Out of Her League Read online

  Out of Her League

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Out of Her League (Kapow, #1)

  About the author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Author Notes

  All Books by Renée Dahlia

  Bonus Short Story: Rekindled

  Rekindled

  Sign up for Renee Dahlia's Mailing List

  Also By Renee Dahlia

  Out of Her League

  Renée Dahlia

  She is his greatest fan. He wants more than adoration...

  JOEY MANANUI has had it all. The dizzying heights of a successful rugby league career, the lows of a career ended when he fractured his spine during a game. Now, three years after becoming a paraplegic, he has returned to success, thanks to the huge sums people pay to listen to his inspirational story. Only one thing is missing from his life, a partner who cares more about him than his fame.

  ELLA TART is a massive fan of Joey Mananui. She has followed his story from his sensational debut through to his awful injury. When she books tickets to see him on the final night of his Leagues Club tour, she gets more than she bargained for. An incredible one night stand.

  But when he arrives at her work a few days later, and her boss wants them to work together, Joey and Ella both have their own motivations for keeping their one night stand secret. They just need to keep their hands off each other...

  Content Warnings

  Alcoholism, cancer, mention of suicide.

  About the author

  Renée Dahlia is an unabashed romance reader who loves feisty women and strong, clever men. Her books reflect this, with a sidenote of awkward humour. Renée has a science degree in physics. When not distracted by the characters fighting for attention in her brain, she works in the horse-racing industry doing data analysis and writing magazine articles. When she isn’t reading or writing, Renée spends her time with her partner and four children, volunteers on the local cricket club committee, and is the Secretary of Romance Writers Australia.

  Acknowledgements

  I acknowledge the Wangal people of the Eora Nation whose land this work was produced on. I pay my respects to Elders past and present.

  Thank you to Ashfield for being a wonderful, welcoming, diverse community. To my cousin Hemaima, for listening to all my questions – it’s been a long time since I lived in New Zealand, and your patience in helping me remember Māori language and culture is gratefully received. Kia ora. To Col Mackereth for sharing his fascinating life with me – the road rage story is inspired by one of our chats. To Kelly Huang for teaching me and my kids Mandarin and Cantonese.

  For my gorgeous grandma, Doreen. Thank you for the Christmas story, and many other tales of madcap adventure.

  For Mr Cochrane. My year 4 teacher who gifted me a love of maths, and who is an amazing wheelchair rugby player.

  Chapter 1

  “Mananui.” Joey answered his phone in a flat tone. Why the fuck did people feel the need to call just before he went on stage? The flashing notification with his cousin and agent’s name was the only reason he’d bothered to answer. Tonight marked the last event in his Leagues Club tour and his biggest audience to date. When the event sold out, they’d moved it from the local club to one of Sydney’s biggest hotels and even with triple the original tickets, the sold out sticker had gone up again. He clamped down the churn in his stomach—audiences were all the same, regardless of size. Sure.

  “Hey, cuz, I know it’s the worst time, but I’ve got a great opportunity for you.”

  “Wiremu.” Joey could wring his cousin’s neck. This had better be worth the interruption to his routine. “What sort of thing?” He tried to infuse the sentence with as much disdain as possible.

  “An advertising agency, they call themselves Kapow—” Wiremu started, and Joey clenched his teeth. This couldn’t possibly be urgent.

  “—want you to be the face of a new campaign. Mate, this is huge.”

  “Later.” Joey hung up on his cousin. He’d ask for forgiveness later when he wasn’t trying to settle his stage nerves. No matter how often he spoke in public, it didn’t get any easier. Joey shoved his phone into his jacket pocket and wheeled over to the elevator. He stabbed the down button with his middle finger. What in the hell was Wiremu thinking? He blew out a frustrated breath. The call had completely messed with his routine. Just what he didn’t need before he had to go on stage. He pulled in a few deep breaths, like he used to when he had pre-game nerves. Confidence settled around him again and his pulse calmed.

