To Win Her Love

by Mackenzie Crowne

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

To win the game, they’ll have to risk losing their hearts… When a bizarre child custody stipulation pits popular sports blogger Gracie Gable against football superstar Jake Malone, losing the battle for her twin nieces isn't the only thing Gracie has to worry about. Forced to live for three months under the same roof as the sexy tight end, will she fall prey to his flirtatious pursuit? Or worse, will the skeletons in her closet destroy her chance for the love and family she so desperately wants? Neglected by his parents as a boy, Jake doesn’t believe in happily ever after. Yet living with Gracie and the twins might be enough to change his mind—and his womanizing ways. But when the press unearths a scandal from Gracie’s past, will he lose the one woman he was ready to open his heart to? 88,000 Words

Release date: August 4, 2015

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 246

Sample

 

Like pure, walking sin, Jake Malone closed the distance in a deceptively lazy saunter. Gracie Gable fought the nearly overwhelming urge to take off running. Clenching her jaw, she lifted her chin. Without knowing her true identity, the various press publications flooding her blog’s inbox with requests for interviews had been stymied in their attempts to track her down physically. How the hell had Jake?

And oh, God, why now?

A horrified groan rumbled deep in her chest. Having no idea what was in Pete’s will, she couldn’t afford to do anything to jeopardize her guardianship of the girls—like going toe-to-toe with the Manhattan Marauders’ Outlaw Tight End right here on her brother-in-law’s front lawn. She shot a worried glance down the historic farmhouse’s long driveway, relieved to find it empty. With a little luck, Pete’s attorney would be delayed long enough for her to deal with the famous all-pro’s justified, but still overblown ego. She’d promise him anything—apologize profusely for insulting his integrity, offer him a bribe, whatever would get rid of him before Anthony Spinoza arrived.

Six foot five, with a fallen angel’s face and the body of a god, Jake continued to approach. Gravel crunched beneath the heels of his boots, marking his long-legged swagger, as his thigh muscles flexed and stretched under faded blue jeans. A worn and battered leather bomber jacket rode his yard-wide shoulders. His trademark black Stetson and snakeskin boots completed the image of the Outlaw who held his own against opposing defensive lines and cast him in countless feminine fantasies. Hers included. She’d enjoyed more than her share of secret imaginings concerning the Marauders’ number one tight end.

Though his nasty insults during their disastrous exchange on her blog the other day should’ve dealt a death blow to her foolish infatuation, the two-dimensional image she’d admired on her TV screen couldn’t have prepared her for the flesh and bone temptation that was Jake Malone. Dismay crowded panic as every double X chromosome in her body quivered with giddy, XXX delight.

The X girls danced with anticipation, and the erratic thump of her heart increased with every fall of his size fifteen feet. Down, girls. He may look like every woman’s deepest sexual fantasy, but those boots are more likely to stomp us into the ground than end up under our bed.

As angry as he must be to have taken the trouble to discover her true identity and find her, she could clearly imagine him grabbing her with those meat hooks he called hands and shaking her until her bones rattled.

Try it, buster. If you think the press is in a frenzy now, wait till I’m done with you.

The silent threat boosted her flagging confidence. She angled her chin a bit more defiantly. At five ten, she was used to looking most men in the eye, but despite the added height from her three-inch heels, her gaze fell even with the sharp blade of his nose. Dark stubble shadowed the solid line of his jaw and upper lip, the same blue-black as the silky locks falling below the brim of his hat to brush his collar in the shaggy hairstyle popular among the ranks of pro football these days.

Disturbed at how badly her fingers itched to shove the hat from his head and stroke the glossy strands, she curled her hands into fists, and met his gaze. Blatant curiosity sparkled in eyes as verdant green as the needles of the pine trees lining the drive at his back. A slow smile curved his cleanly cut lips.

Huh? A sneer or even a dismissive smirk she could understand, but a smile? Where was his anger? She blinked when, instead of snatching her up, and shaking her like a dirty rag, he spoke in an easy, Texas drawl.

“You don’t look like any Anthony I’ve ever met.”

“Excuse me?”

“Anthony Spinoza. I’m supposed to meet him here.”

Meet Anthony Spinoza? Why would Jake be meeting with Pete’s lawyer, and why pretend ignorance of her identity? Why the pretense? Her temper simmered as logic provided a nasty explanation. Jake Malone had powerful connections and was famous for his ability to strategize. How many times had she applauded his knack for finding his opponents’ weaknesses and using them to his advantage? Somehow, he must have found out, not only who she was, but her reason for being here today. She wouldn’t put it past the seasoned predator to play her, acting as if he didn’t know who she was, then pouncing when she relaxed her guard.

