From Emma Hart, the New York Times bestselling author of the Game series, comes a brand new series where the game is realer, the tension is tighter, the sex is hotter, and the stakes are the highest of all…
Two people. Two agendas. Two games.
What happens when the out-there It-Boy of football meets the secret It-Girl of fashion?
As the daughter of Hollywood’s sweetheart, Leah Veronica can’t even buy a coffee without finding her face on a magazine stand, so it’s no wonder she’s launching her first fashion line in secret. With it debuting at New York Fashion Week in just under a month, extra time in the spotlight is the last thing she needs.
The son of the best quarterback the league has ever seen, filling legendary shoes as the L.A. Vipers’ quarterback was inevitable for Corey Jackson. So was meeting Leah Veronica—the first girl to hand him his ass without putting a hair out of place.
Getting the handsome, prickly blonde into his bed becomes his number one goal. But getting the sexy, over-confident footballer the hell away from her becomes Leah’s—at least until she realizes the best way to do that is to give him what he wants.
If only it was that simple.
When Corey discovers who she is, and private photos of Hollywood’s finest find their way online, everything they thought they knew is thrown into disarray.
And when secrets are exposed and hearts are shattered, they have to figure out if they’ve been blindsided by love or reality, and if it’s worth running the extra yard to win the game they never meant to play.
Leah saunters over to a free table, and my eyes drop to her ass. Damn. That dress really does hug it fucking incredibly. She coughs, drawing my eyes to her face, and half frowns, half smirks at me. I walk over to her, set my beer on the table, and hold my hands up.
“Babe, you wear a dress like that and you’re gonna get looked at. Don’t be blamin’ me for it.”
Her smirk swiftly changes to a full smile. “You’re the most honest asshole I’ve ever met in my life.”
“It’s one of my better qualities.”
“Of which there are few.”
“You don’t know a thing about me, Leah Veronica. For all you know, I have a thousand amazing things about me.”
She leans forward and rests her chin on her hand, her grin still in place. “Yet, equally, you could have even more bad things. Judging by what I know of you so far, letting me find out isn’t a risk you should take.”
“I love takin’ risks,” I murmur, tracing the shape of her lips with my eyes. “Especially when that risk is feisty and strong-willed.”
“Are you calling me a risk, Corey Jackson?”
“What if I am?”
“Then you should be aware that you’re never gonna get to take me—in any sense of the word.”
“Thought you didn’t want me?” I whisper in her ear. “Hasn’t that been your motto for days?”
“I…don’t…” she replies breathily.
I curl my fingers inside her and push down on her clit. “Don’t give me that shit, Leah. My fingers are inside your gorgeously tight pussy right now. Don’t tell me you don’t fuckin’ want me.”
She drops her head forward onto my shoulder as I continue to work her, to rub her, to bring her closer to the edge. Before she goes, I pull my fingers from her and hold her face in front of mine.
“Corey,” she whispers. It’s deep and low, seductive and begging, and it’s music to my fucking ears.
“Tell me you want me.” I graze my teeth across her bottom lip. “Tell me you want me and I’ll give you what you need.”
“I want you.” Her breath fans over my mouth.
“Say my name.”
“Demanding bastard.” She manages a laugh, but it’s breathy and desperate. “I want you, Corey. Okay? I want you.”
My whole body goes taut, tight. Yes. Those are the words I’ve fucking wanted. I don’t care if I’ve had to tease her with my fingers and hold an orgasm for ransom to get them. What matters is that she said them, and she can’t take them back—not when she’s gyrating her hips against my hand.
“Corey,” she moans softly. “Now finish me off, for the love of fucking God.”
I move my fingers quickly inside her and rub her clit. And I look at her. I watch her lips part and her eyes close and her cheeks flush. I feel her breath quicken and her muscles tighten around me and her juices over my fingers. And finally, I hear her cry out as she comes. I hear her cry my motherfucking name into my shoulder as she comes.
My. Fucking. Name.
Her body collapses against mine, and I press kisses along her jaw to her lips. I cup the back of her head and hold her to me. Her falling apart in my arms is the most goddamn beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The glaze over her eyes, the quickening of her breathing, the moans from between those lips.
“You. Bastard,” she whispers into my neck.
By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies - usually wine - and writes books.
Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.
She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.