Blindsided: A Sports Romance Read online

  BLINDSIDED

  A Sports Romance

  by Ava Kendrick

  Copyright © Ava Kendrick 2016

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This story contains strong language and mature themes. It is intended for adult readers only.

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  BLINDSIDED

  “Can I interest you in a huge thorn?”

  Rose

  I’m about to shoot down the guy responsible for that cheesy line… until I see him.

  He’s tall, hot and irresistible. But he’s a guest and this receptionist job is the only thing keeping me off the breadline.

  So this needs to stay professional.

  I can handle Jake Thorne.

  I want to resist.

  He’s not making it easy, though.

  Jake

  I’m used to women falling at my feet, not arching their gorgeous eyebrows and calling me on my game.

  I’ve never wanted anything more than a no-strings hookup.

  Until now.

  I’m hooked.

  She’s indifferent.

  Doesn’t matter: I play to win.

  Chapter 1

  Rose

  “Just a moment, please,” I say, typing furiously.

  The guy I just checked in walked away without repeating his numerous special requests and I’m struggling to remember them all.

  “No problem,” says a deep voice that sends shivers through me.

  “Thank you for your patience,” I smile, still focused on my screen. “We’re super busy today and my co-worker just called in sick.”

  He chuckles. “Stressed, huh? If you need a break later, I’ve got a huge thorn with your name on it.”

  I glance over the list I’ve just typed to make sure I haven’t missed anything. “That’s very amusing, sir.”

  If my voice sounds weary, it’s because I’ve heard it all before. Yeah, my name is Rose—it’s on my name badge. And yeah, I’ve heard that song. I think I may even have been named after it, which makes me gag a little inside—just not as much as I do when some guy whips out the rose/thorn lines.

  Spoiler alert: it happens more often than you’d think, especially since I work at a luxury hotel frequented by the kind of smarmy businessmen who think hitting on a receptionist half their age is a good time.

  I look up, prepared to put this latest wannabe Casanova in his place.

  The put-down melts on my tongue.

  I’m face-to-face with the most breathtakingly gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. No, he’s too rugged to be described that way, but I still can’t take my eyes off him. And we’re not exactly face-to-face either: he towers over me. He’s tall and built, but he doesn’t look stocky. His hazel eyes shine with mischief and promise. His stubble does nothing to hide the strong line of his jaw. He’s nothing like what I expected.

  “It wasn’t a joke. Rose,” he says, scrutinizing me.

  It’s busy—the line in front of the reception desk will double in size soon if I don’t check this guy in and move on to the cluster of suits behind him.

  Tell that to the blast of adrenaline that rushes through me at the sound of his gravelly voice saying my name. If only this job wasn’t the only thing keeping me off the streets.

  I fix my features into a professional expression and look at his gorgeous face. “Just one question. Does that actually work?”

  He stares at me like I’m some kind of alien, his warm hazel eyes holding mine. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. Finally, his lips twist up into a dazzling smile. “You’d be surprised.”

  I can’t help but laugh at his confidence. “Good for you. How can I help you today?”

  He looks a little crestfallen. “I’m checking in.”

  “Under what name?”

  His eyebrows knit together for just a second, giving me this strange feeling that I’m missing something from this exchange. But moments later he grins and looks carefree again.

  “Jake. Jake Thorne.”

  “Ah.” I laugh before I can stop myself. What are the chances? I don’t know why, but I’m relieved that he’s got an excuse for using such a cheesy line. I glance up at him. It’s hot in here. I fight hard to resist the urge to fan myself. My cheeks are burning up and I can hardly think straight.

  There must be a problem with the AC system.

  That’s it.

  Because there’s no other explanation. It’s not that this stranger is having an effect on me. Oh no. Not me. See, I swore off men. Ever since Cody, I’ve vowed never again to let a man into my life. Sure there have been a few disastrous exceptions, but why would I let anyone else wreak havoc with my life? I’ve been doing a perfectly good job of that on my own.

  “Uh, you okay there, Rose?”

  My skin breaks out into goosebumps. I can’t help it. The familiarity with which he says my name sends me into a tailspin.

  “Oh yes, I’m fine, Mr. Thorne,” I say, hoping I’ve recovered my calm well.

  He doesn’t know what I’m thinking. He doesn’t know.

  I frown at the screen in front of me. Most of our guests are on business, here for conferences or events. Otherwise, they’re tourists taking advantage of occasional special offers at off-peak times. Either way, they don’t stick around for very long. I should have known from the moment I saw him that this guy wouldn’t fit the mold.

  “You’re with us for two months, Mr. Thorne?” I say, looking up at him and trying not to lose my breath at the sight of his hazel eyes.

  I can’t help but be mesmerized. I’m not going to tell you that they shimmer or have a distinctive starburst pattern that makes me know we’re star-crossed and he’s the guy for me. Because I don’t believe in that bullshit. Besides, I’m sworn off men—remember? No, his eyes are a perfectly ordinary shade of hazel.

  It’s the way they crinkle that’s the problem.