Like hell!

She bared her teeth in a tight smile. “Do you have business with Mr. Spinoza?”

“Of a sort.” He didn’t expand on the cryptic comment, crossing his arms, and raising an inquisitive brow. “Are you his assistant?”

Oh, he was good. The question contained the perfect amount of curiosity to make it believable. “No, I’m not. I’m supposed to meet him as well.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Speculation replaced curiosity in his dark green eyes. Starting at the top of her head and moving down with a slow thoroughness, his gaze traveled her body, pausing momentarily at her chest. Her nipples immediately pouted in response. She fought the urge to slap her palms over them and prayed her fitted winter coat provided the necessary camouflage. Biting her bottom lip, she attempted to calm the girls by picturing him a good foot shorter with scrawny arms and nerdy glasses perched on a bulbous nose.

The vision refused to form.

His steady inspection continued down over her slim skirt. Winged eyebrows lifted at her leather half boots, and his smile slid toward a smirk. He examined her calves beneath the sheer protection her panty hose provided before his gaze made the return trip to her face.

“I should have known.”

She bristled at both the disdain in his eyes and his snide drawl. “What, exactly, should you have known?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. You’re a looker, but you’re a little young, even for an old hound dog like Pete Thompson.”

Hound dog? The derogatory description made no sense when attached to the loving older man her sister, Sarah, had adored, but then the rest of his comment registered. The insinuation quieted the remnant whispers of feminine awareness. Indignation strangled thoughts of crushes, walking sin, and expediting his departure.

She matched his stance, crossing her arms. Over the years, Sarah had done her best to break Gracie of her quick temper. When her sister’s efforts had failed, she’d predicted one day, the personality flaw would get Gracie into more trouble than she could handle. Today was shaping up as that day, but the possibility didn’t stop her from reacting to the insult his speculation represented.

She pinned him with a narrow-eyed stare. “Pete Thompson happens to have been my sister’s husband.”

His dark brows shot up. “No shit?”

She cleared her throat. “No shit.”

He startled as though having his words tossed back surprised him. After studying her in silence for a long moment, the legendary charm for which he was famous made an appearance. Matching dimples popped in his cheeks with his unrepentant smile. “My apologies.”

Whether the apology was for his implied insult or her familial connection to Pete, she couldn’t tell. Before she could ask, he stuck out a hand and doubled down on his ruse of having no clue of her identity.

“Why don’t we start over? Hello, I’m Jake Malone.”

She should call him out, of course, demand he tell her what he was up to, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity for a little tit for tat. She unfolded her arms to place her hand in his. “Gracie Gable.”

“Nice to meet you, Gracie.”

Despite her supple leather gloves, the tingling warmth of his large, bare fingers reached hers. She tugged back her hand, relieved when he let go. Equilibrium shaky, she sucked in a stealthy breath, crossed her arms once more, and cocked her head to study him. She tapped a fingertip to her bottom lip in mock concentration.

“Jake Malone? Isn’t there a semi-famous…um, soccer player or something with the same name?”

His wry grin said he clearly recognized her slight for what it was. “Famous football player, actually. I play for the Marauders.”

She repaid his slow inspection with one of her own, sliding her gaze from his dark hat to the tips of his booted feet. At two hundred forty-seven hard-muscled pounds, there was a lot of territory to cover. All of it radiated the superbly conditioned perfection of a pro athlete. Her pulse picked up a notch as her gaze roamed over powerful thighs, past trim hips, and over a flat stomach to a broad chest and impossibly wide shoulders. By the time she reached the chiseled line of his jaw, she’d forgotten how to breathe. She needed every bit of concentration to offer him a smirk instead of licking her lips.

“I should have known.”

As paybacks went, repeating his insult was lame, but it was the best she could manage. He surprised her by laughing a full-throated, head thrown back, rumble of male approval. His eyes twinkled with appreciation when he lowered his head and winked. Despite the disturbing fluttering in her belly, she didn’t try to disguise her satisfied smile.

“Touché, Gracie Gable.” Hip cocked in a seemingly relaxed pose, he glanced away to look up at the house for the first time. “So, the old man was married?”

“Pete?”

Rolling his shoulders, he tucked the fingers of both hands into the front pockets of his jeans and nodded. She frowned at the unmistakable tension in the tight line of his mouth. What was that about? Her future was at stake here, not his.

She followed his gaze. Steady and welcoming, the familiar weathered shingles and pitched roofs of Thompson Farm brought a pang of grief to her heart. As always, whenever she visited the Long Island home Sarah and Pete had shared, Gracie was reminded of the promise she’d given her sister before she died. A promise neither had expected to come due this soon.

