The definition of trouble is a pro football player. Change my mind.
Ryder Summers—The big, bad New York Vulcans linebacker with an anger-management problem to match. He's being sent to an exclusive beachside retreat to "heal" and "refresh." Read: save his career. And I'm the sucker who has to escort him.
I didn't go to Harvard to babysit an oversized toddler who can't control his temper, and I'm sure as hell not giving into his endless pickup lines and bad boy wiles. I'm a professional. I don't fall for guys like Ryder, even if he is a hundred kinds of hot—sinful, seductive, and oh so gorgeous. But the more I get to know him, the more I wouldn't mind a taste, just a teaser of what it's like to actually live.
One "O"—one back-breaking, headboard-shaking climax is all I want, just to know it's not a myth. I have no doubt Ryder can deliver, but the secret I'm guarding could destroy both our careers, nothing but disaster incarnate to follow. So why the hell am I hungering for his touch, ready to throw caution to the wind and whip my panties off?
One thing's for sure, sports fans. Things are about to get crazy.
Contains mature themes.
