Seduce: Love & Rugby: Season of Love, #2

By Susan Scott Shelley and Chantal Mer

App developer, photographer, and nightclub owner Wyatt Holt's life is never dull. A frequent traveler, he's found a home base in Philly and though opening up is difficult, friends who accept his attention-jumping self as he is. But he yearns for someone special to share things with. Someone like Rocco, the burly Italian in his rugby club who calls to Wyatt with every sparking interaction, and who seems determined to keep him at arm's length. 

 

All work and no play defined chef Rocco Accardi's life in the years since his second restaurant rose from the ashes of the first one's failure. Thriving professionally with a team he trusts, he can relax enough to resume playing in a rec league rugby league with his longtime friends. Wyatt's arrival mid-season tempts him to see if he can make room in his life for someone else, and to break his rule against dating someone so many years away from his own age. Though he tries to stubbornly hold out, Wyatt is hard to resist, and Rocco can't deny the pull he feels toward the vibrant younger man.

 

As the holiday season unfolds, Rocco and Wyatt find more in each other than they ever imagined. But Rocco wrestles with loosening the reins at work and fears Wyatt's penchant for jetting off on adventures isn't compatible with a life so consumed by his business. And longing for companionship, Wyatt struggles with Rocco's almost nonexistent work-life balance and whether there's a place for him in it. Can they find a way to gift each other what they need most or will they end up alone under the mistletoe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Scott Shelley
• Release date: Dec 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985430790

Book preview

Chapter One

image-placeholder

Wyatt

There’s no place like home.

The line echoes in every beat of my pulse as I take in my friends and rugby club mates gathered together on the pitch with the Philadelphia city skyline silhouetted against a deep blue sky. Four weeks away isn’t that long a stretch of time, not for me, but damn, it’s good to be back. Adjusting my practice jersey, I head their way.

Wyatt!

Hey man!

Good to see you, bud!

Cheers and waves welcome me as I hustle across the rugby field toward the bleachers. It may be mid-October, but the heat of summer stubbornly hangs in the air. I’m hoping today’s drills won’t be too intense. I’m also hoping that whoever’s been playing in my usual position won’t mind sharing it with me. Though, this being a rec league, most of us can and have filled in at various positions over the course of a season.

Greer squeezes me in an enthusiastic embrace that knocks us both into our teammates, Penn and Aspen. Laughing, the pair steady us. Greer holds me at arm‘s length, inspecting me like he hasn’t seen me in four years instead of four weeks, then tugs me into another zealous hug. I’m so glad you’re back. We need to do karaoke soon.

Me too. And we do. Squeezing him tight, I scan the rest of my teammates over his shoulder and grin at Aspen and Penn. You guys have done okay so far this season without me.

Releasing me, Greer shakes his head. Not as good as it would’ve been with you here.

Penn, my closest friend on the team, pulls me into a hug. I agree. Practices and post game drinks weren’t as fun without you either.

Brushing his russet colored hair out of his face, Aspen claps my shoulder. The last time I saw the captain of our under-thirty team, it was dyed blue. How was France?

Fantastic. I let my duffle bag slide from my shoulder and drop to the ground. This time, traveling on my own wasn’t as much fun as usual. I was… lonely, wanting someone to share in the experience. The pesky awareness kept nipping at me like a bug throughout the month I spent sampling amazing food and wine and seeing the sights. Missed you guys too.

Greer swings an arm around Aspen’s shoulders then makes a show of buffing his nails on his jersey. Of course you did. We’re fabulous.

You are. Laughing, I look past him to the opposite side of the field where our club’s over-thirty team has gathered. A tall, olive-skinned man with super short brown hair stands spotlighted by the sun. Thick muscles strain his practice jersey. He has legs like tree trunks and a commanding presence. Dark stubble graces a strong jaw. My gaze continues up his face, over his straight nose, to brown eyes narrowed in what could be a glower, but is probably due to the strength of the sun’s rays. My heart trips. "Who’s that?"

Shading his eyes from the sun, Penn leans on my shoulder, rising onto his toes to peer past our shoulders. Rocco. He’s friends with Owen and Cam.

Now, I remember seeing Rocco’s name in the group text our club has. He owns a successful restaurant and scored the winning try in the over-thirty team’s last game.

Greer rests his elbow on my other shoulder as the three of us watch a laughing Owen playfully punch Rocco in his brawny bicep at something Rocco says. Rocco punches him back, his lighthearted shouts of protest echoing across the pitch when Cam pulls him into a headlock. Owen’s really happy Rocco’s come back to play.

I tear my gaze from the scene to look at my friend. Back?

They played together years ago. Before Cam formed this league.

Oh. If he played together with them back then, I’m guessing he’s about their age, mid-thirties.

Palming the whistle on the lanyard around his neck, Aspen points at my sneakers. Cleats on, bud. We’re starting in a minute.

I rush to comply. He waits until I have the cleats on and take a swig of water before blowing the whistle.