“To my sister. She died three years ago.” Even after three long years, the words left the foul bite of burnt ash on her tongue.

“I’m sorry.” He turned, his eyes full of sober intensity.

The erratic whip of emotions, from panic at why he was here, to helpless feminine interest, and back to suspicion made her dizzy. Enough already. If he was going to cause a scene, she wanted their confrontation over and done with while they were still alone. “Why are you here?”

Thick lashes lowered at her bald demand, shuttering the green of his eyes. He shrugged. “Damned if I know.”

Confused, she opened her mouth to demand a better answer when the distant crunch of gravel announced the arrival of two vehicles bumping down the drive. She stifled a self-disgusted groan. He’d managed to sidetrack her, and she was out of time.

Outmaneuvered by a pro…with killer dimples.

A dark sedan stopped behind Jake's SUV. A sleek yellow sports car rolled to a halt several yards away. The door swung open and a petite, redheaded woman rose from the small high-performance machine. The bold, red-woolen power suit covering her curvy frame should’ve clashed with her mane of rusty curls, but somehow didn’t. Bright and vibrant, her steady blue gaze roamed the face of the house and surrounding property before landing on Jake. She lifted a slim hand in a flirty, fingertip wave and beamed a smile.

Gracie disliked her on sight.

A thin, older man emerged from the second vehicle. Only the pale oval of his face beneath a classic fedora relieved the steady black of his heavy overcoat, conservative business suit, and wingtips. He clutched a briefcase in one gloved hand. Crossing to the woman, he greeted her in a short exchange. They turned together and headed up the walkway.

“Lawyers.” Jake grumbled at Gracie’s side. “They usually have a slick, plastic look. Figures this one resembles an angel of doom.”

Her head whipped around at his odd comment, but his gaze was locked on the approaching couple.

She turned and eyed the woman. “The redhead doesn’t resemble any lawyer I’ve ever seen.”

He chuckled and cast her a slight smile. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that. Her name is Victoria Price, and she isn’t a lawyer. V is my publicist.”

His publicist? Am I about to be double-teamed?

She braced for disaster as Anthony Spinoza and the vivacious “V” arrived.

“Mr. Malone.” The black-clad lawyer greeted Jake then smiled at Gracie. “Miss Gable, I’m Anthony Spinoza. Thank you for coming.”

Gracie nodded and shook his offered hand.

“I see you’ve met Mr. Malone. Miss Price is acting as his representative this morning.”

Okay, what the hell is going on?

Obviously Jake was here for some reason other than to have it out with her over their blog spat, but what the reason was, she couldn’t imagine.

“Call me V, please. Everyone does. Nice to meet you, Miss Gable.”

Gracie shook the publicist’s hand, noting the Texas accent similar to Jake’s. “Likewise.”

“It appears we’re all here.” Anthony lifted a hand toward the front door. “Shall we proceed?”

Gracie’s gaze flew from face to face, desperate to discover why Jake Malone and his publicist would be sitting in on the reading of Pete’s will. No plausible explanation presented itself.

Well, crap. I’ve slipped down a rabbit hole.



 

Relief washed through Gracie when Mary Clark opened the farmhouse door. Mary’s familiar gray curls, soft Irish brogue, and sympathetic, moss green eyes were a lifeline in the midst of lunacy. Tall and thin, almost to the point of frail, Pete’s long-time housekeeper and cook greeted her with an enveloping hug and an encouraging smile. Anthony introduced Jake and V, then Mary led them into the formal living room. The lawyer shed his hat and heavy coat to take a seat on the long couch. Setting his briefcase on the coffee table, he pulled a thick file from inside and began shuffling papers.

Mary held out a hand toward the love seat and two wingback chairs facing the couch. V slid onto the love seat, as Mary made herself comfortable in one of the chairs. Jake refused a seat, choosing to stand behind the love seat at V’s back. He shoved both hands into the front pockets of his jeans, only to yank them out again. One wide palm scraped over his jaw before he dropped his arms to his sides.

Why, he’s as nervous as me. The rabbit hole deepened beneath Gracie’s feet.

“Would you like to sit?” Anthony peered at Gracie from behind wire-rimmed glasses.

On shaking knees, she dipped to perch on the edge of a chair.

