wrapped it in a plastic bag. The deputy looked up from his chore. “You’re probably right. Still, we’ll test it for latents. Can’t believe Coach Gage would…hell, I’ve known him all my life. He used to go deer huntin’ with my pa.” “Yeah. I’m having trouble believing it, too.” Casey glanced at the broken window glass now temporarily covered on the outside by two sheets of plywood. “I can’t imagine Gage would have had anything to do with this—or with Elton’s murder.” “Me either. Still, you never know.” The deputy replaced his gloves and pulled down the earflaps on his brown wool hat. “Well, I’d better get this evidence down to the lab before the boss sends out a posse. Looks like the snow’s picking up outside, and my squad car’s got no chains. You call us right away if anything like this happens again.” “I will.” After the deputy left, Casey turned to TJ. “Weather’s turning worse outside. Want some coffee or hot chocolate?” “Sure.” She looked as nervous as he felt. “Shall I make it?” “No, I will.” Small talk didn’t do much toward masking the awkwardness —and he was sure TJ felt uncomfortable, too. Her smile was too determined, her pose too stiff, as though she didn’t know any better than he how to bring up the fact they’d had hot,

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enjoyable sex together…or that he’d opted that night not to touch her here and taken her to her place instead. “Come on out in the kitchen and keep me company.”

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Chapter Seven A rare snowstorm of blizzard proportions raged outside, wind gusts sending snow flying as it came down so hard the sky seemed white, not gray. TJ shivered when she looked out the window, but it wasn’t that she was cold. A steaming mug of hot cocoa was keeping her hands toasty, and warm air filled the room from Casey’s furnace, apparently a much more efficient model than her own ancient one that sputtered and balked every time the temperature dropped below freezing. Why was it she could face down an armed suspect without breaking a sweat, while being here alone with Casey had her trembling like a frightened child? It didn’t make sense. Not at all. He wasn’t her lover, though they’d made love. The only relationship they had stemmed from the crime they’d helped uncover, and when the danger passed they’d go their separate ways. Still, there was something—something she couldn’t define—that made her as nervous as a teenager hoping not to be stranded on the sidelines at her first high-school dance. “Neither of us is going anywhere anytime soon,” Casey said, his gaze focused on the storm outside. Did he feel awkward, too? She couldn’t tell from his expression, for he masked his feelings well. Then he turned to her, and she noticed his hands were clenched in fists. “I don’t know how long I can manage to keep my hands off you. I look at you and realize we’re here alone, and I keep remembering…not only how great it felt, but how right. And how I damn near died from guilt when it was over.” “I know.” “How could you? I was married for fourteen years, damn it. I loved her. She’s been gone just three months, but I can barely remember what it felt like, loving her. When I lie in bed all I think of is how fucking great it felt, having…” He hesitated, then shot her 74

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a shamefaced grin, “…sex with you the other night. How it’s all I can do to keep myself from getting up, going to you, and easing the ache between my legs. Then it hits me— the guilt.” Having sex. Not making love. Of course it was too soon for that. TJ hoped Casey didn’t notice the dampness in her eyes. “I understand. Really I do.” “No, you don’t. I want you, but wanting you tears me up inside. I lie in bed and think about the other night. Then I compare making love with my wife, and she comes up short. Makes me feel like the world’s worst asshole. I tell myself she was sick the last couple of years, that it’s unfair…but then I think back to what we were like before that. She—she didn’t respond the way you do, even when she was well. But I loved her.” His voice cracked, as though what he was saying wrenched at his heart. “I feel goddamn disloyal, because I gained more pleasure with you in one night than I had during all the years with Susan. I want to take you again—on the couch in my office, in my car. Hell, I’m aching to scoop you up, carry you to my bed, and fuck until neither one of us can move. I want to explore every luscious inch of you, taste you…” He paused for a moment before he took her hand and looked her in the eye, his expression tortured. “That makes me feel even guiltier, because I’m not being fair to you. You deserve more than a roll between the sheets with a guy whose mind’s all screwed up with wanting what he shouldn’t let himself want, not when his wife’s barely cold in her grave. You deserve a hell of a lot more than I’ve got in me to give.” “I didn’t ask for anything more. Or expect it.” TJ reached up and brushed a tear from his cheek, and when he turned and kissed her palm, her pulse began to race. Need crackled through her, made her nipples tighten and her juices start to flow. “I needed you that night at least as much as you needed me.” He slid his hand under her chin, forced her to look up at him. “I’m sick of fighting it. Sick of staying up nights with no one and nothing but my hand for company. Sick of feeling the cold. Come here and warm me.” “Here?” He’d been so adamant before that they not— 75

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“The only ghosts in this house are the ones in my head, and I’m ready to exorcise them.” He pulled her up, brushed his rigid cock against her belly through their clothes. “Yeah, I’m hard. Aching.” “I can tell. What if someone comes, though?” “Nobody’s venturing out here tonight. Probably not tomorrow, either, unless the county crews get the road cleared into town. I doubt anybody wants to intimidate me badly enough to trudge miles on foot during a snowstorm.” He probably was right. The only immediate danger was the damage they’d likely inflict on their own emotions. “All right.” She slid her hand down his body, cupped him through his slacks. “I want you at least as much as you want me. You’ve got to promise you won’t think you’re taking advantage…” “I am, but all I care about right now is getting you naked and into bed.” Without warning he scooped her up and strode through the family room, down the hall, and into what she guessed from the modest supply of masculine clutter must have been his bedroom.

***** Before she could get a good look at the big, sparsely furnished room, Casey had tossed her on the bed and followed her down, pinning her beneath his big, hard body. “I’ve had dreams about having you here like this.” Casey grinned down at TJ, the tortured look in his eyes gone now, replaced by a glitter of hot, purposeful desire. “Well, not exactly like this. You were naked and so was I.” “I’ve dreamed about you, too.” She’d dreamed of him surrounding her, making every cell in her body sing as he claimed her. She’d also had other dreams—futile female fantasies about forever that she’d never tell him about. They’d only feed the guilt that apparently consumed him. Guilt he seemed ready to shelve for the moment in the heat of the passion that had gripped them both. “Every night.” 76

