Power Play

By Kate Donovan

Brand-new sports agent Darcie Kildare knows her way around a contract. But football? She’s still got a lot to learn. And she definitely isn’t ready for a chance encounter with quarterback Wyatt Bourne, known as “the Surgeon” for his precision passing, cutting humor, and rampant god complex. After completely embarrassing herself, and being mocked for her efforts, she only hopes she never sees the gorgeous hunk again. Except of course in her most private fantasies . . .

Wyatt doesn’t need an agent. In fact, he doesn’t need anyone, much less an ambitious babe with a hot body and a smart mouth. Even worse, her agency represents the Triple Threat—Wyatt’s bitterest rivals—a fact she gleefully rubs in his face every chance she gets.

Darcie doesn’t actually mean to taunt him, but she owes him a zinger or two, doesn’t she? Plus, it’s so darned much fun. And he’s having fun too. She can see that in the steely eyes that turn cobalt at a moment’s notice. Something is happening between them. Something neither of them ever felt before. Something Darcie has dreamed of her entire life.

But the Surgeon has spent a lifetime making sure it never happens to him. And as Darcie discovers too late, he really is the best at what he does.

About the Author:

Kate Donovan is a Niners fan, a wife, a mother, a lawyer, and an author. She has more than twenty books and novels to her credit, publishing in genres including fantasy, historical romance, legal thriller, romantic suspense, and young adult science fiction. Power Play is the third book in her Play Makers series, following Playing for Keeps and Play Date.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beyond the Page Publishing
• Release date: Aug 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781940846613

Kate Donovan

Kate was born in Newark, Ohio, and lived there until age nine when her family moved to Barrington, Rhode Island. They moved again to California just in time for Kate to attend college in Berkeley, which is where she met her husband-to-be, Paul. Kate and Paul attended law school together and settled down in Sacramento to raise a family: son Paul Michl; daughter Amanda; Murphy the trusty (if tiny) watchdog; and Scooter the cat/hunter. They all live in Elk Grove now, and Kate divides her time between her day job as an attorney for the state of California and her writing. When she's not writing, she hangs out with her family in the vicinity of the TV, reads or cooks the many Mexican recipes handed down to her by her late mother-in-law. Kate loves to hear from readers. You can reach her by email at [e-mail]

Book preview

Cover

Power Play

Brand-new sports agent Darcie Kildare knows her way around a contract. But football? She’s still got a lot to learn. And she definitely isn’t ready for a chance encounter with quarterback Wyatt Bourne, known as the Surgeon for his precision passing, cutting humor, and rampant god complex. After completely embarrassing herself, and being mocked for her efforts, she only hopes she never sees the gorgeous hunk again. Except of course in her most private fantasies . . .

Wyatt doesn’t need an agent. In fact, he doesn’t need anyone, much less an ambitious babe with a hot body and a smart mouth. Even worse, her agency represents the Triple Threat—Wyatt’s bitterest rivals—a fact she gleefully rubs in his face every chance she gets.

Darcie doesn’t actually mean to taunt him, but she owes him a zinger or two, doesn’t she? Plus, it’s so darned much fun. And he’s having fun too. She can see that in the steely eyes that turn cobalt at a moment’s notice. Something is happening between them. Something neither of them ever felt before. Something Darcie has dreamed of her entire life.

But the Surgeon has spent a lifetime making sure it never happens to him. And as Darcie discovers too late, he really is the best at what he does.

Title Page

Copyright

Power Play

Kate Donovan

Copyright © 2015 by Kate Donovan

Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

Beyond the Page Books

are published by

Beyond the Page Publishing

www.beyondthepagepub.com

ISBN: 978-1-940846-61-3

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

Dedicated to the QBs of the NFL—thanks for the inspiration, guys!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

The Play Makers Series

The Gower & Saxon Series

Also by Kate Donovan

About the Author

Chapter One

Sprinting for her flight from Newark to Los Angeles, sports agent Darcie Kildare tried to ignore the announcement on the loudspeaker telling her this was the absolute final boarding call.

First day on the job and you’re already blowing it.

In her defense, she had been so comfortable in the airline’s hospitality suite, and so engrossed in the collective bargaining agreement between the NFL and the players’ association, she had tuned out everything else.

