Social misfit Jessamy James pays the bills with a cleaning job so she can do what she really loves—tell stories to children. She meets NFL superstar Nathan Powell while cleaning his house. Jess has never met a man with so much trust in the world, and he’s never met anyone he couldn’t charm. Outwardly, they’re complete opposites, but Nathan is intrigued by Jess’ reclusive attitude, and she’s drawn to his open personality. The attraction between them is inevitable.
When Nathan is dragged into a drug scandal, Jess is caught up in the media storm and finds her own vocation slipping through her fingers. As they struggle together to clear his name and rescue both their careers, they discover things about themselves that only strengthen the bond between them.
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An Excerpt From: CATCH A SHOOTING STAR
Copyright © OLIVIA VENTURA, 2012
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
The penis pointed right at her.
Jess was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor, when she looked up and saw it. Semi-erect and bobbing in her direction.
It was attached to a man, of course. A totally built, gloriously naked and sleepy-looking man, stumbling across the room, very likely about to trip over her.
He yelped and leapt about a mile in the air. Jess scuttled backward to avoid being stepped on, and sat back on her heels.
The man clutched his chest and stared at her. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m your cleaner.” Wasn’t that kind of obvious?
He shook his head. “Oh no, you’re not. Mrs. Poole is my cleaner.”
She smiled pityingly. “Mrs. Poole won the lottery and quit. She’s decided to move to Ireland and become a poet.” He looked incredulous. Having met Mrs. Poole, Jess knew why. “The cleaning company assigned me to take over.”
He looked her over, seemingly unimpressed. She knew what he was seeing—spiky short ink-black hair, pale skin, blue eyes. Body like a twelve-year-old boy, dressed in ripped and faded jeans. Multiple piercings in each ear, one in her nose, and her left eyebrow—he couldn’t see the belly or nipple ones—tattoo peeking out the neck of a baggy t-shirt that was once black but now washed out to a dingy grey.
“And you are?”
She sighed. She’d really hoped to avoid seeing him. “Jess.”
An eyebrow lifted. It seemed incongruous combined with his nudity.
He smirked. “Really? Jessie James?”
As if she’d never heard that before. “Actually, it’s Jessamy.” She spoke through gritted teeth. He really rubbed her the wrong way. And his dick was still hanging out there!
“Jessamy,” he repeated and smiled. “That’s really pretty.”
His expression had softened, and she looked away, embarrassed.
He suddenly seemed to realize that he was starkers.
“Uh—I’ll just…” He hightailed it back out of the kitchen, and she admired his very tight ass as it went.
She knew who he was, of course. That was partly why the cleaning company had chosen her to take this job, because she knew and didn’t care. She’d never been a fan of sports, and football was a complete mystery to her. The fact that Nathan Powell was the client meant nothing in her world.
He came back, wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else. Surely he could have taken the time to get properly dressed, but he seemed perfectly happy to flaunt his tanned, toned and muscled body. He leaned his hips against the bench, crossed his arms over his chest.
It made his biceps flex.
“So,” he said, “I guess we’d better work this out.”