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He rolled to his side and unbuttoned her suit jacket, stopping to stroke each inch of skin he uncovered. When he had it off, he smiled at the sight of the pale green camisole with its see-through lace inserts. “Why do you insist on hiding all this beauty behind a plain brown wrapper?” he asked as he tossed the offending jacket to the floor. The warm damp feel of his breath against her nipple sent waves of need all the way to her toes. “Beauty? That’s flattering but hardly true.” “Sure it is. You turn me on like no other woman has ever done.” For a second he looked distraught, but he quickly recovered that killer smile. “Raise up your gorgeous ass so I can get your slacks off.” She obliged him, and his sigh of satisfaction when he saw the matching thong that barely covered her pussy made her feel pretty. Desirable. Definitely desired, she thought when she slid her hand down his body and found him hard and throbbing. “One of us still has on too many clothes.” “In good time.” When he lowered his head to her breasts and suckled her through the flimsy silk and lace, the rasp of his beard stubble and the moist heat of his mouth sent waves of arousal all the way to her toes. She ran her fingers through his silky dark hair, loving the feel of him, the faint citrus smell of his cologne. When she stroked the sensitive spot at the base of his skull, his moan reverberated through her flesh and he bit down on her nipple, sending a shockwave of desire straight to her pussy. “Yesss. That feels so good.” He gave equal attention to both her nipples, as though time stood still and nothing mattered but the two of them, the sensations leading slowly, inexorably toward a full joining. His cock throbbed against her thigh, still confined in his jeans. She rubbed against it, wanting him now…yet needing to prolong the delicious sensation of anticipation. He reached down, stilled the restless motion of her leg. “Not yet, baby. Relax and let me love you.” 77

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Love? A euphemism for sex, she knew, but still her heart beat faster. “You make me crazy, you know.” Crazy with desire for all he offered, longing for the sort of emotional involvement he’d assured her he didn’t have to give. It didn’t matter. Not when he was touching her like this, arousing her, giving her hope with his actions that he’d denied the other night with that painful declaration. Not when she grew wetter with every suggestive throb of his cock against her belly, each hot breath against her straining breasts. Cool air brought goose bumps up along her rib cage when he slid his hands under the camisole. He bent and kissed her belly button when the material caught on her hardened nipples. “Lift up and let’s get this off. It’s pretty but you’re downright gorgeous.” TJ felt pretty, especially after he slipped the garment over her head and let out a low moan before bending and drawing a nipple into his mouth. His teeth grazed her flesh as he suckled her, while he explored her body with gentle fingers. She held her breath, waiting…wanting…needing him to strip off the thong that shielded her wet, hot pussy. Needing him to cover her with his powerful body and fuck her until she couldn’t think but could only feel. She tugged at his shirt. “Please. I want you naked, too. Now.” He groaned when she touched his bare skin. It felt good, so good he lifted himself up and stripped off the rest of his clothes. “Don’t want to wait, huh? Well, neither do I.” He came down hard on her, branding her with the heat of his muscular male body. His big, rigid cock throbbed against her belly, making her squirm to take him into her body, but he slid lower and ripped away her thong. Cool air hit her pussy, followed by the moist heat of his mouth when he bent his head and began to suck her clit. Oh God. Every nerve in her body tingled when he tongued her. The rasp of his callused fingers on her belly, her breasts, her already sensitized nipples created a sensual overload that had her wriggling, pressing harder on his mouth and hands,

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demanding… “More. Don’t hold back. Don’t be gentle. God but I need you inside me. Now.” He turned, straddled her face and offered her his rock-hard cock. Then he bent and plunged his tongue into her cunt, stabbing rhythmically. His fingers closed on her nipples, rolling and plucking them. She cupped her own breasts, offering him more…everything…taking his cock head into her mouth and loving it. Loving him. She loved the taste and texture of him, smooth and slightly salty. He rocked his hips, slid deeper in silent invitation for her to sample more of him, fill herself with him. When she sucked him in and swallowed, he groaned. His cock throbbed, swelling even more as she deep-throated him. Pressure built in her belly with every stab of his tongue in her cunt. She had to hold back. Had to wait. Couldn’t. Sensations burst inside her. She shook. Her hands went to his balls, caressed them. She sucked him harder, wanting… “Arghh. I’m coming. Can’t help it. Jesus, I’m sorry.” His mouth closed again on her clit, keeping her orgasm going while he shot hot, creamy semen deep into her throat. Sorry? TJ loved giving and taking the essence of him and herself. She held him to her until he stopped trembling…until the spurts of come subsided and his cock softened between her lips. “Nothing to be sorry for,” she murmured, giving his sex a kiss before he rolled off her, still breathing hard. “I loved it.” He sighed. “So did I, baby. So did I.” But TJ sensed the guilt in those three short words.

***** Casey lay there, his head resting on TJ’s belly, trying to make sense of his jumbled emotions. What had just gone down between them had certainly been sex—the hottest sex he’d ever experienced—but it hadn’t been just sex. He slid his hand along her firm,

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slender thigh, trying not to think of Susan and how different sex between them had always been, even before she’d gotten so sick. He’d always had to hold back, respecting her delicacy—mental as well as physical. With TJ he’d found an equal—a woman who could take his passion and give it back in full measure. His cock came suddenly back to life when he remembered how she’d just taken him in her mouth…swallowed his come while he’d lapped her honey. Susan had hated oral—giving or receiving it. He turned, licking TJ’s smooth, supple skin, delving into her navel with his tongue. “Mmmm. That feels so good.” She sounded sleepy, satiated. Sexy as hell. She made him hot to start all over again, explore every inch of her, every possible way they could make each other feel good. He’d eat her pussy until she screamed for mercy, initiate her into anal sex if she’d let him. Suddenly he thought about the sex toys that had always intrigued him but which Susan had insisted were gross. Maybe he’d go find an adult store and buy some. Hell, maybe he’d take TJ with him so she could pick out some, too. “You taste delicious. Hot. You make me so horny I can barely stand it,” he murmured, anticipating… “Again? So soon?” Apparently that didn’t bother TJ, because she spread her legs at the first touch of his hand to the soft, neat triangle of hair on her mound. “Yeah. Did you ever think about shaving this off?” Casey tunneled his fingers through the lush growth until he found the rigid button of her clit. “Would you like it?” “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to eat a bare pussy.” He slipped a finger along her wet, swollen channel, then slid it back to tweak her clit again. “You mean you haven’t?” “Nope.” If he’d ever suggested that Susan shave off her muff, she’d have been absolutely certain he’d turned into the world’s worst pervert. “You’ll be my first.”

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TJ covered his hand with hers, twining their fingers together. “Do you want to do it?” Oh, yeah. He wanted to be the one to bare her. To explore every inch of satiny flesh he uncovered. “Now?” “Why not?” Why indeed? Rolling off the bed, Casey grasped both of TJ’s hands and dragged her to her feet. “Stand here. I’ll be right back,” he told her, his heart pounding double-time when he raked her incredibly sexy body with his gaze. “This is gonna feel incredible.” The hot tub caught his eye while he gathered the supplies he needed. He bent and turned it on, imagining how its swirling waters would caress TJ’s newly naked pussy. He looped an oversize towel over his arm, picked up the supplies he’d assembled, and hurried back to bed, salivating at the thought of baring her, tasting her…rubbing his aching cock over her newly shaved mound. Laid out across the towel-covered bed, legs widespread at his command, she tempted him to forget shaving her and fuck her instead. But he didn’t. His electric shaver vibrated against his palm when he turned it on, its sound intensifying when he lowered it to her pussy and used the pop-up beard trimmer to trim away the bulk of her soft, curly fur. God but she had one impudent, inviting clit. He couldn’t resist stroking the little button as he spread shaving gel over the closely clipped hair on her mound and the pouting lips of her sex. “This makes you hot, doesn’t it?” “Oh, God yes. Hurry.” She moaned at the first stroke of the razor, her hips lifting as though to prolong the contact. “Steady. I don’t want to nick you.” He ran a finger over the patch of skin he’d just shaved, pausing to stroke her clit again. “Mmmm. I can hardly wait to use my tongue here. And here.” TJ could barely wait, either. Every stroke of the razor reminded her Casey was baring her pussy for his pleasure…and hers. Her cunt contracted with anticipation 81

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when he lifted the razor and ran his hand along her ass and freshly shaved pussy. “That feels…incredible.” “Oh, yeah. Come on. We’re gonna rinse off in the hot tub. Then I’m gonna have a feast.”

