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  ~ Look for these titles from Rhonda Laurel ~

  Copyright Warning

  For the Love of the Game

  ~ About the Author ~

  ~ Also by Rhonda Laurel ~

  ~ More Contemporary Romance from Etopia Press ~

  ~ Look for these titles from Rhonda Laurel ~

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  For the Love of the Game

  Rhonda Laurel

  Copyright Warning

  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Published By

  Etopia Press

  1643 Warwick Ave., #124

  Warwick, RI 02889

  http://www.etopia-press.net

  For the Love of the Game

  Copyright © 2012 by Rhonda Laurel

  ISBN: 978-1-939194-16-9

  Edited by Jennifer Fitzpatrick

  Cover by Valerie Tibbs

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Etopia Press electronic publication: November 2012

  For the Love of the Game

  Morgan Reed was long overdue for a vacation. It occurred to her while doing inventory in her quaint bookstore last week that she’d read almost every book in the travel section, but she’d never seen any of the scenic places. Her world had never seemed quite as small as it did once she made the realization.

  When she told Teresa, her travel agent, she wanted to get lost on an island, Teresa took her cue and began furiously tapping on her keyboard.

  “I want to get lost at sea if possible.”

  Theresa’s eyes narrowed as she read the screen. “There’s a new destination, just started doing business with them a month ago. Very secluded. All-inclusive, the rooms are beautiful. They don’t allow cell phones or newspapers. Just days of endless bliss on a deserted island.”

  “How deserted? I won’t be seeing Gilligan and the Skipper, will I?” Morgan winced.

  “No, silly. Deserted as in no obnoxious people standing on the beach gazing at a beautiful sunset with cell phones in their hands.”

  “I’ll take it,” Morgan said. The idea that no one could contact her was the most appealing part of the package. She longed for the days when cell phones were things you carried for emergencies only. Now it was a cure for boredom in most, and brought out bad driving habits in others. Paradise sans technology sounded like a good idea to her.

  After tunneling through all the frivolous crap in her spare bedroom closet, Morgan finally located her suitcases. The large, pale pink suitcase and matching carry-on had seen better days; they looked like props from a seventies movie. She surveyed them and had to admit the style was a bit old-fashioned. An old airport luggage tag was still attached. When she leaned closer, she realized the tag bore a date from seven years ago when she went to Vegas. Seven years! What had she been doing for seven years?

  Oh yeah, she'd spent the last seven years trying to keep her dream of owning a bookstore alive. The bookstore was her life. A quiet and organized life and she loved it, even though sometimes it was hard to keep afloat.

  Whenever she got the blues, she would read one of the books in the travel section. She read about Fiji, the Cayman Islands, Australia, Hawaii, and Scotland. All of these places had rich histories set against the backdrop of a cinematic dream. It took a book about stress falling off the shelf and onto her head one day to make her take action.

  Morgan walked to her desk in the living room and began jotting notes. First, she would get a new set of luggage. Then she would sift through her summer wardrobe and see what was salvageable. She wasn’t much of a summer dress-up person, so maybe a visit to the mall was in order as well. She would have to go to her dad’s house and get her passport. She was pretty sure it was still current. Now if only she could break in in the middle of the night and get the passport without having to inform her father she was going on vacation alone.

  Morgan knew why they treated her that way. She had gotten lost during a family camping trip at Lake George when she was fifteen. After storming away from the family when one of her brothers had told her she was too young to get on a Jet Ski, Morgan had walked around for hours, refusing to admit she was lost. Finally she’d happened upon another family, who’d called the ranger’s office to report she’d been found. Four hours later, a ranger dropped her off at the hotel. Her father’s initial relief was followed up with the lecture to end all lectures. And to make matters worse, the brothers chimed in for good measure.

  She kept her passport at her father’s house not only because it would never be misplaced there, but because her dad was comforted by the idea that he would know when she was leaving town.

  While writing all these things down, a wave of serenity washed over her. Ten glorious days on an island with nothing to do but watch the sun set while pondering the mysteries of life. She smiled and screamed into a pillow. Oh my God! I am going on vacation!

  * * *

  Morgan barely slept the night before her early morning flight. Her assistant manager, Michelle, challenged her to visit the place without doing any research on it beforehand, inspiring her to be surprised when she arrived. The problem was that she didn’t like surprises. Her friends had called her a control freak on many occasions, but she preferred to think of it as someone who was prepared for anything. So she took Michelle’s advice and was happy she did. The excitement was building in her so much she couldn’t read the book she’d brought. Too excited to read a book? She found herself checking her watch every other minute, and clutched the handle of her new luggage so tightly her hand hurt.

