Free Agent (Texas Titans #6) Read online

  Free Agent

  Book Six in the Texas Titans Series

  Cheryl Douglas

  Copyright © by Cheryl Douglas

  Smashwords Edition

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  Persons, places and other entities represented in this book are deemed to be fictitious. They are not intended to represent actual places or entities currently or previously in existence or any person living or dead. This work is the product of the author’s imagination.

  Any and all inquiries to the author of this book should be directed to: [email protected]

  Free Agent © 2015 Cheryl Douglas

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  Free Agent—Book Six

  Dylan Clark has had his eye on Sabrina ever since she walked in to their bar for the first time. He’s watched her place bets in front of the big screen, hustle guys at the pool tables, smoke cigars, drink whisky, and beat a team of rowdy men at darts. She’s sexy, sassy, and unforgettable. They’ve been friends and lovers, but he won’t be satisfied until he makes her his wife.

  Sports agent, Sabrina Mitchell, is in love for the first time… with one of her best friends. But when Dylan accuses her of the ultimate betrayal she doesn’t even try to defend herself. She can’t. He thinks she’s committed an unforgiveable sin, but he’ll be the one begging forgiveness when the truth finally comes out. But will it be too late?

  Prologue

  Dylan Clark leaned against the bar, taking in his surroundings. It was High Rollers’ grand opening, and it marked his foray into entrepreneurship. His teammates had told him he was crazy. He was a professional football player, so they thought he wasn’t cut out to run a business. His other friends, the ones who were more like his family, had convinced him that together, they could make it work. Judging by the crowds and publicity their venture had attracted, he believed they might be right.

  His best friend, Brett Easton, walked up with a shit-eating grin. “Man, would you look at this place? It’s packed. I mean, literally. The doorman says if we let anyone else in, we’ll be violating some goddamn fire code. How crazy is that?”

  “Pretty crazy.” Maybe this thing could make Dylan’s inevitable retirement from football a little easier to stomach.

  “We’re gonna be able to expand even quicker than we thought,” Brett said, raising a beer bottle. “Mark my words.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Dylan zeroed in on a woman bent over the pool table. Her long dark hair trailed down her back, almost reaching her waist, and her tight bottom filled out the glittery pockets of her designer blue jeans so perfectly, he assumed she had to be a model. He lifted a glass to gesture toward the woman in question. “Who is that?”

  “You mean that girl playing pool with Carter and Jones? Don’t know, but I noticed her too. Hard not too, huh?” Brett chuckled. “She is one sweet piece of as—”

  Dylan nudged him in the gut with his elbow. “Don’t talk about my future wife that way.”

  Brett laughed. “Your future wife?”

  “Yeah, I’m gonna marry that girl someday.” Dylan grinned, making light of his comment, but when she looked up and flashed him a saucy smile, he could have sworn they shared a secret. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to make sure my teammates aren’t making a play for my woman.”

  Brett slapped him on the back. “Good luck with that one, Dyl. Somethin’ tells me she’ll be a ballbreaker.”

  “That’s the way I like ‘em,” he shot back. He shook hands and peeled arms from around his neck as he moved through the thick crowd. When he finally got to the billiards area, his fantasy girl was collecting her winnings. He wagged a finger at her. “I didn’t see that. Placing bets in my bar will get you kicked out.”

  She rolled the bills and stuck them down her fitted black shirt, obviously finding a hollow somewhere in her ample cleavage. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the quarterback with the slippery digits. I’ll have you know you cost me a hundred bucks last week.”

  He’d carried out a fake, been tackled, and fumbled the ball in last week’s game, which led to his team losing by one touchdown. Normally he wouldn’t take too kindly to being reminded of his blunder, but when that sassy little thing flashed him a big white smile, enhanced by adorable dimples, he didn’t mind.

  “You’ll have to let me make it up to you by buying you a drink, sweet thang.”

  She rolled her eyes before looking over her shoulder at the men she’d hustled. “You didn’t warn me he’d resort to cheesy pick-up lines and tacky handles to get in my panties, boys.”

  Dylan tried to keep a straight face as his teammates chuckled. She was a little firecracker, and damn, he couldn’t wait to detonate her. “You’ve got a smart mouth,” he said, pointing at her with his glass of Jim Beam. “I’d like to see what you can do with it—aside from hurlin’ insults at me, that is.”

  She licked her full, raspberry-stained lips while branding him with a heated gaze. Up, down, back up again, before she finally settled on his crotch. “I’ll just bet you’d like to know, sexy.”

  Daaaammmmn. He was getting so hot, Dylan feared he’d be the one exploding if she kept looking at him like that.

  “I see you’ve met my little sister,” Dalton Mitchell said from behind him, wrapping his arm around Dylan’s neck.

  Dalton Mitchell, or “Mitch” as his teammates called him, was a defensive lineman with a reputation for being a dirty player on and off the field. Dylan’s eyes narrowed on the woman he now knew was Sabrina. Dalton had mentioned her numerous times, but since she’d been away at school pursuing her M.B.A., Dylan had yet to meet her. Of all the rotten luck. Mitch would kill him if he heard Dylan had been making a play for his baby sister.