***** TJ had never felt sexier, more desirable—more naked than she did when Casey pulled her from the hot tub and cupped her pussy, his long fingers spreading her labia and exposing her slit to the cool, damp air. It felt clean…vulnerable. She’d never felt so aroused as she did now, fully exposed this way. He lifted her onto the marble vanity as though she were a lightweight. God but she loved his strength, his size, his ability to make her feel helpless. As she had earlier while he’d clipped and shaved her, she spread her legs, inviting him to look and touch. He slipped one finger into her cunt, grinned. “You must like it, baby, because you’re already sopping wet. And soft. So soft. I can hardly wait to taste you. All of you.” He bent, covered her clit with his open mouth and caught the tender bud between his teeth. “That feels so…so incredible.” He’d insisted on shaving his face again, which now felt incredibly soft against her own velvety sex. She was going to come. Soon. Again and again the small explosions spread through her body, but they didn’t satisfy her. She wanted more. Wanted his cock inside her…his mouth glued to hers. She longed to feel him using his strength and bulk to restrain her for his pleasure, and hers. “Please, Casey. Fuck me now.” “God yes.” He raised his head, stepped between her legs. His cock brushed her belly, the tip of its plum-shaped head glistening with lubrication. With one hand he took it, rubbed it along her slit, around the entrance to her cunt, her ass. “I’d like to fuck

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you here, too,” he said before backing off and sinking his cock into her dripping cunt. “Later. Would you like that?” “Yesss.” A frisson of excitement coursed through her, from her exposed rear passage that he’d just awakened, to the stretched-taut walls of her cunt that surrounded his pulsating cock. He filled her so full, made her feel complete. His balls lay hot and heavy against her very naked flesh, their weight reminding her of his maleness, her delicious helplessness to control her own sexual destiny. “Oh, yes, fuck me hard.” “Wrap your legs around me. And hold on.” She didn’t hesitate. Following his orders made her hot, so hot, as though she were a sexual submissive eager to do her master’s bidding. Perhaps she was. His muscles bulged as he strode to the bedroom, carrying her, deliciously impaling her. His big cock throbbed wildly inside her. Sensations built with every brush of his balls against her newly sensitized slit, every sensuous brush of his neatly trimmed pubic hair against her own bared skin. “God but I can’t wait for a bed. Your cunt feels so damn good.” He steadied her against the nearest wall and fucked her hard. With every inward stroke he stroked her G-spot as he drove in all the way to her womb. Her cunt contracted around his big, hard cock, milking him, holding on as though by sheer will she could keep him inside her. She groaned as waves of delicious sensation coursed through her veins. “Oh, yesss,” she murmured just before he took her mouth and began to tongue-fuck her, all the while pounding into her cunt, his fingers digging into her bottom, holding her steady for his thrusts. It was too much. She trembled in his embrace from the force of her release. His cock swelled inside her as he began to come, hot bursts of semen bathing her womb for what seemed like hours. He’d forgotten to put on a condom. Having him come inside her had felt so damn good she didn’t care.

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Chapter Eight But Casey did. Not the way TJ probably thought. After he’d laid her on the bed and come down beside her, he stared out the window, idly stroking her firm inner thighs and the silky haven between them that was still wet and slick with her come and his. The smell of raw sex filled his nostrils, made him want to take her all over again. What had he meant, throwing caution to the winds that way? Deep down, he knew. Part of him would welcome an “accident”, an excuse to toss aside the yoke of mourning and embrace a new life, a new lover without guilt. He also knew damn well that wasn’t fair to TJ. Or to his kids. Fuck, but he was a selfish bastard. Chances were, when this mess was finally over, his job would be history—and he’d be gone. Would TJ want to take him on with his kids and all his emotional baggage? Would she like his friends? Would she think he was insane to want to spend those last couple of good years as an athlete, doing what Susan had always scoffed about and said was child’s play? Would she even agree to follow him if he wasn’t able to offer up his heart? The sharp ring of the phone jarred him back to the problems at hand. Reaching over TJ, he picked it up. “Weldon here.” “You’d better get TJ to bring you back down to the campus,” Dale told him. “We’ve got more problems.”

***** “It will all work out,” Casey assured Joe Bergman, the lanky grad assistant he’d just elevated to the position of head basketball coach for the remainder of the tainted season.

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Grace under pressure. That came to mind as TJ watched Casey. This had to have been as tough as anything he’d gone through—except for losing his wife, she reminded herself. Following the arrest of the two top assistant coaches their boss had implicated in the point-shaving scheme, he’d taken hold, done what he had to do, and made it look easy. No way could she have managed to smile and assure the two reporters who’d been allowed in that sports, even basketball, would survive this triple-edged blow and the worse one they all had braced themselves for—the eventual discovery of who had murdered Elton Timms. Whether or not it would turn out that one or more of the arrested coaches had known their moneymaking scheme had gone a step further, even though all three had sworn the player’s murder had come as a complete surprise, no one would be able to drop their collective guard until they knew. But Casey had kept his cool. Only a throbbing vein at his temple hinted at the tension that must have been teeming inside him. TJ had never admired him more. Most people in his position would have bailed— thrown in the towel and gotten out in the face of the scandal. After all, no one had implicated him or said anything other than that he’d stumbled onto a can of worms the like of which college sports hadn’t ever seen before—at least so far as TJ knew. When the others finally left, she went to him, offering her ear, her shoulder—whatever he needed after this ordeal. “You can relax now. It was awful, I know, but it’s over.” He propped his head on his hands. “Is it? Damn Susan anyhow for making me swear to quit playing football and raise Lee Ann and Brett in some so-called safe little town. Far away from the temptations of the city. If she’d only known!” He straightened and pulled a framed photo out of one of his credenza drawers. Setting it on his desk, he stared at it as if it were a live person, his hand trembling a little when he reached out and stroked lips caught in a perpetual smile. “Susan, honey, I know you did what you thought was right, but it isn’t working out that way.”

