Sunday Smooch by Amy Andrews

Welcome to another LoveCats DownUnder Sunday Smooch!


 









Today we have a smooch from Amy Andrews but first the winner of last week's Sunday Smooch Giveaway is  Mary Preston


Can you please contact yvonne (at) yvonnelindsay dot com to receive your prize!


And now for today's Sunday Smooch from Playing By Her Rules.

When style columnist Matilda Kent accidentally lets slip that she was once involved with the captain of the Sydney Smoke rugby team, she suddenly finds herself elevated to the position she's always wanted - feature writer. The catch? She's stuck doing a six-part series on her ex. Still, there's no way she can turn down a promotion...or the chance to dish the dirt on the guy who so callously broke her heart.

Tanner Stone wants to be involved in a feature series about as much as he wants to snap an Achilles. But the thought of seeing Tilly again is a bonus--and has him more worked up than he wants to admit. Only he's not prepared for how different she is - all cool and professional. His Tilly is still in there, though...and he still wants her, now more than ever. All he has to do is charm her into giving him a rematch. And this time, winner takes all!


Scene Set Up 

Tanner has dared Tilly - via Twitter!!! - to kiss him if he scores 3 field goals at the game that night. Tilly's still reeling from their argument the night before. Unforunately his 100k rabid tweeps are right behind him!


With only five minutes left in the game, the atmosphere in the box was electric. The Smoke were three ahead, and Tanner hadn’t yet scored his third field goal. He’d scored the first two in the first half but so far hadn’t managed the third. 

All the women in the box were plugging for him. 

The first two Tanner had kicked had elicited exaggerated “Ooooo’s”and other such nonsense from the teasing women, and Matilda couldn’t help but laugh.
 
“He’s running out of time,” Fran Gage murmured, sitting forward in her seat, tearing strips off the label on her beer bottle.
 
“He’ll make it,” Valerie assured them, conviction ringing in her voice.
 
Matilda had a gut feeling Valerie was right. Even at fifteen years old, Tanner’s kick had been outstanding. It didn’t stop her from feeling physically ill, though, waiting for it. As if it hadn’t been bad enough watching every single bone-crunching tackle and ruck. She’d forgotten how physical the game was. How…gladiatorial.
 
With two minutes to go, Matilda was sure she was going to throw up. All the commentators were talking about now was Tanner and time running out on his wild field goal bet, and the opposing team had the ball and were running it toward their end.
Then suddenly Tanner, running hell for leather, intercepted the ball, and he was off, looking fresh out of the blocks instead of exhausted from the previous eighty gruelling minutes. 

The excitement from the crowd and the commentators was electric as everyone in the box leaped to their feet and practically pressed their noses against the
glass.
 
“Oh my God,” Fran muttered as Tanner weaved past two opposition players. “He’s going to do it!”


A third opposition player lunged for Tanner’s legs, getting a hand to his calf, and Tanner stumbled for a second before righting himself and stepping out of the grasp, sprinting away. His eyes never left the goalposts, and within seconds he was right in front of them, not missing a beat as he dropped the ball down to his foot mid-run, kicking it right between the posts.
 
The Smoke players went wild, all leaping on Tanner’s back. The crowd erupted. The commentators went off their nuts. The women in the corporate box all jumped in the air cheering and laughing and dragging Matilda into a big group hug.
 
“He did it. He did it!” Valerie beamed, her arm slung around Matilda’s neck, her brittle smile long gone. “I knew he could do it. You can’t turn the man down now.”
 
Matilda looked around at the rest of the group. There seemed to be a consensus, if their faces were anything to go by.
 
“C’mon. Let’s go down and greet the conquering heroes. You,” she said, grinning as she grabbed Matilda’s hand, “in particular.”
 
Before she could voice any objection or dig in her heels, Matilda was whisked out of the box and ushered down to the field. Her brain was a jumble. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, and been distracted all day, trying to decipher Tanner’s last furious words to her.
 
If you’d really known me, you’d have never believed that bullshit.
 
And she wasn’t any closer to figuring them out. She’d seen him sucking Jessica Duffy’s face off with her own two eyes. If it had just been something she’d heard, shitty gossip, some kind of whisper that she’d taken as fact then she’d understand his anger.
 
But she’d seen him.
 
What the fuck else was she supposed to believe? That he was trying to remove a foreign body from her airway? With his tongue? And this morning he was back to being his usual charming, flirty, social-media-darling self. Teasing her about a date. Like they’d never argued. Like he’d never called into question how well she’d known him.
 
Was she supposed to just forget everything—last night and that other night eight years ago?
 
The finish hooter sounded in her ears as she was led past the locker rooms where this whole thing had restarted six weeks ago and was jollied along out through the central tunnel into the night air filled with the noise of a cheering crowd. She was dragged to the sidelines as the two opposing teams shook hands and several commentators with their cameramen ran onto the field, sticking microphones in front of key players.
 
Matilda watched as the guy called Chuck Nugent tried to get Tanner to talk but was resoundingly ignored and none too happy about it, either. Tanner didn’t seem to care, searching the sidelines with his hungry blue eyes.
 
Matilda knew the exact moment he found her, his gaze fixing firmly on her, pinning her to the spot.
 
“Oh, Lordy,” Fran whispered to her as Tanner headed in her direction. “That man is going to kiss you hard.”
 
Matilda swallowed. Her mouth was dry. Her breath stuck in her throat. Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest. It was like that night on the dance floor as everything faded to
black around them. No excited WAGS, no chanting crowd, no news cameras. Just Tanner striding across the grass with purpose in his step and her in his sights.
 
Suddenly hands were at her back, propelling her forward, and she was walking toward him as if on autopilot. She could see the wet cling of his jersey to his pecs, the sweat plastering his fringe against his forehead and the ripple of thorns across his biceps as he drew closer.
 
He loomed big and powerful and had eyes only for her.
 
Just like the smooth motion of that drop kick, he didn’t break stride when he finally reached her, sliding a hand onto her waist and jerking her against him. She only had a second to register the puffiness of his right eye where he’d copped an elbow, before his lips came down on hers in a crushing kiss that unleashed a mushroom cloud of lust through her system, demanding her absolute surrender.

Which she gave with absolutely no resistance, moaning against his mouth as she clung to his broad shoulders. She was vaguely aware of the crowd going crazy. Of the
chant, “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her,” echoing around the field. Of clicks and flashes and lights from TV cameras. But nothing mattered more than the hungry dominance of Tanner’s mouth, the hard wall of his chest, and the earthy, sweaty smell of him filling up her head, making her crazy.
 
“So, can he kiss as well as he kicks?” Chuck Nugent asked, a fluffy microphone thrust in their direction, interrupting their union.
 
Tanner’s mouth broke from hers as abruptly as it had joined. Matilda was pleased he was still holding her tight, as her legs nearly buckled.
 
“We’re all hanging out at my place later,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl, ignoring Chuck and the furor around them, eyes only for her. “Join us.”
 
It wasn’t a request. Somewhere in her muddled brain, Matilda recognised she should say no. She should pull away. She should demand an explanation about what he’d said last night. But she didn’t have the brainpower—no, willpower— to deny him.
 
She simply nodded and said, “Okay.”

To go in the draw for an e-copy (must have an Amazon account) of Playing By Her Rules, tell me what's your sport? Do you have a code or a team or a player your follow? Or are you like me and would rather stick your eye with a fork?

Come back next Sunday, when the winner of today's giveaway will be announced and another smooch will be posted!

Smooch Graphic by WebWeaver