  “You’re Sabrina?” Dylan asked, ignoring the chuckles from his teammates. Bastards. At least they could have warned him before he started flirting with her.

  “Sure am.” She grinned. “Now, about that drink you promised…” She tapped a dark red nail against her pouty lips. “I’m thinking Dalmore 62 would be nice.”

  Dylan bit into his bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Dalmore 62? You do realize that’s the most expensive scotch in the world, right?”

  She furrowed her arched brows, pretending to look confused. “Well, duh. Why else would I be asking for it? After that big, fat contract my daddy negotiated for you last year, you can damn well afford it.”

  Yet another reason he could never date the lovely Miss Mitchell—her father was his agent and one of the key reasons he could afford to drink Dalmore 62 every damn night if he chose to. His mama had always warned him about biting the hand that fed him, and while Thomas Mitchell may not be feeding him exactly, he was definitely in possession of the proverbial knife and fork.

  Dylan offered Sabrina his arm. “I can’t offer you Dalmore, but I’m pretty sure we’ve got a fifty-year-old Glenfiddich I wouldn’t mind cracking open.”

  They planned to host everyone from professional athletes to wealthy businessmen and politicians at High Rollers, so investing in a few bottles of twenty-five-thousand dollar scotch had seemed like a good investment. It seemed even more so when the mention of the rare whisky made Sabrina’s eyes light with interest.

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.” She stepped forward to link her arm through his. “We can talk about how things will change now that I’ll be representing you.”

  “What do you mean you’ll be representing me?” Dylan asked, shooting a look at Mitch. “What about your dad?”

  “Oh, didn’t Dalton tell you?” Sabrina asked, curling her hand around his bicep. “Daddy’s retiring at the end of next month. He’s making the announcement to his clients next week.” Her hand drifted over Dylan’s chest, heedless of her brother’s warning glare. “But don’t worry, you’ll be in very good hands with me.”

  There was no way he could miss her suggestive tone or the way his body instantly reacted. “Uh, I don’t know if this is going to work.” He glared at his teammates, Jones and Carter, who were obviously enjoying his discomfort. They were happily married with a few cute kids between them. They didn’t have to worry about having to resist a real-life pin-up.

  “Of course it’ll work,” she said, laughing. “You’ve been with Mitchell’s since you signed your first pro contract. I don’t have to remind you we’re one of the most respected sports agencies in the country, do I?” Before he could get a word in, Sabrina continued. “We’ve negotiated more than six billion dollars in player contracts for the four largest team sports. Our total contract commissions are more than two hundred million dollars, more than double our nearest competitor. It would be career suicide to go anywhere else.”

  Unfortunately, she was right. Damn. She had him between a rock and… well, her rock-hard body. Not a good place to be, especially with her o
ver-protective brother watching him like a hawk.

  “Now that we’ve got that settled,” Sabrina said, linking her hand with his, “I’m practically salivating over that bottle of Glenfiddich you promised. Let’s take it to the private V.I.P. room, shall we? I’ve heard it’s incredible.”

  “Uh, sure.” Dylan told himself he could pass their meeting off as business, but no way would anyone buy that. The only thing on his mind was how long it would take to get Sabrina out of those blue jeans. He was so screwed.

  Mitch clamped his big hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Dylan, a word before you go.”

  Dylan couldn’t claim to be surprised. He’d known that was coming. “Just gimme a minute.” He smiled at Sabrina before facing her brother. “What is it, Mitch?”

  Mitch led him away from Sabrina. “Here’s the thing, Dyl—I like you. You’re a teammate and a good friend. We go way back, and I’d hate like hell to break both of your kneecaps, but if you even think about messing with my sister, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  Dylan winced, knowing full well that wasn’t an idle threat. Mitch got paid well to inflict pain on his opponents, but he’d happily been doing it for free long before he got a multi-million dollar contract. Dylan wanted to tell him to back the hell off and mind his own business, but if one of his friends was sniffing around his sister, he’d react the same way.

  “Don’t take it personally. I’m sending out the warning to everyone,” Mitch said, sparing a disgusted glance for his sister. “I keep telling my family she doesn’t belong in this business. I don’t have to tell you it’s dangerous for a little girl who looks like her to be thrust into a locker room full of testosterone-driven pigs who’d screw anything in a skirt.”

  Now that Mitch mentioned it, Dylan was a little concerned about that himself. He’d been a professional athlete long enough to know most guys assumed the rules didn’t apply to them. They behaved badly because they could get away with almost anything.

  “It doesn’t look like you’re gonna change her mind,” Dylan said. “All you can do is keep an eye on her.”

  “You’ll help me with that?”

  “I don’t know if—”

  Gripping Dylan’s shoulder, Mitch said, “Come on, man. She’s my baby sister. Think how you’d feel if you were in my position. I can’t stop her from taking over for my old man, but I sure as hell can prevent her from getting hurt or taken advantage of by some low-life with more money than morals.”