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TJ struggled not to cry herself when she saw tears well up in Casey’s eyes. “She had no way of knowing this would happen. No more than any of us did.” Seeing him struggle with his emotions this way made TJ more certain than ever that she had absolutely no chance to win a fight for Casey’s heart with the blonde, blue-eyed angel whose smile was captured for all time in the professionally done color photo. Not even when that angel was dead. “I know. Still… I’ll see this mess through until the end of the spring semester, but after that I’m gone. Back to LA, where the gangs stay in their own neighborhoods and the worst risks the kids have to face are mudslides, earthquakes and peer pressure. Back to football. I wanted to put in two or three more seasons—as long as my throwing arm and knees hold out—and that’s what I intend to do.” Casey reached back and rubbed at his neck, as though the tension of the past two hours had only now attacked him. “Let me.” She wouldn’t have him for long…didn’t have him now if she was being truthful with herself. It seemed he’d shattered all the bitterness she’d held inside her as a shield around herself. Her father and her ex-fiancé’s treatment of her had simply stepped back into the wings, giving her this time with Casey to feel and enjoy being with him, to believe in a relationship that could never be. Still, TJ wanted to grab all the bits and pieces of him that he’d let her have, for as long as he… She laid her hands on his shoulders, kneading at the taut muscles, trying not to think about it anymore, or about what they’d been doing earlier in his bed, the hot tub, or against his bedroom wall. Trying not to remember the way he’d shaved her pussy so gently, or how he’d eaten her afterward. Or how perfectly their bodies meshed when they made love. He sighed and leaned harder into her fingers. “Thanks. That feels great.” “It’s nothing.” Casey moved suddenly, grabbing his wife’s photo and returning it to its drawer. “It’s a lot more than nothing. Without you I couldn’t have survived this.”

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“You’ve helped me, too.” She could admit it now. Maybe her bitterness hadn’t just stepped back into the wings. Maybe it was his desire for her that had taken away most of the sting from Todd’s very public rejection. His devotion, his pain at the loss of his wife had helped her even to understand her father’s actions a little better. He reached back, laced his fingers through hers. “Let’s drive over to Charlotte. Get our minds as much off this mess as we can.” “You want to shop?” she asked. “Yeah. For toys to amuse us later on this cold, miserable night. There’s no store around here that sells the sorts of things I’m looking for.” Sex toys. Nipple clamps and cock rings, butt plugs and vibrators. Maybe some handcuffs and blindfolds? TJ giggled, remembering having had to ticket a shop manager once for displaying a fully inflated, inflatable woman in all her naked glory. Somehow Casey didn’t seem the type to get the hots for one of those anatomically correct plastic women. Thinking about what they might do with the toys had her nipples beading up and her cunt dampening the crotch of her jeans. “That sounds like fun.” “Then let’s go.” He helped her with her jacket, donned his, and practically dragged her out of the building and into the warm cocoon of his low-slung Porsche.

***** An hour later Casey watched TJ examine a large display of butt plugs and vibrators while he picked out a pair of nipple clamps, a lightweight hood, ball gag and some padded velcro restraints. This store wasn’t as elegant as the ones he’d visited in LA with teammates, but it certainly had all the essentials, down to a bondage swing he thought would be fun to try, if only he had a place where he could lock it away from his kids’—and Alice’s—curious eyes.

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“Want something to put up here?” he asked when he rolled the shopping cart over to TJ and laid a hand on the curve of her ass. “Do you?” “Sure.” He selected a set—four soft gel butt plugs in graduated sizes—and tossed it in the cart. Then he zeroed in on a high-tech model. “Hey, this one vibrates.” She picked up the remote-controlled, vibrating anal stimulator kit and read the advertising hype on the box. “It’s awfully expensive,” she said, her expression regretful as she replaced it on the shelf. “If you want it, it’s worth the price.” He retrieved the toy and tossed it into the basket along with a big tube of lubricant. “You know, I’d love to get you in that bondage swing over there.” “Mmm. That looks like fun. Do you think it would hold both of us?” she asked, stepping over to the bondage display and stroking the smooth black leather. “The literature says it will hold up to four hundred pounds.” TJ grinned. “Then we ought to be safe. Where would you keep it?” “Think Mose would mind if we hung it up at your place? I could bolt it into the ceiling in your bedroom, over by the window.” Casey’s cock twitched when he pictured TJ bound and helpless, her asshole glistening with lube. She’d squirm and moan for him to fuck her ass when he increased the intensity of the vibrations of the clit stimulator-pussy vibrator inserted in her dripping cunt. Damn it, they had to pick out their toys and get out of there before he embarrassed himself. “I don’t think he’d mind, but he might decide to nap in it sometime.” “I assume he’s the only visitor to your bedroom—except for me.” She smiled. “Yes. That would be a very safe place for us to play our secret games.” Secret games. He liked the way she said it, the frankly curious way she looked at the device as though imagining how they might use it for their sexual play. “We’re getting one,” he said as he lifted a boxed swing and put it in the cart. Then he bent close

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to her ear and lowered his voice. “Pick out whatever else strikes your fancy, and let’s get out of here before my cock bursts.” “I’m wet, too,” she whispered. “I think we’ve got everything we need.” “If we don’t, we can always make another trip over here.” “Your wish is my command,” she said as they made their way to the checkout desk. Apparently she’d noticed the BDSM stuff he’d selected and was eager to play his game. Knowing that had blood surging to his cock so painfully that he opened his fly and freed himself the minute they got in the car. “Take care of this for me then, if my wish really is your command. I can’t hold out until we get home.” Her breath tickled his belly as she bent and ran her tongue over the length of his erection. “Yes, Master,” she whispered. “Loving you is my greatest pleasure.”

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Chapter Nine And her greatest torture. By the time they got back to her place, TJ was squirming against the low-slung leather seat. Talk about sensual overload! The small butt plug and the vibrating egg in her cunt held her on the jagged edge of release now, the sensations building exponentially with every vibration of the car since they’d stopped for gas a half-hour ago and Casey had told her to insert the toys. “Hurry,” she croaked once they got to her bedroom. “Please hurry.” The box with the swing clattered to the floor. “This can wait. I can’t. Come here.” His dark eyes glittered when she looked up and met his gaze. Sexual electricity crackled as she stepped into his arms, incredibly aware of his power, his scent, the hard ridge of his cock that strained against his zipper. He must have felt it, too, because he wasted no time getting off their clothes and lifting her onto her bed. “At least one of the toys will have to go.” He cupped her mound, his palm warm and rough against her naked skin. “I’ll be a kind master and let you decide…or maybe I won’t.” Sliding his hand lower, he inserted three fingers in her cunt and withdrew the egg. “I’ve heard guys say I’ll be able to feel this with my cock when we’re fucking,” he told her as he ran a finger around the base of the butt plug. “You don’t know?” When he nibbled at her lower lip, it sent a surprisingly sexy message straight to her clit. “No, baby. I’m a toy virgin. What about you?” “Just a plain-Jane vibrator I keep in the drawer of the bedside table,” she told him. “For when I don’t have a handy lover and the need gets to be too much.” He laughed. “You’re one up on me. I’ve been using my hand. A lot.”

