Bases Loaded (Mustangs Baseball)

by Roz Lee

  She stopped, looked around at the expanse of vehicles, and realized she had no freakin’ idea where she was going. “Where’s your car?”

  Silence.

  She turned. Antonio stood in front of the elevators. He pointed in the opposite direction.

  Well, shit.

  She stalked back to where she’d begun. He smirked and headed toward the back of the garage. Clare closed her eyes and prayed for patience. He was driving her insane. She took a deep breath, let it out, and followed him.

  He slid behind the wheel of a brand new SUV and waited until she’d buckled her seatbelt before he started the engine.

  “I’m not going to New York for Thanksgiving,” he said, pulling out of the garage. “I have things to do here, and with the short holiday and the probability of bad weather interfering with travel plans, I thought I’d skip this one. Doyle was only being nice.”

  It was nice, and just like her uncle to open his home to a lonely single guy during the holidays. She huffed out a noncommittal breath.

  “I take it you plan to be there, too?”

  “I was thinking about it.”

  She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. “I’ll decline the invitation if you want me to.”

  How small would that make her seem? “No. It’s a big house.”

  “You really want to be like that woman?”

  The change of subject caught her off guard, and she snapped her head around to look at him. “Huh?”

  “The woman who earned the charm. You really want to be like her?”

  “Jessica. Do you know her?”

  He shook his head. “Never saw her before in my life. Can’t say I want to see her again, either.”

  She turned her gaze back to the mostly empty downtown streets. For some reason, she was ridiculously happy Antonio hadn’t been one of the Bases Loaded members who’d bestowed the coveted charm on Jessica. She didn’t think she could bear it if he had been. The idea of him being with that witch made her sick to her stomach. Anyone but Jessica.

  “You’re better than her, Clare, and more beautiful.”

  She had no comeback, so the comment hung in the air between them until he stopped the SUV in front of her apartment complex.

  “Back to the silent treatment?”

  “We’ve got nothing more to discuss,” she said, reaching for the door latch.

  “Hold on a minute.” He opened his door and came around to her side to help her out of the car.

  She headed up the walk toward her apartment, and he fell in step beside her. She put the key in the lock and turned the knob.

  “Clare….”

  “Go away.” She stepped inside, turned to shut the door, and bumped into a wall of muscle.

  Antonio had followed her inside. He closed the door and leaned against it. “We need to talk.”

  “I wasn’t lying. I do have a headache.” The convenient excuse was a reality, thanks to seeing Jessica. The woman always played nice until she lured her prey close enough to pounce. When would she learn to stay on her toes at the kind of functions the witch attended? Jessica’s comment about the age of her date had seemed innocent enough, but knowing the witch’s methods, she understood there would be more sharp barbs later—when she got her alone.

  She hated she couldn’t respond the way she wanted to, but announcing she was doing her uncle a favor in the middle of a ballroom full of sports reporters would have done more damage to her peace of mind than enduring whatever Jessica had in mind for her in the future. So, she’d accepted the thinly veiled insult with as much dignity as possible and tried not to let it ruin her evening.

  Then she’d come face-to-face with Antonio.

  She set her purse on the small table behind the door and tossed her keys beside it. “I’m going to take something for my headache and get out of this dress. When I come back, I expect you to be gone.”

  He wasn’t going to leave, but that knowledge didn’t keep her from straining her ears listening for the sound of her front door opening and closing. No such luck. She downed a couple of painkillers and after carefully hanging her new dress in the closet, donned her favorite sweatpants and an oversized Mustangs shirt, butter-soft from thousands of washings. To complete her look, she put on fuzzy, bunny rabbit slippers. A glance at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door confirmed her intention. “Nothing sexy or inviting about this look,” she murmured.

