The No Try Zone: A Coach + Player's Sister Forbidden Romance

When Australian physical therapist Sam Nash breaks her own cardinal rule during a whirlwind night in Vegas, she wakes up married to a charming stranger who vanishes before sunrise. Back in Atlanta, she’s stunned to discover “Matthew” is actually Colin Thicke, the Granite rugby team’s new head coach, her brother’s mentor, and her soon-to-be boss.

Colin’s entire life has been built on control and a spotless reputation, and a surprise wife could destroy both. Sam’s worked too hard to be taken seriously to risk it all for a man who ran. But secrets, chemistry, and the Granite’s girl gang don’t play by anyone’s rules. Especially Sam and Colin’s.

THE FIRST THING I notice when I wake up is the ring on my finger.

The second is the complete absence of the person who put it there.

I bolt upright, then wince at the throbbing in my head. It’s too bright, my mouth as dry as the desert this city was built in. I look around, patting the mattress and searching for…what? An invisible man to suddenly appear? My pulse ratchets up, notching into place just this side of panicked as I clench my jaw, adding a fresh layer of pain to the mix.

Think, Sam.

Matthew. His name was Matthew. And last night we…got married? No. I wouldn’t have done that.

Except something that looks suspiciously like a wedding ring is on my finger and I can’t remember how it got there. I stare down at the jewelry and will it to trigger a memory, but the square white gem refuses to do anything but glitter brilliantly against a simple gold band.

With a sigh, I squint against the too-bright light and scan the room again, my gaze landing on the bedside table. My phone is there, but nothing else. I grab it and swipe it open, searching for answers.

I groan and slap a hand over my eyes, then peek through my fingers. There are two new pictures, and neither of them are of his face. The first is of his…well. And the other is a blurry close-up of me and his chin. No telling what was supposed to be happening there.

I flip back to the other photo, drawn to it like a bloody moth to a flame, compelled to study it for reasons I can’t explain. Clearly he was, erm, in the mood. And as far as dicks go, it’s quite nice. Not that I’m saying this random stranger has a nice dick.

What am I doing?

Closing the photos and tossing the phone to the mattress, I look around again. This isn’t great, but I’m sure it’s fine. I wouldn’t have done something so reckless as to get married. There’s an explanation for all of this. I just need to relax and breathe, find some headache medicine, drink a lot of water, and figure everything out.

Right.

Yesterday’s clothes cling to me as I roll out of bed. Which has to mean that nothing happened, despite the picture in my phone. Not in that sense, anyway. I use the restroom and dig in my purse, finding pain meds and tossing them back with some water.

Time to search.

Five minutes later, I type furiously on my phone, no closer to answers than I was when I woke up, and a hell of a lot closer to a state of hysteria. Nothing is here to give me a hint. Absolutely nothing. The sink is dry, but the soap and hand towel have been used. My suitcase isn’t here, so that means I have to get back to check out of the other hotel. One lone card key lies on the table in the front of the suite, but everything else is spotless.

I wasn’t just ghosted – the man seems to have actually been a ghost.