To Win Her Smile

Book 5: Players

by Mackenzie Crowne

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

Synopsis

Sometimes love and luck collide . . . When sultry British Baroness Piper Darrow falls on desperate times, she needs a diversion—and cash. As a talented photographer, she jumps at the chance to travel to the U.S. for a Manhattan Marauders football event. But she gets more than she bargained for when buff quarterback Wyatt Hunter’s errant pass lands . . . in her face. And when it results in Wyatt’s comeback of a lifetime, the superstitious athlete is convinced Piper is his good luck charm . . . With his sights on the Super Bowl, Wyatt will do anything necessary to keep Piper close. The fact that she’s a feast for the eyes is a bonus. And as they get closer, he discovers that beneath her proper English surface is a sweet, sexy seductress. Soon the notorious playboy finds himself genuinely smitten, and surprisingly open to love—until his powerful family uncovers something about Piper that threatens to shatter his trust. Now he’ll have to decide whether to team up with his fears, or his heart.

Release date: July 18, 2017

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 222

Sample

Chapter 1

Wyatt Hunter hated to lose.

He glared at the game clock. Eighteen seconds. Time for two plays. Three, if he was damn lucky. Three plays to move the ball from midfield to the end zone. If he failed, he’d spend the next hour bombarded by reporters demanding to know how the reigning champions had lost to a team not expected to make the playoffs, and the next week reading about how he’d let the franchise down.

He needed a fucking miracle.

Dipping his knees behind the Manhattan Marauders’ veteran center, he swiveled his head back and forth. “Thirty-six blue. Downtown. Hut.”

Gabe Tillman snapped the ball into Wyatt’s hands. He backpedaled several yards as the opposing lines crashed together. Determined grunts and the crack of pads competed with the thunderous cheers of the home team crowd. Settled deep in the pocket, Wyatt searched the pass patterns.

The right side of the field was covered. No hope there. Twenty yards downfield, Kevin “Tuck” Tucker stutter-stepped, then cut sharply toward the Marauders’ bench in a square out route.

Wyatt sidestepped one of three blitzing linebackers. Another second ticked off the clock as he scrambled right, avoiding a second rushing wall of muscle. Racing toward the sideline, Tuck had temporarily broken free of the man-to-man coverage, but Albuquerque’s left safety was closing in fast.

Wyatt cursed under his breath. No time to waste. Still in motion, he twisted his upper body and bulleted the pass. Like Superman in a helmet and pads, Tuck leapt into the air, hands outstretched toward the ball speeding his way.

Hit on his blindside, the air whooshed from Wyatt’s lungs. His world tipped on its axis as two-hundred-eighty-seven pounds of all-pro linebacker rode him to the ground. A collective groan pulsed through the stadium. On his back beneath Dwayne Williams, Albuquerque’s defensive captain, Wyatt desperately craned his neck to follow the play.

At least three yellow flags littered the turf and the Marauders’ bench was going ballistic. Tempers flared and two separate shoving matches broke out between members of the opposing lines. Several players flanked Sam Fitzpatrick, holding the offensive coordinator back from lunging after Dante Grovers, the Rattlers’ cornerback. Wyatt couldn’t see Tuck, but a medical crew raced toward where he should have been.

“Son of a bitch.” Wyatt shoved at Dwayne.

“I guess that shoulder injury story wasn’t bullshit after all.” Dwayne rolled free and rose. “You can’t hit the side of a barn today, Hunter.” With a taunting sneer, he spun away.

“Asshole.” Gabe glared after Dwayne and offered Wyatt a hand, then tugged him to his feet.

“What happened?”

An earsplitting cheer erupted as the head linesman announced defensive pass interference against the Rattlers. Gabe pitched his voice to be heard over the roar. “Your throw was dead-on. Tuck would have had it if Grovers hadn’t clipped him.”

“Shit.” Wyatt’s gaze whipped back to the bench. “Is he hurt?”

“Grovers spun him like a top, but he’s on his feet.”

As the offensive line gathered around him, Wyatt scoured the sideline. He spotted Tuck near the end of the bench where the medics huddled around someone lying on the ground. Wyatt’s tensed shoulders loosened as relief edged out over concern. An injury to anyone on the roster was a problem, but losing their number one wide receiver in the opening game of the season would be disastrous.

They’d dodged a bullet, but weren’t out of the woods yet.

