Blog Tour Stop: Indulging in Irelyn by D.L. Rover

Synopsis

Warning: Don't read this book if you hate f**ked up alpha males, strong female leads, hot sex, and a kismet love story six years in the making. Oh yeah and a plot twist that will leave you reeling.

NFL quarterback, Zolt Hamil was America’s heartthrob until a career ending injury changed his life. Years later, he’s picked up the pieces and carved out a new path for himself. But the mental and physical scars of that day have left him moody and reclusive, and his only relief is indulging in pleasure and pain with his many one night stands. Though many women have tried, Zolt refuses to care about any of them. Only one woman has his heart; a hallucination of a young, sable-eyed, blonde beauty whom he conjured that painful day on the football field.

On the first day at his new job at a law firm in Scottsdale, Arizona, Zolt comes face to face with his hallucination, Irelyn Wilkes. Their fateful connection, and explosive passion for each other pulls them together, and this time, Zolt refuses to let her slip from his life.

But Irelyn has her own demons to fight and her controlling boyfriend is one of them. He doesn't take kindly to other people playing with his toys, and he’ll stop at nothing to keep her by his side.

Can Irelyn and Zolt defy the odds and find a way to be together? Or, will the events set in motion years ago keep them apart forever?

Chapter #1

I ran my hand along her naked arm as I

moved toward the bindings that had her securely fastened to my wrought iron,

four-poster bed. She’d been tethered there for over thirty minutes, and now

that the sex was over, I imagined her arms and legs were probably beginning to

ache as the adrenaline left her body.

Miss No-Name Brunette rubbed her arms and

legs after I released her. I didn’t need or want to know her name. I’d never

see her again so what was the point.

She watched me gather my clothes; her eyes

roaming appreciatively over my body.

“So, John, when can I see you again? You’re

amazing.” She licked her plump lips as her eyes traveled over my naked body,

stopping when she noticed the nasty scars on my left shin. Small gray eyes

darted to mine, and I saw the pity setting in. Pity was a deal breaker for me.

“We can’t,” I said and threw her clothes on

the bed.

“Why?” Her bottom lip jutted out in

disappointment. “Didn’t you enjoy yourself? You seemed to be having a great

time.”

“It was fine, uh—”

“Nancy. My name is Nancy.”

 

I shrugged. “Right. Nancy. I don’t do

repeat performances. Ever.”

 

“But—”

“Don’t take it personally. It’s just the

way things are.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she scowled at me.

Then, she climbed off the bed and pulled on her clothes. “I don’t understand.

Are you married or something?”

“Nope. Not married or anything else that

concerns you. I’m just not interested. Tonight was great. Really. I enjoyed the

shit out of myself. Fucking you was exactly what I needed. Thanks.”

“How am I supposed to get home? I left my

car at the club,” she whined.

“There’s a cab waiting to take you anywhere

you want. I’ve already paid the fare.” I shrugged again. This was the

bothersome part of operating this way. They always wanted to see me again, and

my answer was always no.

“I should have known when you wouldn’t kiss

me there was something wrong with you. I bet your name isn’t even John. Do you

even live here?” Whatever-her-name yanked on her shoes, and then stood with her

arms crossed over her chest.

“No, I don’t live here. And, darlin’, my

name is whatever you want it to be.”

“Asshole.”

“Come on, now. We both had fun.” I flashed

her my megawatt smile. “I’m pretty sure you came at least three times. It’s all

good, and now, it’s all over.”

I walked to her side and gently took her

arm, guiding her to the door.

“But I let you restrain me!” She stamped

her foot as I opened the front door.

“You did and wasn’t it fun? Maybe you can

find a man that will be as adventurous. Now, off you go, Sally. Bye, bye.”

“Nancy!” she shouted as I closed the door

on her. I could still hear grumbling as she walked away.

