Tuesday, July 17, 2018

Feature and Giveaway: Playing Hurt by Kelly Jamieson

He’s playing hurt. She’s laying low. And they’re both flirting with disaster.

Chase: The last thing I’d ever want to do is let my team down. After overcoming my bad-boy reputation, I was dominating on the ice. But things aren’t going so well this season, and even my parents think I’m partying again. Now I’m really worried about my career. The only bright spot in my life is the Twitter flirtation I’ve struck up with pop princess Jordyn Banks. Turns out she’s a huge hockey fan—and she’s willing to wager a date on her favorite team . . .

Jordyn: Even though I’m an L.A. fan now, I’ve always had a soft spot for the Aces, since I grew up in Chicago. Then I lose a bet to Chase Hartman, and suddenly I’m up close and personal with a pro athlete who’s anything but soft. Not only is Chase the hottest guy I’ve ever met, he’s secretly super sweet. As if I had time for a relationship . . . yeah, right. But when I suddenly have nothing but time on my hands, he’s the only one who understands. Now, with both of our careers at stake, Chase is tempting me to put my heart on the line too.

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“Did you pack pajamas?” Chase asked casually.

My eyes popped open. Then I lowered my eyelids and lifted one corner of my mouth. “Why, yes, I did. My flannel pj’s with the purple pigs on them. How about you?”

“I don’t wear pajamas.”

“Well, that’s presumptuous. I only saw one bed in that room.”

“Yep.” His eyes gleamed.

“It’s a really big bed though.” I tapped my chin. “If we each slept on opposite sides, we’d probably have to text each other to communicate, it’s so big.”

He snorted. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

I smiled. I lifted a hand to my throat and trailed my fingertips down . . . down . . . between my breasts. I was wearing a little black slip dress that was super low cut, edged with a narrow lace. His eyes followed my hand. His throat moved. His jaw twitched. My toes rubbed higher beneath the leg of his pants, over hair-roughened skin.

He pulled in a sharp breath.

I smiled. I slid a hand into my hair at the scalp then pulled some strands forward over my shoulder, slowly running my fingers down the length of my hair to my breast. One again, his gaze followed.

“Do you want dessert?” he asked hoarsely.

I nodded, eyes wide, and drawled, “Oh yeah.”

He swallowed and lifted a hand. The server appeared immediately. “What do you have that’s chocolate?” Chase asked.

“A seven-layer chocolate cake. It’s amazing.”

“We’ll take a piece of that to share.”

“How’d you know I like chocolate?” I leaned forward, arching my back and pushing my breasts out.

His eyes dropped to my cleavage and lingered. “It’s a well-known fact about you.”

I laughed. “I guess it is.” There were a few things I shared about myself on social media, other than my love of hockey, and one of them was my chocolate addiction.

The cake was amazing, dark and decadent. “Chocolate is the only thing that can compare to good sex,” I murmured. I slipped another bite into my mouth and slowly drew the tines of the fork between my lips. “Mmmm.”

Chase shook his head, the corners of his mouth quirked. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” I gave him a slow wink. “You?”

“I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“Me too.” Our eyes held for a stretched out, heated moment.

When we’d finished the cake, Chase said, “How about a moonlight walk on the beach?”

I gazed at him for a moment, then said, “No.”

He smiled. “No?”

“We can do that tomorrow night. Right now, we need to go up to our room.”

He stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. “Hell yeah.”

I swallowed my laugh, ignoring the looks from other diners. Chase righted the chair, grabbed my hand, and we sprinted out of the dining room.
“Elevator’s too slow,” he said. “Stairs.”

Our room was on the third floor. I was good with walking up, but my sandals had spiky high heels, so I paused to take them off. Chase gave a low laugh, and then I ran up the terra-cotta tiled steps barefoot, him close behind me.

We were both breathless and laughing when we got to our floor, and not just from the stairs. I let him unlock and open the door, and followed him inside. My belly fluttered and heated. He let the door fall shut, tossed his key card onto the dresser, and reached for me.

I dropped my shoes and pretty much jumped into his arms, wrapping my legs around his hips and my arms around his neck. Our mouths crashed together. Heat slid through my veins and pooled in my core.

His hands slid under my skirt and grasped the bare cheeks of my ass, my thong covering nothing. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I could do you just like this.”

“Yes,” I panted. “Do it.”

USA Today bestselling author Kelly Jamieson is the author of more than thirty contemporary romance novels. She’s a married mother of two who lives a very ordinary life outside of her imagination. She likes coffee (black), wine (mostly white), and shoes (high!). She also loves watching hockey.

Up For Grabs:
  • 3 Digital copies of Playing Hurt

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