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  Next Move

  Sabrina Garie

  Chamber of Commerce CEO and single mother Jocelyn Wade plays to win—in the boardroom, at local politics and for her daughter. With an overloaded life and a heart scarred shut, she doesn’t do relationships. Ever. Until Jared Wyatt, the hot out-of-town fling she can’t seem to forget swaggers into her life with a different agenda—making Jocelyn his own.

  Surviving a shattered marriage, Jared swore off women until a night of unparalleled passion with Jocelyn reawakens needs he thought long gone. When a new job as high school athletic director lands him in Jocelyn’s town, where sports and business rule, he must stay one move ahead of her in the game to win her body and heart.

  After rancorous local politics upend their game board, they both must learn to trust again or lose a second chance at love.

  A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Next Move

  Sabrina Garie

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks and lots of love goes to a wonderful circle of writers/critique partners who keep me laughing throughout the insane but always wonderful process of writing. They are (in alphabetical order) Ellie, Fiona, Jennifer, Mary, Millie, Sarah and Tonya. You ladies rock.

  And to my editor Grace, who guides with a warm heart, a firm hand and a needed sense of humor to put up with all of the Fallen Angels.

  Chapter One

  Her Blackberry glued to her ear, Jocelyn Wade shoved the hotel room door open with her hip and dragged her monogrammed blue valise inside. “The fight was just too easy, Dad. Premier Health rolled over on the first day of negotiations. No fun at all. Let me speak to Kylie.”

  Slumped against the wall, she listened to her daughter babble on, switching topics rapid-fire in mid-sentence. Her free hand massaged her temples to stave off a headache by sheer force of will until Kylie’s monologue slowed to a halt. “Take care of your granddad and remind him to take his meds. I love you, baby girl.”

  Done with the Blackberry, she placed it on the scraped, mottled skin of the desk and hoisted her suitcase onto the edge of the king-size bed. Overstuffed pillows in starched white cases scattered onto the floor, covering cigarette burns in the frayed carpet. The hotel ranked dive but she was lucky to have the room. The hurricane rerouted her plane to some middle-of-nowhere regional airport where hotels, salad greens and internet connections were a scarce commodity. But even the rattling window panes couldn’t spoil her good mood. A successful deal and now a night alone—no employees, family members, board of directors or businesses pulling at her from every direction. Nirvana.

  Trading in the suit and heels for jeans and sandals would verge on perfection. After weeks of planning, meetings, soothing egos and eighteen-hour days to prepare for yesterday’s negotiation, she deserved to unwind, gloat a little—make that a lot—and escape into a drink and a good book.

  She threw the lid open and pulled out a man’s large black windbreaker with the words Johnson High Soccer emblazoned across the back in blocky gold letters. Not my stuff. “A new wardrobe for my glorious new digs,” she said to the nineteen-sixties television that hogged up all the remaining space in the room.

  With a laugh, she contacted the airlines. On the ninth attempt, she bypassed the busy signal to butt heads with the automated answering system. After an hour of pushing buttons and humming along to the not-so-greatest hits of the nineties, she slammed the phone down. Pacing away what was left of the carpet, she called the hotel reception on a lark. Jackpot.

  “There’s a man down here with a blue suitcase that he claims isn’t his,” said the receptionist. “I’ll send him to the bar. Why don’t you meet him there and make the switch?”

  Her mood restored, she folded the jacket for repacking. A pair of black silk boxers slipped onto the floor. She picked them up, absentmindedly twirling the smooth material between her fingertips. Sexy, I wonder what else he’s hiding in here. Bad Joci, the man deserves his privacy. Biting her lip to keep herself from snooping, she zipped up the suitcase and headed to the lobby.

  A hole-in-the-wall bar hid in the far corner of the hotel. The place buzzed with stranded travelers drowning their frustrations in pint-sized beers and posy-pink cocktails while their kids picked at the wallpaper and ducked under rickety tables in games of hide and seek. Jocelyn scanned the room, her attention drawn to a broad-shouldered man sitting at the bar. His long fingers traced the rim of a scotch glass, half full with amber liquid. No mini umbrellas or skewered maraschino cherries in sight. Her luggage leaned against the bar at the man’s feet. She headed toward it.