 “Ugh.” Leaning against the door, I let out a

long sigh. It would be a while before I could go back to that club. Too bad it

ended the same every time. But I understood why. Women saw me as a catch. I

knew I was attractive. It wasn’t conceit, either. It was a fact of life that

all men of the Hamil family were hot.

My first year in the NFL, I was on the

cover of Sports Illustrated as the Sexiest Man in Football. That cover, and the

other endorsements I had, made me a nice amount of cash, so I was totally good

with being an object of desire. Since they didn’t really know me, they didn’t

know that I was nowhere as attractive on the inside.

I went back to the bedroom, washed and put

the toys away, locking the drawer. Then, I stripped the bed, piling the sheets

on the floor for the maid service to take care of.

I left, not knowing when I'd come back.

Could be the following day. Could be two weeks from now. But tonight, I’d been

out of fucking control—chomping at the bit to blow off some steam. In fact, I

still hummed with energy.

Fuck!

My shadow-self pressed in on me for days.

When I got like this, only one thing helped: acting out. So, I’d gone to the

club in search of the first remotely available Nancy, Sally, or whoever, that

didn’t revolt me. Nancy had been an easy mark. I hadn’t been there ten minutes

before I’d bought her a drink, and we were out the door, heading to the

apartment I kept specifically for this purpose. I was always happy when I found

a woman willing to dabble in a little bondage. I wasn’t heavily into the BDSM

scene, but knew how to wield pain for the ultimate pleasure.

If I stopped and thought about it, I’d be

forced to acknowledged just how screwed up my life had become. So I didn't. I

didn't think about all the nameless women I had fucked in the last six years,

and how I hadn't been in a relationship since the injury. These exchanges served

a purpose. Beyond that? Well, there was nothing beyond that.

But that didn’t mean I had become so jaded

I’d forgotten how to get a woman off. I enjoyed women. Loved the soft curves of

their body, and loved making them come. There was nothing hotter than watching

a woman writhe and squirm as I fucked her closer to orgasm. The sound of her

screaming what she thought was my name was music to my ears, but that was as

far as it went.

The reality was, I was a mess, and I didn't

want that advertised.

Actually, I was far worse than just a mess;

I was fucking broken.

Sometimes, I wondered if I was even capable

of having a normal relationship. Truth was, I waited for someone that didn't

exist. A woman my pain-wracked brain conjured that day on the football field. To

make matters worse, she wasn’t even of age. She was a young woman, maybe

fifteen or sixteen, with the most beautiful sable-brown eyes and blonde hair

I’d ever seen. Her face was sweet, kind, and compassion filled. I realized how

creepy this sounds. I wasn't a sick fuck who preyed on young girls, and I had

no idea why my mind created her. But all I knew was, if I ever discovered she

was real, I’d do anything to have her.

I rubbed my aching leg, and then climbed

into my Viper. God, I loved this car. She was all power and beauty, and driving

her made me happy. I revved the engine and closed my eyes, loving the purr, and

sometimes roar of her V10.

Once on route 101, I opened her up, pushing

her past the century mark on the speedometer. It was crazy to be weaving in and

out of traffic on the main freeway. I was asking to be pulled over, but again,

I didn't care. In fact, I pressed her harder and watched as the needle climbed

to 110. The concentration it took to control this machine exhilarated me. Still

wound up and looking to banish my shadow-self the only way I knew how, I pushed

her just a little more. Why fucking for over an hour didn’t do the trick, I had

no idea. But if I didn’t burn this energy off before I got home, sleep would be

out of reach. It wouldn’t do to start a new job at one of the country’s most

prestigious law firms red-eyed and tired. Once home, I intended to take a long,

hot shower, and then smoke a few bowls. Hopefully, I’d emerge tired enough to

sleep. For a while, maybe I’d find peace until the nightmare returned that

plunged me into my own personal hell.

 

A hell that I was used to. A hell that only

she brought me out of.

The morning announced itself in its usual

fashion. I jolted awake screaming, and drenched in sweat—the images as clear as

the day they happened.

“Fuck!” I yelled to the empty room.

