Sunday, March 10, 2013


Title: Play With Me (With Me In Seattle #3)
Author: Kristen Proby

Release Date: March 1, 2013

Book Description:
Will Montgomery is a successful professional football player and seemingly has it all. He’s not used to being told no, and certainly doesn’t take no for an answer. So when he turns his charms on his sister’s sexy rocker-chick friend Meg, he’s not only turned down, but met with open hostility, piquing his curiosity and libido. He’s determined to show her that he’s not the arrogant jock she thinks he is, and to get her into his bed.

Megan McBride is not impressed with Will Montgomery, his fat contract, fancy car, or his arrogant public persona. She doesn’t have time for a relationship, and if she’s learned anything in life, it’s that loving means losing, so she guards her heart ferociously. But she can’t deny the overwhelming attraction to the sexy, tattooed athlete, and when Will starts breaking down her defenses and grabs hold of her heart, will she be able to admit her feelings for him, or will her troubled past cause her to lose the first man she’s ever truly loved?


“Is this really what you want to do all day?” I ask, lounging at the
end of his couch. I’m in one of his old Seahawks jerseys and his
boxer-briefs, since I don’t have any clothes here, and my hair is up
in a knot on my head, no makeup.
Dear God, I must look horrific.
I glance over at Will, on the opposite side of the long, plush black
leather couch. It’s really unfair that he looks so good in just
basketball shorts and an old t-shirt.
“Why, is there somewhere you wanted to go?” he asks and flips through
channels on his uber-huge television. We are in his media room, full
of plush furniture, the outrageously enormous television – dear God,
is he blind? Who needs a TV this big? – Seahawks memorabilia, a wet
bar, a pool table. Basically a big ol’ man cave where boys can hang
out and do boy things.
“No, I’m just surprised.” I lean back and plop my feet in his lap,
getting more comfortable. He immediately wraps one big hand around the
arch of my foot and rubs with his thumb and I sigh in contentment.
“It’s nice to relax once in a while. We haven’t really just hung out
together much.” He offers me a soft smile, and my stomach flips, just
a little. Gosh, he’s pretty to look at.
And he’s right. It feels good to be lazy. I’m still super tired from
last night at work, and just lounging in Will’s extraordinary home
with him all day is relaxing and perfect.
“Are we okay,” he murmurs, drawing my attention. His eyes are sober,
and he’s watching me closely.
I turn my head to the side and offer him a half smile. “Yeah, we’re okay.”
He just nods and flips the channels to a show about whales on the
Discovery channel.
“I’m hungry,” he announces.
“You’re always hungry,” I laugh and kick his thigh gently. “You just
had a huge sandwich an hour ago.”
“Let’s order in pizza.”
“Let’s go get the pizza and bring it back,” I suggest.
“I like having you here, in my jersey, in my house, where I don’t have
to share you and you don’t have to share me and we can just be.”
“Be what?” I ask.
“Us.” He pulls me into his lap and kisses me senseless, plunging his
fingers into my hair and moving those amazing lips over mine. Then,
just as suddenly as he started, he pushes me back onto the couch and
reaches for his phone. “I’m calling for pizza.”