He cast a quick glance at the game clock as Tuck returned to the field in a loping gait. Ten seconds left. Thanks to the Albuquerque penalty, the Marauders were facing a first down inside Rattler territory. They’d been handed an opportunity they couldn’t afford to squander but, down by four, a field goal wouldn’t do. It was end zone or nothing if they were going to pull off a win.

He clenched his teeth. Considering the clusterfuck the afternoon had been so far, that was a big if.

“Who’s hurt?” he demanded of Tuck as he joined the loose huddle.

“A lady photographer. The ball tipped off my fingers and drilled her in the face.”

A chorus of grunts sounded from the men.

“She okay?”

Tuck nodded. “I didn’t actually see her, but I heard one of the medics telling her she’ll probably have one hell of a shiner.”

Wyatt winced and shot a quick glance toward the medics.

Mario Davis, the team’s bulky left tackle, sucked air through his teeth. “I’ll bet. That pass was a damn cruise missile.”

Gabe nodded in sober agreement. Tuck’s lips twitched as if he were fighting a smile.

Wyatt frowned. “Why is that funny?”

“It’s not, but the lady was. I’m not sure, because none of the words were actually profane, but I think she was cussing a blue streak.”

On the other side of the circle, Jamal Knight didn’t bother hiding his humor. The seven-year running back flashed his teeth in a grin. “Damn, Wyatt. You’re on a roll. Looks like you’ve got another babe pissed at you.”

“Yeah, man.” Gabe leered and waggled his brows. “What happened to that legendary charm you used to have with the ladies?”

Wyatt grunted at the reminder of the fallout from his off-season injury. Caroline Wainwright, the team’s owner, had docked him one hundred grand for skirting too close to the dangerous activities restriction in his contract, and V, his friend and the team’s redheaded PR babe, was still giving him the stink-eye every time he visited the front office. He shoved his residual frustration over the situation aside to focus on the moment at hand.

In truth, his teammate’s taunting snickers were a welcome change from the sober silence he’d faced throughout the afternoon. Gabe, Jamal, Mario, and Tuck were the best of the best. The starting line. All four had played at Wyatt’s side since the Marauders had signed him as their starting QB. Over the course of seven seasons, they’d developed a solid comradery based on mutual respect, determination, and friendship. Mockery and laughter were a big part of the easy cadence that normally allowed them to work like a well-oiled machine.

So far today, that cadence had been off, but hell, it wasn’t every day a team started the season with the possibility of making history by becoming the first team to win three consecutive Super Bowls. As their quarterback, it was Wyatt’s job to set the pace, but nothing he’d tried had worked to overrule the men’s understandable nerves.

Until now.

He flicked a pained grimace toward the group of medics working over the lady press photographer. While he hated knowing his tipped pass had hurt the woman, it looked as if she might have delivered that miracle he’d been hoping for. He’d have to find a way to make it up to her. Later.

“Yeah, yeah.” He eyed the play clock that had begun to tick off once again. “In case any of you forgot, we still have a game to win.”

Sam’s voice came through the speaker in his helmet, delivering what would most likely be the last play of the game. Not surprised by the ballsy call, Wyatt’s grin was sharp. Nervous jitters hadn’t been their only problem today. Albuquerque’s defense had so far held the Marauders to fifty-eight yards in the air. With time running short, the Rattlers would be looking for the long pass, and that was just the advantage the Marauders would need to pull off their scam.

“All right, gentlemen, what do you say we dazzle these assholes with a little bait and switch?”

Tuck dipped his chin. “What’s the call?”

“Eighty-two post left.”

Wyatt was met with anticipatory grins all around. He reminded each player of their responsibilities, then broke the huddle. The men spread out on the line of scrimmage. Wyatt used the time on the play clock, uttering bullshit audibles designed to settle the defense deeper into their stances, then scrambled back into the shotgun formation, barely avoiding a delay of game penalty.

With his defensive line out of position for the developing play, Dwayne frantically shouted instructions for the shift. Wyatt didn’t give them the time. He called the snap.

Jamal cut from the right, tucking his arms and bursting toward the left side of the field as if he’d accepted the handoff. The move drew several members of the defense with him and opened a hole in the line much smaller than Wyatt would have preferred.

No time for hesitation. He sprinted through the crack, continuing straight down center field, and hoped like hell he could stay free long enough to clear the route for one of his receivers. If he couldn’t, time would run out, the Marauders would lose, and there was an excellent chance he’d end up in traction.

