RELEASE DAY
Purple wig, red lips, and a flirty smile—those are the only things Austin Blakely remembers when he wakes up tied to his bed…
It’s Austin’s job as the enforcer for the New York Rangers hockey team to strike fear in the hearts of grown men. But if Manhattan’s notorious gossip magazine, The Whisperer, catches wind of his dating fail—or worse, took a picture of him in his compromised state—his reputation and career could be ruined.
Magnolia Cross is still running from rumors that robbed her of the interview of a lifetime…
Intern reporter for the Madison Square Garden news affiliate isn’t Magnolia’s idea of a dream job. She doesn’t even like hockey. But it’s experience on-air, and that’s what counts. After a prank-gone-wrong leaves her stripped of her Valedictorian title, she loses her initial chance at making it big. But now she’s stronger and smarter, and won’t let trust issues screw her out of her chance for success—again.
One bad interview and two million YouTube hits later, Magnolia is a media sensation—for all the wrong reasons…
Stupid Austin Blakely with his cocky smile and hockey lingo gibberish. After he embarrasses her on national television in the name of harmless flirting, Magnolia vows never to interview him again. Except avoiding Austin is easier said than done.
It isn’t long before Magnolia discovers the real source of Austin’s fears. It’s all about the seductress in the purple wig—unless it’s about the pictures she stole that could change all their lives forever…
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Chapter One (Excerpt)
Crimson leather straps bit into
Austin Blakely’s wrists. The razor-sharp sensation caused his heavy eyes to pop
open. He yanked his hands forward, but the unforgiving material confined him to
the sturdy wooden headboard behind him. White orbs flashed in his vision. The
room titled as if on a spindle.
Memories.
Blurry little puzzle pieces from
the night sluggishly patched themselves together.
A trendy Art Deco bar with
ridiculous yellow cubicle seats and neon lights. Techno blasted too loud. He
wanted to leave, but his teammate and new wingman Callen had an off night
during their game against the Blackhawks and needed to let off steam.
Shots of Patron sliding down a tan
stomach. The Katy Perry lookalike sported a short purple bob. Her hair wasn’t
natural. It was a wig, which he found weird, but she’d been nice and flirty.
He liked flirty. Flirty held
promise.
The candy pop princess hailed a cab
for them after last call. That should have been the first sign. He liked aggressive
women. However, eagerness was a red flag. Too eager and easy tonight meant too
clingy and stalk you tomorrow. The burden of being a professional athlete. It
hadn’t registered with him. She lacked all the other warning signs. Well,
except maybe that wig.
She’d been calm, though, and
friendly. Not in the ‘oh my gosh, he’s a professional hockey player’ kind of
way either. She stood at the edge of the bar enjoying her martini, her eyes
everywhere but on him. He made the first move. When he slid in the cab, he
thought his night would end like any other after a big win.
He was wrong. Very wrong.
Bondage.
Purple wig girl slipped the leather
ties around his wrists with the ease of an expert. He normally didn’t allow
that sort of thing. He didn’t understand why he agreed so easily. Then
blackness. That hadn’t been part of the deal.
The room in front of him steadied.
The familiar hum of the heater beneath the window rose above the screaming
headache behind his eyes. A giant number forty-three poster hung on the
bathroom door, a Nerf basketball goal above it. It was his room.
It didn’t stop the panic in his gut
or the cold sweat that formed across his brow. “Hey—” He paused. Yeah. He
didn’t know her name. “Hey, purple hair girl! Are you here?”
Nothing but the grumble of the
heater answered him.
Awesome.
“Callen Copley is a dead man.”
Austin twisted on the mattress, fighting back the urge to decorate his sheets
with refurbished tequila. The slight movement transformed his bed into a Hugh
Hefner Tilt-A-Whirl.
How the hell was he still drunk? A
formidable buzz was ridiculously difficult to accomplish for a man his size. Barefoot,
he was six-four. Not to mention two hundred and ten pounds of solid rock,
thanks to his training regime. It would take a hell of a lot of alcohol to get
him tie-me-up drunk.
Even then he would have told the
girl no. He always had his career to consider. ‘Don’t let strange women hog-tie
you to a headboard’ wasn’t in the NHL player handbook, but it should be. The
media was cruel on their best day. They’d have a field day if they found out.
Fifty shades of Blakely. The
headline would practically write itself.
He couldn’t afford to have his
opposition laughing at him every night.