“You are such a fucking cheater!” Will is glaring at me from his
position on the floor, his back against the couch, xBox controller in
his hands. God, he’s adorable when he’s irritated with me.
“I am not!”
“All you’re doing is pushing all the buttons at once and waving the
controller all about,” he accuses me. He’s right. I have no idea how
to play this shit, and making him crazy is hilarious.
“It’s called strategy, Mr. Football Star.” I bat my eyelashes at him
and laugh as his scowl deepens.
“You’ve never played this, have you?”
“Madden Two Thousand Thirty-Four? No.”
“It’s Madden 2013, smart ass.” Now he’s laughing at me. God, he’s fun.
“I’m still kicking your Seahawk ass. The guy with your name on the
jersey looks nothing like you, by the way.” I pick up my soda and sip
from the straw. We are surrounded by junk food. Pizza boxes, chip
bags, cookie containers, you name it. It looks like a
twelve-year-old’s birthday party exploded in here.
It’s fucking fun as hell.
“It’s a video game, babe, not a music video.”
I throw a chip at him, hitting him in the head, and he turns to glare
at me. “Did you just hit me in the head with a freaking Dorito?”
“No.” I shake my head innocently and back up on the couch as he lays
the controller on the coffee table and turns to me.
“You deserved it, smart ass.”
“I know what you deserve.” He kneels in front of me, grabs my hands
and pulls me toward him and then in one swift move, pulls his jersey
up over my head. “I don’t think you can borrow this anymore.”
“Fine.” I lean back against the couch again and cross my arms over my
naked chest, covering up my breasts. Will’s lips twitch but he holds
his smile back and gives me a mock-glare and grips his black shorts at
my hips and yanks them down my legs and throws them over his left
I think they land in the salsa.
“Those are mine, too,” he murmurs, his eyes glassing over as he sweeps
his gaze from my face down my body.
I move to cross my legs, but he holds them still, hands on my thighs,
and pushes himself up between them so his pelvis rests against my own
and his lips are inches from my face.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks softly.
I shrug, my smart mouth having suddenly left me, and just stare up
into Will’s sea-blue eyes.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs and kisses my forehead, my nose, over to my
dimple. “I love this dimple. Makes you look so innocent.” He smiles
against my cheek and kisses it again. “Of course, I know differently.”
I chuckle and slide my hands up under his t-shirt, over the smooth
muscles of his back. “Get naked.”
“I will.” He kisses his way over to my neck and runs his hand down my
face to my breast to tease my nipple. I suck in a breath and squirm
beneath him.
“Naked,” I repeat but he just chuckles and keeps up the torment,
running those hands over my body, those lips down my throat to
continue the torture of my nipples. Oh dear God, that feels good.
“Your skin is so damn soft.” He’s on his knees again, kissing down my
stomach to my navel where he pays special attention. He grips my hips
in his hands, holding onto me, and bites and kisses my stomach,
brushes his nose over it, and then kisses it some more.
Jesus, when did my stomach become an erogenous zone?
He suddenly jerks me to the edge of the couch and pushes my thighs
wider apart and sits back on his heels, just looking at me.
“So damn beautiful,” he repeats. He raises his hand to my face, his
eyes on mine, and runs the backs of his fingers down my cheek, brushes
my lower lip with his thumb, and then traces the pad of his index
finger down the hollow of my throat, down my sternum, my stomach, over
my navel and my pubis.
I can’t move. I’m completely in his trance. For Godsake, we went from
me playfully cheating my ass off on a video game to intense sexual
tension in the matter of seconds.
Suddenly, he turns around and fishes an ice cube out of an empty soda
glass and pushes it into his mouth. His eyes smile up at me before he
lowers his head, and very gently, places a kiss right on my metal. His
cold lips send a zing through my core and I raise my hips in response.
“Holy shit, that’s cold!”
He chuckles and does it again, but this time he slides down, hollows
his cheeks and sucks my lips into his mouth with the cold ice and I
about come apart. I grip his hair in my fists and hold him to me but
he backs out of my grasp and shakes his head.
“Grip the back of the couch with your hands, babe.”
“This is going to get intense for you, and it’ll be even more so if
you can’t touch me.” He gently caresses my thigh with his hand. “Trust
I do.
So I grab the couch above my head and watch him. He smiles
reassuringly and kisses my thigh, then fishes out another ice cube,
but instead of pushing it into his mouth, he spreads my labia with one
hand and, eyes on mine, guides the ice from my anus, through my folds,
and up to my clit.
“Watch this, Megan.”

Kristen Proby has made a living as a massage therapist, a medical biller, a registrar in an Emergency Room, and a professional photographer. But what feeds her soul is writing romantic, erotic love stories about strong women who don’t necessarily need saving, and gorgeous, alpha-type men who want to save them anyway.

Kristen lives in the amazing Pacific Northwest where, conveniently, her muse lives too.

Kristen loves hearing from readers!

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  1. “Holy shit, that’s cold!”

  2. “Madden Two Thousand Thirty-Four? No.”
    “It’s Madden 2013, smart ass.” Now he’s laughing at me. God, he’s fun.
    “I’m still kicking your Seahawk ass. The guy with your name on the
    jersey looks nothing like you, by the way."