Playing Kane

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Elizabeth Miller

Playing Kane

Copyright © 2023. All Rights Reserved.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

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No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

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Cover Design: Addictive Romance

Copy Editing: Hot Tree Editing

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Published in the U.S.A.

He’s the playmaker. She’s the player.

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When star quarterback Kane MacBride signs a one-year deal with football’s hottest team, his focus is on the game—until the owner’s daughter, Luci, decides playing Kane is the best sport in town.

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While Kane knows the feisty redhead is strictly off-limits, things take a steamy turn when she shows up on his doorstep with a tempting smile and a proposition he can’t refuse...

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Also by Elizabeth Miller

About Elizabeth Miller

Playing Kane

Chapter One

Upside Down 4:05

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Luci

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WHOEVER SAID ORANGE is the new black wasn’t a ginger. The mirror above the sink was funny, like a metal tray bolted to the wall reflecting a distorted image. My normally straight nose was crooked, as were my lips still stained in the bubble-gum pink gloss I’d slicked on before leaving my apartment, which felt like another lifetime ago. That was some serious staying power, and I made a mental note to submit a five-star review congratulating Sephora on a winner. However... I scratched at my neck, leaving a crooked welt, a contrast to the flashy tangerine of this rotten jumpsuit.

Somewhere down the hall a steel door slammed. The sound echoed against the walls of the twelve-by-twelve cell I shared with two other inmates. I’m allergic to wool, I called out.

Drip, drip, drip. The faucet leaked. A toilet flushed. My skin itched everywhere, and one cellmate snickered.

Nobody in here is gonna care about you scratching holes so deep you bleed. Except Elvira. She nodded to the woman lying on the lower bunk across from her. She likes the blood.

The girl in question had three hoops in both eyebrows and black ringlet curls, black, smeared eyeshadow, black everything until that god forsaken jumpsuit. She was a goth jack-o’-lantern, and even more so when she raised up on her elbow smiling a toothy grin. What should you never say to a vampire?

I don’t know, what?

Bite me was her dry response before flopping down and crossing her arms over her chest.

Good one, I said.

Marjorie, inmate number one, just snickered again, pulling her foot up onto the mattress and leaning against the cinder block wall. My jail stint was long enough to know they were both familiar with the New York penal system. Petty theft for Elvira. An opioid addiction that led to turning tricks for Marjorie. The whites of her eyes were a similar shade to my red hair, highlighting the streaks of green in the pretty hazel color. She patted the mattress beside her thigh.

Might as well get comfortable, Princess.

It’s Luci, I reminded her, but I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. As Manhattan’s It girl, the press always used Grandpa’s given nickname, and it stuck. So did the reputation from hundreds of headlines. "Granddaughter of Billionaire Hoteliers Annaliese and Conrad Winston Partying—Again. Princess Winston Gone Wild. Then the attention-grabber I hated most, Princess Promiscuous." No one cared that I only ever had one boyfriend and the relationship lasted for years. Any headline mentioning me made money, so the paps snapped my pic wherever I went and created a story to go with the scene. Something Daddy despised more than I did. Speaking of... And thanks for the offer, but my dad should be here any minute.

You said that six hours ago.

This time it had to be true. He wouldn’t leave me here. He couldn’t. He might. I don’t normally get arrested. Today’s events were so out of character. Maybe. Kind of. Not really. I sawed my teeth over my bottom lip. Perhaps I should’ve used my one call to phone a friend instead of my only family. But no. I’m sure there’s a lot of red ribbon for him to untie.

You mean he has to cut through the red tape.

Right, that. I nodded, continuing to pace three steps in one direction and back the other. Honestly, he encouraged me to use my passion for animal rights to revolt against abusive establishments like illegal breeders. I didn’t go there with the intention of breaking in, but when I looked through the window, I couldn’t stop myself. There must’ve been a hundred dogs stuffed into this little room with shit everywhere. A tremor shook my shoulders, not because of the loads of puppy poo but their living conditions.

Is that what reeks? Goth girl peeled open one eye.

I sniffed my arm, smelling a hint of jasmine from the long ago spritz of Coco Chanel. That’s not me, but Kevin Elrod.

The millionaire philanthropist?

It was my turn to snicker. Vile, spineless, saggy ball sack if you ask me. Someone had to stop him. I brought my complaint against him to the NYPD weeks ago, but no one listened to little miss wild child. That’s my past though. I’m older now.

Wiser, goth girl added.

Exactly. So when the police wouldn’t intervene, what was I supposed to do? Protest as every good activist does, right? My plan was totally civil. A few friends with signs. A news crew or two. Daddy said to use my contacts wisely, so I called the paps who follow me around, and they came in handy.

To immortalize your crime spree on film.

I sank to the rotten mattress, head hanging low. Like I said, breaking and entering wasn’t part of the plan.

What about the shit bombs? Marjorie asked.

I’ll plead involuntary insanity.

"Temporary insanity."

Exactly. Because I lost my mind when the ball sack showed up and there were so many puppies and turds everywhere. In the moment, tossing an explosive in his direction seemed like a stellar move. I groaned, imagining a new headline. Now I’ll be known as Princess Poop.

Goth girl and Marjorie laughed. But every ounce of humor drained to the tips of my toes as the steady clomp of shoes grew louder outside our cell. Apprehension twisted in my stomach when I glanced up, catching the glint of an officer’s silver badge under the fluorescence. My heart exploded when the cell lock unlatched.

Ms. Winston. His voice boomed over the screeching slide of the door.

I stood, smoothing the orange jumpsuit in place. Looks like it’s my time to play the music, ladies.

"Face the music, Marjorie clarified, patting my back. Go get ’em girl, save those puppies!"

I turned, throwing my arms around her shoulders. Marjorie squeezed back. After I gave her a good squish, I spun to goth girl for a hug, and she barely squealed from the contact.

On my way out, I promised to send my lawyer to help fight their charges. Everyone needed someone on their side, and I was lucky to have a father who supported me through life-changing decisions. Even when they didn’t go entirely as planned.

Whistles and catcalls followed me as we passed a row of cells and through the click and lock of another steel slider. The jeers slid off my skin like it was Teflon. Growing up Winston taught me the only opinion that truly mattered was my own, and at just twenty-four I was proud of what I’d already accomplished. Entrepreneur, activist, college graduate. That I constantly fell short of earning Daddy’s respect was my one regret. He was here now though, and that meant something.

We turned, walking along a corridor where I was surrounded by navy polyester and the padded chests of NYPD’s finest. Bright lights. Musty air. The soft tread of the officers’ shoes on worn concrete. Nerves shot through my veins as I practiced an explanation. A waterfall of words formed in my mind, churning my thoughts into the kind