Pushing myself back against the headboard,

I rubbed my leg, trying to make the pain go away. The image of her

lovely face and those amazing sable-brown eyes chased the nightmare away, but

my body still buzzed with the memories.

I looked over at the bong and lighter on my

bedside table and sighed. Just once, I wished I didn’t have to numb myself to

start the day.

Before giving in, I ran my hand over my

damp collar-length hair, removing the waves sticking to my moist neck. I used

to keep it short for this very reason, but I liked the way it looked longer.

As I always did, I picked up the bong and

lit the bowl with the lighter. The glow of the burning weed, and the sound of

the bong gurgling as I took a hit immediately calmed me. I inhaled deep and

held the smoke in my burning lungs.

My long exhale sent a plume of smoke into

the dawn-lit room. It floated for a second before dissipating, leaving behind

the tangy smell of burning weed.

With my eyes closed, I slowed my heart rate

and rapid breathing. The high kicked in, and I already felt the calm take over.

I hated being so weak, and hated that what happened almost six years ago

continued to affect and define my days. I used to be the epitome of discipline.

Not anymore.

If I could let go of the self-blame, then

maybe the dreams would abate. But night after night, I replayed the game and

its never changing end.

At twenty-two, I had been one of the

hottest quarterbacks in the NFL, playing for the Arizona Cardinals. The year

prior, we’d made it to the NFC Championships, losing by a field goal.

The next year, we were back in the same

position, with the golden ticket to the Super Bowl within our reach. The only

thing standing in our way was the Philadelphia Eagles. I snarled as I thought

about that team. I always snarled at the thought of them.

Two minutes remained on the clock, and we

were on the ten-yard line on third down. I dropped into the pocket, searching

the field for an open receiver. I danced this way and that as if my movements

might slow the clock. With no receiver available, I sucked in a breath and

decided to go for it. What I should have done was thrown it out of bounds and

stopped the clock. That would have been the smart move—the safe move. We had

one more chance. I had to make it happen. The year had to end in a run for the

Super Bowl.

Running like a man on fire with the ball

cradled against me as if I carried a newborn baby, I headed for the end zone.

But I wasn't a running back, that wasn't what I had been trained for. Stupidly,

I ran with my head down instead of up. As a result, I didn’t see the

three-hundred pound linebacker heading my way. I was the man with the ball, and

I had left the protection of my offensive line, which made me fair game.

The next thing I knew, I was laid out on

the ground in extreme pain. When I looked down at my left leg, I was

surprised—and not—to see it angled in an unnatural position. I knew then that I

was well and truly fucked.

I tried to scream, but my voice failed me.

Pain and the smell of the turf below me was all there was.

The hit was dirty, straight up. Later, I

found out a bounty of $5,000 had been issued for any player that took out one

of my knees. I hoped he got a bonus because he’d gone above and beyond his

mandate. Not only did I miss a season, my football career was over. Instead of

taking out my knee, his helmet, and the power behind it, he hit my shin and

shattered my tibia and fibula.

I remembered lying on the ground as the

trainers and medical staff attended me. Chaos had broken out around me. Players

fought, and coaches and referees argued.

I needed to find peace from the commotion;

needed to concentrate on something other than the excruciating pain coming from

my leg. I turned my head and found a pair of big, sable-brown eyes, surrounded

by golden-blonde hair, staring at me. She was beyond beautiful, and her eyes

were mesmerizing. I had conjured an angel.

In my hallucination, we shared an instant

connection. When all around I saw pity and remorse, in her eyes, I found solace

and compassion—a kindred soul to my loss. The need to help, and her inability

not to, showed in the tears falling down her face, and the trembling of her

full red lips. My heart still clenched whenever I thought about it.

As conjurings go, I had created a whopper.

When I thought back on it, I knew there was no way she could be real. The

average person wouldn’t have been allowed to get so close to an injured player

on the field. Hell, my girlfriend, who’d been sitting in the stands, wasn’t

allowed on the field. It still baffled the shit out of me that my mind had created

such a vivid image.