Now she was sweating bullets.

Spying a tall, well-built man striding ahead of her, she relaxed. Another straggler, although he had it easy with his long legs and absence of luggage. He wore tan slacks and a brown leather jacket, and even from this view she could appreciate his build. In fact, she appreciated it so much, she angled for a view from the side and was rewarded with a glimpse of his strong jaw. Dark sunglasses obscured the rest of his face, but the guy was clearly gorgeous, or at least in Darcie’s imagination.

With no line to impede him, he approached the gate attendant, who scanned his paperwork and wished him a great flight. The woman was clearly drooling over him, which made Darcie laugh. Apparently he was even better at close range.

As he disappeared down the ramp, Darcie reached the gate, but the attendant ignored her, gushing instead to a nearby colleague, "Did you see him? It was the Surgeon, right?"

He looks even better in person, the other woman confirmed.

Finally the ticket taker turned to Darcie and asked in a clipped tone, Boarding pass?

Darcie held out her paperwork to be scanned.

You just made it, the woman scolded.

Apparently Darcie didn’t rate a Have a great flight.

Too bad you’re not a famous doctor, she teased herself as she rolled her small suitcase down the ramp. Thank God her new boss had booked her into first class. Didn’t that mean they had to provide bin room?

Maybe even ply her with mimosas.

She couldn’t help wondering what kind of surgeon the hot guy was. Some sort of triple-bypass innovator who was so famous, his face appeared regularly on the news? Although given their flight’s destination, he was more likely a plastic surgeon to the stars.

Either way she assumed he’d be riding in first class too, and so as she looked for seat 4A, she also strained for another glance at him. Then she bit back a smile when she spotted him in 4B.

Seatmates.

Just don’t tell him you’re a lawyer. A lot of doctors hate that, especially if they’ve been sued, she cautioned herself as she lifted her case into the spacious overhead bin. Just say sports agent. It sounds more glamorous anyway.

After a mere six hours on the job, it still seemed amazingly cool. And so unexpected, even though Patrick Murphy had been recruiting her for years.

4B didn’t seem to notice her standing in the aisle, most likely because of the headphones firmly installed in his ears. Plus, his gaze was fixed on the screen of a tablet computer. The good news? He had removed his sunglasses, and looked as hot as she hoped, so she felt a surge of anticipation as she murmured, I’m so sorry to disturb you. But could I squeeze through?

He looked up but left the earbuds in place, as though still considering whether to remove them. Luckily, he was a guy, and so his indifference flickered into momentary interest as his gaze moved from her face to her chest.

Then stayed on her chest.

A plastic surgeon for sure, she decided gleefully. Thanks, girls.

She was tempted to pull her loose green sweater over her head, reveal the lacy tank top underneath, and unleash her two greatest endowments. But she prided herself on only using them in emergencies, so she settled for giving him a casual smile as he stood and stepped into the aisle, his lean body towering over her despite her height of five foot eight. And while she wasn’t thrilled with his disdainful expression, she had to admit he was yummy. Steely eyes, jet black hair, chiseled cheekbones and that strong, squared-off jaw.

What a hunk.

Thanks, she said brightly as she slipped past him and into her roomy leather seat. After stowing her purse under the seat in front of her, she glanced at him, prepared for some small talk, but he was glued to his tablet again.

Whatever he was reading—or listening to—must have been riveting. A revolutionary surgical technique? Or more likely, a new line of expensive golf clubs.

Determined to imitate his cold-shoulder treatment for the rest of the flight, she winced to see her boarding pass on the floor under his foot.

Crap.

She didn’t actually need it, did she? But knowing this guy, he’d find her slovenliness disgusting if he discovered it on his own.

So she dared to speak again. Excuse me, Doctor. Sorry to be such a pest. But it looks like my ticket is attacking your shoe.

As he turned to her, his steel-gray eyes registered a brand of surprise that could almost double as a smile. Or at least renewed interest. Whatever it was, it seemed like a breakthrough.

A very hot breakthrough.

Then he asked, his tone incredulous, Did you just call me ‘Doctor’?