  “Hello, I’m Jocelyn Wade. I believe you have my suitcase.”

  He stood to greet her. “Jared Wyatt.”

  Oh Lord, he’s luscious. Jocelyn clasped his outstretched hand, holding it longer than necessary. Her eyes swallowed him whole from his too-long black hair to well-worn roper boots. The in-between stuff wasn’t bad either. Faded black jeans molded to long, lean, well-muscled thighs, a black t-shirt strained against corded biceps and ice-blue eyes twinkled in amusement at her blatant inspection of his assets.

  With equal bravado, he looked up and down her body in obvious appreciation. Those piercing eyes burned into her and sparked a flash fire in her womb. Her nipples and toes tingled.

  Whoa. When was the last time a man revved up her engine with a glance? She stayed miles away from relationships. Men left messes in their wake she was tired of bleaching clean. An attention-challenged child, an aging father, a school system to reform and a major organization to run stretched her too thin and pushed her to the edge. Keeping it together was what she did, who she was. Jocelyn Wade, superwoman, savior of towns, businesses and children—and yet still cook, chauffeur and bottle washer, stuffing her own needs and desires deep inside. It had been a long time since any man made her feel desirable. She liked it.

  “Thanks for returning my bag.” Jared’s deep baritone filled the room. “Can I buy you a drink? We have nowhere else to be right now.”

  “If only. Have Blackberry, can be found. But a drink sounds lovely, while the thing’s quiet. Thank you.”

  She took the stool next to him and scooted it toward the bar. Her leg brushed his and the warmth of it encouraged her to linger there longer than proper. The scent of musk and sandalwood drifted up her nose and scrambled her brain. To clear her head and regain control, she checked her e-mail a few times then placed the phone next to his scotch glass and waved the bartender to her.

  “Martini. Dry. Three olives. One skewer. Double the napkins underneath.”

  “A woman used to giving orders.”

  Her eyebrows arched so high they hit her hairline. Crap. Not another he-man male who disapproved of a woman in authority. She dealt with them all the time in business. They were easy to handle in the boardroom, but she preferred them fenced out of her personal space. “Yes, I am. Is that a problem for you?”

  “Not at all. I like people who play to win.” He cracked open a smile that Jocelyn knew melted many a woman’s heart because hers was dripping. His eyes lasered into hers and dared her to look away.

  “How rare.” How refreshing. She beamed right back at him, burrowing into that bright-blue gaze as if she’d just found home. How did this guy, this stranger, just flip-flop her from annoyed to interested in a heartbeat? Maybe because he wasn’t cringing in terror or trying to show her who’s boss, the most common reactions she drew from men. Perhaps those shoulders—so wide she could nest in them.

  Her Blackberry buzzed. Not again. The number jogged across the screen. She hit ignore. “So how did you end up in this paradise by a parking lot?”

  “Job opportunity. I got an offer I couldn’t refuse even though it means moving. I was signing contracts, house-hunting, finding the best wine cel
lars and running trails. You?”

  “Returning home from a business trip. I had to convince the corporation that just bought my city’s largest employer to keep its doors open. If they closed shop, we’d have lost over two hundred jobs.”

  “You won I bet.”

  She nodded and could not suppress the smile that flashed across her face. The phone vibrated. She quieted it, her fingers ran along the back of Jared’s hand holding the scotch glass. Dry, jagged patches crisscrossed warm skin where fingers met knuckles.

  “You work with your hands.” A nice change from the number-crunching MBAs in power ties and pinstripes who inhabited her world.

  “Used to. I coach now. What’s got you jetting around rescuing businesses under threat?”

  “Chamber of Commerce President and CEO.” He’d find a way to bolt. Men often did when she dropped the job-title bombshell.