Despite his prowess as a goal
scorer, Austin was better known for his uncanny ability to strike fear into the
hearts of even the most courageous. He was an enforcer for the New York
Rangers, and if he wasn’t on your team, you might even call him a goon. It was
his job to make sure no one touched the team’s greatest commodity, his best
friend Henrik.
Speaking of his good for nothing
brother-in-law, he reached for his phone.
Pain. Pins and needles piercing his
skin, scraping the bone. “Shit.”
He quickly shoved his heel into the
mattress and pushed himself back up the bed to take the pressure off. The inner
band of the leather straps must be laced with porcupine needles. That, or his
seductress was a voodoo witch. At this point he wouldn’t doubt it.
Carefully and with enough caution
to make him feel like a complete pussy, Austin moved nothing but his eyes to
look down his body in search of his pockets. Stark white briefs stared back at
him.
Damn. He could have sworn he had
pants. His phone was in the front right pocket.
He closed his eyes and
concentrated. Pants in the cab. Pants in the elevator. Pants in the hallway?
Stupid, black, fuzzy, nauseous
thoughts. He had no clue. It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t have any pants
right now.
“Hey!” His voice started to sound
desperate. The silence only grew louder and more maddening. “Why the hell tie
me up and leave? Huh?”
A ticking bomb, Austin lay
perfectly still and seethed. They hadn’t had sex. He still wore his boxers. In
fact, now that he fought to focus his thoughts, the girl hadn’t shown any kind
of affection toward him at all. No kiss. No hand holding. She hadn’t touched
him until she brought out the restraints.
A stage five clinger didn’t sound
so bad at the moment.
Something was wrong with the entire
situation. His gaze darted around the room, evaluating every detail. A replica
of his college dorm room, but bigger. The walls were bare as ever. His dresser
still sat lopsided from that game of Mario Cart gone wrong his sophomore year,
and a basket of gym clothes remained unwashed in the corner.
Everything looked normal.
Well, except for the obvious fact
that he was half naked and tied to his bed. If she robbed him, he’d never live
it down. He needed his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans.
He eyed the leather straps over his
shoulder, contemplating whether the risk of jerking his hands free with his
entire strength would be worth the reward of freedom.
He gave it a slight tug. It wasn’t
fucking worth it.
“Help me, damn it.” His voice
echoed off the walls of his apartment and back to him.
Why hadn’t he let Callen move in
with him?
That’s right because Callen had
idiotic ideas like ‘try a new scene’ and ‘broaden your Friday night horizons.’ He
needed a new wingman, pronto. Shit like this didn’t happen when he roamed the
bar scene with Henrik.
Austin’s fingers clenched, his
knuckles turning white. He was going to broaden Callen’s nose when he found
him.
“Hey, Austin. Do you know your door
is wide open?”
Austin’s head popped up. Morning
grumpies with a side of Swedish accent. He knew that voice. He’d recognize it
anywhere. Henrik.
Henrik, the best fucking friend in
the entire universe, Rylander.
Austin glanced at the clock on the
night stand, relieved. It was seven o’clock, which meant it was time for their
ritual morning workout. Good ol’ responsible and reliable Henrik.
Austin spotted the familiar blond,
mussed hair of his friend as he crossed the threshold to his bedroom. Henrik,
holding two cups of what could only be green mush in his hands, paused mid-step.
It wasn’t the typical scenario
Henrik was accustomed to walking in on when they lived together. His head
wasn’t covered up with blankets and he wasn’t demanding pancakes as tribute. Henrik’s
mouth dropped open, but then the shock slowly turned into a grin.
“Holy weird kinky shit.” Henrik
looked around, his pupils the size of a mothership. “What the hell, Blakie?”
Austin rolled his eyes and looked
away. He didn’t want Henrik to see the embarrassment on his face. Or the shame
and betrayal. “Long story. Can you just untie me, please?”
Henrik’s grin widened. “Of course.”
He set the cups down on the dresser, then pulled out his cell phone. Then
Henrik aimed it at him.
“Don’t you dare—”
“Say cheese.” The camera flashed.
“This isn’t funny, Henrik.”
Henrik laughed from around his
phone as he reviewed his picture. “Oh, I beg to disagree.”
The camera flashed again.
“Fuck you. That wasn’t necessary.”
Henrik shrugged. “This is worth
sharing. You know it.”