  She peeked around the corner. He had made himself at home on her sofa, and even though she hadn’t exactly invited him in, it wasn’t every day a drop-dead gorgeous, tuxedo-clad male graced her home. She took a moment to admire the view and wrestle her body under control. Her head pounded in tandem with her heartbeat, and damned if her heart wasn’t beating like a tribal drum. She was so hot for him it was a wonder smoke signals weren’t coming from her ears.

  A soda can sat on the coffee table in front of him, and he had found the remote. Short snippets of sound confirmed his channel surfing. Other than the tuxedo thing, and the fact he had the appearance of a god, he was an ordinary guy. He lifted the soda and brought it to his lips.

  She stepped into the room and time stood still. Antonio froze in the process of sipping his drink. He gazed at her over the top of the drink. Her knees trembled under his scrutiny, and suddenly the armor she’d donned seemed more like the fabled emperor’s clothes. It was as if he could see right through them.

  He set the can on the table and unfolded from the sofa without taking his eyes off her. He sidestepped around the coffee table and closed the distance between them in two steps. Her bunny slippers were glued to the floor as if mesmerized by the approach of the big bad wolf and helpless to get away.

  He stopped in front of her.

  “Still have a headache?”

  She nodded, unwilling to trust her voice.

  He reached for her hand. His touch was gentle and like tinder to the fire smoldering inside her. He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand and sparks flew.

  “Come here,” he said. “Let me make it go away.” His voice was low, seductive, hypnotic. How else had she ended up on the sofa with her bottom within the V of his thighs? The thick ridge of his erection pressed against her hip, sending flames of desire licking up her side like a forest fire climbing the trunk of a tree.

  “Relax.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and tucked her up against him.

  The soft fabric of his jacket was cool against her cheek. She inhaled deeply and felt drunk on his scent.

  “Did you think this getup would send me running?” He held her close with one hand while the other stroked along her leg from hip to bunny slipper.

  “It isn’t working, is it?”

  “Nope.” He flicked a bunny ear. “Those are the sexiest slippers I’ve ever seen. You know what they say about rabbits, right?”

  She’d made a tactical error, obviously.

  “And the way these sweatpants mold to your curves.” He helped them along, tracing the outline of her leg beneath the worn fabric. “And this shirt? You couldn’t have seduced me better with lace and see-through fabric.”

  His hand slid beneath the hem of her shirt. “And I don’t need x-ray vision to know you aren’t wearing anything under it.”

  His hand found bare skin then burned its way up to cover her breast. She melted into a puddle of sensitized goo under his expert touch.

  “So soft.” He massaged the mass with the grace of a baker preparing a delicate pastry. His gentle handling brought tears to her closed eyes. “Your breasts are beautiful. Just touching them makes me feel like a man. It’s humbling.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

  He didn’t know what he did to her. Or perhaps he did because he certainly knew what to do to her. Every touch, every caress tugged on her heartstrings, tangling her up in a knot of want and longing and need. Her assessment days ago that she was nothing more than a passing fancy for him didn’t ho
ld up against his continued interest in being with her.

  Maybe, if she wished hard enough, her dreams would come true. Maybe he could love her the way she loved him—with every fiber of her being, with everything she was and ever would be.

  He brushed a thumb over one nipple until it grew hard and tight and made her ache for more. She pressed her thighs together to ease the throbbing there.

  “How’s your headache?”

  “Better.” Almost gone, she realized.

  “Do you trust me?”

  He might be a rat about other things, but he’d proven many times over she could trust him with her body. She nodded her answer, praying he would fill all her empty places.

  His hand abandoned her breast and burrowed past the waistband of her sweats. “Let me take care of you,” he crooned. His fingers crept lower, parted her cleft, and found the secret button that made her thighs fall open. “That’s it, babe.”

  His fingers explored further, finding the embarrassing evidence of her need.

  “You’re so wet for me. I love the way your body does that.” He closed his palm over her sex. “Can you tell? Your lips plump up and you get all juicy like a ripe peach. It drives me insane wanting you, wanting to shove my cock inside you.”

