Chapter 1
SAXON
I paced across the heated planks of engineered walnut flooring, switching my coffee from one hand to the other.
When I did take a sip, I barely registered the taste because my whole system was too keyed up to really absorb anything.
The temperature in my apartment was just right for a cold, February day.
But my body acted like it was trying to burn holes through muscle and bone from the inside out.
An electric current ran along my nerve endings, the same kind that hit me when I stepped onto the field and saw a coverage gap that nobody else had noticed yet. When I could already see the touchdown forming forty yards before the ball even left the quarterback’s hand.
Except this had nothing to do with football and everything to do with a woman.
I paused in front of the glass wall again, and my forehead tipped forward to rest against it, letting the chill from the window cool my skin.
For three days, I’d thought about nothing besides Ivy Fisher.
I met her at a barbecue hosted by Cole O’Hara, one of my coaches, and had been figuratively knocked on my ass.
It was a good thing our season was over because I hadn’t been able to dislodge the image of her from my mind since then.
It kept replaying like a highlight loop that refused to end.
Her laughter had burrowed itself under my skin. Warm, feminine, and husky at the edges to the point that it was intoxicating.
There was also the way her long, silky strands had caught sunlight like a black satin ribbon when she had brushed her hair over her shoulder.
She had looked up at me with deep brown eyes that were expressive and open, but also intelligent. And her mouth—fuck. The wide shape and magnetic red color…it looked sinfully soft, like her lips had been made specifically to be kissed until they were swollen and wet.
Every detail flooded my mind like a rush through a wide-open lane. Her curves were stunning and unapologetically feminine. Full breasts that would fit perfectly in my hands, hips with enough to grip onto, and thighs that would wrap firmly around my waist.
I pictured dragging my hands up along her thighs and felt the phantom slide of her skin under my palms. Imagined pulling her hips against mine and driving into her while her nails clawed into my back. Making her scream my name as she was swept away in bliss.
She’d feel so fucking incredible around me.
These thoughts speared through me over and over, explicit and undeniable, until my jaw flexed as I let out a controlled breath. I needed an ice-fucking-cold shower.
I’d gone so long without feeling this level of attraction that I’d started to believe something in me had calcified.
And I’d never felt an obsession like this for anything besides football.
I’d channeled everything into discipline, focus, and control.
I’d accepted it as the price of the game, the price of greatness.
Then she walked into my line of sight, and everything in my body had lit up like she’d flipped a switch I didn’t even realize had been turned off.
However, it wasn’t just Ivy’s sexy body and beautiful face that had me ensnared in her web.
Throughout the night, I’d seen her sassy humor, compassion, and intelligence.
She was grounded and thoughtful—the kind of woman whose inner world didn’t get tossed by every gust. I knew she’d be able to handle the whirlwind of the football season and the media circus that came with my fame.
It had taken a couple of days to accept it, but my brain had finally registered what my heart and body already knew.
Ivy was mine.
I pushed off the window and resumed pacing because I couldn’t be still. My body wanted action, needed to keep moving. I scrubbed a hand through my hair and shook out my shoulders to relieve some of the tension coiling in them.
But pacing wouldn’t completely eliminate the restlessness. I had a feeling that until I saw Ivy again, I’d be twisted up into knots.
The problem was how to accomplish the goal without freaking her the fuck out. If I came on too strong, I might scare her away before I had a chance to show her that she was meant to be mine.
She lived in Manhattan like me, but she worked at Lorna’s salon on Long Island.
That seemed like the most reasonable place to approach her, and I was out there often because that was where the Nighthawk’s facilities were located.
And a lot of my teammates lived on the island, so we often used those resources to work out, even in the offseason.
I was meeting a few of the guys for some light conditioning in the late afternoon, but that didn’t give me a reason to see Ivy. One that made sense. I didn’t want to randomly show up unannounced like some stalker.
My phone vibrated on the kitchen island, drawing me out of my thoughts. I walked over and picked it up, frowning when the number for our PR department flashed across the screen.
They hardly ever called me directly. Normally, they looped through my agent first. Which was a smart play on their part, since it was the most likely way they’d get me to agree to do media shit.
I was too quiet. Too intense. I didn’t charm the camera and barely tolerated it when necessary. According to my teammates' wives, my natural expression was the male equivalent of “resting bitch face.” So it was rare that they called me.
I answered with a quiet, “Yeah,” and let the rep talk while I leaned back against the counter, my feet crossed at the ankles.
They wanted me for some media-day post-season promotional stuff tomorrow—short form clips, photos, and a couple of planned interview snippets.
Things normally assigned to my charismatic, media-friendly teammates.
The ones who looked as if they enjoyed talking to people.
Intrusive, in-your-face, motherfucking strangers.
Then, as they continued to describe what they wanted me to do, a light bulb went off. A swift realization that cut through the restless energy and locked everything inside me into one single perfect line of focus.
If I accepted—as fucking obnoxious as that would be—this would involve cameras. I would need to look “photo ready.” Which meant I had a logical, not creepy reason to book an appointment for a haircut.
Today.
There was silence on the other end of the phone when I immediately agreed. The rep sounded entirely too excited when they promised to send me the information. I’d have to make sure my agent made it clear that this was not the new normal.
After hanging up, I walked to the windows again. The city was nearly full daylight now, and as I watched the growing hustle and bustle below, something inside my chest uncoiled with a slow, powerful ease. The restless energy that had been ricocheting around inside me finally found an outlet.
I returned to the kitchen, set my coffee mug in the sink, then picked up my phone again. Ten minutes later, I had an appointment with Ivy shortly after lunch. I’d been extremely specific about the stylist I wanted.
Walking back to my bedroom, I stripped off my shirt and tossed it into the laundry bin. My bedroom was all dark slate and brushed steel. Masculine lines and soft lighting, everything clean and minimal because I hated visual clutter.
I removed my sweats, and they joined my shirt in the hamper before I padded into the en suite bathroom.
Once I stepped into the shower, I inhaled slowly as the hot water pounded across my shoulders.
The scent of my eucalyptus razor cream and cedar shampoo filled the air, but every time I shut my eyes, I still saw the image of her face—the flash of her smile and how her teeth had caught her bottom lip when she was listening intently.
I had also seen sparks behind her perceptive brown eyes. Subtle, but enough to make it clear that the attraction was not one-sided.
I imagined her standing behind me in the chair, close enough to fill my lungs with her scent as I watched her reflection in the mirror, cataloging every slight shift in her expression.
I could almost feel her fingers sliding through my hair while she cut it, the tips brushing the ridge of my neck, and the delicate inside of her wrist hovering near my jaw.
My pulse spiked again as every cell in my body lit up. “Shit.”
Groaning, I twisted the handle on the wall and hissed when the hot water suddenly became frigid. I had to keep my ass in check because going feral was not an option. Yet.