Greer, Penn, and I gather on the field with the rest of the guys for warmups and wait for Cam, who captains the over-thirty team, and Aspen to offer instructions. Apollo, Easton, and Kade, who make up the rest of Greer and Aspen’s tight knit crew, shift through the crowd until they’ve joined us.

I know it’s hot and humid, guys, so we’ll only do one lap jogging around the field instead of three, Cam calls out. He leads the way with Aspen by his side. The two have been together for a couple of years, not the first club mates to have a romantic relationship and not the last.

Easton and Kade, Apollo and our club manager Hercules, Gage and Valentine, Greer and Owen with their boyfriend Storm, are other examples of teammates turning into more. Penn, running by my side, has a definite thing for Anderson, but the dude seems unaware. I’ve never been into anyone in this club. No one has sparked an interest.

Until today.

A twisting glance over my shoulder earns me a peek at Rocco jogging beside Anderson. Sparking interest doesn’t begin to cover it. Intense explosion of intrigue is more accurate. He catches my gaze. I feel like I’ve been jolted by a million volts of electricity. A pack of close to thirty guys separates us, and too easily, he slips from view.

Penn bumps his elbow into my arm. Chess match tonight?

I drag my gaze to my friend and pretend my heart isn’t galloping. Sure.

The board’s all set up. Penn inherited the chessboard from his grandfather. The pieces are hand-carved polished marble, and the board is made of inlaid ebony and mother-of-pearl. The craftsmanship is not something frequently seen anymore. It’s like being transported back in time.

You’re on. While I’ve always played chess with multiple people online, playing in person with Penn, especially on his grandfather’s set, is really special. Our games helped cement our friendship.

We finish the lap and drop into lunges. I look to my right, and Rocco is there, beside Apollo. Powerful thighs flex, bulging the material of his shorts.

Squats show off his great rear. No matter how hard I fight it, half of my attention keeps returning to him. During walking lunges, Rocco turns and spears me with a stare hot enough to melt me. Suspended in the sizzling connection, I veer into Penn’s lane and smack into his side, catching an elbow to my ribcage.

With a laugh, he pushes me away. You’re never this distracted. What’s going— He glances to where my attention has gone yet again. Rocco’s resumed his front-facing stance. "Oh. Then he grins and drops his voice to a murmur. Wyatt’s got a crush."

Stop it. My face heating has nothing to do with the temperature. I push at his chest and he bumps into Apollo, who trips into Greer. Aspen steadies his friend and shoots a questioning look our way. I wave an apology, but Penn’s shoulders vibrating in silent laughter pull my lips into a grin and I bite my lip, failing in my attempt to rein it in.

Shaking his head, Aspen leads us into arm swings. I twist my torso, letting my arms follow the movement, and tell myself to focus. I’m thrilled to be back with the club. The season may be half over, but I intend to make the most of every minute with these guys, and need to show them that even though I’ve been away, they can count on me to be present and strong in a game. Keeping my head down, I finish out the warmups.

We break into smaller groups, forwards and backs, to work on skills. The over-thirties stay on one side of the field for this portion, but the few furtive glances I allow myself of Rocco catch him looking at me.

Aspen blows his whistle. We have about fifteen minutes left. We’ll scrimmage. Over-thirty versus under-thirty. Get into positions.

I line up at inside center. The first few plays, I’m out of sync, but the rust falls away fast. Minutes tick by, and the sheer joy of running around a field with my friends, chasing that blue and white oval, takes over.

Rocco gets possession of the ball from Cam. I’m the closest to him. I lunge forward, wrap my arms around Rocco’s hips, catch the scent of soap and laundry detergent, and push hard against his frame. The ground rushes up. I brace for impact and duck my head into his torso to protect it. The only part I dislike about this game is the possibility of injury. I don’t ever want to sustain a concussion. One of the first apps I developed was a task reminder for a friend who’d ended up with memory problems thanks to concussions from playing football. Rocco’s hand cups the back of my head, cradling me to him. We land in a heap of limbs.

He must have released the ball because sounds of play continuing echo from farther down the field. Warm fingers brush down the back of my head, my neck, then fall away.

I free my hands from beneath his back and blades of grass tickle my palms as I shift to peer down at him. His lips are full, kissable, and almost the same shade as his olive skin. Eyes that appear amber up close like this are ringed with a deeper brown. I could stare into them forever. You have pretty eyes.

The rise and fall of his chest supports me like a boat bobbing on a gentle sea. Rocco’s brows pull together and a line forms between them. He gives a little grunt. What?

They’re dark, like the Cave of the Domes in Arizona. And the lighter flecks of brown remind me of the striations on the walls. Gorgeous.

The line between his brows deepening, Rocco stares at me as though he’s wondering if I hit my head on the way down. What?

Maybe he’s the one who knocked his head. Your eyes, I lean in, studying them closer, not that I’d know what to look for in them if he is, in fact, injured. They’re pretty.

One corner of his mouth curls in a half smile. I can’t tell whether I’ve amused or surprised him. Yours are nice too. Like chocolate mousse. And your hair is like an iced latte.

I’ve never thought my brown eyes and dark blond strands were that special, but he’s looking at me like he likes what he’s seeing. I hope that’s a good thing.

