by Kathy Lyons
“That looks great.”
He opened the water bottle with a quick twist. I couldn’t help watching how his forearms flexed, how he had biceps that led to broad shoulders that were all part of the full yumminess of a pro athlete. He’d been good looking before, but in the past three years, he’d filled out with muscles to spare. This close it was hard not to notice that there wasn’t any fat on his ripped body. Then he tilted the bottle up to his lips and started drinking. Lord, even his neck was sexy as he swallowed. Tan, roped with muscles, and with an Adams apple that bobbed up and down in a purely masculine, suggestive way.
Holy shit, I was depraved. No Adam’s apple ever bobbed suggestively. I remembered three years ago when I’d looked at his throat while he was inside me. I remembered the way he’d clenched his jaw just before his release and how his Adam’s apple had bobbed. I remembered, and God, I wanted to see it again.
He finished drinking and then flushed. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I got thirsty talking so much.”
I’d been the one talking the most. Seems to me that was how he got me the last time. I’d never had a man listen to me so closely before. Or since. Then he gestured to the seat and I stumbled into it. My feet were aching from the Louboutin shoes. They weren’t made for walking all over a stadium. The moment I settled into the chair, I kicked them off. The ability to stretch my toes was nearly as sensual as the memories swirling through my brain.
Meanwhile, he settled beside me, though his chair angled in my direction. And as he picked up his cheeseburger, he watched my face. “Are you going to do it?” he pressed. “Go corporate for the money?”
“Probably,” I answered, disliking the topic. “I hate being poor.”
“But there’s got to be other journalism jobs. Don’t give up on this dream.”
I didn’t want to, but the industry was shrinking. A smart girl would switch to a career that wasn’t firing seasoned reporters. If he’d spent the last three years thinking about my question to him, I’d spent the last three years envying his success at baseball. How I wished I had hit the top in journalism right out of college. Best to turn the discussion back to him.
“You never had to make that choice, did you? Money or passion. It was baseball all the way, and here you are with a multimillion-dollar contract.”
“Sure I did. I made it a thousand different times.” He took a bite of his cheeseburger, forcing me to wait for him to explain while he chewed. “I could have gotten a job in high school, but I wanted to play. In-season, off-season, I was at the park hitting. Finally got a job watching the cages because I was always there.”
I nodded. “See? You didn’t have to choose.”
“I did,” he stressed. “Every time I got asked to go to a party or went out on a date. I broke up with my first two girlfriends because they took too much time away from baseball.”
I winced in sympathy for the girls. How awful would it be to be dumped for baseball training?
“You had an all-American childhood,” I countered. “It says so in all the literature.”
“If by all-American you mean I trained, went to school, and trained some more.”
“You loved it.”
He grinned. “Exactly. I chose my passion and I’ve never regretted the things I gave up so I could play.” He gestured to the field down below. “And look where it got me.”
He had a point. He’d hit the major leagues and all the money that came with being a superstar.
“But what if it hadn’t worked out? What if something happened and you got injured or you just weren’t talented enough?”
He swallowed a fry, then went back for the water bottle. It looked like he was just eating, but I thought I’d detected a wince. Maybe a flash of terror. But when he finally spoke, his voice was easy and controlled.
“If that happens, then I’ll figure things out then.” His look turned dark. “Patience also means I have to accept it when things aren’t how I planned.”
Huh. “That’s so not how I was raised.”
“You an überplanner?”
“My backup plans have backup plans.”
He nodded. “And what has that gotten you?”
I groaned. “A Hail Mary pass while I try to get an interview with the area’s newest superstar.”
He coughed. “Good luck with that.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do now.”
He reached forward and stroked my cheek. It was a quick gesture, executed with a friendly grin. I felt his thumb at the corner of my mouth as it swiped upward. Then he pulled back and showed me the smear of mustard he’d lifted off my cheek.