Oh, sorry! Her cheeks warmed. I overheard the ticket taker say you were a doctor. I’m not a stalker or anything. Just a good listener.

To her relief, the hint of a smile returned. Are you sure she didn’t say ‘surgeon’?

Isn’t a surgeon a doctor? I mean, ten times better, obviously. But still . . . Laughing at herself for the gaffe, she stuck out her hand. I’m Darcie. Darcie Kildare.

Wyatt Bourne, he replied, ignoring her hand. I take it you’re not a football fan?

Pardon?

I’m Wyatt Bourne, he repeated calmly. The quarterback.

Oh, my God, she blurted without thinking. What a coincidence! I’m a sports agent.

He drew back as though stunned. "You’re a sports agent? And you never heard of me?"

Hmmm?

It was Darcie’s turn to be disdainful.

What a jackass.

Eyeing him coolly, she explained, I’m fairly new. Sorry if I hurt your feelings.

An attractive flight attendant interrupted the drama, her voice perky and unself-conscious. Would either of you care for a mimosa? A cocktail? Sparkling water? Her wide blue gaze fell on Wyatt Bourne. Anything at all?

I’ll take coffee. Black. And please bring my companion a new career.

Pardon?

He’s joking, Darcie muttered. Hilarious, right? And meanwhile, I’ll have some garlic and a crucifix.

Bourne grinned and told the flight attendant, Bring her a mimosa.

Right away, sir.

Chuckling, Bourne made a point of watching the attendant’s ass as she hurried down the aisle. Then he turned back to Darcie, his iron-toned eyes betraying a hint of cobalt blue, which she assumed meant he was still laughing at her.

Annoyed, she sniffed, "Don’t you have some demon chants to listen to? Don’t let me stop you."

His gaze didn’t waver. Are you really a sports agent?

Flustered, she reached into her sweater pocket and produced a brand-new business card. Then she handed it to him and asked sweetly, "The question is, are you really a quarterback?"

His eyes widened again when he read the card. Patrick Murphy hired you? Are you his girlfriend or something?

Her temper finally snapped. You know what, Mr. Bourne? We’re done here. Just read your book.

He seemed to consider this—to weigh the enjoyment of humiliating her against simply ignoring her again. Then he nodded, said, Good plan, and turned his attention back to his screen.

Jack. Ass.

The flight attendant returned, saying in a soft voice, Here’s your coffee, sir. And you’ll have to turn off your electrical device during takeoff. Sorry.

When Bourne nodded curtly, the woman smiled then headed down the aisle.

Excuse me? Darcie called after her. My mimosa?

Oh, I thought you were joking. I’ll see if we have any left.

A smile tugged at Bourne’s mouth but his eyes never shifted from his reading.

Then to Darcie’s relief, the pilot began a long, monotonous announcement about air speeds and tray tables, so she retrieved her purse and found her own reading device.

Two could play this game.

You’ll have to turn that off during takeoff, the flight attendant told her, sounding completely annoyed as she held out a mimosa.

Darcie laughed. You’re very stealthy, did you know that? Reaching across Bourne’s lap, she accepted her drink. Thanks. And keep ’em coming.

Sorry, but there’s no beverage service during takeoff.

I was joking again, Darcie explained, regretting her mocking attitude. Why punish an innocent professional for the sins of a lout? So she told her sincerely, Thanks for the great service.

You’re welcome, the woman replied. Then with a not-so-subtle eye roll in Bourne’s direction, she departed.

Darcie gave him a disgusted look. Thanks a lot. Now I’ll get all the crap food.

You can have mine.

What? Oh . . . She smiled sheepishly. Thanks.

I don’t eat airline food, he clarified.

Well, thanks anyway.

He hesitated, as though regretting the interaction, but still he persevered. How do you know Patrick Murphy? He has an outstanding reputation.

Darcie’s blood pressure spiked. Was it so difficult to believe she had earned the job on merit?

Except she actually hadn’t. Murf had based his decision on a blend of instinct and affection. So she explained with a sheepish smile, He’s married to my brother-in-law’s cousin.

Confusion registered in Bourne’s eyes and then, as Darcie watched in fascination, he visibly attempted to construct the corresponding family tree in his head. When he finally gave up, his look of frustration was priceless.