  “I’ll, uh, do what I can.” Assuming I can keep my hands off her.

  ***

  Being locked in a private room and sipping expensive scotch with the Dylan Clark was like a dream come true. Sabrina had had a crush on him ever since he’d signed with her favorite team six years earlier. When she’d found out her father was representing him, she’d nearly wet herself. Now she had to maintain her composure and pretend she was completely unaffected by the heated glances he aimed at her like fiery missiles. If she could pull that off, she’d clearly missed her calling on Broadway.

  “So did my brother tell you I was off-limits?” she asked, crossing and uncrossing her legs. She was gratified to see his eyes skimming her the same way she’d openly perused him earlier. At least she wasn’t the only one trying to fight the absurd chemistry they seemed to have.

  “He said something like that.” Dylan took a slow sip of his scotch while regarding her over the rim of his crystal glass. “But then you knew he would, didn’t you?”

  “He’s always been over-protective,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Given the fact he’s a human wrecking ball, the threat is pretty real.”

  Dylan chuckled, the sound like warm molasses gliding over her skin. “I’d say that’s an apt description. Your daddy speaks highly of you. He mentioned that you’d be joining the family business when you graduated, but he didn’t mention the fact his retirement would coincide with that.”

  “Are you disappointed that I’ll be representing you instead of him?” Before he could respond, she said, “I’ve spent every summer vacation for the last seven years learning the business. I can assure you I’m ready to do this.”

  She hated that she would have to work so hard to prove herself, especially since she was capable, but she wasn’t naïve enough to believe their clients would accept her into the old boys’ club with open arms. She’d have to prove that she was every bit as smart and shrewd as her legendary father.

  “I’m sure you are.” He drained his glass and added another shot. “I’m not concerned about whether you’re qualified. I’m more concerned about how the hell I’m supposed to keep my hands off you.”

  Oh. That was direct. And delicious. “Unfortunately, we do have a strict policy about agents messing with the clients, so as tempted as I might be to indulge in a little fun, I’m gonna have to take a pass.” Her voice sounded cool, as though she shot down super-hot professional athletes every day.

  “That’s too bad.” He grinned. “But I guess I should be grateful. It means your brother won’t be breaking both of my kneecaps.”

  Sabrina winced as humiliation washed over her. It wasn’t the first time her brother had warned off a potential suitor, and she’d bet her new Corvette it wouldn’t be the last. “He didn’t really say that, did he?” When Dylan raised an eyebrow before sipping his drink, she said, “Of course he did. Why am I not surprised?”

  “It’s okay,” Dylan said. “I get it. I’ve got a kid sister too.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a kid!” She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Breathe. She needed to keep her fiery temper under control even though she dealt with overbearing Neanderthals all day.

  “Obviously not.” Dylan bit his lip, his eyes drawn back to her cleavage.

  Normally Sabrina would be annoyed by a man openly ogling her the way Dylan was, but her body was humming. She wondered what would happen if she climbed into his lap and invited him to touch instead of just looking, but then she thought of the iron-clad contract she’d signed. Daughter or no, if her father found out she had messed around with Dylan, he wouldn’t hesitate to hand her those dreaded walking papers.

  “Did you drive here tonight?” he asked.

  “No, I took a cab. You know, in case I decided to partake.” She raised her glass. “Though I have to admit I never expected anything quite like this.”

  “Neither did I.”

  Sabrina knew he wasn’t talking about the liquor, and his suggestive tone made her blood run hot. If she didn’t get out of there soon, she may not be able to tear herself away until they’d done the deed. One-night stands weren’t her thing, but every girl had to make an exception sometimes. Her favorite star quarterback could easily be the one to convince her to break all the rules.

  “I have a driver. Let me take you home.”

  Let me take you home. She swallowed, knowing full well he was inviting her to his home. “You’re really not afraid of my brother, are you?”

  Dylan laughed. “No, I’m not. Dalton’s all bark, no bite, at least when it comes to his friends and teammates.”

  He was right. Her brother considered his teammates his second family, and she knew that in spite of his tough talk, he’d never fight Dylan.

  “But there is the little issue of my job,” she reminded him. “I don’t have to tell you my dad’s a hard ass. He doesn’t make exceptions for anyone, not even me.”

  “Hmmm, but I’ve brought his agency a lot of money over the years. He might be willing to make an exception for me.”

  She laughed as she wrapped her hands around her near-empty glass. “You don’t know my father as well as you think you do if you believe that. He doesn’t want me to date a professional athlete, which is a big part of why he’s such a stickler about that rule. He thinks he can control me.”

  Dylan chuckled before leaning forward to add more to her glass. “You don’t strike me as the submissive type.”

  “If I were, I’d never survive in this business. They’d chew me up and spit me out.” She had been a much softer, gentler woman, much like her mother, until she realized that wouldn’t earn her respect in the professional sports arena.