Irresistibly Yours (Oxford #1)(79)

His hands found her face as his thumbs gently brushed her lips, his expression tender. “Penelope. It’s always been you.”





Read on for an enticing excerpt

from the next in the Oxford series





Playing For Keeps





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Chapter 1


It wasn’t that Jackson Burke was a cowboy.

Not really.

Sure, he’d been born and raised in Texas, but he’d lived most of his life in the suburbs of Houston.

The only time he’d seen a horse was at summer camp.

And sure, he liked his jeans and his boots, but he’d adjusted to the daily suits.

Mostly.

So maybe Jackson was more cowboy than he thought, because man, did he hate New York City.

He hated that his new penthouse apartment, with all its shiny appliances and stunning skyline, didn’t have a backyard.

Hated that you couldn’t do something as simple as go out to buy a tube of toothpaste without having to share the sidewalk with a hundred other people.

The beer was overpriced, the food was overpriced, and there were always a dozen sushi places within a half-block radius—but it was damn near impossible to find decent barbecue.

He hated the subway. Hated the cabs. He even hated the fancy car service that he could easily afford, because it reminded him that he had nowhere to go.

Hated his new job and everything that it represented.

Basically, Jackson hated that he was in New York instead of Texas, but most of all—more than the expensive beer and the substandard barbecue—he hated why he was in New York instead of Texas.

Hated that he was no longer Jackson Burke, quarterback of the Texas Redhawks.

He was no longer quarterback of anything.

Which would be great—no, not great, it would never be great—but it would be tolerable if everyone would quit acting like he was just a stroke of luck away from a comeback.

Of course, they hadn’t seen the X-rays.

They hadn’t had to listen to doctor after doctor string the words never and football into the same sentence.

Still, there were two things that Manhattan delivered just as well as Texas: whiskey and women.

Tonight, like most other nights lately, both were on the agenda, but unlike other nights, the women part of the equation wasn’t going to end with them naked between his sheets.

There were some women who weren’t meant for f*cking. Your ex-wife’s little sister was one of them.

And though he wasn’t going to get all sappy and emotional about it, Mollie Carrington was perhaps the one positive thing about his move to New York City. The spunky kid was the one person who’d never seemed to care about his jersey.

Which was a good thing. Because he’d never be wearing one again.

—

“Joining us for dinner, sir?” The hostess at the upscale Italian restaurant gave him a polite, if slightly generic smile.

“I am, but I’m early,” Jackson replied, forcing a return smile. He’d been doing a lot of that in the past eight months—forcing smiles. Forcing everything.

“Not a problem. Feel free to grab a seat in the bar while you wait.”

That was the plan, sweetheart, Jackson thought as he forced another smile and made his way into the dimly lit bar.

It’s not that he was dreading seeing his sister-in-law. No, ex–sister-in-law. Of all the women in his life, Mollie was easily the least complicated. It was just that Mollie made him think of Madison, and Madison was, well, very complicated.

Still, Mollie was a good kid. Granted, he didn’t see her much. She’d been twenty when he and Madison had gotten married at twenty-eight, and completely immersed in her college life at Fordham.

Then she’d opted to stay in New York, coming to Houston only for holidays and the occasional weekend getaway.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her. A year ago, at least.

Jackson was a little surprised to realize he’d missed her. Odd, considering that their friendship had more or less been born out of obligation on his part: Right after he and Madison had gotten married, he’d been so damn desperate to be the perfect husband, and by extension, the perfect brother-in-law.

Mollie had gone to Australia for a year abroad and had been terrified at being so far from home. Since Madison didn’t “do” email, Jackson had done his best to give Mollie a sense of home by corresponding with her via the Internet while she was halfway across the world, and somehow they’d never stopped, even when she’d gotten back to New York.

Not like they’d been writing long love letters that he’d spritzed with his cologne or any bullshit like that, just emails here, quick texts there. She reached out whenever she had boyfriend problems, and he’d just been grateful to have someone in his life willing to talk about something other than football.

Mollie was a friend…one of his best friends, perhaps, but her email invitation to catch up over drinks now that he was in New York had caught him by surprise.

To say that the end of his and Madison’s marriage had been stormy would be a massive understatement.

He hadn’t heard from Mollie since the divorce was finalized.

Until now.

“Can I get you a drink, sir?” the bartender asked.