“I love mustard,” he said with a grin. Then he licked his thumb, and I just about died. Flat-out died. He was flirting, and I was tingling. His eyes were dancing in merriment, and I was wet and aching. I couldn’t stop looking at his mouth or thinking about where I wanted him to lick next.
And while all those thoughts were burning through my brain, he had to go and say exactly what I was thinking.
“You were the best night of my life.”
“That can’t be true,” I said, annoyed that my voice was hoarse. “You’ve had a spectacular career and you’re just getting started.”
“It was,” he stressed. Then uncertainty flashed through his expression. “Wasn’t it the same for you?”
“I—um… Well, yeah, but…” Lord, my tongue had just decided to go rogue and blabber without direction. He looked at me, and I finally blurted out the truth. “It, um, ended rather badly. For me.”
He blinked. Two full closing and opening of his eyelids as he apparently tried to process what I’d said. “Because I’d…because I left?”
“Yes, because you left!” God, men were so stupid sometimes. “That wasn’t a normal thing for me, you know. I don’t just sleep around.”
“I know. But what did you think would happen? It was spring break.”
“I know!” My voice had taken on some force because, honestly, I’d been saying the same thing to myself for three years. It was spring break. We were in different schools. There’d never been any future in it. But somehow I’d thought he’d at least try. That he would call me or look me up on Facebook or something. Anything to show that the night had been special to him. That I had been special.
But he hadn’t, and that’s what had hurt the most.
He must have read my expression, because he looked like a kicked puppy. He ducked his head, but not before he showed me his stricken face. “I know I should have called. Explained. Something. But I didn’t know how to do it, and I didn’t want to get messed up again.”
We’d been through this already, and I was a bitch to hold on to it. So I decided not to. Right then and there, I made my choice to forgive him. “A clean break was best.”
His gaze cut back to mine. “That’s what I thought.”
“You were right. I’m just being…” What? “Girly. And I hate that. I’m not a you-done-me-wrong kind of woman.”
He reached out slowly this time. I saw his large hand approach my cheek and I tried to force myself back. I couldn’t do it. I wanted him to touch me again. I wanted to feel his fingers caress my skin. When he finally connected, I released a soft sigh of delight.
“I like that you’re girly,” he said as he stroked up my cheek. “And I did do you wrong.”
“You’re forgiven,” I said. What else was I going to say when I was practically nuzzling his palm? I inhaled his scent, earthy man and Ivory soap. And when I closed my eyes, I remembered the sand and the rumble of the waves.
He stroked his fingers into my hair and tilted my head back. He was going to kiss me. I felt it in the heat on my face and the rapid beat of my heart. He was going to kiss me again, and I’d be right back at spring break, my heart wide open. I couldn’t do that again. I was just pulling back when he did it just like last time. He said the perfect thing and I melted.
“I should never have left.”
And w
ith that, I tumbled. Again.
Chapter Eight
Rob
Don’t screw this up.
That seemed to be the refrain in my life, especially lately. Don’t screw up in the majors. Don’t screw up my at bat. Don’t screw up with the woman I couldn’t forget. And no matter what, don’t screw with the press.
And I was about to do just that. Screw with the press, big time, because the minute I touched her face, I knew I had to kiss her. And once I had my mouth on hers, I wasn’t going to stop.
I tried to hold back. I held my mouth an inch away from hers. I could feel the heat of her breath while the silky strands of her hair brushed my hands. Her eyes were wide, but a moment later, they fluttered closed.
Surrender. She was surrendering to me. And if I had any doubts, the way she arched her neck told me she wanted it as much as I did.
“This is so stupid,” I whispered.
“I know,” she said, the words almost a sigh. God, there was no lie in her. She wasn’t coy or flirty. Not even about this. And I couldn’t believe how much that sweetness turned me on.
I touched my lips to hers. Not a press. Just a barely there touch, and I heard her breath catch. Her hands were on my arms, squeezing my biceps. She hadn’t the strength to make it painful, but how my dick loved the way she pulled me closer.
