About Breaking Cage:
There is speculation that he killed a girl . . .
Journalist Hannah Black has just been given the assignment of a lifetime: Get the exclusive story from the Chicago Bears’ new starting quarterback, Derek Cage. There’s only one problem—Derek refuses to talk to reporters. The son of a famed Illinois senator, this football star despises the media.
Hannah has never been one to follow orders, especially when she wants something. When her new assignment tries to give her the brush off, Hannah won’t take no for an answer, going to extremes to get the attention of this superstar athlete.
Drawn to her quirky questions and die-hard persistence, Derek begins opening up to this rookie reporter, and he can’t stay away no matter how hard he tries.
As the two get closer, Hannah finds herself falling for the enigmatic quarterback. But nothing’s ever easy. As a decade old secret comes to light, Hannah has to decide how far she’ll go and how many lines she’s willing to cross to keep Derek safe.
Is uncovering the truth worth the risk of losing it all?
There is a small commotion at the entrance of the hotel. Derek strolls into the lobby. The dark strands of his hair are pulled off his face, and his square jaw is covered in stubble. Sexy. He’s aloof. His fuck-off attitude has my pulse quickening.
He affects me more than I’d care to admit, and I’m defenseless when he spots me, his eyes piercing the distance between us, his brow creasing, his frown tightening.
Lowering his dark lashes, he stops and inhales a deep breath. It seems my appearance has angered him, but then he opens his stunning blue eyes, and a sexy and sweet grin appears on his face, sending my heart into panic mode. He’s magnificent. He’s not walking but striding toward me.
His white button-down is un-tucked over faded blue jeans, and the sleeves are rolled to his elbows. “Hannah.” He takes the seat beside me. “I didn’t realize press was staying in this hotel.”
“I’m not officially press. I’m here to see you.”
The bartender interrupts us. “Can I get you a drink, Mr. Cage?”
Derek nods. “Water, please.” He fingers a loose tendril of hair on my cheek. “I have a game tomorrow, Hannah.”
He slides his knees between mine, trailing his fingers sensually down my bare arm. My skin tingles in its wake. It’s the oddest sensation, and it’s distracting.
“I know. I came to watch, cheer you on.” My voice is higher than usual, my sudden desire for him impossible to hide.
A smile lights his face, causing butterflies to take flight inside my stomach. Carl puts the water in front of Derek, and as he takes a sip, I’m fixated on the movement of his throat, the strength of his jaw, the bronze color of his skin.
Derek sets the glass down. “Do you have a ticket?”
With unsteady hands, I pull one out of my purse and wave it in front of him.
He snatches it from my fingers, studies it. Seemingly disappointed he says, “This is press seating.”
Larry had pulled a few strings yesterday when I called, begging him to get me a pass into this game. Technically, I’m not press, Travis is. My focus is on Derek Cage, not the Bears. But I need to be there. I will always need to be there if I’m going to learn anything about Derek Cage. Two hours later, I had one VIP ticket to the press box and locker room access.
“Connections,” I say with a shrug.
Derek grips the ticket between his thumb and forefinger. In one swift move, he rips it in two. “What are you—?”
“I’ll get you a field pass and a seat in the owner’s box. You don’t have to sit with the parasites.”
My heart races; my palms sweat. What is going on here? I stare at the liquor bottles that line the back of the bar. “Derek. I am the press.”
“No. You’re my press.”
I stare at him speechless. It’s what I’ve wanted, a break into that coat of armor, but I wasn’t expecting it.
“Ask me anything you want, Hannah.”
“What?” I quickly turn in his direction.
He leans forward and slides his hands up my legs, moving my dress high on my thighs, and I think my vagina has had a coronary.
Sensations explode between my legs when the warmth of his breath flutters across my ear, my heart pounding furiously.
“You are sitting in this bar, wearing a fuck-me-now dress and shoes I’d ask you to leave on if you were in my bed. Your nipples are as hard as gum drops, and you expect me to believe you came here to watch the game?”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I sneak a quick peek down. For fuck’s sake, my nipples are hard. Note to self: wear a padded bra around this man.
Leaning forward, his lips graze the outer edge of my ear. “Ask me,” he whispers. “Ask me anything you want.”
About AJ Pryor:
A.J. Pryor lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two daughters. If not home writing, you can find her at the beach, the yoga studio or the soccer field with her girls. An avid reader of contemporary romance, new adult and young adult novels, her Kindle is always within reach. She has a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of California, Santa Barbara.
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