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    Untouchable Body: Money Shot Trilogy, #1
    Untouchable Body: Money Shot Trilogy, #1
    Untouchable Body: Money Shot Trilogy, #1
    Ebook121 pages1 hour

    Untouchable Body: Money Shot Trilogy, #1

    By Kathryn Thomas

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    About this ebook

    Untouchable Body is book 1 of the Money Shot Trilogy. Books 2 and 3, Untouchable Desire and Untouchable Heart are available everywhere now!

    She tried to ruin my career. Now, I’ll ruin her.

    I’m this league’s worst nightmare.
    Good looks, hard body, and a scandal sheet a mile long.
    She was here for her next big story.
    I’ve got something else big for her to get her hands on.

    The media says I’m everything wrong with professional basketball.
    Pure talent and athleticism can’t bury the scandals and ghosts from my past.
    The last thing I needed was another reporter looking for their next big story.

    But that was before I saw who they sent.

    She’s here to uncover my latest scandal.
    But one look and I know she’s going to be that scandal.

    She wants to use me for her next big story?
    I’ve got something else big I want her hands on.

    I’m going to show her just how bad I can be.
    Just how far I can push her.
    Use her.

    Until she can’t decide if she wants to beg me to stop.
    Or beg me for more.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublishereBook Publishing World
    Release dateAug 11, 2017
    ISBN9781386983866
    Untouchable Body: Money Shot Trilogy, #1

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      Book preview

      Untouchable Body - Kathryn Thomas

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      UNTOUCHABLE BODY: Money Shot Trilogy (Book 1)

      By Kathryn Thomas

      She tried to ruin my career. Now, I’ll ruin her.

      I’M THIS LEAGUE’S WORST nightmare.

      Good looks, hard body, and a scandal sheet a mile long.

      She was here for her next big story.

      I’ve got something else big for her to get her hands on.

      The media says I’m everything wrong with professional basketball.

      Pure talent and athleticism can’t bury the scandals and ghosts from my past.

      The last thing I needed was another reporter looking for their next big story.

      But that was before I saw who they sent.

      She’s here to uncover my latest scandal.

      But one look and I know she’s going to be that scandal.

      She wants to use me for her next big story?

      I’ve got something else big I want her hands on.

      I’m going to show her just how bad I can be.

      Just how far I can push her.

      Use her.

      Until she can’t decide if she wants to beg me to stop.

      Or beg me for more.

      Chapter One

      Quinn

      THAT’S YOUR CUE, QUINN, the cameraman said to me.

      I caught his warning at the same moment that somebody decided to bump into me, knocking me off balance and clean out of the frame. I had been straightening up, taking a deep breath and trying to poise myself to start talking. I stumbled to the side, catching myself before I fell to the ground. Wearing heels today, apparently, had been a mistake. I liked to wear them when I knew I was going to be talking to basketball players. They served the vain purpose of making me feel taller; I was already tall, but every inch counted and solved the practical problem of putting the giant, overgrown men and me on something of a more balanced height difference for the sake of filming. It generally helped in interview journalism when both parties, the interviewee and interviewer, were visible.

      I straightened up and saw a young woman in a cheerleader uniform shooting me the same dirty look I was shooting her.

      Excuse me, we’re trying to film here, I said to her.

      This is a court; athletes have first priority, she said haughtily, before slinking off to join the rest of the gaggle of women who looked just like her. Athletes. She wasn’t an athlete. Maybe she was if you considered cheerleading a sport. I didn’t, but there was a part of me that knew it was partly because I had never made it onto any of the cheer teams when I was at school. There was some athleticism involved, and it was pretty dangerous sometimes, but still, an athlete? So there was no reason why all the cheerleaders were beautiful women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-seven? There was no reason why the majority of them did modelling and pageants on the side? Even if she was an athlete, she was not one of the ones I was there to see. I shook my head and straightened my clothes, moving back into the frame.

      I had been at the arena for hours now, and the game was finally on. The players usually had a long time to themselves in the afternoons, so I wasn't able to talk to any of them then. I had had to wait until now to really get anything I could use. The beginning of the game was no good because the guys were getting ready for the tip-off and mentally preparing to dominate the other team. Their coach likely had words to say to them at that time, too. Halftime, now, was my first in. I wouldn't be able to talk to the players, that would be too much of a distraction, but I would be able to get a word in with the coach. At least a little something.

      My network had been talking with him and other management heads of the team, and there weren't that many reporters there today competing for his attention.

      Did you see that, Tony? I asked my camera guy.

      Huh?

      That girl, she practically ran me down, I complained.

      What? Oh, yeah, he said, distracted. He had been watching the girl who had just piledrove herself into me. The girls were getting ready to take to the court during halftime.

      Can we go again? I asked. I need to start with an introduction before we can talk to the coach. We’ll get that once the whistle blows for halftime.

      Tony nodded, getting back behind the camera, making sure the shot was okay. About a minute later, the whistle sounded for halftime. He gave me a couple seconds and counted me down. Trying to watch the game and be a part of the action was difficult when all I was working. I loved basketball, but the live-viewing thing didn’t really work for me. My dad had taken me a few times when I was a kid—and that was really when my interest in sports was born, but when you watched at home, you could rewind and be comfortable, it was cheaper and it was my true relaxation time.

      Being on the court, the times that I was, it tended to be for work. Sometimes I would catch highlight reels or interviews and see myself in the frame. It was both amazing and embarrassing. Maybe it was stupid, but I thought of video footage as direct slices of the past that were saved into permanence, and it always felt strange to me to see a literal past-version of myself. It was like another level of this intense self-awareness. I began my speech while the players trooped off the court behind me and the crowd erupted into cheers seeing the cheerleaders take their place.

      I had ended up a journalist because I was a nerd and loved to read. I had ended up a sports journalist because what I lacked in actual athletic skill, I made up for in theoretical and sports knowledge. Behind every sport that was played on the face of the earth was a history and theory. There were records of games and players. There were times, dates, and figures that were significant. There were names that were relevant and events that were legendary. My dad had planted the seed by taking me to games and having me watch with him. Of course, he had friends who he could have done these things with, but I think it was the only thing he could think of at the time to do with me that constituted some sort of bonding. I was his only child, and I had done him the disservice of being a girl. He never tried to play the games with me because I never wanted to, but he did let me sit with him and watch.

      He had also been patient, answering all my questions—which I would ask during the games—interrupting it and making him pay attention to me when he would rather have been focusing on the players on the television. That was when he would tell me who was who and why this guy was considered better than this other one and for what reasons. He told me why the game had to stop whenever a player hit another guy and why the crowds seemed to have chants and all the intricate rules that came together to make organized sports work.

      The first time I had watched a basketball game in an arena, I had been like six or so. I remembered feeling that it was very loud. The only thing I heard over the din of the crowd was the squeaking of the players’ shoes on the shiny court floor and the whistles sounding every so often. I remember the crowd being rowdy and the team that my dad had come to see ultimately losing, but I knew that I had had a good time and it was something that my dad liked and interested me, as well.

      The atmosphere at games, when you were really there, just feet away from the players and watching the action unfold—next to people who were just as excited and tense and anxious as you were—was something everyone has to experience at least once in their life. It was like there was a charge running through you and it was running through all the rest of the people there who also wanted to

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