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“You can use your hands on me any time you want.” “I plan to. Open up, baby, and let me in. God but I love how you give as good as you get.” Taking her mouth, he tongue-fucked her while he sank to his balls in her wet, willing cunt. “They were right. Oh, yeah. I can feel that plug with my cock. Like it?” “God yes. Ohhh.” When she clamped her inner muscles down on him, the sensation was nothing short of fantastic. “I’ve never felt so full.” “Wrap your legs around me. Oh, yeah. Squeeze my cock again.” When she did, he groaned, and his muscles tightened. This wasn’t going to last long. Casey’s thrusts turned wild. He grew impossibly bigger, harder with every sucking sound of him withdrawing, each slam of his pelvis into her bare clit when he pounded back into her swollen cunt. TJ loved it. She spread her legs wider, tightened her hold on him. God! She wanted to prolong the sensation, hold onto the delicious sensations of being stretched, stuffed…loved. He took her mouth again, ravaged it. The smells and slapping sounds of sex surrounded them. Too much! She was coming. Couldn’t help it. Didn’t want it to end but… “Casey. Omigod.” Shockwaves shot through her, overcame her. They radiated from her cunt and ass. Had to hold him. TJ clenched her legs around his waist. When she did, he let out a shout and came, the hot bursts of semen into her cunt triggering more delightful undulations that left her weak…mindless.

***** “Damn if I’m not hard again,” Casey said a few hours later while they ate soup and sandwiches at TJ’s kitchen table, naked except for the blankets they wore toga-style. “You make me insatiable.”

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“Yes. You do that to me, too.” When she smiled she was downright gorgeous, or maybe it was just that she was the sexiest woman he’d ever… Guilt stung his conscience. When the hell would it go away? He had to change the subject or he’d be doing something he wasn’t ready for, asking her to take him on, kids and emotional baggage and all. Hell, she didn’t even know Lee Ann and Brett, and he didn’t kid himself. Those two would undoubtedly resist anybody they saw as usurping their mom’s place in his life. “Who do you think might have killed Elton?” he asked abruptly. The spoon in her hand stopped midway to her lips, and she set it back on her plate. “I don’t know. Odds are the murderer was a hired goon. Maybe the same one who roughed you up the other night.” “That one was big. Strong as an ox, and he was no kid. And no random thug you might find in any redneck bar. He knew how to fight.” Casey’s stitches itched, reminding him he wasn’t by any means invincible. “If only I could have held onto him—” “You did fine. You got his bloody mask, so now we know his blood type is Bnegative. The state lab’s running DNA tests to compare with results of convicted felons.” “What if he doesn’t have a record?” Casey couldn’t shove the suspicion that his attacker might have been a student…or a thug from just about anywhere who’d managed so far to stay out of trouble with the law. TJ interlaced her fingers with his, as though to reassure him. “They’ll still find him. If he’s ever donated blood or had a transfusion at hospitals in North Carolina, the sheriff should soon have a fairly short list of possible perps. B-negative’s not quite as good as DNA or a fingerprint, but there shouldn’t be too many guys his size with the second rarest of all blood types.” “What if he’s not local?”

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TJ patted Casey’s hand. “He probably is. Coach Gage admitted the gamblers he got tied up with are all from around here, so their hired muscle most likely is, too. Billy Joe’s rounding up the gamblers now. With any kind of luck they’ll talk to try to get a better deal, and lead Billy Joe and his deputies straight to your assailant.” Casey wasn’t so sure. What he knew for a fact was that he hated feeling physically vulnerable. He never had before, even though he’d been an emotional basket case during Susan’s illness, helpless to do anything to save her, to do anything at all other than offer empty promises of miracles he’d known were unlikely to happen. He still felt helpless, conflicted as he was between looking back and moving forward. Between keeping a deathbed promise and following his own intuition as to what was right for him. His own best course was TJ. He knew it now, as surely as he’d known fifteen years ago that Susan had been the woman he’d wanted to love for life. Susan had given him her innocence yet remained in many ways the shy, inhibited lover who’d held him with emotional strings too tight to snap. TJ gave a woman’s passion. By submitting, by embracing every sexual fantasy he’d ever had, she exerted her own power over him. Power? Casey glanced at TJ, whose cheeks had turned a bright shade of pink as she leafed through the instruction manual that came with that swing upstairs. Blood rushed to his cock so suddenly that it made him dizzy. “See something you’d like to try?” “Uh-huh.” Eyes downcast, she handed him the skinny booklet and blushed redder. Casey felt his own cheeks heat up when he looked at the first picture—a woman secured in the swing, her ass up in the air and the man behind her inserting a large dildo in her cunt. In the second, the man withdrew a large butt plug from her ass, and in the final picture he was inserting his cock where the plug had been. “If you don’t mind,” she added, her voice small. Mind? “I can hardly wait. I’ve got some of my own ideas, too.” He lowered his voice and slipped his hand inside her blanket to cup her slick, hot sex. “I want you to keep this pussy shaved for me.”

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“All right.” “All right, Master,” he said, wanting to exert his dominance now—dominance she’d feel for real once they got upstairs. “Master.” Her lips curled in a smile, and she shot him a hot, longing look. That look did it. “Upstairs. Now.” She stood, dropping her blanket, letting him feast his eyes on her hard, elongated nipples…her flat belly…her pale, gleaming mound with that pink, impudent clit poking out from the plump folds of her outer lips like some precious jewel. Then she turned, offering him a lingering look at her firm, rounded ass cheeks as she sauntered toward the stairs. Amazing what good old-fashioned lust could do to wipe one’s mind clear of doubt! Casey reached TJ in two long strides, tossed her over his shoulder, and took the steps two at a time.

***** It didn’t make sense. TJ lay helpless in the dark, yet she felt more powerful than she’d ever felt before when she listened to the soft rasp of Casey’s breathing against the hood that obscured her vision. His hard body and the soft leather straps of the swing caressed her naked skin. Cool air bathed her exposed sex, reminding her he’d claimed her ass, first with the small plug she’d worn in the car and then with progressively larger ones until her flesh felt incredibly full—stretched taut by an unfamiliar invader. Her clit throbbed from the rasp of his teeth, the rhythmic flailing of his tongue. If she could have spoken with the ball gag he’d buckled in her mouth, she’d have begged him to claim her last virgin hole with his huge, hard cock. Instead, all she could do was whimper, the sound muffled. He straightened and made some adjustments to the swing, drawing her legs farther apart and raising her ass higher than the rest of her