  * * *

  Morgan stepped off the rickety single-engine plane and entered a tropical paradise. As soon as the balmy air encompassed her, she knew she would dread going back to the cold Philadelphia weather. The ocean breeze was blowing the palm trees in unison, as if welcoming the passengers. There were bright colors everywhere; even the airport workers’ uniforms were a vibrant coral. As she climbed into the hotel shuttle cart, she smiled as the hostess greeted her with a mai tai. A postcard couldn’t hold a candle to the island beauty that surrounded her.

  The bookstore was in Michelle’s capable hands. Morgan had called her father two days before her departure to inform him she was coming over to get her passport, and was not surprised to see her three surly brothers sitting at the kitchen table. She sat through three stern lectures from her family about traveling alone. Finally her stepmother, Sydney, had intervened and informed the men that Morgan was an adult who knew how to handle herself. Jason, the guy she’d been dating for six months, was out of town at a convention, so she opted to leave him a short voice mail. She’d considered telling him when she’d planned the trip, but she was afraid he would want to join her. Jason was a nice
guy, but he wasn’t the man of her dreams. She felt good about this vacation. But looking at that old luggage tag from seven years ago indicated that something was missing in her life. Had she been on a hamster wheel all this time spinning and spinning only to find she’d never left Philadelphia? Her life was good, but it was becoming a bit stagnant. She had nothing to get the blood rushing through her veins. Somewhere along the line, amid her comfortable existence, she’d lost her passion for life. Who knew, maybe she would find it here on the island? Her imagination was ramping up at the idea of finding what was missing in her life in ten days on a tropical island. Maybe that sort of thing happened in one of the books she read, but for her it seemed as likely as finding the Loch Ness monster in the hotel swimming pool.

  * * *

  Seth Blake had had all he could tolerate of paradise. What had begun as a low-key getaway after a hectic season became an after party for his Super Bowl win. Patton, a linebacker on his team, had let it slip that they were visiting a new, exotic locale, and the next thing he knew he was hosting a monster post-Super Bowl vacation bash for the team. He enjoyed bonding with his new team, but winning the Super Bowl and being the new superstar quarterback for the Philadelphia Titans was wearing him down. He ached to go home, even if it was still cold and dreary in Philly, and sleep for at least a week. Well, Philadelphia was his second home. The downside to the Titans making him an offer he couldn’t refuse was that he’d had to leave Texas. He was born there. He had a sprawling ranch there. His family was there. But forty million dollars and a chance to cement the future of his family was worth living in a bustling city for a while.

  The team had done nothing but party and play touch football on the beach since they arrived. Not one of them took a moment to explore the island or take in the awesome scenic view. The food was divine; the island was spectacular, and the beach bunnies were tanned and toned and all too willing to spend time with him. The days of endless partying were becoming stale to him, even at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. He’d dated plenty of beautiful women, but he wished he’d meet at least one that was beautiful on the inside as well. One could only talk about fashion, houses, and parties for so long. And every one of his cover girls were all too happy to share the spotlight the media kept trained on him.

  He packed his bags and went to the small airport determined to get off the paradise isle without being missed. The booking agent at the counter, a tall, slender young man with dreadlocks, said he would have to wait for a private plane, but if he didn’t mind, he could hop on a commercial flight that would be leaving soon. Suddenly another agent, a short, older, balding man, leaned over and whispered to the agent who was assisting him. The young man turned around and apologized profusely for suggesting he take a commercial flight. It amazed him people thought all celebrities were snobs. Not that he considered himself a celebrity. His fateful, glamorous die had been cast years ago when he went pro, and some national entertainment magazine had named him the most gorgeous man alive. He had a tough time living that down. There was the constant ribbing from his teammates for five months straight, and he’d had to change his phone number. He would get random calls in the middle of the night from women who also had some celebrity status and thought it was okay to call. His girlfriend at the time, Penelope, was a med student who’d become suspicious and insecure from the attention he was getting. In the end she dumped him, saying her studies were being affected by her involvement with him.

  “That’s fine,” Seth said as pleasantly as he could so there wouldn’t be a problem.

  Besides, the commercial plane had come in and the passengers were exiting. He’d pass the time gauging how each would react to the scenery. Seth took a seat and watched as each person stepped off the plane and was captivated by the beauty of the airport.

  He’d had the same reaction he arrived. His first thought was if the airport looked like a hidden oasis, the rest of the island was sure to be impressive. He hadn’t been wrong. The bungalow he’d stayed in was magnificent. A picture-perfect ocean view from the deck. For the first time in a long while, he’d wished he had someone to enjoy that view with him. Loneliness was setting in and he didn’t know what to do. He’d won the Super Bowl, for heaven’s sake, and there was no one to genuinely share that moment of achievement. Sure, there were parties and plenty of opportunities to get laid, but no one to tell him that he’d done a good job, but now it was time to set new goals and achieve them.