The fingertips resting against my side fan out to five individual pressure points. My dick twitches. He licks his lips. They’re some of my favorite things.

Scant strands of silver are sprinkled at his temples. My fingers itch to trace over the super short strands and his smooth, tan skin. I’d love to photograph you. I bet you’re really photogenic.

You’re a photographer?

I dabble.

He shifts his hands so his fingers and palms fully rest against my sides. They’re wide and warm and if he started stroking me now, I’d purr.

Yo, Wyatt? Rocco? Cam’s voice booms. Are you two okay?

The rest of the world flares to life. The smell of the grass. The guys’ chatting. The wind brushing over us. Rocco’s scent, both spicy and fresh. Teasing my fingertips along the curve of his shoulders, I study his handsome face. You good?

I’m enjoying the view. His twinkling gaze holds more than a hint of interest and his fingers shift the barest bit higher, the movement too small to be a caress, but the sensation still bringing awareness to the touch.

Me too. I twist my head in Cam’s direction and call, We’re fine.

Ball in hand, he jogs closer. Then what’re you doing? You know you can’t lay on someone for that long after a tackle.

I’m not… I look down. I am. Laying on Rocco. Like we’re in bed together. And getting close to doing something far more interesting than sleeping. I push off his chest, roll to the grass and sit, supporting my weight on my hands. Sorry.

That amused smile is back, and growing wider. He sits up. Cam’s right. You’d draw a penalty.

Totally worth it. He’s so attractive. I’d do it again. Not the least bit repentant, I smile and bump my shoulder into his.

His gaze drops from my eyes to my mouth, then journeys over my half-sprawled form. When his focus returns to my face, the heat and intensity glittering there scrambles my insides and overloads my circuits like the messed up computer I’m working on fixing. Maybe next practice, I’ll return the favor.

In a flash, my mind fills with an image of him ranging over me, pinning me to the pitch, and my limbs grow heavy with desire. You can take me down anytime.

A shrill whistle blows. With Aspen close by his side, Cam addresses our teams. That’s a wrap for practice. Great job tonight, boys. His gaze wanders to Rocco and me and he studies us for a second before saying, Wyatt, it’s good to have you back. I’m glad you and Rocco had a chance to get acquainted, even if it was in the middle of the field during a scrimmage.

Our teammates laugh and I give them a weak wave. Aspen takes the attention off of me. Anyone going out for pizza tonight, see Penn.

I jump up and extend a hand toward Rocco. He takes hold and those strong fingers wrap around mine. For a second, something flashes in his gaze and I wonder if he’s debating pulling me until I’m right back on top of him. But it passes and he lumbers to his feet. Too soon, he releases me.

Most of our club mates wander past us, heading to the bleachers. I take a step closer to Rocco. Are you coming to grab pizza with us?

He shakes his head. I have to get back to the restaurant.

Not wanting him to see my disappointment, I avert my gaze to the ground and nod, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. Okay, well, see you next week then.

We both have games on Saturday, but they aren’t back-to-back, so I doubt I’ll see him then. Next Wednesday’s practice seems so far away.

With an impish flick, he brushes wayward strands of hair from my forehead. I look forward to it.

He back-walks a few steps before turning and jogging to the bleachers further down field. Rushed steps carry me to where I dropped my stuff earlier. Aspen, Penn, and Greer waiting there with arms crossed and expectant grins slow my last few steps. What?

What? Penn mocks me. Like we all didn’t see you and Rocco out there.

I sit and untie my cleats. I tackled him.

"For minutes. Greer drops beside me. I fully intend to try that with Owen when we get home."

Sneakers on, cleats stuffed in my bag, I stand and attempt to shove the attention off me. You coming for pizza?

He shakes his head. We need to get home so we can spend time with Storm before he goes to sleep. Text me, we’ll set up a karaoke night.

Will do. Aspen, are you and Cam coming?

He slings his gear bag over his shoulder. Just to grab a slice, then we have to pick up Olive from his sister’s.

Penn picks up my bag. Rocking back on his heels, he swings it from side to side. Less than ten people for pizza tonight. Small enough for everyone to chat. Wy, we’ll have plenty of time to talk about your tackling technique.

Aspen pulls Greer up. You know Cam… He’ll be all over it.

Kind of like you were all over Rocco. Laughing at his own joke, Greer falls into Aspen’s side.

I smile despite the effort to hold it in. I missed you guys.

After so many weeks of alone time, I want to fill my hours with people who enjoy my company as much as I enjoy theirs. Even if we spend part of it discussing me laying all over Rocco.

That jolt, the way I felt with his hands on me, I don’t know what it means, but I’m eager to see him again. And that’s something that hasn’t happened for a very long time.

Chapter Two

image-placeholder

Rocco

Ten minutes late for practice, I toss my duffel onto the grass and slide my sneakers off in exchange for cleats. If my sous chef, Sierra, hadn’t threatened to kick my ass out of the kitchen, I would have missed practice and missed seeing the man with the candid smile who had me ready to say fuck it