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body. Her breasts hung free in the cool air, defined by the straps above and below them. She’d never felt so vulnerable—or so aroused. Casey spread her labia and took her tingling clit back between his teeth. That contact set off the climax that had been hovering at the edge of her consciousness. She squirmed, but he used his hands to still her as he slid a large vibrator into her cunt and set it in motion. “I’m going to fuck your ass now,” he rasped, pulling out the butt plug and positioning his sheathed, well-lubricated cock at her aching rear door. Her climax went on and on, fed by his carnal promises. His cock head felt slick…and cold against her asshole. She wanted him to take her now, yet the choice and timing were his. Slowly, grasping her breasts to hold her steady and flicking the nipples with his thumbs, he pressed into her. She willed her sphincter muscles to relax and let him in. The heat and burning sensation of tissue stretching beyond anything she’d ever experienced made her tense momentarily. It hurt. But she wanted this. Wanted to give this to him. She inhaled deeply, then let out her breath as she made herself relax. The pain began to recede, replaced by an incredibly full, incredibly erotic sensation. She wanted all of him, wanted to feel his balls slapping against her pussy, his fingers plucking her nipples. “You’re so fucking tight here. Oh God, baby. I’ve never felt anything quite like this before.” He sank in deeper, his movement cautious. “Gotta be careful. Mustn’t hurt you,” he muttered, his motions smooth yet certain—the movements of a caring lover. He must have known she needed more, needed to come again with him inside her. He tugged at her nipples until they cried for the touch of his tongue and teeth. He bent over her, found that erogenous zone at the nape of her neck and sucked hard. When she tried to raise her ass for his thrusts, he sped up the pace, sinking into her to his balls then withdrawing almost completely and thrusting in again. The vibrator thrummed in her cunt, its motion seeming to accelerate as he fucked her ass. His breathing came hard and fast, as though he was fighting hard not to come.

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He squeezed her breasts, his fingers pillowed in to the soft mounds. Oh God. She was coming again, harder and faster than she’d ever come before. Though blinded, she saw a kaleidoscope of colors in her head. Every nerve in her body sizzled with sensation. When he shouted out his satisfaction and sent bursts of heat deep inside her, she felt that sense of power again. She, TJ Thomas, had reduced her bona fide hunk of a lover to the quivering mass of humanity that slumped over her, spilling out his life into her eager body. And she’d done it without saying a word or moving a muscle.

***** TJ liked bondage games. At least she’d given every indication she liked it, and she’d come constantly from the moment he’d slipped that gag in her mouth and the hood over her head. Casey liked them, too. Very much indeed. If he hadn’t needed to dispose of the condom he’d put on to fuck her ass, he could have stayed there, stretched out over her satiny back, for hours. He’d barely lain down again and snuggled close to TJ’s sexy butt when his cell phone let out a strident beep. “Weldon here,” he growled into the offending instrument. “We got Timms’ killer. He’s confessed. Get on down here to the station. We’re putting together a lineup. Let’s see if you can ID our murderer as the guy who roughed you up.” Billy Joe’s voice conveyed excitement, a fresh flush of success not unlike Casey remembered from the times he’d led his team to victory. “I’ll be there.” “Bring TJ along. Don’t want to risk you getting shanghaied if this isn’t the guy who attacked you. May not be, you know.” The idea that Dale—and now the sheriff—thought he needed protection didn’t set well, but Casey shook TJ and told her to get up and dress. “Billy Joe thinks he’s got the 96

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guy who murdered Elton Timms. He wants you to watch my back while I go down and see if I can pick him from a lineup.” TJ yawned. “For all his good ole boy attitude, Billy Joe apparently has a brain. Come on, the sooner we go, the sooner we can get back…” Her motions economical, she pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt and laced on a pair of low-heeled boots. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who can get dressed faster than I can. Undressed, too.” Casey shot a glance at the bed they’d just vacated, wishing they could forget this lineup and crawl back in. “Come on, I’m ready now.”

***** No luck. Casey had never seen the admitted killer of Elton Timms before. Any of the five of them he’d just stared down in the lineup. “Sorry. None of those guys is the one who attacked me.” “Well then, we’ll just keep on lookin’ for the one who attacked you,” Billy Joe told him before they left. “At least we’ve got the guy who killed Timms. Thanks for trying. Y’all take care.” The sound of cracking ice beneath their feet on the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office gave Casey an uneasy feeling made worse by the cloak of absolute darkness from a moonless, starless sky. The streetlight gave off an otherworldly sort of light, as though it too was affected by the starkness of the wintry night. “Careful,” TJ whispered. Casey felt her clench his forearm through the heavy suede of his jacket. He wasn’t alone in his concern, which should have reassured him. It didn’t. A shot rang out. TJ tackled Casey, sent him onto his butt on the icy pavement. She covered him with her own body. “Don’t move.”

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“Stop. Police.” Shouts penetrated the silence that followed. The sounds of pounding feet and crackling ice and snow followed, the movements urgent, uncharacteristic of the unhurried manner Casey had attributed to local law enforcement officers. Cold. So cold. His head felt fuzzy. He tried to concentrate. Couldn’t. I’ve been hit. Can’t pass out. Not yet. “Susan…” No. It was TJ shielding his fallen body. “Love you, baby. Gotta go. The kids…”

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Chapter Ten She could go to his room. Smile. Tell him the ordeal was over now, that the gambling kingpin was now in custody, along with Casey’s assailant and the hired thug who had killed Elton Timms. She had to set Casey free. And she couldn’t break down and cry. TJ looked at the swing they’d used just once, the one she hadn’t had the heart to disassemble while he’d lain unconscious in a hospital bed this past week. He’d wakened yesterday and embraced his kids when his housekeeper brought them in to visit. TJ had held back, let him have his time alone with his family. Lee Ann and Brett. Beautiful kids, living reminders of the woman whose name had been on Casey’s lips before he’d lost consciousness. Kids who were, as they should be, his first concern. She’d been on the outside looking in, keenly aware she wasn’t a part of their happy reunion. She’d have faded away quietly, but no. He’d called this morning, demanding to see her. He wanted to thank her, she supposed, for having kept Russ Gage’s burly son from getting in another, possibly fatal shot at him. Thanks was the last thing TJ wanted from him. But the only thing she’d get. She glanced at her bed, neatly made now as though Casey had never slept there with her, the covers disarrayed from their lovemaking, his naked body curled protectively around her and his cock nestled cozily between her legs. The swing swayed slightly as air from the forced air furnace circulated in the room. She dreaded having to take it down. If only she could have told him no, said goodbye over the phone. But she hadn’t been able to resist obeying this last command. She picked up her purse. She’d survived losses before. She’d manage now. 99

