She spent five years planning a future that will never exist. He spent five years trying to erase a past he can’t forget.

London is Leah Watson’s fresh start. When she secures the perfect internship during her study abroad semester, with an infamous celebrity public relations firm, she is determined to forge her own path – one that is nothing like her life back in Oklahoma. That plan is tested when British football’s bad boy, Killian Ramsey, decides that she’s the one he wants and he’s playing for keeps.

Will she put her future on hold – again – for the type of man she swore she’d stay away from?

Killian is one bloody good football player. After a tragedy shattered his entire world, the cocky and arrogant face he puts on for the media is a complete lie. When he meets Leah, his heart starts to beat for the first time in years. But when the feelings get too real, his perfectly constructed facade starts to slip.

Will he risk it all to be with her – taking whatever penalties are thrown his way – or will he play it safe?

Trying to dash off to find the British Prince of Moodiness proves difficult in the six-inch stilettos the stylist had strapped onto my feet. I didn’t wear clothing like this. I was the Oklahoma girl­next­door, cute and pretty in my sundresses and boots. I didn’t do skintight, short or heeled. I could hear the snickers of the PR handlers around me as I stumbled like a baby calf off of the carpet in search of my responsibility.

Turning down the block and moving away from the mayhem, I spotted a tall figure in the shadows. I’d read enough about Jack the Ripper before coming over here to be spooked, but then I saw the shine of a metal flask being raised to the lips, and I could only take one guess as to who that was.

I marched up, as best as I could in the shoes. “You need to come back and walk the red carpet.”

Killian’s sky­blue eyes twinkled with sly amusement and barely restrained anger. “Oh, and you’re going to make me, huh America’s Sweetheart?”

The smell of what I’m sure was overly­expensive whiskey blew across my face as he exhaled. He pretended to give an air of nonchalance, but I could read his body language better than he thought I could. He was so coiled and tense, he gave a cobra ready to strike a run for its money. Rage and sorrow poured off of him in waves, blanketing the dark side street in misery so abundant that I could feel it down to my bones. And something else. I don’t know why it struck me, perhaps because the emotion was running through my veins as well. But this man…he was lonely.

“You’re cheeky, I like that.” He raised the flask in a salute to me and tilted his head back as the amber liquid disappeared into that appealing mouth. Damn it. This bad boy with a bad attitude was not going to ruin my career or my time here. I was done letting people decide the future for me, sweeping me along in the current just because I let them.

I knocked the flask straight out of his hand, sending little droplets of whiskey landing on both of us.

“Listen you jackass! I don’t know who you are. In fact, I don’t care if you’re the Prime Minister of this country! This job, I really need it. I’m taking this shot and succeeding at it if it means I have to put my blood, sweat and tears into it. And some London bad boy parading his pissed off attitude around for the world to see is not going to stop me! So button your jacket, plaster a smile on, and get on that carpet!”

My breathing was ragged, all of the energy I’d saved up to get through the event suddenly spent. Jetlag, homesickness and heartbreak were taking over, and I could feel the pull of all three from the inside out.

The leer on Killian’s face only proved that my tirade was all for nothing.

And then he moved. It was a blur of motion and speed before my back was against a brick wall. He’d pinned me, like a wolf circling in on their prey. Nervous tremors washed over my flesh, and I could hear the roaring in my ears. I was half­ afraid he would actually rip my throat out for speaking to him that way. The other half of me was too incredibly aroused to care.

“I am bad. But I’m not a boy, I’m a man. Have you ever been with a man, little lamb?” He chuckled darkly, leaning his entire form into me and pinning my hips with his hands. “No, I don’t think you have.”

They say those who can’t do, teach. Well, Carrie has no hand-eye coordination, and her idea of romance is a Netflix marathon complete with Thai food. So, she writes sports romance novels instead.

Beginning her writing career as a journalist, Carrie wrote about real-life crime and scandal before turning to the fantasy world of fiction. She lives with her husband in an apartment they are constantly outgrowing.

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