She decided to take pity on him. Murf’s been recruiting me for years, even though I kept saying I wasn’t interested. He even put me through law school. Finally he wore me down when the judge I clerked for had a heart attack and died.

The blue-gray eyes glazed over. Fascinating.

Lovely.

Maybe we should play that travel game where we see who can stay quiet longest, she suggested in annoyance. "I hope you win."

Sounds like a plan.

Good.

As she watched him return to his reading, a dull pain throbbed between her eyes. She wanted to be the wounded party, but wondered what Patrick Murphy—Murf—would say when he found out she had insulted an apparently famous quarterback. Surely sports agents didn’t behave that way. Even when provoked.

As soon as they reached cruising altitude she used the browser on her agency-issued phone to access the airline’s Wi-Fi service. The menu was byzantine, the cost—even in first class—unreasonable, but Murf had also given her a credit card and told her to use it freely.

This seemed like a good cause, so she searched the name Wyatt Bourne and confirmed the enormity of her screw-up.

Every sports site in the universe loved this guy. Not as a stellar human being, but as a superstar. In fact, he was already a legend.

Known—of course—as the Surgeon.

Unbelievable.

By all accounts, the Surgeon had played brilliantly during the most recent Super Bowl but had been bested by the also-legendary Triple Threat of the Portland Lancers.

Quarterback Johnny Spurling.

Halfback Bam Bannerman.

Kicker Sean Decker.

Darcie’s ego swelled. She knew these guys. Especially Johnny, who was every bit as hunky as Wyatt Bourne. Plus, Johnny had a Super Bowl ring, whereas the Surgeon apparently did not.

In your face, Bourne.

Her thoughts turned to the most adorable member of the Triple Threat: Sean Decker, a handsome guy with eyes as green as Darcie’s and the world’s most doable smile. She had only met him for a moment, but would have asked him out by now, pride be damned, if he wasn’t already engaged.

Although the exact words used by her sources had been that the kicker was more or less engaged. A mystery for sure, and one Darcie intended to solve.

Last but not least was the third member of the triumvirate: Vince Bam Bannerman. Rowdier than anyone Darcie had ever met, he was slated to be her very first client thanks to Murf. Bam was a star in his own right, and Darcie was a newbie, but the halfback was being a terrific sport about being assigned to her instead of Murf.

Of course, Murf had promised to oversee every aspect of the contract for the first few years, and had lauded Darcie’s talent and skills as an attorney. But Bam insisted he had chosen her because of her quote-unquote qualifications—namely, her breasts.

From anyone else it would have been offensive. From Bam? Funny as hell. He was so clearly teasing, so sweetly respectful. Best of all, he was in love with a beautiful blonde named Rachel who owned him body and soul.

Bam’s joking aside, Darcie hoped her qualifications wouldn’t play too important a part in her new career. Most of Murf’s clients were male. All were jocks. Probably cocky as hell. A little ogling would be tolerable, but there was always the danger her competition would think she was succeeding based on her body. It had been a source of frustration during college, law school and during her gig at the court. But she hoped to lose the stigma at some point.

Ironically, her breasts weren’t technically huge. Just eye-catching—in size and shape—in contrast with her otherwise slender body, producing the phenomenon widely referred to as a nice rack.

How many times had she heard that particular compliment? It was maddening, especially since she had never once capitalized on her body for an unfair advantage.

But for revenge? Wasn’t that a loophole?

Wyatt Bourne had mocked her. And even though he no longer seemed aware of her, he could strike again at any moment. So it was really just self-defense, wasn’t it?

Why not have a little fun?

Stifling a smile, she pulled her sweater over her head and tucked it into the seat pocket ahead of her, then stretched her arms, enjoying the freedom of a loose-fitting V-necked camisole made of sheer black lace. Then after draping a complimentary airline blanket across her lap, she curled up in a coquettish ball and pretended to fall asleep.

• • •

Darcie? The soft baritone was accompanied by a gentle shove on her shoulder. Hey, wake up.

She stirred, completely disoriented despite the drone of the jet engines.

Had she actually fallen asleep? She never did that in public. Not ever. And certainly not at the side of a sworn enemy.