I could still see her brushing tears from

her eyes in my hallucination, and I remember her taking a small step forward. I

wanted her to come closer, to touch me. That was where the hallucination ended,

stopped by a new streak of pain that had traveled through my leg, sending me

into momentary blackness. When I opened my eyes, my blonde-haired beauty with

soul-filled eyes had disappeared. All I had left was the image of her that

pulled me from my terror every morning. I figured she’d probably be around

twenty or twenty-one by now if she were real. I’d admit, that even today, I

looked for those eyes in every blonde I encountered.

Pathetic. Yeah. Too fucking pathetic.

I sighed and took two more hits off the

bong. Maybe one too many, but at least now I felt more balanced, controlled,

and ready to start the day.

What the world saw now was a man who

graduated from Harvard Law School, summa cum laude, and worked for almost three

years at a top law firm in Boston. Some of the country's top law firms had

courted me, and I had my pick of firms. But I decided to come back to Arizona,

the place where my life changed forever.

Gingerly, I climbed out of the bed and

headed for the pool. I didn’t bother putting on swim trunks; swimming naked was

awesome. After a few stretches, I dove into the pool and swam laps for an hour.

Swimming kept me in shape, though not the shape of an NFL football player.

Those days were gone.

Finishing my laps, I headed for the shower,

feeling excited, like something huge would happen today. The last time I had

this feeling, something huge happened all right. I looked at my leg and scowled

as sudsy water washed over my angry scars.

I dried off and walked into my closet,

surveying the suits I had to choose from. I was somewhat of a

clotheshorse—always had been. Today, I picked a black Hugo Boss suit, white

shirt, and black, silk tie. In the mirror before me, I watched a professional,

seemingly together man tie his tie. It was a lie of course, but one I was used

to.

Once dressed, I went to the kitchen and

packed up a brownie in a plastic bag to take with me. I'd gotten good at baking

brownies. But these weren't just any chocolaty treats. These had a kick. Cliché

I know, but hey, whatever got me through the day. Whether I’d partake in it

depended on how the day went. Obviously, smoking at work wasn’t a good idea.

But every now and then, the pain became unbearable. If a handful of ibuprofen

didn’t do the trick, the brownie would. I refused to take pain meds. Those

things did a number on my brain.

I put the brownies away, and all the

paraphernalia of my coping mechanism, and locked them in a cabinet in the

pantry. I didn't need Hannah, my housekeeper, finding them. She probably

wouldn't care, but I did.

Thinking of Hannah made me laugh. I'd only

met her twice, but we had developed an odd, sometimes hilarious, texting

relationship. I really liked her. Her cooking was amazing, and she kept my home

perfect.

Her work was about to increase, and I was

thrilled. My brother was bringing my dog, Ben, home to me. He had been with

Brody in Colorado for the last two months while I got settled. I couldn't wait

to see both of them. Thinking about it made me giddy. I knew Ben would love it

here. There was plenty of room for him to run. Bernese Mountain dogs needed

lots of exercise. I almost didn’t get him because of that. Now, I couldn’t

imagine my life without him. He got my ass outside and stopped me from being

such a hermit. If I thought about the fact that my best friend was a dog, I

would get bummed. But then again, fuck it! I loved my dog, and I had missed him

terribly.

I doled out my handful of vitamins and four

ibuprofen into my hand, and then popped them into my mouth. From the fridge, I

pulled out a bottle of OJ, taking large swigs from the bottle.

Let the day begin, I thought as I walked down the hall to

the door. The sound of my designer shoes on the travertine floors reminded me

of the sound of cleats on concrete. It made me smile, but the memory was

bittersweet, and I pushed it aside. Behind bittersweet was pure malice, an

emotion I couldn't allow myself. Not today.

Grabbing the keys to my Viper, I headed out

the door.

Watch out Arizona, Zolt Hamil was back.

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