  When he’d broken his spine three years ago, his whole world had stopped. In an instant, one mistimed tackle had ended his career as one of rugby league’s greatest players. Four Origin wins, a Dally M medal, an NRL premiership with his beloved Tigers, and an Australian cap. He’d hoped to play for a few more years, perhaps captain the Australian side, but everything changed in that split-second. He’d known immediately—from the sickening crack in the base of his back, even before he hit the ground—he’d never play another game. For the first year, all through the rehab, he’d grieved for his lost career, and he’d discovered which of his teammates were true friends. He’d used the insurance payout to create a house that worked for him, and when everyone assumed that he’d live off the remaining funds, his cousin Wiremu had created a lucrative new career for them both. People wanted to hear his story, damned inspiration porn, but they paid ridiculous amounts of money for it. Unlike so many of his fellow players who had thought the big players salary would last forever. Now retired, they worked as bricklayers, scaffolders, and other physical jobs, every day slogging their butts off to earn a meagre income. He shouldn’t have been so harsh with Wiremu—he was only doing his job—so he quickly flicked him a text.

  Joey: Let’s chat after the show

  Wiremu: (thumbs up)

  Life had an odd way of changing course, and he’d turned his injury into a huge opportunity. He could have been just like his teammates with a post-sport retirement of hard grind, not enjoying the gorgeous view over the Tasman Sea from his Coogee house. When a storm rolled in, grey and ominous, he loved to breathe in the energy of it, alive as it lashed his house. On long summer days, with the hot Australian sun glinting off the sea, he could relax with a beer on his deck, the heat slowly warming him.

  He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Yeah... He nodded. He could thrill this crowd of people who’d never know the gut busting joy of an Origin try, or the depth of despair when he knew he’d never feel his feet again. He’d talk, he’d listen to them cheer, and he’d get that same rush that his sport had given him. The lift doors opened, and he wheeled himself in. He enjoyed this life. The churn in his gut settled back to its usual pre-stage level, there but not overwhelming.

  “Excuse me.” A soft lilting voice came from the corner of the lift. It cut right through his frustration with Wiremu, and his hands loosened their grip on his chair. He looked up to see a petite woman with black hair pulled up into a sophisticated, tight bun. Her perfectly fitted sharp business suit emphasised her subtle curves. Only her shoes showed any personality; tall black heels with silver highlights that drew his eye to her narrow ankles and slim legs. Light glinted off the side of her head, drawing his attention to a rose gold ring that pierced the top of her ear. The odd placement intrigued him. It adde
d a sense of playfulness to the precision of her clothing. He let his gaze roam over her tidy form, admiring the way her breasts curved with the tailored jacket. It was probably his overactive imagination, but he was sure that she shifted her shoulders slightly back under his perusal lifting her perfect, neat breasts towards him. His jaw slackened and he closed his mouth. A quiet scent of vanilla wafted past, washing away the tightness in his chest. Now his pulse raced for a different reason.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you Joey Mananui?” She leaned towards him, a tint of pink on her cheeks. She imbibed his name with a breathless awe that was somehow fresher than the overt fandom others used when they spoke his name.

  “Yes, and you are?” He heard the last vestiges of irritation in his voice and took a deep breath.

  “Ella Tart.” She bit her bottom lip, and her white teeth dug into the soft, pink flesh. “I know you are probably late to be on stage, I have a ticket, and I’m late too, but would you mind signing something for me?” Her words galloped out of her. He’d been doing this for too long. On every other fan, he found the admiration tiresome, but her zesty enthusiasm delighted him. And her name—her surname had to be fake—but he wanted it to be a promise. He wanted to whisper her name in her ear, to feel the shiver of pleasure in response. Sinful thoughts rushed in his brain, roaring like an excited crowd in his ears.

  “What would you like me to write?” His voice deepened as she rustled in her bag. She looked up at him with her brown eyes glinting, and a smirk on her lips.