  The corners of his eyes furrow every time he grins—which is often, so far as I can see after only knowing him a couple of minutes. There’s such a warmth to him; something I can’t put my finger on that draws me to him.

  “Yup, that’s right,” he says, leaning his elbows on the desk and staring keenly into my eyes. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. I meant what I said.”

  I set my mouth in a straight line and tell myself to ignore the sparks of desire that ricochet through my body. “You do realize that a thorn is a bad thing, right? Like a thorn in your side?”

  That’s my usual response when a guy feeds me a line.

  He shrugs. “Trust me, Rose. You’re going to be very happy with my thorn.”

  I try to hide my surprise. And arousal. This guy is forward, but unlike the others he’s got the sex appeal to back it up. Still, I’m not that easy.

  “Calling it a ‘thorn’ doesn’t exactly sell it,” I whisper, leaning forward so nobody in line can hear.

  He laughs and leans further forward. I haven’t moved, so our foreheads are almost touching. “There’s nothing disappointing about my thorn, Rose. In fact, you’ll—”

  I jerk back. I shouldn’t be speaking to a guest like this. This has gone beyond pleasantries. My face is hot and my heart is pounding. It’s taken a step up from flirting and become foreplay. We’re only talking, but my body’s reacting as if we’re doing much more than that.

  He watches me with a knowing smile. I want to yell at him for making me so flustered. But not as much as I want to feel those
huge hands all over my body.

  I hold out his room keycard and suck in a breath as those thick fingers brush against mine as he takes it. I glance up at his eyes to see if he noticed.

  One look tells me he has. There’s a triumphant note to his smile; like he’s won some unspoken competition between us. I want to protest—it’s not fair. How am I supposed to resist somebody who’s this goddamn gorgeous?

  He grins at me. “You’ll be very happy.”

  He turns and walks away, leaving me staring after him, barely able to get my breathing back to normal. I can’t focus. All I can think is oh shit. I’m in trouble.

  Jake

  It’s not my fault.

  I’m used to having chicks fall at my feet no matter what bullshit comes out of my mouth.

  I’ve got a huge thorn with your name on it.

  Believe me, it’s not even the worst.

  I tip the bellboy and wave him away from my lone bag. The rest of my stuff will be delivered later. I can’t remember the last time my address wasn’t a high-end hotel. This one already seems more promising than the others, though. I flip my keycard in and out between my fingers as I walk to the bank of elevators on the other side of the marble lobby.

  I swipe the card across the sensor and the doors to the penthouse elevator glide open. Smiling to myself, I step inside slowly before turning to hit the close button. I glance up and catch her eye for a half second before she turns away, looking flustered.

  She was checking me out.

  I grin.

  For all her cold professionalism, she wants me just as much as I want her.

  I let the door slide closed even though all I really want to do is stand here and watch her.

  She’s nothing like my usual type. Her dirty blond hair is tied in a neat knot at the nape of her neck. Her laugh—there was nothing false about that. I had to work hard to stop myself from reaching over and brushing off the long curled eyelash on her cheek.

  But come on. What was I gonna do? Brush it off and hold it out for her to make a wish? It’s not like I’m some fucking Prince Charming.

  The doors open and I shuffle along the thick carpet. A couple of years ago, staying in a place like this might have got me excited. I’d have rushed out and found as many party girls as I possibly could fit in there and some for extra.

  Now?

  I clamor through the door and drop my bag on the floor. The hall table looks antique. I couldn’t give a fuck. I walk past the open bathroom door and spot the Jacuzzi tub. Now, that makes me grin. I know I should find some girls and take them back here, but honestly? I can’t be bothered. Maybe I’m coming down with something.

  I walk through the doorway to the master bedroom and throw myself on the king bed. I glance at the floor-to-ceiling drapes that hide a million-dollar view, but settle instead for the TV remote.

  The screen fizzles into life with one of those reality shows. You know the ones—it’s all fake tits, bottle tans, and Botox. I stare for a couple of seconds before I get bored. Why watch it on TV when I can go out and meet the real deal?

  I hit the button to change the channel, and that’s when it strikes me.

  That’s what’s different about Rose.

  She wasn’t playing the game.

  Lots of girls like to play it. They’re frosty and standoffish—well, they think that’s how they come across. Usually, though, I see them throwing me glances from underneath the eyelashes some poor salon girl spent hours gluing on. Like I say, it’s a game.

  I groan and change the channel when an ad comes on.

  I’ve had so many girls pretend not to know who I am I can see it a mile off. But Rose? She was different. I know women and I can tell. She didn’t have a clue.

  I click off the TV and lie back on the bed. Every muscle in my body is aching from practice and we’re just getting started. I can’t think straight. Maybe that’s why the idea crops into my head.

  See, earlier it was part bluster. I’m used to chatting up every pretty girl I see. It’s like saying good morning to your neighbor or signaling when you want to make a turn. Second nature.

  But this? It’s different. For some reason, all I can think of is Rose. I don’t know if it’s because of her reserve or her gorgeous smile or the fact that she doesn’t know who I am.

  I don’t care.