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***** Where was TJ? Casey stared at the door. TJ had said she’d come right away. She should have been here by now. Surely nothing could have happened. Visions of her car spinning out of control on the ice…of yet another one of the criminal gang taking vengeance…all sorts of scenarios that might rob him of her pounded in his brain. No. Fate couldn’t possibly be so cruel. He rolled over, ignoring the pulling sensation in his gut from where the bastard had shot him. At least he could feel. He wasn’t dead, as had obviously been Mitch Gage’s intention. Stretching out his arm, he opened the drawer in the over-bed tray table, checking for the hundredth time since last night to be sure it still was there. It was. The heart-shaped plastic box was small-town hokey, but he didn’t think TJ would mind. The door creaked, and finally! There she was. “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked when she stopped, more than an arm’s length from his bed. “Better now that you’re here. The docs say I’ll be good as new in a couple of weeks. Come closer.” He didn’t much care for the hesitant look on her face—or the unnatural watery sparkle in her eyes. “Sit.” She perched gingerly on the edge of his bed. “I don’t want to hurt you.” “You won’t.” That didn’t seem to help, because her gorgeous body was still stiff as a board and she still looked as though she was about to cry. “What’s wrong?” In slow motion she turned and met his gaze. “There’s no need in being kind, Casey. I-I knew what I was getting into when we got personal. I know you still love Susan. And that your kids are your main concern now.” “What brought this on? Tell me.” “You called for her before you passed out.” “I said I loved you. Didn’t that mean anything?” Casey distinctly remembered TJ’s warmth, her bravery…his own revelation that she’d wormed her way not just into his

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sexual fantasies but into his heart. It had been like a lightning bolt, that sudden realization he’d had while he faced his own mortality. “I asked you to take care of Lee Ann and Brett.” “No. Don’t lie.” Tears were flowing down TJ’s cheeks in earnest now. Jesus, Casey felt like a bastard. “I’m not lying. Open that drawer,” he said, pointing to it and holding his breath. He exhaled heavily when she finally obeyed. “The plastic box has something in it for you.” He hoped he’d done right when he chose the large golden topaz flanked by glittering diamond baguettes, now set in a beaten gold slave collar so they’d nestle at the base of her slender neck. “It looked like you. Exotic. Sexy. Incredibly sexy. I can’t wait to see you wearing it and nothing else.” “You want me to be your slave?” “My much-loved slave, baby. My wife, too, once the kids get to know you and we move back to LA. What do you say?” “You—you love me?” Her look was one of stunned disbelief. “I do. More than I ever dreamed I could love anybody again.” He sensed her insecurity, vowed he’d cure that in her, persuade her she was all he’d ever dreamed of in a lover. The embodiment of his every fantasy. “Hand me that collar. I want to stake my claim.” Though it seemed she hesitated, she laid the jewelry in his hand and lifted her hair off her shoulders. “I’ll gladly be your slave, Master,” she said, so softly he wouldn’t have understood if he hadn’t been looking at her full, sensual lips, watching her form the words he waited to hear. Then her expression turned serious. “What about—” “Lee Ann and Brett? Once they get to know you, they won’t be able to help loving you, any more than I can. We’re gonna spend a lot of time doing family stuff before we head back to LA. By then they’ll be ready to welcome you into the family.” “You’re going back to playing ball?”

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“Yeah. Luckily that bullet missed anything vital. Not to say it doesn’t hurt like hell.” He paused, gauged her expression. “You don’t mind, do you?” “Not at all. I’m looking forward to seeing you do what you love, up close and personal.” Her eyes glistened with tears again, but from the smile on her lips he surmised she really did want to see him toss some passes before he hung up the spikes forever. That was good. “You know there are other activities I love, don’t you?” “Oh, yes.” She shot him a questioning look. “Now.” Her tongue snaked out of her mouth, wetting those sexy lips of hers. “You sure you’re up for it?” If the hard-on he’d had ever since the nurse took out his catheter this morning was any indication, he was plenty up for some play to seal their promises. “Go lock the door and then come back here and check for yourself.” Life was good. Better than he deserved. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the velvety touch of her lips on his cock, the sensation of her hair tickling the parts of his belly not covered by bandages. Soon he’d be well enough to return the favor…

***** It hadn’t taken long. A week later Casey was on his feet again, sore but very glad to be alive. Ready to start really living, putting away his grief and moving on with TJ. “You guys will love TJ,” he said as they drove across town to pick her up for a shopping trip to Charlotte. “She’s gonna be our new mommy?” Surprisingly, Brett had liked TJ when they met and seemed excited about having her with them on this outing. Almost as thrilled as he’d been to learn they’d be moving back to LA after school let out. 102

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“Of course not, brat. Our mommy’s up in heaven,” Lee Ann snapped. “TJ is just Daddy’s girlfriend.” Casey’s heart ached for Lee Ann. She’d been so close to her mother, and old enough to recognize how much Susan had put herself through to try to stick around for all of them. He guessed TJ had been right when she’d said he might meet resistance from his little girl. Be gentle with Lee Ann, sweetheart. She can’t help missing her mom. TJ had explained how much it hurt her when her own dad had married again so soon after her mother’s death. Casey wished he knew what to say to make this okay. He guessed it would just take time. Time for Lee Ann to get to know TJ, to realize how much she meant to him and how much richer their lives would all be with TJ as part of their family circle. “Here we are. You guys be nice, now. Both of you.” Brett bounded out of the back seat of the car and up the walkway, but Lee Ann held back. “Come on,” Casey said, “TJ’s going to help us pick you out a dress for that party you’re going to.” “I don’t want her. I want my mommy.” Casey looked at his daughter’s bowed head, saw the almost imperceptible tremor of her chin. Her pain cut him to the core so he reached over, unfastened her seat belt and pulled her into his arms. “Lee Ann, you know your mom’s not coming back. I miss her, too, but we’ve got to go on. She’d want us to be happy. TJ makes me feel good again, and she’ll be your friend, too, if you’ll just give her a chance.” “I’m not going in there. You can’t make me.” He tipped up her face so she was looking at him, and although he kept his voice gentle, he spoke with firm resolve. “Yes I can, and yes, you are.” Alice had been right. He’d shirked disciplining the kids for much too long, let them get by with murder because he knew they were grieving, too. He had to be firm now, give them back the stability and structure they felt had been sucked away when Susan died and their worlds had fallen apart. “I am going to marry TJ, Lee Ann. Not right away, but nothing 103

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you can say or do will change my mind. You’re going to get out of the car now, come inside and behave like the lady your mom taught you to be and that I’m so proud of.” He saw the first thawing of Lee Ann’s resentment of TJ when the two rifled through a rack of little girl’s dresses and finally agreed on one, and more warming later when he was about to veto her request to get her ears pierced until TJ interceded on her behalf. Though his daughter’s attitude still held a polite but discernable chill, Casey thought by the time they got back to TJ’s that Lee Ann would come around. Brett, on the other hand, seemed thrilled to have an adult female to charm. When Casey pulled up at TJ’s place to drop her off, his son insisted on a hug and kiss from her before he’d let her go. “It’s going to be fine,” Casey told TJ at her door. “Warm up my side of the bed. Alice is spending the night with the kids. I’ll be spending tonight with you. It’s been nine days since…” Her deep kiss cut off his words, but then words seemed unnecessary between them. “…since we made love.”