  “For Ella. Love Joey.” She laughed, a throaty sound that rumbled inside him. The self-depreciating joke, offered with a twinkle of humour flashing in her eyes, was precisely what he needed before he went on stage. He wanted her to laugh against his skin, to fulfil the promise in her voice as her mouth vibrated on him, her breath against his throat. His whole body pulled towards the attentiveness in her gaze. She slipped her hand into her bag and rummaged around.

  “You know if women’s clothes had better pockets, I wouldn’t need this ridiculously oversized bag. And then I wouldn’t carry around all this junk.” She tilted her head and grinned at him.

  “Your clothes don’t have pockets?”

  “No. And isn’t it just the stupidest thing? I bet you have all sorts of pockets in that coat. Even secret special ones in the lining. And more in your shirt.”

  “Yeah. And even more in my pants.” He laughed as she faux-scowled at his comment, but when her gaze dropped to his lap, the laugh stuck in his throat. Heat traversed his skin, and his heart started to gallop. A lifetime ago, he would have pulled her against him and taken advantage of his fame to kiss her. But life had taught him caution, to search for something real under this hum of lust in his veins. She pulled a pen out of her bag and held it out for him, a standard black ball point pen that spoke of a sensible nature at odds with her off the cuff charm. As he took the pen, his fingers brushed hers and a zing of electricity rushed up his arm and slammed into his chest. His hand tightened around the pen, as she thrust her hand back into her bag.

  “I have some paper in here too. Just give me a moment.” Her nose crinkled as she searched. He couldn’t look away from her face, at the sudden concentration on her brow. Back in his playing days, he’d had strings of gorgeous women and a few men, each wanting a piece of his fame and he’d taken what they offered, but none of them had this natural joy that bubbled out of Ella. Or maybe it was simply because it’d been a while since anyone had enjoyed his company without a hesitation. One glance at his chair usually sent them scurrying away, yet Ella hadn’t paid it any attention. She’d focused on him. No wonder he found her attractive beyond the tidy package of her body. He tensed, waiting for when the inevitable dismissal would come.

  “Ah huh! Found it.” She pulled out a scrap of paper with a flourish. The paper slipped from her fingers and floated in the air. She dropped to her knees and grasped the paper as it landed on the lift floor. She shifted her body to block him from seeing it, but he saw enough. He recognised that photo. It’d been in his debut season, over a decade ago, when some photographer had taken a photo of him walking out of the surf, saltwater glistening on his bare chest. He gulped as the headline flashed before his eyes.

  GAME CHANGER: Meet NRL’s newest, hottest star

  He blinked. She’d kept it in her bag for more than ten years? She scrambled to her feet, and her skirt pulled tight across her heart-shaped bottom. He hadn’t imagined that he could be so interested in just watching someone. They’d hardly even touched, just one brush of fingertips. She straightened, shoulders square, and stared defiantly at him. He grinned at the blush that painted her cheeks while she stuffed the old magazine cover back in her bag.

  “I’d be happy to sign that for you,” he said. She shook her head so hard that her hair loosened, leaving long black tendrils to frame her face, softening the business-like style. She stared at him with a defiant bold look in her eyes.

  “Fine.” She dug her hand into her bag but kept her eyes on him. He admired the way she didn’t look away or hide, just embraced her embarrassment with a dare in her gaze.

  “You’ve been a fan for a while then?” he asked.

  “Of the Tigers? Yes, since I was a kid...” she said. He grinned as she deftly mentioned his team and avoided his question. She flicked her eyes down to her bag and handed him the magazine cover.

  “What was it you said? To the bold girl in the lift?” he said, waving the pen. The roar in his ears changed to a quiet wind that whispered ‘pick her’ when she laughed out loud. The joyous noise burst out of her, filling the enclosed space in the lift with pure happiness.