One last try to keep it sane.
“Once I start, Heidi. I’m not going to stop.”
I knew it the moment she processed my words. Her arms clutched mine, her eyes popped open, and she looked straight at me. But she didn’t speak. Her mouth opened and just froze there. And in her silence, I voiced my greatest regret.
“I was such an idiot. I should have called you.”
She groaned. A rumble of sound that felt torn from her gut. Then before I could react, she slammed her mouth on mine. I tasted the soda she’d been drinking and the hot tang of mustard. I felt the thrust of her tongue against mine and heard my blood rush through my ears. I was out of my chair in a second, arching her back over the table. She wasn’t petite, but compared to me, she was practically weightless. I lifted her up easily, setting her on the table so I could plunder her mouth the way I wanted.
She curled a leg around mine, and her hands gripped my back. I felt the press of her fingertips. Not claws, but hard pressure points that made me maneuver between her knees. It only took one hand to slide up enough of her dress to know she wasn’t wearing panty hose and that her panties were lace.
Then she did something that made my brain explode. Something that ripped my attention away from how close my dick was to her wet heat.
She narrowed her lips until she surrounded my tongue, and she sucked hard. It was the hottest thing any woman had ever done to me. Startling. Erotic as hell. And it broke the last tether I had on any restraint.
I grabbed hold of her zipper and dragged it down her back. Her dress was dove gray, soft to the touch, but boring as hell. Once I peeled it down her shoulders, I revealed red-lace lingerie. Sure enough, that was Heidi. Restrained, quiet, and definitely professional. Until something had her letting go of her outer shell. A wet T-shirt contest so she could show off her magnificent chest. Or me unzipping a gray dress to show red lace cupping lush breasts.
I feasted my eyes on those mounds, seeing the tight ridge of her nipples. And then I had to look lower. Down to the lace panties beneath her scrunched-up dress.
Yes. Matching red lace.
“Rob,” she whispered, and I could see the flush building on her skin.
I wanted to see her face, but I couldn’t look away from that tantalizing strip of red over her mound.
“Rob?”
“You are so fucking gorgeous.” I had more words in my head. Sweet ones that were meant for times like this. Times when I wanted to go slow and make it good for the woman. But I couldn’t grab hold of them. All I could see was that red strip of lace over her mound. And the way I peeled it straight down her legs. Easy thing to do when the woman let you cup her ass and stroke the thing away. Down, down her legs, over the knees, until it dropped away.
And then I feasted.
I didn’t go slow. I had no control. I just had to get my mouth there and taste her again. She was trimmed close, as if she’d known we were going to do this. It didn’t matter. I tongued my way down into her cleft. Thrusting and swirling while her juices burst over my senses.
Hot spice.
Musky ginger scent.
And wet everywhere.
I loved every second of it. I licked her, I put my fingers and my tongue inside her, and when I felt her back arch and her legs tighten across my shoulders, I went in for the home run. I sucked her clit like she’d sucked my tongue. Once. Twice. And I had my fingers buried to the hilt inside her when she came.
God, the greedy clutch of her body almost made me explode right there.
“I can’t wait,” I said, ashamed to admit it. But I couldn’t.
She was still gasping for breath when I flipped her over. I pulled her off the table, my hands shaking but absolutely sure in where I wanted her. Then I pressed her forward so that she half lay—belly down—across the table. Then I put her hands flat on the window while she looked back at me with gloriously dazed eyes. I smiled at her, then let my gaze slide down to her sweet round ass, pink and perfect.
Condom. Don’t forget the condom.
Where the voice of reason came from, I didn’t know. But it was right, so I fumbled into my pocket for a foil packet. I couldn’t get my pants off fast enough and I sure as hell hated the cold wet of the condom. But I had the sight of her in front of me, spread out and ready. Glistening wet and…
“Take off your bra,” I rasped. “Please.”