But there he was, leaning over her, his palm tentative and respectful on her bare skin. We’re landing.

Oh, no.

A smile played over his features. Should I have let you sleep?

Crap.

Out of sheer courtesy she thanked him. Then he made things worse—as usual—by turning away and gathering up his belongings as though she didn’t exist.

An announcement from the cockpit told her she had slept through the entire five-plus hours. Not to mention through lunch service and any in-flight entertainment.

And a trip to the restroom would have been nice.

Worst of all, she had undoubtedly drooled. Didn’t she always do that in a deep sleep?

She wanted to say something witty to Bourne. A memorable parting shot. But she had nothing, so she just slipped back into her sweater and tuned him out the same way he was doing to her.

Finally the jet touched down with a loud bump, then rolled to the gate. Several passengers stood despite instructions from the cockpit to stay seated with seat belts securely fastened until they came to a full stop. Not surprisingly, Bourne was one of the scofflaws, but almost a noble one since he didn’t have any stowed luggage of his own, but instead, hefted Darcie’s case out of the bin and down onto his now empty seat.

Oh . . . She smiled gratefully. Thanks.

He gave her an impersonal nod as if to say he had no idea who she was. Then the aircraft came to a halt and he disappeared down the aisle.

Good riddance, she assured him under her breath, but a sense of failure, or at least lost opportunity, hung in the air. Shouldn’t she have tried harder to redeem herself? If not for the sake of her own career, then for Murf’s?

He had worked so hard to build a sterling reputation for the Patrick Murphy Agency. Now Bourne could trash it by sharing this hilarious anecdote with all his jock friends.

"Like he has friends? she muttered, retrieving her purse and stuffing her phone and e-reader into it. Female friends, maybe, and we all know why. But would other guys tolerate that smug attitude?"

Her thoughts flashed to the Internet articles about the Surgeon and she knew she was wrong. His natural talent combined with hard work and pinpoint accuracy had earned him well-deserved respect. He could doubtless walk into any bar in the country and get free drinks for the night from admirers, male and female.

Sorry, Murf, she mourned silently.

Still, as she exited the plane, threaded her way through the crowded airport, and hurried toward the limo her boss had arranged for her, she reminded herself Bam Bannerman was a superstar too. A prized client who thought Darcie Kildare was the most qualified agent in the country.

With his help, and Murf’s, she’d find a way to kick Wyatt Bourne’s ass.

Chapter Two

Darcie’s gig as a law clerk had been based in Los Angeles, where she had rented a house from one of Murf’s business associates. Moving to Dallas would make more sense now, since it was PMA’s headquarters and the place where her best friend resided. Or she could relocate to Portland, where their most lucrative clients lived and played.

The Triple Threat.

Meanwhile, her LA digs were convenient for the moment, since Murf had scheduled her first day to coincide with the NFL’s high-profile Concussion Awareness Fundraiser, taking place this very night in Hollywood. He could squire her around. She could make some connections. Most of all, she’d be comfortable because all of her player contacts—all three of them—would be in attendance to boost her confidence.

Murf wanted her to mingle, but also to cement her Triple Threat relationships. She had spent a few hours with quarterback Johnny Spurling and his bride Erica, and knew it was a friendship worth cultivating for personal as well as professional reasons.

Spending time with Bam was a given.

And Sean Decker? Spending time with him was probably a lost cause, not to mention masochistic given his mysterious engagement. But he was a PMA client too, wasn’t he?

And so, so adorable.

Murf was picking her up at seven sharp, so she rushed home from the airport and began dressing immediately. Two outfits were in the running for her big debut: a sharply tailored black suit and a tasteful but subtly hot dress made of black silk with iridescent emerald undertones. Murf had warned that the affair would be both glamorous and filled with deal makers, and had left it to her to decide how to play it.

The suit seemed the logical choice, but given the recent ego-bruising by Wyatt Bourne, she opted for the dress. Not only did it give her confidence, since she had already worn it to two posh events—an award ceremony for her dad’s Pulitzer and a cocktail party at the Irish embassy on Saint Patrick’s Day—but it fit her to perfection, with the skirt molded to her ass, and the high strapless bodice covering yet also emphasizing her two best features.

Your qualifications, she reminded herself with a laugh.

