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His Seduction Game Plan
Katherine Garbera
After being falsely accused of murder ten years ago, pro football player turned CEO Hunter Caruthers is finally getting closer to the truth. Did his coach frame him? The key to securing the evidence Hunter needs: seducing his coach’s daughter, Ferrin Gainer.Hunter wants answers, he wants revenge…but soon he wants Ferrin most of all. Will his strategy backfire? For her part, Ferrin can’t help falling hard for the legendary Hunter Caruthers. Until the full scope of his secret agenda against her father is revealed, leaving her wondering if what felt so real was only a game…
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
She tipped her head to the side, pretending to think it over.
“I guess so.”
“You guess so?”
“You said it yourself. I’m used to classy.” She didn’t want to make this too easy for him. With that pretty face and muscled body, she doubted he ever had to work hard to get a date.
“Oh, I’ll give you classy, Ferrin,” he said. “You just wait and see. I’ll be back at six.”
“I’ll be ready at six thirty,” she said.
He threw his head back and laughed. “You’re a minx.” Doubtful. But she was tired of the same-old, same-old, and Hunter promised something different.
“Six thirty, then.”
She led him down the hall and opened the front door, leaning back as he brushed past her. But he stopped and put his hand on her chin.
Dinner suddenly seemed like more than just a break in the routine. She suspected he might want something from her but that was okay. She wanted something from him too. A chance to remember she was young and single. Maybe make a memory in California that wasn’t laced with guilt and disappointment.
* * *
His Seduction Game Plan is part of the Sons of Privilege series by USA TODAY bestselling author Katherine Garbera
His Seduction
Game Plan
Katherine Garbera
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
USATODAY bestselling author KATHERINE GARBERA is a two-time MAGGIE
Award winner who has written more than seventy books. A Florida native who grew up to travel the globe, Katherine now makes her home in the Midlands with her husband, two children and a very spoiled miniature dachshund. Visit Katherine on the web at www.katherinegarbera.com (http://www.katherinegarbera.com), or catch up with her on Facebook and Twitter.
I know I mention them often in my dedication, but this one is for my parents, David and Charlotte Smith, who raised me to believe I could do anything. They have always been incredibly supportive of my writing even though no one in our family had ever done anything in the creative arts and they had no idea if I could earn a living from it. I wouldn’t have been able to write if they hadn’t been there for me. I love you both very much.
Special thanks to my agent Amanda Leuck for always having my back.
Contents
Cover (#u359cda72-c2a5-51db-af71-88934759a019)
Introduction (#u404edc11-e292-5e2a-a00e-bfd968327197)
Title Page (#uddc055e4-b9ba-5981-8170-ad3ab28960e7)
About the Author (#ud2fe98aa-17a9-542d-a632-9fee74423bc0)
Dedication (#ua5d3cd9c-4d2b-5ecc-955b-bbb339d5e537)
One (#u21d7b51d-6080-52dd-91be-124d67920fae)
Two (#u33a409e5-9be2-54e8-888b-05e0fbd3fe4e)
Three (#u4e8e9637-d6a6-5037-bf07-636badb9df96)
Four (#uf8c97c7e-d9a3-5d30-bdfb-d1af3625f9df)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ulink_2e6bb7bd-5b6a-51ca-ab69-c84005912b32)
“Hello, sunshine.”
Ferrin Gainer forced a smile at the man who most days barely recognized her. She’d never been close to her father. He’d lived for football and for the trophies he displayed proudly in their formal living room. Having a daughter had been a huge disappointment to him. Having one who flinched every time a football came flying through the air at her had been an embarrassment.
She’d barely seen him after her parents divorced when she was ten. She was vaguely aware that two of his players—his honorary sons—had been accused of murder some ten years ago when she’d been fifteen. But even that hadn’t made him want to bond with her. In fact, it had only been two heart attacks and a severe stroke that had made him reach out to her.
She was twenty-five and had hoped she’d be past the need for a bond with her father, but let’s face it, she wasn’t. She knew not all of her friends had good relationships with their families, but that was what she wanted for herself.
She and her mom were close. They talked to each other every day. Her mom hadn’t been a huge fan of Ferrin taking a sabbatical from her teaching job at the University of Texas and coming to California to take care of her father, but had understood it.
As a professor of psychology, Ferrin had put herself under the microscope a few times and what she saw...well, it made her mad. She should be able to move on but somehow she couldn’t. She didn’t want to accept the fact that this relationship was horribly broken.
She would fix it.
Dammit.
“Hey, Coach. How are ya feeling today?” she asked. When she was little she’d tried calling him Dad a time or two but he always insisted she call him Coach. Even before her parents divorced.
“I’m okay,” he said, slurring his words. The last stroke had seemed to sap his will. There was something inside him that seemed to be keeping him from recovering. She wondered if not being able to work out and stay physically fit for the first time in his life was affecting him.
She had no idea. He barely talked to her. She was tempted to leave him in the care of the two in-home nurses, but she didn’t want to be that kind of daughter.
