Blue could be on the Bedroom Olympic Team.
Evie had experience. A lot of experience. More than she liked to admit. So much she was ashamed, often trying to hide behind a mask of propriety. I can be honest with everyone but myself. But all of that experience had come before the age of eighteen, when she’d desperately craved male attention. Whatever attention she could get. She’d learned from boys, not men. How was she supposed to seduce someone like Blue?
Uh, you haven’t had trouble so far.
True. Three encounters with him, three earth-shattering orgasms. But what was it going to take to get Blue to go all the way with her?
Sighing, she left the confines of the bathroom and settled back in her seat. None of the women spoke to her. Wise.
Both teams rushed onto the field for the next play. Every member of the Invaders and every member of the Strikers was an otherworlder of some sort. From white-haired Arcadians like Blue, to big and meaty Ell Rollies, to thin and colorful Mecs, to catlike Terrans and Bree Lians, to Viking-like Targons.
Each race came with different abilities, which made the game a thousand times more dangerous . . . and exciting. There was only one rule. No using super-speed. Otherwise, spectators and refs wouldn’t be able to track what was going on.
Evie watched the players explode into action, the ball whizzing through the air, some men diving for it, some throwing others halfway across the field. After a particularly nasty tackle, the Arcadian known as “the Mack” shoved Blue, his hands exploding with a ball of light. Blue went soaring backward. A giant Ell Rollie pounded through the men forming a circle of protection around Blue, tackling him. Once again Blue soared backward . . . and yet still he managed to maintain a solid grip on the ball.
He rolled to his feet and launched into motion, slamming into the Ell Rollie and nearly splitting the man in two.
The crowd went wild, loving his use of brute force.
As the male writhed in pain, Blue grinned a cocky grin while lifting the ball and ending the play.
The third quarter concluded with no touchdowns.
In the middle of the fourth quarter, the other team finally managed to score, and she could tell Blue was ticked off royally. Then the . . . whatever his title was threw the ball to Blue and Blue threw the ball to . . . no, Blue faked a pass and now ran . . . and ran . . . and ran . . . until the Mack caught up with him. Rather than dodge, Blue grabbed him by the neck, twisted, and flung the limp body to the side. The Mack wasn’t dead, but he’d be in pain for days to come.
Half of the stadium jumped to their feet and clapped as he sprinted . . . across . . . yes! He’d just crossed the finish line.
The Invaders scored their second touchdown!
Blue’s teammates dog piled on him. Behind Evie, the women whooped and danced.
The game continued with two more plays, but the opposing team couldn’t break through the Invaders’ defensive line. When the final buzzer rang out, the Invaders were still ahead.
Victory belonged to Blue.
Utter chaos reigned on the field. As the other team jogged away to sulk, the Invaders, their coaches, and the fans closest to the action hurried together, cheering and hugging.
Blue stood in the middle of the storm, somehow set apart from it. He combed a hand through the pale hair plastered to his scalp. The black streaks painted under his eyes were smeared. Blood streaked his chin.
White-hot awareness held her in a tight clasp. He’d never looked more rugged.
He’s mine.
For right now, at least.
He glanced up at the window where she waited and grinned slowly.
At her?
Heart thumping, Evie walked out of the box. She joined a group of reporters already congregating outside the locker room, and leaned against the wall to wait. A few eager beavers asked her what she thought of the game, but her answers must have bored them, because she was soon forgotten. An hour passed before Blue finally emerged, showered and clean, wearing a black tee and jeans.
She straightened as recorders were shoved in his face and questions were hurled at him. He ignored everyone, his gaze scanning the crowd. When he found her, a megawatt smile broke out on his face. Her heart skipped a beat and her blood heated.
He marched forward, and anyone stupid enough to stay in his path got mowed down. Then he was standing in front of her, thrums of his power stroking over her, making her tremble.
“As the new owner of the Invaders, what’d you think?” he asked.
She gave him a more colorful response. “A little tame, yeah. I expected rivers of blood stopped up by the occasional organ.”
He barked out a laugh.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night at Star Light, Mr. Blue.” She left as reporters snapped pictures and threw more questions at him, but waited for him in the private parking garage the players and their significant others used.
He arrived a short while later. None of the others had made it yet, which led her to believe her man had rushed to get to her.
The thought warmed her.
As they walked side by side, he bumped her with his shoulder. “What’d you really think?”
“You should have broken every bone in the Mack’s body, not just his scrawny neck.”
His lopsided grin was too adorable for words.
A blond woman with tear tracks on her cheeks stepped from behind a pillar. Blue stopped abruptly.
“Pagan,” he said, surprised.
Instant guilt.
“If I can’t have you, no one can.” The girl aimed a .44 and squeezed off two shots before Evie had time to process what was happening.
Blue’s body jerked once, twice before a crimson flood sprang forth, soaking his shirt. It looked like two valves had burst inside him.
Crimson. Blood.
Not Blue. Anyone but Blue.
Pagan sprinted off. Evie wanted to chase after her, so badly, but she wanted to see to Blue more. Concern coursed through her as she dug through her purse, searching for the first-aid kit she’d decided to carry only this morning, thinking Blue might have a few cuts and bruises after the game.
He pressed his fists into the wounds, then lifted his blood-soaked fingers to the light. Fury bathed his expression. “I’ll be fine. Go get her. Bring her back. Mostly alive.”
“Blue, you’re—”
“Evie.”
Fine. She tossed him the kit and launched into motion, following the path the human had taken. As she ran, she palmed her pyre, her gaze constantly scanning . . . there! The blonde shut the driver’s-side door to a navy blue BMW. And she had clearly already programmed her escape route into the GPS, because the vehicle darted into motion.