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Epilogue Casey had been right. It hadn’t taken long for him to convince Lee Ann and Brett that having two healthy adults around to spoil them beat having just one. Besides, both children were happy to be back with the friends they’d known all their lives, back to their old school, their old activities. TJ stood in the spare bedroom at the house Casey had bought for them in the hill country north of Los Angeles, letting his teammate’s wife Darlene arrange fresh flowers in her hair. Flowers. A year ago she’d have laughed. She wasn’t the flowers type of woman—or she hadn’t been until Casey had shown her she was beautiful, desirable… “You know, Darlene, I keep having to pinch myself. It’s hard to believe I’m going to be marrying Casey in just half an hour. He could have anybody he wanted.” Every once in a while, especially when groupies rushed them on the street hoping to get their hands on him, TJ’s confidence took a nosedive. She couldn’t help it, even though Casey never gave the bimbos a second glance. Even though she wore his collar and a diamond engagement ring that weighed down her left hand. She’d tried, but she hadn’t quite been able to banish the insecurity she’d lived with all her life. “He loves you, girl. Don’t you forget it.” Darlene tucked one perfect dark yellow rose behind TJ’s ear. “You look good. Good enough for him to eat—” She laughed out loud. “Which I’m certain he’ll be doin’ tonight. Just the thought of it makes me want to go and jump Trevor’s bones.” “Don’t let me stop you.” Darlene met TJ’s gaze, her dark eyes unnaturally bright. “It’s not you I’m worried about stopping me, it’s him. Oh, now, don’t listen to me. Let’s get you downstairs so you can marry your man and get on with it. We can hash over Trevor next week over 105

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lunch, and you can tell me all about what delicious things your man did to you in that hacienda he rented down in Mexico.” “Oh, no. Whatever goes on down there will stay strictly between us.” TJ’s cheeks grew hot when she thought about all the arousing things Casey had said he intended to do to her… Things that had her cunt creaming even now, hours before the real fun would begin. “You can use your imagination,” she told Darlene. Picking up her bouquet, she led the way to the patio, where the wedding would be held.

***** A vision in the ivory lace dress he’d already heard about from Lee Ann, TJ took Casey’s breath away when she stepped through the patio door and stopped at his side. He loved the soft look in her eyes, and the flowers he longed to pluck from dark hair that curled on her shoulders. Tears sparkled in her eyes when he spoke of love and commitment, and when he slipped a diamond-studded band on her finger, his heart felt full enough to burst. He could hardly wait to wish their friends goodbye so he could show her with his body what he wasn’t so good at putting into words. The congratulations and toasts seemed to last forever, until finally they accepted their friends’ congratulations, tucked Lee Ann and Brett in bed, and gave last-minute instructions to Maria, the new housekeeper. Then, for they weren’t leaving on their honeymoon until the next morning, Casey scooped TJ into his arms and took the stairs two at a time. Not to the master suite…but farther up, to a locked room he’d never shown her. An attic dungeon, equipped with many of the toys they’d seen in a BDSM dungeon they’d visited. “I got the ones that seemed to turn you on,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist and nibbling at the back of her neck. “Oh! I love it.”

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“I thought you would. It’s got an intercom, in case one of the kids should need us, but this is strictly for us. Let’s try it out.” Gently he lifted off her dress and made quick work of her bra and thong panties. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” Her images, interspersed with those of a St. Andrew’s cross and the fucking swing they’d shipped from North Carolina, bombarded him from each of the four mirrored walls. His cock throbbed, anticipating… Yes, she’d done it. She’d inserted the plug he’d delivered before their wedding. “I see you followed my orders,” he commented as he removed the butt plug from her ass. “Yes, Master.” He stood before her, admiring her magnificent body, golden from the California sunshine. God, but he wanted to bury his cock inside her willing, eager body. “I’m going to hood you now.” Quickly he slipped the black leather hood over her head, leaving only her nostrils and mouth free. “Feel. Listen. They say the sensations are magnified when you’re deprived of sight.” Inhaling the sweet, floral scent of her, he bent and tasted her throat, the slope of her breasts, her puckered nipples. He loved the way she responded, arching her back to give him better access, moaning softly beneath the hood. “I’m going to put you on the cross now, baby. Remember the safe word?” “Peaches.” He’d chosen that because it reminded him of the smell of her soap. Because she’d brought softness and love back to his life and his children’s. “Yes.” He lifted her, thanking God for her health—her vitality—the unabashed sexuality she shared with him so fully. “Open up for me.” “Oh, yesss, Master.” Spread-eagled on St. Andrew’s cross, her breathing grew fast and shallow when he strapped her down. Her cunt glistened with her cream, inviting him to taste and touch and… The scent of her arousal filled the air, mingling with her perfume. “Fuck me now, please. Please.”

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When she begged for his cock, he inserted a gag in her open mouth and strapped it on. “In good time. My time.” He wanted her hotter than she’d ever been before, writhing with need—need that fed his own raging desire. She must have come ten times while he sucked and pinched her nipples and clit, before he rotated the cross, positioning her face-down, ass up. Though she couldn’t see and couldn’t speak, the flush of her skin hinted that she felt him step between her widespread legs, anticipated his penetration. He rubbed the lubricated head of his cock along her slit before pressing into her ass. Slowly. So slowly. Stretching her. Filling her. Her cunt contracted, spilling more cream, lubricating the three fingers he’d inserted there. He felt her come, over and over, until she slumped against the frame of the cross. Drained. He was determined that she’d come again, though, this time with him. He pulled out of her ass and removed the condom he’d worn. Not giving her time to recover, he reinserted his bare, throbbing cock, this time in her cunt. She felt incredible. Hot, wet, swollen, she milked him with inner muscles so tight he practically cried out with the pleasure-pain of it. She came again, her cunt contracting wildly, drawing out his climax as he began shooting his semen deep into her womb. “God, baby, I love loving you,” he gasped as he collapsed on her, totally satiated “Mmpf.” She couldn’t form the words around the gag, but it didn’t matter. He knew she’d accepted him as her master. He knew very well that he pleased her—and that she loved him, completely and for all time.

The End

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About the Author “In case you haven’t figured out yet, I’m a sucker for happy endings, and they’re what all my books have in common: one man, one woman, in love and committed to go after that elusive Happily Ever After.” First published in 1996, Ann Jacobs has sold more than twenty-five books and novellas to five publishers: Ellora’s Cave, Red Sage, Berkley, Kensington, and Five Star. A CPA and former hospital financial manager, she now writes full time except, of course, for the hours she devotes to being a wife and mother to seven kids. A transplanted midwesterner, she’s lived in west-central Florida all her adult life. Ann loves writing Romantica—to her, it’s the perfect blend of sex, sensuality, and happily-ever-after commitment between one man and one woman. She enjoys hearing from readers. http: www.annjacobs.us

Ann welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, #13, Stow, OH 44224.

Also by Ann Jacobs: Another Love Awakenings Bittersweet Homecoming Captured Colors of Love Colors of Magic Dallas Heat Dark Side of the Moon Enchained anthology Firestorm Gates of Hell Gettin’ It On Gold, Frankincense & Myrrh anthology He Calls Her Jasmine In His Own Defense Love Magic Love Slave A Mutual Favor Mystic Visions anthology Storm Warnings anthology

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

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