A wall of determined muscle pivoted toward him. His path to the end zone was blocked, but he kicked on the afterburners, drawing the defenders and eating up a few additional yards. The clock showed three seconds and he’d neared the line of scrimmage before Albuquerque realized what was happening. By then it was too late. Distracted by Wyatt’s run, the Rattlers’ right safety had fallen behind Tuck. For the league’s quickest wide receiver, a step and a half was more than enough.

With two seconds left in the game, Wyatt launched off his right foot and let the ball sail. It flew past the confused defense to drop into Tuck’s hands. The stadium exploded in frenzied celebration as he strolled into the end zone unopposed for the win.

* * * *

Piper Darrow jumped as the curtained divider jerked open.

Eyes wide and full of concern, CC Tucker rushed to the side of the emergency room bed. “Getting out of the stadium was a nightmare. I followed as quickly as I could.” The petite blonde cringed at the wad of gauze protruding from Piper’s left nostril. “Oh, God. Is it broken?”

Touching a gentle fingertip to the bridge of her nose, Piper bit back a wince. “Slightly.”

“Slightly?” CC dropped her gaze to Piper’s blood covered sweater, then back. “That’s an awful lot of blood for slightly.” She crossed her arms. “Are you going all stoic English gentry on me?”

At her childhood friend’s narrow-eyed complaint, humor overrode the dull throb of pain pulsing in Piper’s nose and cheekbones. “I can’t help myself. I am English gentry. We’re reserved by birth and my stoic gene is dominant.”

CC smirked. “I remember, Baroness Delaney. I also recall you participating in several very unreserved pranks during our summers in Italy. Especially one in particular that involved Signora Altobello’s garden gnomes.”

Piper laughed at the memory. “I was twelve and hadn’t yet accepted the responsibility of my title.” She pinned CC with an accusing grin. “And I wasn’t alone in that mischief.”

CC’s eyes glittered with silent laughter. “Don’t blame me. The gnome thing was Kris’s idea.”

“If memory serves, your cousin was the mastermind behind most of our pranks.”

“Yeah.” CC sighed happily. “We did have some fun, didn’t we?”

“Great fun.”

They shared a grin, then CC sobered. “So, what’s the verdict? Will you require surgery?”

Piper shook her head. A mistake. The headache brewing at the back of her eyes intensified. She dragged in a cleansing breath. “No. Thank God. Actually, I was pretty lucky. The doctor said it’s a mild break and expects the bruising will be minimal. He prescribed rest, ice for any swelling, and an over-the-counter pain reliever.”

CC’s cheeks puffed on a windy sigh. “Oh, Piper. I’m so relieved.”

“You and me both. I’ll be released as soon as my paperwork is in order.” Piper smoothed the sheet over her legs. “Apparently, American emergency rooms are the same as in the UK. They’re a tangle of red tape.”

“Give me a few minutes.” CC adjusted the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

“It’s being handled. Caroline Wainwright’s personal assistant is down the hall dealing with the hospital administration.” Piper glanced at the door and frowned. “I have to say, I don’t feel right about the Marauders paying my medical bills, especially since none of this is the team’s fault.”

“Of course, they’re paying. As a contributing artist for the team’s biggest fundraiser of the year, you were on the sideline as Caroline’s personal guest.” CC cocked her head and squinted. “Please tell me you aren’t blaming yourself. This was an accident. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I realize that but, you have to admit, it’s obvious I have a major case of bad mojo when it comes to professional athletes.”

“Mojo?” CC laughed.

Piper grinned and shrugged one shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“Don’t even go there, girlfriend.” CC’s lips pulled tight in an affronted line. “It’s not your fault Cody Beckett is a class A prick.”

“There is no arguing that.” Piper sighed. “But heavens. I haven’t had a single incident with the normal men who visit Delaney Manor on a weekly basis, yet ten minutes surrounded by a field full of your American footballers and I’m a bloody mess.” She touched a fingertip to the slight swelling between her eyes. “For my own safety, I believe I should limit my exposure to jocks while I’m here.”

CC snickered and shook her head. “You can try.” She propped a hip on the edge of the bed. “But it won’t be easy. Especially with the Marauders players required to attend tomorrow night’s fundraiser.”

Piper chewed her bottom lip and winced. “There is nothing I can do about that, but I hardly think I’ll have to watch out for flying footballs. With millions of dollars of art on display, I doubt the owners of the gallery will tolerate that type of tomfoolery.”

CC grinned but her humor quickly died. She took hold of Piper’s hand. “God, Piper. That ball had to be traveling at close to sixty when it hit you. When I saw you go down, I was scared to death.”

“I admit, when I opened my eyes and found a crowd of uniformed behemoths standing over me, so was I, but I’m fine.” She squeezed CC’s fingers. “I promise.”