  “That explains the custom-made gray suit. But I can’t connect it with the red lace and green silk lingerie you have hidden in your luggage.” His smile was all innocence, his eyes all sin.

  Her brows knit together and displeasure etched cool lines across her face. “You went through my things?” A blush blazed across her cheeks and crawled down her neck. She had stashed a vibrator with the undies. It helped her unwind after the stress of negotiations. This man did not need to know her nighttime needs.

  “Come on, you didn’t look through mine? Not even a little?” The smoky-vanilla aroma of single-malt whisky tickled her nose and the rich timbre of his voice had goose bumps marching across the back of her neck.

  “No of course I didn’t. It’s private and there are rules about these things.” The martini she gulped burned its way down her throat and distracted her from the anger sloshing around in her gut. She’d been enjoying this little flirtation while her real life was still on the other side of the hurricane. No more.

  “I’m not big on rules. I won’t apologize since I thought it was mine when I opened it up. Frankly, what’s underneath is a lot more revealing than what you wear on the outside…in more ways than one.”

  Observant bastard. She blasted a frigid glare in his direction. “How can you coach kids if you don’t play by the rules?”

  “Oh darlin’, it’s because I don’t that I’m so damn good at what I do. I wasn’t looking for a new job but folks came courting. Quite a few of ’em. You need to relax, little lady.” His switch to a drawl signaled that she may have hit a nerve. That smug grin suggested he had found the vibrator. Damn.

  “We play by the rules in my town.” Her voice squeaked and the response was lame. Not the powerful CEO-style comeback she wanted. How could a man she’d just met throw her off her game? She swirled on the barstool to break eye contact, gulp some air…and landed under a juice waterfall.

  Arms flailing, red-faced and screaming at the top of his lungs, a young boy had thrown the contents of his cup down the front of her suit. Ice cubes and fruit punch slid down her front and sent shivers from her chest to her fingertips. Her jacket and shirt cold and ruined.

  The yelling brought her back to the child. Tears flash-flooded down his cheeks. The bar clientele had quieted down, all attention focused on the boy’s accelerating tantrum. Several patrons made a beeline for the front door and slowed the movement of one couple, probably the parents, heading toward the youth.

  To buy them time, Jocelyn opened her purse and grabbed several balloons she kept in there. “Hey, sweetheart, look what I have here.” Blowing one up, she handed him another. “Take a try.” Balloons forced a person to take deep breaths, a calming strategy that had worked with her daughter.

  The boy’s wildly gesticulating arms slapped the balloons out of her hands and onto the floor.

  “Hey, buddy, I have a game you might like.” Jared had grabbed the TV remote from the bar and offered it to the child. The boy stared at it. The tears kept coming but the hand gestures stopped when he took the gadget.

  “This is a special remote. It controls emotions. Yellow is for calm. Red for anger. Green for happy. Blue for sad. I think you’re red now. Want to change it?” Jared signaled the bartender to pull the plug on the television set.

  The boy hesitantly took the device and pushed the red button, but the tears didn’t stop. Jared bent on one knee to face the boy eye-to-eye. “What’s your name, buddy?”

  “Ryan,” he croaked out between wails.

  “Well, Ryan, why don’t you push the yellow one and keep pushing it until you feel better. Can you do that for me?”

  He nodded and his thumb thumped the button repeatedly.

  “Good job, Ryan,” Jared said and paraded that smile that clearly worked with kids as well as women.

  The tears stopped and his parents, who’d finally escaped the crowd, swooped in to claim him. Child in hand, they thanked Jared and fawned all over Jocelyn with apologies and offers to pay the dry cleaning bill. She politely waved away the money. “The costs are nothing to worry about.”

  After the family left Jared helped her get the ruined jacket off. Big mistake. The juice molded the white blouse to her torso and revealed every thread of her beige lace push-up bra and her diamond-hard nipples to everyone in the bar.