She flashed me a smile that was half temptress, half adventurous lover. She popped that bright-red bra off and her sweet breasts sprang free.
I wasted no time stepping between her legs. Gently, I returned her hands to the window. God, I was going to love looking up at the press box from now on. But for the moment, I set her hands on the window again and whispered into her ear.
“Don’t move. Let me do everything.”
She nodded, and so I set my hunger free. I let myself take her breasts in my hands. Lush mounds that I squeezed and teased. Her nipples were hard points, and I liked twisting them because it made her cry out with a high-pitched gasp while she lifted her ass to me. She loved it when I did that to her, so I was able to time things just right.
I pinched her nipples hard, adding a twist at just the right moment. She arched and stretched up on her toes. And I slammed home.
Nothing slow. Nothing delicate. I just thrust right inside.
She was so wet that I had no problem, but God, when her body fisted me like that, I lost everything but the feel of her. The taste of her on my tongue, the tremble in her body, and the wet, hot slickness of her pussy.
I penetrated her over and over. No control. No rhythm. I just wanted more and more and more.
I heard her cry out. I couldn’t believe she’d just come from this. But her pussy clenched tight, then milked me with greedy pulls, and I gave it to her.
Hard push. Hard grind. Hard, hard, hard.
Yes!
Home run.
I exploded inside her and I kept going. I pulsed with more thrusts. I emptied every drop. And when I couldn’t move anymore, I reached between her body and the table, burrowing my fingers between her folds and began to stroke her again.
“Rob…” She gasped. “I can’t.”
“Please,” I said against her back. “Please squeeze me again.”
“I… Oh!” She was so slick there was no problem finding the place. She was so responsive that I knew when she stopped fighting the steady caress over her clit. When she breathed out and opened again for me. When her back arched and she moved against my fingers.
I stayed in her the whole time. I kept myself so embedded that she had no choice but to ride me. And then I sped up the tempo. I pinched as I slid, and I went faste
r and faster.
“Yes!” She gasped. “Just like that.”
I already knew that, because she was moving against me. Increasing the pressure. Riding my dick like a champion. And then it happened.
She came with a raw cry that had me bellowing as well. Her entire body fisted me with such pleasure that I felt like I was flying.
Yes! Grand slam.
Coming back to earth is always awkward. If we were on a bed, I’d have rolled off her and cuddled her close. But that wasn’t something that could happen on a table in the press room. As soon as I could support my own weight, I slid off her back. That meant coming out, and it was a crying shame. Cleanup took a little while, but thankfully we had napkins from dinner and a nearby trash can. And while I was doing that, she was straightening up. She smoothed down her hair and zipped up her dress. Then she grabbed a napkin and carefully wiped her palm prints off the window.
I wouldn’t have thought to do that and I appreciated her thoroughness. I didn’t want to embarrass her, and advertising what we’d just done wasn’t good for either of us. I picked up her panties. I knew it was cliché and truthfully, I’d laughed at guys who kept trophies of their conquests. But I wanted to keep her red lace. I wanted to smell them late at night and remember. I wanted to picture the color on her yellow-gold skin and think about how I’d peeled them down her legs.
Eventually she finished with the window and started to look around. I guessed she was searching for her panties, but I stopped her.
“I threw them out. I, um, ripped them.”
Her gaze went to the trash can. It was filled to overflowing. Janitorial hadn’t come through here yet.
“It’s buried underneath.” I’d even shoved the spent condom inside a coffee cup and crushed it. “I promise. No one will know.”
She nodded and flashed me a weak smile. “Thanks.” Then she brushed the hair out of her eyes. “This wasn’t my finest moment as a journalist.”
It was like she’d just hit me with an ice bucket. Jesus, did she think I’d wanted to fuck a reporter? That this had been anything but the stupidest thing I’ve ever done with my career? But I’d been fucking her. I’d been burying myself in the wonder of Heidi. Not some—