She already loved Bam for that. And despite the occasional insecurity, she loved her body too, especially now that it had helped her get revenge against the Surgeon.

Not that she had been awake to confirm that. Instead, she had inexplicably fallen asleep.

What was that about?

Thoughts of Wyatt Bourne—both the one who ignored her and the one who openly mocked her—drove her crazy. If only she could do more Internet research, maybe she could dig up something to put it in perspective. Was he married? That would be best. But he hadn’t acted like a married guy. More like a single jerk who knew how irresistible he was. So the second-best dirt would be that he had a bad rep with women.

Focus, she scolded herself, moving to the bathroom to fix her hair and apply dramatic makeup, especially to her eyes. They were a true emerald green, wide and friendly, and when she wanted to look her best, they never let her down. All it took was some bronze eye shadow and a few coats of mascara to make them sparkle. Her shoulder-length, straight black hair was an asset too, but only if she didn’t fuss with it, so she gave it a couple of brushstrokes, applied some pink lip gloss to her lips, and decided she had done what she could.

A knocking sound announced Murf’s arrival, and she forced herself to exhale fully, then take a fresh breath as she hurried to answer it. Time to show this man he hadn’t made a gigantic mistake.

Throwing open the front door, she smiled in delight.

Dapper, sophisticated, tall and sandy-haired, looking like he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth despite his unfortunate background—that was Patrick Murphy. She could still remember the day her best friend Emily brought him home to meet everyone. He had been so clearly enthralled by Em, yet had exuded pure confidence, telling the family he would be graduating from law school in another year and then, armed with a bachelor’s in sports management from Texas Tech and a law degree from UCLA, would become the hottest sports agent in the country within five years.

All it takes is smoke and mirrors, he had assured them, but Darcie had watched how he did it, creating the classy, competitive image, then backing it up with hard work and brilliance. He had a gift for inspiring confidence, and so in less than a year he had signed quarterback Johnny Spurling, fresh out of Cal, a star in the making who was eager to please his famous coach-father and intrigued by Murf’s vision.

After that there was no stopping either of them. And somehow in the midst of the meteoric rise, Murf managed to convince practical-minded Emily to sign with him too. Now they had three children together. Darcie had seen him in that world too—up to his neck in diapers, worshipping at Emily’s feet—but at times like this, she could scarcely connect that guy to the one standing before her.

You always look so sharp in a tux, she told him proudly.

You clean up pretty good yourself. Thanks for wearing that dress. It killed at the embassy.

Hopefully for the right reasons, she murmured, wondering if she should run back to her bedroom and choose the suit instead.

He cocked a teasing eyebrow. Are you forgetting the best advice I ever gave you?

A smile tugged at her lips. He had indeed changed her life with a few simple words. It had been the worst summer of her life—the one between high school and college when her perfectly nice breasts had decided to bust out. Literally. And just as suddenly, guys she had known her whole life were looking at her differently. Talking to her differently. Making jokes that just weren’t funny, at least not to Darcie.

Perhaps if it had happened gradually she would have been fine with it. Maybe even proud. Instead, she had felt like a freak, and had rushed to Emily’s apartment near UCLA to cry on her shoulder in frustration, insisting it was the end of the world.

Then Murf had appeared in the bedroom doorway and said, Just remember. They may come for the breasts, but they’ll stay for the brains.

Darcie had burst into tears while a furious Emily kicked him out with one powerful wave of her hand. But within minutes, both women were laughing their asses off, deciding this would be Darcie’s new motto.

Come for the breasts. Stay for the brains.

I hired you for that sharp legal mind, he assured her now. "And the fact that you actually enjoy reading contracts, which is still a mystery to me."

I’m on my second pass-through of the CBA and it’s starting to make sense. Unfortunately . . .

He waited patiently, although she suspected he was mentally checking the time. Among his many values, punctuality ranked high.

So she forced herself to be quick. I met someone on the plane today. A sports figure. And I inadvertently insulted him.

In other words, some jerk hit on you? Who was it?

He didn’t hit on me. Quite the opposite. I repulsed him.

Murf chuckled. That doesn’t sound likely.