  The passengers all had looks of nervous excitement on their faces. He longed for that feeling again. That was the thing about accomplishing all your dreams at a young age. Cynicism became your new best friend. The plane passengers began to look the same, dressed in vacation battle gear. Sundresses and cabana shirts seemed to have the run of the island. Everyone fit that description except the last passenger to exit the plane. She was brown skinned and her reddish-brown hair flowed in the wind. The woman wore her sunglasses propped on her head, khaki cargo shorts, and a T-shirt that said, “Anywhere but Here.” She had a sweet, girl-next-door look, not the model-of-the-week type he’d been dating for the past two years. When she smiled, something in him warmed inside. She stopped for a moment, surveying the airport with a hopeful look on her face. Suddenly Seth didn’t feel the need to leave paradise after all.

  * * *

  Morgan stepped onto the white sand with her bag, ready for action. It was day three on the island, and it was finally time to test the waters. The ocean called to her, but the idea of putting on a bathing suit was more stress than she wanted on vacation. So she settled for the shortest pair of shorts she owned, a white T-shirt that bore the slogan “Down with Illiteracy,” and a big, floppy hat. She brought her hat along as a deterrent from the sun, hoping to avoid sunburn.

  There was a game of touch football in progress. As she got closer to the game she noticed the players were a bunch of tall, muscled guys showing off for the beach bunny cheerleaders screaming from beach chairs. What a shame that people had to resort to damn near stripping and flailing around in public to attract each other’s attention.

  Then another thought hit her—literally. A gorgeous man headed toward her at a million miles per hour, and all she could do was stop dead in her tracks and brace for impact.

  * * *

  For the third time that evening Morgan regained consciousness. The pain medication the doctor had given her made her euphoric and sleepy. When she’d come to, a nurse had informed her she had a bruised rib but nothing was broken. She lay in bed watching the white ceiling fan above her rotate, thinking of how quiet and sterilized the office seemed. She heard a sound from the corner of the room and turned to see the muscle head guy who had run into her on the beach, sitting in a chair opposite her, watching.

  “Good evening.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, confused.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry about running into you like that. I didn’t see you.”

  “I don’t take it personally. Nobody ever does. Besides, you were too busy flexing for the beach bunnies,” Morgan said, flashing a condescending smile. So what if he was six foot three and gorgeous? That didn’t give him the right to steamroll over people on the beach.

  “Was not,” he scoffed.

  “If you weren’t, then you had a bad case of tunnel vision. Ever think of trying out for a team? I could be your reference to confirm that you could tackle someone pretty good.”

  “You know football?” he asked with an amused smirk.

  “Steroid-pumped overgrown men on a field trying to throw a ball back and forth and scoring points.”

  “Well, that’s the layman’s explanation for it. It’s more complicated than that, though. And minus the steroids.” He coughed. “I can explain it to you.”

  Men and their posturing about sports. Morgan held up a hand. “No need. First you injure me; now you want to bore me to death. I have no need to fill my brain with random trivia about things I don’t care about.”

&nbs
p; “Well, sports are a meaningful way of exercise, keeping in shape, strategizing, and it has a place for those of us who weren’t selected for the IQ Olympics.” He chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his leg over his knee. “What slogan will tomorrow’s shirt have on it? Your SAT scores? I’ve rather enjoyed reading your T-shirts the past three days.”

  “I wouldn’t want to make the rest of the island feel inferior to me. Especially since they’re a bunch of muscle head jocks running around. I would fear for my safety.”

  As he shifted slightly in the chair, she noticed how finely sculpted his body was and reaffirmed why he was out running around like an idiot. Every inch of exposed skin was muscled, well-defined, and lean. His shoulders were wide, but his waist narrowed, and he looked as if he ate five pounds of pasta for breakfast. But the face was in great contrast to the body. He had soft, striking features and piercing green eyes, giving him a hint of a boyish look, but she knew he hadn’t been a boy in a long time. And his smile was perfect and rehearsed, like he’d practiced it a lot. It seemed more controlled than natural. Did he feel the need to put on a pleasant mask all the time? Smiling on command wasn’t an easy thing. She’d ruined many a family photo because her two-second freeze frame would expire before the picture was taken. She wondered what would make him smile genuinely.

  “Did you know that you moan in your sleep?” he asked in a low Southern drawl, surprising her.

  “I do not.”

  “I was wondering if your husband told you that.”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Hmm. Then maybe that’s why you moan in your sleep.” He smiled.