Beauty and the Blitz Read Free

exchange my books and degrees for a precious baby girl.
    I pushed the folder of paperwork at Cole’s chest. He was solid muscle. Trouble. Danger.
    “This isn’t over,” I said as he flipped through the folder. “Take the trade. I’ll return to collect the waiver with your signature.”
    “Let me save you the trouble.”
    Finally . I got through to him. I pulled a pen from my purse and clicked the top.
    “I just need a signature, and I’ll come back later with the hard copies for your files—”
    Cole ripped the folder in two. He dropped the pieces onto the porch for the wind and rain to destroy.
    His voice deepened, a virile, hungry sound. “Come back later if you want, beautiful, but we won’t be doing anything… professional .”
    Absolutely not. I resisted the urge to slap him—I didn’t think I could reach his face.
    “I hope you realize that you’re missing an opportunity to change your life, Mr. Hawthorne,” I said.
    “You’re missing an equally large opportunity, Miss Madison.”
    I ignored him. “What happens when the Monarchs finally refuse to defend The Beast to the league?”
    “I’m tougher than I look.”
    “Sometimes we all need a little help. A little compassion.”
    “And you think a trade to another team will protect me?”
    “No, Mr. Hawthorne. I think trading you to another team will protect the rest of the league .”
    Cole clenched his jaw. “Better hurry, beautiful. Night’s falling. My gate will be closing soon.”
    “Believe me, I have no intention of staying here.”
    “We’ll see.”
    Arrogant.
    Despicable.
    Stubborn.
    I cursed him six ways from Sunday, and I still didn’t have enough words to silently spit at that bastard. I stormed to my car, not caring that the rain soaked my clothes and displayed my curves. Cole slammed his door without watching me go.
    And I should have been relieved. I should have turned the key in my ignition and sped from his damn mansion-castle.
    Except that one moment of weakness under his gaze had extended into a few too many heartbeats.
    I drove away, but I hated that I glanced in the rear-view mirror as I left, hoping to see him one more time.
    Dangerous, dangerous. I wasn’t about to let temptation cast that spell over me. I had a job to do, a daughter to care for, and a life to get on track. I wouldn’t waste another second thinking about the bastard, Cole Hawthorne.
    No wonder he lived alone.
    Who could ever love a beast like him?

Cole
    S ome men prayed when they began their morning. Most read the paper and ate breakfast. The lucky few spent time with their families.
    My day didn’t begin until my fist curled around grass, my cleats dug into dirt, and a ball snapped.
    My signal to work.
    The whistle’s metallic trill echoed over the field, and a surge of adrenaline and testosterone consumed me. Even during practice, I charged at my teammates with a break-neck burst of speed. We collided—grunting, sweating, churning. That frantic bash of bone and body was the reason I was alive.
    Linemen feared me.
    Running backs avoided me.
    Receivers hated me.
    And quarterbacks ? I scattered those pretty boys over the goddamned field. I was stronger than them. Faster than them. I knew the plays they’d call, and I loved when they pissed their pants as they read my blitz.
    After that ball snapped, I was no longer a man. I became an animal.
    The drill was supposed to end if I broke through the line, but I couldn’t stop in time. Our quarterback smacked the ground ribs first.
    Tim Morgan, king of the pussies in more ways than one, landed with a whined squeal. Nothing his oxy addiction couldn’t manage, but it didn’t bode well when he rolled onto his back and stayed there, grabbing at side.
    The whistles blew, and the media on the sidelines snapped entirely too many pictures. The trainers and coaching staff rushed to the field.
    And I was horse-collared backward by Coach Scott as the O-Line helped Tim to his feet.
    “The fuck do you think