I heard someone refer to him as a surgeon, so when I met him, I called him ‘Doctor.’ He didn’t take kindly to it.

You met Wyatt Bourne? Man, what are the odds? He paused to grin. And you called him Doctor Bourne? I wish I could have seen that.

I wanted to crawl into a hole.

His ego can take it, Murf reassured her. That’s why they call him the Surgeon, isn’t it?

The Internet says it’s because his passing is so precise.

That’s one explanation, he agreed. And some say it’s because of his cutting remarks.

Oh! I can attest to that.

Murf chuckled again. Mostly though, it’s a reference to his God complex. Just like a real surgeon saves lives, and feels like a god because of it, Wyatt Bourne saves games. His team would have been on life support by the time the playoffs rolled around, but thanks to the Surgeon, they almost won it all.

Wincing at the admiration in his tone, she told him, The bad news is, he’ll never sign with you now. I’m so sorry, Murf.

Who said I’d even want him? Taking her by the arm, he led her to the sofa and they sat side by side. Then he continued. Prestige-wise—and money-wise—signing Bourne would be a coup. But he and John Spurling are rivals. Especially these days. It’s not personal, but John’s my most valuable client. Not to mention a close friend. I’d never do anything to jeopardize that.

"But they play for different teams. Doesn’t that mean you can get them both a lot of money without robbing either one? She eyed him curiously. What am I missing?"

You’re focusing on the contract, but that isn’t the problem. It’s the support. His tone softened. "I go to John’s games. I memorize his stats. I sell him to everyone—on every level. And if his confidence ever wavers, even for a second, I’m there to remind him he’s the best. That’s my style, and it’ll be yours too."

So if Johnny Spurling and the Surgeon face off in another Super Bowl, you can’t do that for both of them? I get it.

Murf nodded. "In a few years, when you’ve got the hang of it, things could change. You could rep Bourne and I could rep John and we’d be fine. Because you’d be there for your guy and I’d be there for mine. It would be sweet, he admitted without attempting to hide his greed. But you’re not ready yet."

Trust me, I know. And like I said, Wyatt Bourne wouldn’t consider it. I pretty much blew it with him when he found out I never heard of the Surgeon.

Murf chuckled. That’s one for the books. He’s probably the single most recognizable sports personality— He coughed and added diplomatically, It’s my job to make sure you learn all of that. And in the meantime— He stood and offered her his hand. You can practice on Bam Bannerman. Starting tonight.

• • •

During the limo ride to the fundraiser, they chatted about Murf’s children, especially the newborn named Nell. Darcie had been there for the birth, just as she’d been for the other two, and had stayed for a few days to help out. But her former boss, the judge, had been in the hospital, so the Murphys had freed her to make a fuss over the old man.

Good timing too, since he had passed away within the month, leaving Darcie bereft and anxious to start fresh.

Now she was doing just that, walking arm in arm with Murf into the crowded, glitzy ballroom. As hot music pulsed and scantily clad waitresses delivered trays of martinis to throngs of beautifully groomed guests, she struggled not to gawk. She might not know sports celebrities, but she recognized dozens of stars from movies, TV and politics. Although as dazzling as they were, they paled in comparison to the huge, brawny bodies of the typical male attendee.

What did you expect?

She barely noticed their faces, so wowed was she by their muscles. Which raised an interesting karmic question, but she chased it away. These guys made a living with those magnificent bods.

And their brains, of course. Strategies, x’s and o’s, and mostly, the intelligence to be concerned about injuries, and the generosity to support this effort to mitigate the effects.

Are we sure Johnny and Erica are coming?

Murf nodded. Bannerman and Rachel too. So you should have a few ports in the storm.

And Sean Decker? And his fiancée?

She noted how Murf hesitated, just for a micro-second, before nodding again. Sean for sure. I don’t know about Kerrie.

Kerrie?

Now Darcie had a name to go with the mystery. So she persevered. What’s their story? Erica said they were more or less engaged.

You’re attracted to him?

"What? Who said that?" she stammered.

She expected him to tease her, but instead, he just murmured, It’s a serious relationship, Darce.

Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to imply it wasn’t. And honestly, I’m not looking for a boyfriend. So thank God he’s taken, right?