  Appreciation danced across Jared’s face followed by awareness. He threw his arm around her shoulder and yanked her against his chest to cover her breasts. “I was so right. You’re fire underneath the starch,” he whispered in her ear. She should hate him but was grateful for the cover and his look made her tingly. Grabbing her luggage, purse and phone and yelling a quick reminder to the bartender he’d be back for his suitcase, he shuttled her out of the bar to the ladies’ room to change. The man took control with panache.

  The weight of his arm on her shoulder and that musky sandalwood aroma stole her focus. The anger his intrusion into her privacy generated paled after witnessing Jared’s compassion and comfort when dealing with the child. How did he know what to do? Jared handed her the suitcase and she hustled inside the ladies’ room to snatch some needed personal space.

  The stuffy air and isolation of the bathroom arrived as a welcome relief from the chaos of thoughts and emotions that set up shop in her head. Suitcase on the sink, she opened it up to find her clothes neatly folded. Had he not told her he’d snooped, she wouldn’t have known. She whipped off the wet shirt and bra and threw on a silk camisole top, enough coverage to get to her room with her reputation intact.

  Jared waited with her phone, purse and an intense, passion-filled stare that skated down her body, leaving shudders in its wake. The Blackberry had several texts waiting on the screen for her with a to-do list that would eat up the rest of the afternoon. Duty crashed down on her like an avalanche.

  Life. Is. Not. Fair. Work had always been her salvation and place to shine. Lately, the shackles felt too tight, the chores never ending, the obligations transformed from joy to burden. With the raven-haired Adonis scanning her as if she were next on his menu, those fetters of obligation cut too deep. They were bleeding her dry. She blinked back a tension headache crawling from her temples to her cheekbones. Whether she liked it or not, the job had to be done and she never let anyone down.

  “Well, Jared Wyatt. Thank you for the suitcase, the drink and more than one fantasy involving black silk boxers.”

  His eyebrows shot up. A smirk of victory tugged at the edges of those too kissable lips.

  She winked with eyes heavy with too much responsibility. “Unfortunately there are a few things I have to take care of. Safe travels tomorrow.” With one last appreciative look at all that lean muscle, she squared her shoulders and strode back to her room.

  Jared pushed his hair off his face as he watched her go, imagining her in the itty-bitty red lingerie that begged to be ripped to shreds. His cock strained rock-hard against the constrictive grip of his zipper. She was prickly and tight-laced but so much more burned underneath her custom-made suit for someone who knew how to ignite it. To his surprise, the idea of fanning the flame was damn appealing. Women usually
withered under his gaze. She seized it, toyed with it, and hurled it back at him. It turned him on like a light switch. It was all he could do to stop himself from nibbling her pouty lips and long, swan-like neck and losing himself in those lush breasts gasping for air against her tailored silk blouse.

  After his short-lived marriage, he hung a do-not-enter sign to ward off all ambitious women. Cara never understood what drove him, loathed what she termed “his minor aspirations”, and made his life a living hell over it. He couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, a woman as strong as Cara had him hard and heaving. A habit of blonde, girlish and submissive kept his bed warm and allowed him to ignore the emptiness that claimed squatter’s rights on his soul. Jocelyn was none of these. She bled power and control as if she were born to it.

  Yet there was more to Jocelyn than authority even if she concealed it from the world. That young boy ruined a suit that must have set her back several paychecks. Instead of going off halfcocked at the loss, she stepped in to help the situation and tried to calm the child. Even with the warning bells screaming in his head, she ignited something raw, primal that he hadn’t felt in so long. And he liked it, wanted to let it out to play. She might have said goodbye, but he didn’t. He took his phone from his pocket and called the hotel restaurant, the only place around there to eat, and dinner was a couple hours away.

  Chapter Two

  When Jocelyn arrived for dinner, the restaurant was overflowing. Staff had crammed stranded travelers into every nook and cranny they could find. One of the hostesses took her name.

  “Oh, Ms. Wade. We have a table waiting for you. This way, please.”

  “I didn’t make a reservation.”

  “A Mr. Wyatt did and he asked us to seat you at his table. You’ve arrived first. Follow me.” She grabbed a menu and nodded at the second hostess, who picked up the phone.