“Okay.” CC’s chest expanded on a shaky sigh. “What can I do?”

Piper glanced down at the streaks of blood staining her sweater. “Have you a fresh jumper handy? I look like an extra from a horror film and don’t want to frighten the hotel staff.”

The concern in CC’s eyes eased further with her laugh. “You don’t have to worry about the hotel staff. I’m taking you home with me.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is. You are not spending the night alone in a hotel room.”

“Don’t be silly.” Piper tugged her fingers free. “I’m perfectly capable of caring for myself. Besides, I don’t want to impose.”

“Please. It’s no imposition. The house has six bedrooms. We’re only using two.” Piper opened her mouth to make a further argument, but CC cut her off. “I should have insisted you stay with us from the beginning.”

“Dearest, you know I appreciated the offer to be your guest then, as I do now.” She softened her refusal with a smile. “But really, you have enough on your hands with a new baby, not to mention your handsome groom.”

CC dismissed Piper’s argument with the flick of her hand. “Tuck and I are hardly newlyweds and Huey is almost a year old. Anyway, bringing you home with me was Tuck’s idea. If you want to refuse, you’ll have to take it up with him.”

Piper frowned. Having missed her friend’s wedding because of scheduling difficulties at the manor, not to mention a decided lack of funds, she’d yet to meet CC’s husband in person. “Why ever would he suggest such a thing? He’s never even met me.”

“Because you’re my friend.” A muffled jingle sounded from CC’s purse. She bent over the bag and dug in search of her cell phone. “He didn’t realize you were the lady photographer who’d been hurt. When he heard your name after the game, he called me from the locker room and insisted I convince you to come stay with us.” She retrieved her phone and straightened, meeting Piper’s gaze. “He feels guilty for not catching the ball.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s Tuck.” CC shrugged and checked the phone’s screen. Concern wrinkled her forehead as she answered the call. “Wyatt? What’s going on?” She listened for a moment, then held a fingertip over the cell’s mic to whisper, “It’s Wyatt Hunter.”

The name meant nothing to Piper, and she arched a questioning brow.

“The Marauders’ quarterback,” CC added, then spoke into the phone. “Besides a broken nose, she assures me she’s fine.” The deep rumble of Wyatt Hunter’s voice reached Piper’s ears. Whatever he was saying made CC laugh. “You can tell her yourself. She’s sitting right here.”

The headache in Piper’s temples pulsed with renewed vigor. She waggled her hands in an I’m not here motion.

“He just wants to apologize.” CC held out the phone.

Piper bit her bottom lip. Well, bother. So much for limiting her exposure to the Marauders players. Still, refusing to speak to the man would be rude and God forbid the Baroness of Delaney ever be discourteous. Swallowing the familiar frustration that came with the need to always do the socially correct thing, she accepted the phone and held it to her ear. “It’s so kind of you to call, Mr. Hunter, but an apology isn’t necessary.”

“I disagree, Miss…Darrow, is it? After all, I did break your nose.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

A moment’s hesitation, then, “CC said your nose was broken.”

Piper met CC’s questioning stare. “Technically, yes, but the ball simply grazed me instead of hitting me straight on. The break, as well as the resulting damage, are minor.”

“Well, there you go. I broke your nose.”

She mentally shook her head at the satisfaction in his tone as if he were actually pleased to have his culpability confirmed. “Seriously, it’s nothing to be concerned about, and accidents happen. Please, don’t blame yourself.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I threw the ball.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why was he arguing when she was clearly attempting to excuse him of any fault? “Are you saying you were trying to hit me?”

CC slipped her fingers over her mouth, but her eyes twinkled with silent laughter.

The Marauders’ quarterback was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice held a hint of humor. “Make no mistake. If I had meant to hit you, I would have. There would have been no grazing involved and the damage wouldn’t be minor.”

CC dropped her hand to her chest to whisper, “What’s he saying?”

Piper cupped her fingers over the phone’s mic the way CC had and whispered back. “If I’m not mistaken, he’s bragging about his accuracy and prowess.” A bark of male laughter came through the earpiece and Piper finished on a squeak, “in his sport.”

“Nice clarification, sweetheart, but it ain’t bragging when it’s the truth.”

Piper’s mouth dropped open and she barely suppressed a distressed whimper.

CC’s wince slid into a helpless grin. “He heard you, didn’t he?”

Wyatt Hunter’s deep voice came through loud and clear. “Every word.”