“You won’t think it’s worth it when
I let them crash your head into the boards tomorrow night. It will be real
funny from my front row seat on the bench.”
“You won’t let anyone touch me.
It’s your job.”
“Everybody has an off night. Or has
your precious nose forgotten that quickly?”
Henrik cringed and Austin knew he
finally got to him. Everyone knew the story. His best friend went behind his
back and slept with his sister Leila. Even though Henrik and Leila were married
now and provided him with his adorable niece Lucy, everyone knew about the game
when Austin let Henrik fend for himself against the nastiest enforcer in the
league. He pulled the goon off Henrik in the end, but he made his point.
Henrik stuffed his phone in his
pocket and came to undo the leather bands. Now that his fun was over, Henrik’s
face was serious.
Well, sort of serious. “I know
Callen said he wanted to try something new last night, but maybe next time you
should ask him for clarification first.”
“Shut up and untie me. I’m mad
enough at Callen as it is. I wouldn’t have met the crazy girl who did this if it
wasn’t for him.”
Henrik sniggered until his finger
caught one of the sharp edges of the band. He jerked his hand back. “Shit.
That’s sharp.”
Austin glared at him. “Imagine how
I feel. Could you hurry it up?”
“You realize this is dangerous,
right?” Henrik meticulously untied the band and eased it away from his skin. Red
prick marks made a torture bracelet around his wrist. “The girl could have
robbed you, or worse, taken that same picture and had it on the front page of The Whisperer this morning.”
Austin cringed. The pain that still
bit into his other hand dulled in comparison to the slap of fear that hit him
at the mention of The Whisperer. The sleazy
gossip magazine was legendary in Manhattan. Henrik knew that fact very well. He
graced the cover on a weekly basis his rookie season.
“You don’t think I know that? She
got me drunk.” Austin mentally kicked himself. He knew better than to get that
drunk. Henrik had taught him better and warned him of the consequences. “More
drunk than usual. I passed out.”
Austin reached over and undid the
other leather strap. It fell apart easily, like it had never been in a death
knot around his wrist. The girl definitely was a professional. He rubbed the
blistering wounds.
“She got you pass out drunk?”
Henrik’s head cocked to the side. “Did she realize how big you are? Did she
have a forklift on standby?”
Austin shot his friend a glare. He
wasn’t in the mood.
“Sorry.” Henrik held up his hands.
“This is serious. I know.”
“I blacked out.” Austin rubbed his
head. He still felt weird. “I woke up like you found me. The last thing I
remember is this girl in a purple wig tying me up. At that point I was too out
of it to care.”
Henrik’s brows drew together. “A
purple wig?” The cogs in Henrik’s brain shifted into double time. Austin could
see it on Henrik’s face. The calculation and debate. “Hold on.”
Henrik walked out of the room, a
bloodhound on the hunt. Austin followed behind him, catching himself on the
wall as he fought to find his balance.
Definitely still drunk.
Henrik searched the apartment from
top to bottom. He checked behind doors and looked in cabinets. He riffled
through every drawer, leaving no half eaten box of Crunch Berries unturned.
Henrik knew his apartment better than he did. Probably because it housed all
their old furniture. “It doesn’t look like she took anything. You keep any
money stashed here?”
Austin followed him out of the
kitchen and into the living room. “No.”
Henrik stopped and eyed him.
Actually, he eyed his boxers. “Did you two…you know?”
“No,” Austin repeated. “At least,
I’m pretty sure no. There’s no evidence of that.”
Henrik scrunched up his nose.
“T.M.I, buddy. T.M.I.”
Austin gave his friend a shove as
he walked past him. Henrik was the king of too much information. That’s why
their newest friendship rule didn’t allow Henrik to even mention Leila in
conversation. Ever. Austin didn’t even want to hear about their outings to the
grocery store.
Henrik paused, halfway looking
under the couch. “Where’s your phone? Maybe you took one of your famous drunk
selfies.”
The phone. He’d forgotten about it
that quickly. Austin looked around for his pants. At some point last night he
definitely had pants. He found them by the front door.
Phoneless.
Austin closed his eyes,
concentrating. He was positive his phone was in his pocket.
“There is no way she took your phone.”
The laughter in Henrik’s voice was audible even though he attempted to stifle
it.
“It’s gone.” Austin held up his
pants, showcasing the empty pockets.
“Yeah, but it’s your phone.”
Austin looked callously over his
shoulder. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying you’re technologically
inept. Your phone was kin to the dinosaurs. That phone had fewer features than
Al Yankovich.”