And she felt guilty.
She knew if her mom were in the bed, well, Ferrin would be here no matter what. She owed at least as much to the man who’d given her half her DNA.
“That’s good to hear. It’s a beautiful day today so after breakfast, we’re going out to sit in the garden.”
“No.”
She ignored him and went to the windows to open the drapes. Coach liked to keep the room dark; she’d thought at first maybe he had some light sensitivity from the stroke but his doctors informed her he didn’t. The only thing keeping him in the dark was his desire to hide. It was as if there was something emotional inside that was causing him to retreat from the world.
She opened up one heavy drape and then the others. The Pacific Ocean was visible from Coach’s bedroom. The frothy surf contrasting with the deep blue water and the rolling waves promised relaxation. Something that had evaded her since the moment she’d arrived on the West Coast.
“Leave them,” he said again, slurring his words.
She hated hearing him like that. As estranged as their relationship had always been, she’d liked that her dad was strong. And he wasn’t anymore.
“Just while you eat your breakfast. Joy is bringing it up and I’m going to eat with you. You know I don’t like eating in the dark.”
Ferrin had found if she ate with her father then he finished most of his food. She suspected he ate so he didn’t have to talk to her, and she didn’t mind. The doctors said eating well and getting him out of the bed were the keys to his recovery. So she’d do whatever she had to.
“Fine.”
He sounded surly, which almost made her smile. At least he wasn’t pretending to sleep or ignoring her.
“You received another letter from the school yesterday. They are honoring you—”
“No.”
“No?” she asked, pushing the button on the bed that raised the back. The college had refitted his room with state-of-the-art medical equipment after the first stroke. And they’d hired Joy, the housekeeper, as well as two in-home nurses.
“I don’t want their guilt offering,” he said. His words were a lot clearer than they’d been earlier.
She adjusted the sheets over his lap, reached for his empty breakfast tray and placed it on the bed. “It’s not guilt.”
“How do you know?”
She knew guilt. “They’re honoring you, Coach, because you brought a lot of accolades to the school.”
And money.
Winning meant money and her father had been one of the winningest coaches in the history of the college.
“Where’s breakfast?” he asked, slurring again.
She went to the hall and signaled Joy to bring in the food. Joy set everything up and then left.
“I want you to think about accepting this honor,” Ferrin said as she ate her yogurt and fruit.
Her father had a difficult time eating but would accept no assistance from her. It was something she’d learned the hard way. He was slow lifting his right hand to his mouth and he chewed awkwardly. The left side of his face still wasn’t fully functional. But he tried.
“If I take it,” he said, looking up at her, his usually hazy green eyes almost clear, “then that means I’m not going back.”
She didn’t say anything.
He wasn’t going back. But maybe believing he could would help him recover.
“I’m not sure it means that, but we can talk about it later,” she said.
She should try to get some of his players to come up here and talk to him. That would cheer him up, and maybe hearing from the people he’d always wanted to spend time with would give her a key to understanding her father. A man who was still a stranger despite the past two weeks she’d spent living with him.
The doorbell rang as Joy was helping clean up the trays.
“I’ll get it,” Ferrin said, anxious to leave the doom of her father’s room.
* * *
Hunter Caruthers rolled up to the Carmel mansion in the middle of the afternoon. He’d spent the day in the dusty archive room at his alma mater, the University of Northern California, trying to find more evidence to clear his name in the murder of his college girlfriend ten years ago.
All he’d found was that he hadn’t outgrown his dust allergy. Even though his mom had always said he would. He was the youngest son of five from a big old Texas ranching family. His parents loved God, cattle, family and football. Since he’d never really loved the land the way his brothers had, Hunter had started playing football.
He’d found religion in football. He wasn’t trying to aggravate anyone—especially his mom—when he said that, but he saw the world through football. He got that if no one had his back and he was wide open, he’d get the pass and then probably have to face down two or three opposing players by himself. Or he might run like all the demons in hell were chasing him and make a touchdown—become the hero of the game.
Same thing in life.
Sometimes he had to be out in the open, exposed, to make the big plays. There had been one guy who always had his back. Kingsley Buchanan. King had never wavered. He’d always stood right by his side.
They’d been arrested—and then later released—for a crime they didn’t commit and that had sealed the bond between them. Guys always wanted to talk to him about his trophy-winning college career, women wanted to sleep with him because—and he was quoting here—they thought he was “dangerous,” and no one wanted to really get too close to him because questions still remained.
Who had killed Stacia Krushnik? What had Kingsley and Hunter done that night? And answers seemed to be getting harder and harder to come by.
In ten years memories had faded and evidence already in short supply had disappeared.
So that was why he’d parked his Bugatti in the circle drive of the one man who might have answers. The sun was bright—but hell, that was what living in California was all about. He’d been a bit of a hick when he’d first come here. The Pacific Ocean had awed him. Until then, he’d only ever been to the Gulf of Mexico and it didn’t hold a candle to the Pacific.