  I roll over and grab the phone. I don’t even know what I’m gonna say. I just want to hear her voice.

  I hit 0 for reception.

  “Mr. Thorne,” a smooth voice simpers. “This is Luca. Welcome to Greenboro Court. As the concierge, I can provide recommendations for dining or entertainment options, or anything else you might desire.”

  “I thought I dialed reception,” I say, holding the receiver between my ear and shoulder even though it makes my tired muscles twitch uncomfortably.

  “You don’t need to do that, Mr. Thorne,” he says, and I can picture the smile he’s forcing. The poor guy’ll get mouth cramp if he stays like that for much longer. “Trust me. I can get you anything you need.”

  “Reception, thanks.”

  Right now, she’s the only thing I need.

  “This is Rose. How may I help you, Mr. Thorne?”

  There’s that same reserve to her voice. I haven’t heard anything like it in a very long time. It’s all the confirmation I need. She doesn’t recognize me. That surly goddess downstairs has no idea who I am.

  For a moment I wish I’d read some of those poetry books and love stories I supposedly studied for English Lit classes. Because I have a feeling that I’m gonna need all the help I can get.

  Chapter 2

  Rose

  I bite the inside of my cheek. For some reason, I feel like grinning. He’s all I can think about, but I can’t afford to stand around daydreaming about some rich guy in the penthouse. I need this job. Life isn’t a fairytale and I’m no princess. And I know for a fact that this guy wouldn’t be so friendly if he knew the truth about my life.

  Don’t get me wrong—I have nothing against him. I’m just realistic enough to know that all he sees is a pair of tits and a wide smile. It’d be one frenzied fuck across that cedar reception desk and I’d never see him again. That’s not what I want or need.

  So why am I shivering? Why does the thought of Jake Thorne doing just that make my body fizzle with electricity?

  Luca signals across the lobby. He looks pissed. A moment later, the phone on my desk buzzes. The word ‘PENTHOUSE’ flashes up on the display in big orange letters.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Thorne?”

  Stop thinking about him like that. Stop it, Rose.

  “Ah… I wondered if you could tell me about your restaurant.”

  There’s something about the gravelly rasp of his voice that makes me want to keep talking to him even though I need to get these conference bookings done before I can go home.

  “Sure. Planters is open for breakfast from six until nine, lunch from midday to two and dinner from five ‘til late. They serve a range of fresh organic foods. Uh. Vegetarian options. And… Gluten… Gluten free.”

  I’ve been reciting this spiel for the past several years since the restaurant was renovated. It’s usually word perfect, but this Mr. Thorne makes me trip over my words.

  Across the marble floor, Luca stares daggers at me. I know he’s wondering why his Mr. Rich Businessman asked for me and not him. He’s concerned about what this will mean for his tip. I grin and wave, fluttering my fingers delicately. Luca mutters something and looks away.

  “You still there?” Mr. Thorne drawls.

  “Yes, I’m here, Mr. Thorne.”

  He groans. “As hot as it is to hear you call me that, Rose. Can you please just call me Jake?”

  “Sure,” I say, trying to fight the heat that surges through me. He thinks it’s hot when I call him Mr. Thorne?

  Holy shit, I shouldn’t be reacting in this way, but I can’t help it. I know I’m getting into dangerous territory, but what’s the harm in chatt
ing to the guy on the phone? I’m just doing my job, after all.

  An image crops up in my mind. Me lying on the ridiculously large bed in the penthouse master suite. They only showed us the suite so we’d be able to answer questions about it if customers ever asked. I can still remember everything that Marcus, the hotel’s general manager, told us. So I know, for example, that Jake has an expanse of plush, memory foam topped softness underneath his thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. I’ve never felt thousand thread count sheets, but I imagine they’d feel pretty good twisted up underneath my naked body.

  “Earth to Rose,” he murmurs, snapping me out of my daydream. The smile in his voice is unmissable—it’s as if he knows exactly where my mind went in those few seconds.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, getting a hold of myself (or trying to). “Double shift. Would you like me to book you a table for dinner?”

  “Um… Maybe. What can you tell me about the hotel bar?”

  By now I’m for real twisting the cord around my fingers, just like I remember doing back in ninth grade the first time Cody called me.

  “Sure. I’d highly recommend it. The Still is an intimate space with dark wood paneling and several private nooks. They’ve got a wide range of liquors and specialize in rare Scotches. They’ve also got a selection of craft beers from Hop Boys Brewery here in Greenboro. They shouldn’t be busy right now, but I can book you a table if you like. They’ve got a range of light meals.”

  “Actually, Rose,” he says, and I can tell he’s lying on his back from the sound of his voice. That revelation does little to calm my thumping heart. “Can I let you in on a secret?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve got a phobia about eating or drinking alone.”

  I laugh before I can stop myself. It’s so obvious he’s making it up.

  “It’s a genuine condition,” he says, sounding offended. I can hear the smile in his voice, though.

  I play along in the name of customer service. Obviously. Not because the sound of his voice is having a very real effect on me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thorne. That must be difficult.”