  She lifted one shoulder. “If that pleases you.” Her words stroked his skin, making the hair on his lower belly stand up. Oh, yeah, you please me. Her blush deepened. He held out his hand and waggled his fingers for the paper. Her fingers brushed across his wrist, skimming his speeding pulse. He snatched his hand away as her touch sent a new shockwave of sensation along his skin. Before he could argue with himself, and decide against it, he autographed the front, then flipped the paper over and scribbled a quick note on the back.

  Meet me after my talk. Room 3201.

  A tiny nervous weight started to form in his stomach. She glanced at his message, then looked deep into his eyes, and grinned.

  “Sounds like a plan. But if I do, I want the fake love note.”

  “Agreed.” If she fucked with the same musical joy she had in her voice, he’d give her the bloody world. The lift dinged, and the doors slid open. He let his gaze roam over her, devour her. He nodded once, spun around, then rolled out to face his audience with a dorky grin on his face.

  ***

  Ella sank against the lift wall and let out a shuddery breath. Had she just agreed to a one night stand with Joey fucking Mananui? Holy shit. She’d been in lust with him for more than ten years, ever since he debuted for her beloved Wests Tigers when she’d been just seventeen. And when he’d had his accident three years ago, she’d sobbed as if he’d been a close friend, refreshing the news on her phone endlessly for days in the vain hope that he’d be fine. Her breath raced as she rested the back of her head against the cool glass. A poster announcing his Leagues Club tour hung on the opposite wall of the lift, Joey’s open, handsome face staring at her from his promotional photo. The doors slid shut. She shook out her hands. She preferred to take her pleasure on her terms, selecting partners for the sexual attributes—cleanliness, impersonal sex with great technique, guaranteed orgasms without any emotional risk.

  Nothing like this. Not this heat of the moment, spontaneous madness. That low ebb of lust that simmered before tonight now roared to life. His power and confidence as his gaze took her in, those deep brown eyes, broad nose and full lips, so much more handsome in real life, up close with the air shimmering between them as he calmly assessed her. The chair didn’t change his aura, didn’t soften his appeal. How could it when his broad shoulders filled the space, his bare hands resting loosely on h
is wheels? His formal jacket covered his muscles, but her imagination and memory filled in the gaps. How many hours had she stared at photos of him? His broad chest, narrow waist, those little muscles over his hip bones... she swallowed. He had an athlete’s body, strong, fit, and his arms, oh my, his arms. She could barely believe she’d just breathed the same air as him, had agreed to touch him. Her fingers still tingled minutes after he’d taken the pen from her grip.

  When that magazine cover slipped out of her bag, a rush of embarrassed heat had flooded her cheeks. She rested her palms against them now, as the heat slowly subsided. Was it childish that she’d brought it tonight? The photo of him, bare chested with his brown skin glistening as the sea dripped off him, was more than just a keepsake. She’d been there that day at Coogee with Sal and a few other friends to watch the team train. A rare respite from school and work commitments. They’d stretched out in their bikinis on towels and giggled together as the Tigers had a training session in the surf. With the warm sun on her skin, and her fingers trailing through the sand beside her, she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off Mananui as the waves crashed around his strong, muscular body. Whenever she went to the beach, the smell of saltwater, and fresh air always reminded her of that day. He’d walked right past her after that photo was taken, his bare feet less than a metre from her body. Her blood heated as she recalled how his gaze had roamed her body. That memory had crashed back when he’d done the same thing just now, his brown eyes darkening to the rich depths of soil kicked up by football boots in the rain.

  Never in her life did she imagine that in only a couple of hours, her hands would be touching those broad shoulders, those biceps that she’d ogled so many times. How many times had she stood at their home ground and screamed his name as he ran down the sideline? Her fingers caressed her throat. God, she was hot and wet for him already. She ran her hand down her side, past her swollen breasts and along the lines of her jacket, skimming over her stomach, sending a shiver of pleasure along her backbone. One finger slid under her waistband, her breath shallow and fast. The lift door opened and she jerked her hands, slamming them together behind her back. Two old ladies entered.