“You realize we could go about this my way.”
She snapped the cap back in place. “We aren’t doing that. It’s completely unfair to use your position like that.”
“Then what’s the point of being king?” I grumbled.
“We can’t deprive scholars of those texts because you don’t want me to go to London.”
“What I want is my wife.” My hand landed on her knee.
She smiled sweetly. “I know this London thing isn’t your first choice, but if Sutcliffe followed my instructions, then I’ll be home every weekend. You are there the first and last weeks of the project. It will fly by. We will barely spend any time apart.”
“Or we could have the texts flown to the palace and held in the royal library while you complete your work.”
“I love that you want to do that for me. But you know what I love more?”
“What is that?”
“That you let me work this out. You didn’t just shut it down.”
When Molly first told me her grant had been accepted, my gut reaction was to voice a forceful no. I didn’t want to let her go. I especially didn’t want her to leave the country pregnant. But this woman got me. She understood what I needed and when.
And I had to do the same for her. To love her nerdy book habits. To support her work. To loosen my hold, even when it drove me crazy. London was going to be hell. But I knew I’d go through hell for her.
“I would do anything for you, love.”
She settled into the chaise. The warm ocean winds breezed over us.
And I would do anything to keep her safe. To hold her. To protect her. I’d do anything to make her happy. I may not have been the man she deserved the night we met, but I had changed. I had won the love of the most incredible woman.
Turn Over
Copyright © 2016 by Violet Paige
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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1
Luke
Sometimes people are wrong. They’re wrong about what the score will be at the end of the game. They’re wrong about what ro
ute to run. They’re wrong about who they can trust. And fuck it, they’re wrong about people. Wrong about love. I used to be one of those people. Cynical. Egotistical. Selfish. But all it takes is one second. One split second of your life when you think you’ll lose everything. And suddenly it comes into focus. Faster than I take a snap. Faster than I read the defense. I can see all of it. I can see it being ripped away. In a split second all of it can be ruined. There could be a life where she doesn’t exist. Where the mistakes push her away.
They are wrong about me. And the thing about me is I love to prove people wrong.
It was hot as shit on the practice field. The September sun beat down on everyone. It didn’t discriminate between million dollar players or the trainers who took home fifty thousand a year. It was brutal and unrelenting, reminding all of us what it meant to play football in Texas.
Ownership promised we would have an indoor facility soon with air conditioning, but that didn’t do a damn bit of good when my linemen were cramping up on the field and I could barely see from the sting of sweat rolling in my eyes.
I gripped the ball between my fingers, digging into the leather with my nails while the sideline crew ran out to squirt water in the players’ mouths. I didn’t see what good an ounce of water was going to do in this heat, but I waited anyway.
Our rookie tight end, James, walked up to me. “What did you think of that last play?”
“I think it sucked.” I held my helmet under my arm and squirted water on the back of my neck.