Piper groaned and nodded, but CC waved her off. “Don’t stress it, Piper. Professionally, Wyatt has reason to brag, but he’s never been thin skinned, especially when the jab comes from a woman.”

His easy laughter vibrated in Piper’s ear. “CC’s right. When it comes to jabbing women, particularly those who do so with sexy British accents, I’m a total pussycat.”

Oh, dear Lord. Piper opened her mouth, but if there was an appropriate reply to his taunting gibe wrapped in a semi-flirtatious compliment, she couldn’t think of it.

“You still there, sweetheart?”

Beyond embarrassed, Piper nonetheless chafed at the teasing laughter in his question as well as the endearment. “Yes, of course.” Years of practice kept her voice even, controlled. “However, I’m afraid I must be going. It was lovely of you to ring me up, even it if was unnecessary. Good day.”

“Wait, I actually called to...”

Thumbing the screen, she cut off the call and handed the phone to her wide-eyed friend. “And that man is at the top of my list of jocks to avoid.”

Chapter 2

“I’m a huge fan, Mr. Hunter.”

Wyatt paused in his search of the packed art gallery and turned his head. At six foot three, he towered over the petite blonde waitress with the smoky feminine purr. Arching a brow, he offered her his patented grin.

“That makes my day, sweetheart. It’s always a pleasure to meet a fan.”

She batted the thick fringe of her false eyelashes. “Can I get you anything?”

He bumped his chin toward the tray of crystal flutes she carried. “Why don’t we start with one of those?”

She fingered the lapel at her bust line, drawing his attention to the mouthwatering view framed by the deep plunge of her white cotton blouse. Dipping two fingertips into her impressive cleavage, she retrieved a card.

“I work for the company that serves the private skyboxes at the Marauders’ complex, and I never miss your games.” She plucked a glass of sparkling champagne from the tray and handed him her card along with his drink. “Maybe we’ll run into each other sometime.”

His grin broadened. Though his taste in women tended toward curvy redheads, variety was the spice of life. That, and he’d never been a man to ignore a pretty woman with an invitation in her eyes. “That’s a definite possibility,” flipping the card over, he read her name, “Bethany.”

The pink tip of her tongue appeared, briefly licking the dip in her full upper lip. Anticipation gleamed in her brilliant blue eyes and she matched his grin. “If there is anything else you need, anything at all, you just let me know.” After a moment’s hesitation, she turned and walked away.

As yet unnoticed by the milling crowd, Wyatt brought the rim of the glass to his lips and followed the deliberate swing of her hips. Her slim, black skirt molded sweetly proportioned curves. He hummed in appreciation. Bethany might be a tiny thing but, damn. She had a great ass.

For a moment, he considered taking her up on her blatant offer and to hell with the consequences. Shit, considering his playboy reputation, no one would be surprised if he tossed the pretty waitress over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and strolled out the front door.

His teammates, scattered throughout the crowd at tonight’s fundraiser art show, would appreciate the entertainment. Better still, the subsequent headlines would send his father’s anal retentive campaign manager into convulsions. Wyatt imagined the bulging vein in his father’s temple as he read the articles, and his smile was smug.

Shaking his head, he dismissed the tempting fantasy and resumed his search for the lady photographer with the sexy British accent. He owed Piper Darrow an apology, but even if that task didn’t weigh on his shoulders, he wasn’t going anywhere. At least for the next few hours. First, because the success of tonight’s fundraiser benefiting Down syndrome research was important to him personally, and second, because dear old dad wasn’t the only one riding his ass at the moment.

He frowned and sipped deeply. Thanks to a freak, off-season injury, the last month and a half had been a ball buster, and yesterday’s lackluster performance hadn’t helped matters. With the increased stakes this season, it was no surprise the Marauders’ front office was playing hard ball. Forget the hundred-grand fine the team had imposed on him for disregarding the no dangerous shit clause in his contract. Caroline Wainwright had personally promised to hit him up for some real money if he didn’t keep his nose clean and the press off her back.

A derisive snort flared his nostrils as he glanced around the packed room. As if that was possible. From the day the Marauders had taken a chance on him, a two-year, untried backup quarterback who had yet to play in a single game, the skeptical press had been on him like stink on shit.

In the seven years since, he’d proven his detractors wrong. Leading the Marauders to four Super Bowl games, he’d netted two league MVP titles and three rings in the process. And none of that mattered. A new season started every September—along with predictions of Wyatt Hunter’s failure to live up to the hype surrounding him.

The collective doubt pissed him off, but w. . .