For the next ten minutes, she fidgeted impatiently, ready to come out of her skin. Pete’s lawyer listed and explained what she considered generous but unimportant details. Several paintings in Pete’s impressive collection would be donated to a local museum, a stretch of marshland adjoining the estate would be turned over to the wetland society, and several acres and the small guest cottage at the back of the property were deeded to Mary. Along with the cottage came a generous pension and the request she remain on as the farm’s housekeeper, contingent upon a satisfactory guardianship agreement, of course.

At the mention of the guardianship, Gracie’s heart pounded in a thundering gallop. She twisted her hands in her lap. To her right, V whipped her head around to stare up at a silent Jake. Gracie paid them little heed. She leaned forward in her chair, willing Anthony to say the words that would fulfill the promise she’d given Sarah and make the twins hers.

“I would like to say Mr. Thompson’s remaining wishes are a cut and dry disbursement of his assets.” Anthony picked up a new sheaf of papers. “Unfortunately, that is not the case. Because of their young age, the guardianship arrangement for his minor children was Mr. Thompson’s main concern.”

“Minor children?” V’s breathless demand drew Gracie’s attention. Turned, as V was, to stare up at her famous client, Gracie couldn’t read the expression in the publicist’s eyes.

Jake, on the other hand, had gone stiff, his jaw clenched as if chiseled from stone. Beneath the tight skin of his thickly muscled neck, a bulging vein stood out in stark relief. When he swallowed, the slow drag of his Adam’s apple contracting appeared painful.

“As their closest relative, you are the logical choice as guardian.”

Gracie forgot about Jake’s odd tension. She jerked her head back around and was dismayed to find Anthony hadn’t addressed her. His dark-eyed gaze held fast to Jake’s. The room began to tilt. Her breath came out in a whoosh with the lawyer’s next words.

“However, your father wasn’t at all confident you would be interested in taking on the task of seeing to your young sisters’ welfare.”

“My sisters?” Jake choked.

“His father?” Gracie leapt to her feet, her manic heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Anthony slipped the glasses from his nose. His dark brows crashed together in a frown, and his confused gaze bounced between her and Jake. “I’m sorry, I assumed everyone knew the players.”

She spun on Jake. “Pete Thompson was your father?”

Deep grooves bracketed his thinned lips. He jerked one shoulder in a taut shrug. “Technically, though sperm donor is a more appropriate title.”

The breath clogged in her lungs. Jake Malone was Pete’s son? Her bid for guardianship of the twins included tangling with a professional football star? Holy shit. This couldn’t be happening. A chill washed over her, making her shudder. So much for fearing Jake was here to pick a fight in front of Pete’s lawyer. That scenario was infinitely preferable to reality.

She slapped a hand to her forehead. “I don’t believe this.”

Jake snorted. “How do you think I feel? I just found out I have…?” He turned to Anthony.

The lawyer’s lips tightened in a cautious frown. “Angela and Charlotte are your six-year-old, twin half sisters.”

“Jesus.” Jake’s eyes slid shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

V spun on the love seat and slipped her fingers into his free hand. He opened his eyes. The pained smile on the publicist’s full lips matched the sympathy in her eyes. Gracie’s brows rose at the poignant glance and gesture, evidence their relationship went beyond that of publicist and client.

Focus, Gracie. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. What did Anthony say? Pete didn’t expect Jake to want the twins?

“If Pete wasn’t sure his,” she flicked a stabbing glance at Jake before turning back to Anthony, “son would want the responsibility of caring for the girls, he’d have made other arrangements. Before she died, my sister expressed her desire I raise the girls in the event something happened to Pete. I assure you, I do want the responsibility.”

Anthony held up a hand. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Your brother-in-law knew of your sister’s wishes and took them into account, partially.”

“What does that mean?”

“The custody arrangements laid out in Pete’s will are a bit unconventional but, under the circumstances, he felt unconventional would be in the best interest of the twins.”

“What, exactly, are these custody arrangements?” Jake’s low growl was barely audible. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Spinoza.”

“Then let me explain.” Anthony cleared his throat. “According to Pete’s wishes, guardianship of the twins will be decided ninety days from tomorrow. Until that time, the two of you are to share custody of the girls. Here. On the farm.”

The blood froze in Gracie’s veins, even as her heart sank. The potentially catastrophic consequences of being thrown together with a league superstar were nothing compared to the possibility of losing the girls. They loved her as much as she loved them, but… Had Sarah known the twins had a big brother, and a famous one at that? Did they know about him?

Stupid question. Even if they didn’t, they would soon. For six year olds, the idea of a big brother, especially one like Jake Malone, would be huge. Fear clawed at her with razor-sharp talons. How could she compete with that, and what was up with the three-month time period? What happened at the end of the ninety days?