We’ll find you someone, he said, relaxing visibly. Emily wants your kids to play with ours, so you’re on the clock.

But tonight, I’m all business. I promise.

Murf’s gaze fixed on a spot behind her. There’s your buddy Bourne.

What? She whirled to see Wyatt standing with a tall, curvaceous redhead, his hand possessively on her back. Or rather, half on her back, half lower. Luckily, his face was turned toward another couple so he probably didn’t notice how shocked Darcie was.

Shock number one: he was there. She should have expected it, but had honestly thought she’d never see him again, much less so soon.

Shock number two: he looked amazing. Ten times better than he had on the plane, and that was saying something. In this room of tall, well-built men, he stood out as something special, from his relaxed but dominating stance, to his amazing shoulders, to that granite jaw.

And shock number three? He had a date with him. A woman who made Darcie look flat-chested and gawky. A woman gazing up into his steely eyes as though indeed he were a living god. Everything about her screamed superiority, from the waist-length hair that flamed brightly, to the sparkly black gown that clung to every curve, and the height that almost matched Bourne’s.

Crap.

Hoping to salvage the moment, she told Murf, It never occurred to me he’d be here.

Virtually every QB in the league will show. Concussions are a huge deal for them. For other players too, but guys like Wyatt and John are sitting ducks.

But not so much kickers like Sean? she asked, anxious to learn, and also to dispel the notion that her interests in him were purely amorous.

Murf arched a suspicious eyebrow, but all he said was, Sean used to be a quarterback. Did you know that? Anyway, I’ve seen him take some serious hits as a kicker too. But yes, to answer your question, his position isn’t nearly as dangerous. And speaking of dangerous . . . He gave her a playful grin. Here comes your future. All ten thousand pounds of it.

What? Oh . . . She smiled to see Bam Bannerman headed their way, glad-handing his way through the crowd like he was best friends with all of them. There was something so alive about this guy—the twinkling blue eyes, the hulky body, the sun-streaked hair—more like a barbarian than a football player. Pillaging and loving every minute of it.

When he reached them, he didn’t lose any time. Instead he grabbed Darcie by the shoulders and eyed her playfully. Man, you look good.

So do you, she stammered, overwhelmed by the sheer size of his gorgeous muscles.

Without taking his gaze off her, he told Murf, Thanks again for hooking me up with Darcie. I still can’t believe how qualified she is.

Darcie and Murf both laughed, then Darcie asked, Where’s Rachel?

One of her students is getting a new baby sister tonight and Rachel’s participating by phone. She just got the call, but she’ll keep it short. To Murf he added, You just had one too, right?

He nodded. That’s why Emily couldn’t make it. They’re still breastfeeding every five minutes.

Too bad you can’t bring in reinforcements, Bam quipped. The big guns, right?

Murf chuckled. That’s enough breast jokes for one night.

But they’re so cool, the halfback said, adding with a wink at Darcie, I’m not allowed to talk about them anyway. Rachel’s got me under a gag order. But I’m allowed to dance with you. So what do you say?

I’d love to.

Murf gave him a stern look. Behave yourself. I want her back in the same condition I left her.

Understood.

And, Darcie? Once you’ve had a chance to visit with Bam and Rachel, I’ll introduce you to some of our other clients. Especially Alexi Romanov. I’ve been telling him all about you.

The Tsar? Bam seemed displeased. He’ll hit on her, Murf.

It’s under control, Murf assured him. You two have fun now. I’ll track you down in a while.

Bam shifted his hand to the small of her back and led her to the dance floor, where hundreds of partygoers were already working up a sweat. Luckily, a slow, sexy marimba beat began, courtesy of Michael Bublé, and Darcie rested her hands on Bam’s shoulders, allowing him to guide her through it.

So? she murmured. "The Tsar? Does everyone have a nickname in the NFL?"

They called him the Black Russian in college, but once he dominated in his rookie year, he got promoted to tsar. He’s okay, but don’t go off alone with him. Make sure me or the Big Dog is with you. Or even Decker if you’re desperate.

"The Big Dog? Is that

Reviews for Power Play

[PatriciaSilva · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

loved the series but what happens to Sean and Kerrie????

[Karla4 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

by far my favorite of the series!