“Well, it’s gone, asshole.”
Henrik grabbed the jeans and
searched them himself, then he looked around the room again. “Okay, let’s say
Wiggy took your phone. What’s on it? A couple stupid selfies. Some phone
numbers. She practically did you a favor.”
It was a lie. They both knew what
this could mean. Personal pictures from celebrities’ phones made headlines all
the time. At least Henrik was right about one thing. There wasn’t anything
incriminating on his phone. It’s not like it had the options for social media.
Austin ran his hands through his
hair. Sweat dripped down his brow while the throb behind his eyes turned into a
heavy dumbbell. Why the purple wig? Why get him drunk and tie him up to steal a
dumb flip phone?
It didn’t make sense.
“Bathroom. Now.” Henrik jumped to his
side, his hand clamping around his shoulder.
“What?” Austin didn’t look up. He
couldn’t. Just the thought of what his stupid mistake might lead to made him
sick. He suffered right along with Henrik when The Whisperer shared those photos of his friend passed out on top
of a bar the night before the conference finals. They’d won the game, so all
was forgiven. The trade rumors and media coverage were a bitch, though. He
didn’t want to drag his family through that again. How would he explain that
picture to his grandmother?
“I know that face.” Henrik’s grip
tightened. “That face is a dry cleaning bill in the making. Let’s go to the
bathroom.”
Austin let Henrik lead him to the
toilet. The fear, guilt, and anger did the rest. When Austin opened his eyes
again, his face was planted on the cold tile floor of his bathroom. Henrik sat
crossed-legged against the door, scrolling through his phone.
“You know, it’s been two years
since I’ve had any reason to look at this damn website.” Henrik didn’t look up
when he said it. “Looks like you’re lucky this time. At least for now.”
Austin pushed himself up into a
sitting position, his hand going directly to his head. “Ugh. When did I become
you?”
Henrik snorted. “I don’t recall you
ever finding me in this particular situation.”
Austin leaned his head back in hope
of stopping the thud of drums inside it. “You know what I mean.”
Henrik got up and helped Austin
stagger to his feet. “We all have to grow up sooner or later, Blakie. Our wakeup
calls are just scheduled on different days.”
Austin grabbed the sink for
support. “My wakeup call sounds more like a fucking fog horn right now.”
Henrik patted him on the back,
directing him toward the bedroom. “You’ll survive. Good thing we have the day
off. Go rest, and we’ll do our workout this afternoon.”
Austin shook his head. “No.”
“You assaulted your toilet. You’re
in no shape to run right now. Trust me, we don’t want that disaster zone
spreading to the practice facility.”
Austin sat down on the edge of his
bed, trying to rein in the panic and unease that hid behind the massive
headache. “I need to go to the bar. I have to find that girl.”
“Look—I know this is hard on your
ego.”
“It isn’t about my damn ego. She
could have that same picture you took. I don’t want to go back to us spending
our mornings double checking the tabloids before we leave the house.”
Henrik winced. The memory of his
wild child days were still too close to home.
“And what if we find her? What if
someone knows her name? What then, Austin?”
“I don’t know.” He threw his hands
out. “I can’t sit here and do nothing.”
Henrik walked over and sat down on
the bed beside him, his elbows on his knees. He stared at the wall, his teeth
running over his bottom lip. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Henrik sighed, rubbing his hands
down his face. “How can I tell you no? You carried me home from the bar so many
times I can’t count. If it’ll make you feel better to ask around, then we
will.”
Austin nodded. “Thanks.”
Henrik stood up and walked toward
the door. “At least sleep off your hangover first. I’m not carrying your wobbly
ass to the bar.”
Austin held up his hand. “Hey—wait
a second.”
Henrik stopped and leaned against
the doorframe.
Austin shot him his best pleading
look. “Let’s not tell my sister about this. I don’t want her to worry.”
“Sure.” Henrik nodded and took a
step out the door, but then he stopped. “Before you pass out again, you might
want to consider a shower. You’re making your entire apartment smell like tequila
and stupid.”
Austin pulled himself to his feet.
“It must smell familiar.”
Henrik smiled. The tension started
to slowly fade, but the heartache and memories of what could happen would never
go away. Not now. This kind of mistake could change his whole world.
THE GIRL WITH DIAMONDS by Savannah Blevins: http://amzn.to/1S55FMO
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