A guttural growl made Jake’s opinion of the bizarre stipulation clear.

V squeezed the hand she still held. “Hear him out before you fly off the handle, Jake.”

He scowled at her and pulled his hand free but kept his mouth shut.

Anthony sifted through the sheaf of papers. “You’ll have three months to get to know the girls and their routines. Mrs. Clark will assist you.”

Mary bobbed her head in a silent nod.

“You’ll be expected to live here and, excepting incidences where the girls are in your presence elsewhere, be back in residence no later than eight p.m. each night or forfeit your claim. If one of you decides the arrangement is not to your liking, you need only walk away. The other will automatically gain sole custody, along with the remainder of the estate and all its holdings, with the exception of the twins’ trusts, of course.”

A sneer twisted Jake’s lips. “Why bother with the ridiculous ruse? Dear old dad had to know his rules would take me out of the running before the race even began. Football season is in full swing. I travel to eight different cities over the next twelve weeks.”

“Your professional schedules have been taken into account, of course.” Anthony offered Jake a strained smile. “On those occasions you travel with the Marauders, your presence at the farm will be excused.”

“Well, damn. That’s a relief.” Sarcasm dripped from Jake’s drawled reply. He rolled his eyes at V as if to say do you believe this?

“The same professional courtesy will be extended to you, Miss Gable, though I assume much of your business can be done from here at the farm.”

“Thank you.” She hoped to cut off any expansion of what her business included. This situation was alarming enough without having to introduce herself as Gridiron Girl. She held her breath but didn’t hold out a lot of hope. Evil gremlins were running this show, and they didn’t seem to have an ounce of sympathy.

“Still, if the facilitation of your web design service or Gridiron Girl website requires an absence, you need only let me know.”

She squeezed her eyes shut on a wince as Anthony aided the gremlins in their mischief.

The silence was deafening. Heart pounding, she peeked through scrunched eyelids, sneaking a sidelong glance at Jake from beneath her lashes. Twin emerald laser beams locked her in place. V stared at her in bug-eyed disbelief.

Jake’s low voice purred with deceptive calm. “Gridiron Girl website?”

For a moment, she considered playing dumb or maybe breaking into a verse of “It’s a Small World.” Screwed, no matter how she answered, she fought back a hysterical giggle and settled on brazen sarcasm. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and met his angry gaze. “Funny, when you pulled up out front, I figured you’d come to apologize for being an arrogant ass the other day.”

A muscle twitched along the sharp line of his jaw. “You’re the Gridiron Girl?”

She pumped up one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “What can I say? We homely cowards need to make a living somehow.”

A satisfying glint of guilt flared in his eyes. Or maybe it was wishful thinking on her part. The flash of emotion was gone before she could properly categorize it, replaced by glaring heat.

He propped his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Oh, this keeps getting better and better.”

She bared her teeth in an ice-cold smile. “You can say that again.”

“Well, this is awkward.” The smile pulling at V’s perfectly painted lips appeared forced. “I suggest we deal with one issue at a time, beginning with the custody situation.”

Gracie couldn’t agree more. Heart in her throat, she addressed Anthony. “All I have to do is move in for three months and at the end I’ll gain full custody?”

“Claiming victory already?” Jake’s narrowed gaze locked on hers, one dark brow lifted in challenge.

“Are you saying you want to take on the responsibility of six-year-old twins?”

“Fuck no.” Blind panic rounded his eyes. “What the hell would I know about raising little girls?”

The band of tension squeezing her chest snapped loose. She curled her toes against the rush of relief threatening to buckle her knees. “Well, then.” She swung out a hand. “There you go. You may not want them, but I do.”

His brows beetled in a scowl. The uncertainty in his eyes said he wasn’t sure if he should argue her point or give in gracefully.

V cleared her throat. “My client needs a bit of time to consider the situation. When does he have to give you his answer?”

“I don’t need—”

“Jake!” V’s sharp command cut him off.

He spun around and paced to the window. Shoulders bunched, he thumped the brim of his Stetson against his thigh and stared out at the winter afternoon.

Anthony offered V a weak smile. “Mrs. Clark made arrangements for the twins to spend tonight with a friend from school. They will return home after the funeral tomorrow morning.” His gaze encompassed both Gracie and Jake. “You are required to be in residence by eight tomorrow evening and, with the exception of pre-approved professional absences, every night thereafter for ninety days.”

Jake spun around to snarl at his publicist. “Not a chance, V. I refused to jump through hoops for the asshole when he was alive. I won’t follow his demands now he’s dead, especially for a couple of rugrats I’ve never met.”

Gracie winced at the. . .