  She groaned and clutched at his lapel, crumpling the expensive fabric in her grip. No wonder he’d won four Golden Glove awards, the man had magic fingers. They stroked and played and teased at her tender flesh while his words strummed every raw nerve ending in her brain and the tangled strings of her heart.

  Unable to remain still, she writhed against his hand, demanding more. Her silent plea did not go unheeded.

  Antonio pressed the heel of his hand against her mound, applying firm but gentle pressure that helped alleviate some of her need but only increased it in other places.

  “Please,” she whispered into his collar. “Please, Antonio.”

  Two digits rimmed her vaginal opening. “Shh.” He spread her natural moisture over her aching flesh. “I’ll always take care of you.”

  One long, callused finger entered her. She cried out, and her pussy clamped around the digit. Her hips rose, taking all she could inside her.

  “Beautiful,” he rasped against the top of her head. “So fucking beautiful.”

  Another finger joined the first. Her heels slid against the sofa until they met the solid rock of his thighs. Her knees fell open in surrender. A slow moan escaped her lips.

  “That’s it. Let me give you this.”

  He kept up the pressure with the heel of his hand and pushed a third finger inside her. Clare lost the ability to think. He massaged her pussy, inside and out, twisting her up into a tight knot of need so acute she screwed her eyes shut against the pain. She clawed her way up his chest until her breasts were squeezed between them, and her face was buried in the crook of his neck. Winding her arms around his head, she clung to him.

  “Clare, sweetheart.” His words were a caress, the arm at her back a band of steel. “Take it. Now.”

  He twisted the knot tighter then with one plunging tug, jerked the end of the string holding her together. She fell from the precipice with only his arm around her to break her fall.

  His shirt collar absorbed her tears but couldn’t contain her sobs. He slowly extricated his hand from her pants and cradled the back of her head while she cried out a week’s worth of anger, loneliness, and frustration.

  “Shh. I’ve got you, babe.”

  More than you know. A week without him, without his touch had been torture. He might understand her body, but he didn’t understand her. She sniffed and peeled her upper body from his.

  “I’m sorry.” She swiped at her cheeks with her fingertips, keeping her eyes downcast. She couldn’t bear to look at him, or she would burst into tears again. She patted his shoulder. “I ruined your tux.”

  He shrugged. “No problem. I have another one.”

  Of course he did. What was she thinking? This was Antonio freakin’ Ramirez. He made a gazillion dollars a year.

  She couldn’t figure out a graceful way to remove herself from his lap, so she pushed against his shoulders, scooted her butt over one hard thigh, and turned her back to him. There. That was better. She sat cross-legged and buried her face in her hands.

  “Clare?” His hand swept over her back in big circles. “Talk to me.”

  “No.”

  Circle. Circle. Circle. “How’s your headache?”

  She took mental inventory of her physical self. Her headache was gone, drat the man, but the rest of her body felt as if she’d just run a marathon. “Gone.”

  Circle. Circle. Circle. “I missed you.”

  She tried to breathe deep but hiccupped instead. Dignity, Clare. Find some dignity. “I missed you, too.”

  Circle. Circle. Circle. “You should go to bed, get some rest.”

  She nodded and unfolded one leg. Before she could unfold the other one, Antonio stood and scooped her into his arms.

  “Let me down.”

  “No. Just let me do this for you. For once, let me take care of you.”

  It felt so good to be in his arms, she squashed all further argument and let him carry her to the bedroom. He set her on her feet next to the bed, drew the covers back, waiting patiently while she slid between them. He tucked the covers around her, letting his hands linger over her curves as if he needed to touch her again so he wouldn’t forget.

  She couldn’t remember anyone ever treating her with such gentleness, and the thought brought on a fresh bout of tears.

  “What now?” he asked, perching on the edge of the mattress.

  “It’s just….”

  She couldn’t tell him. It was so much more than tonight. It was everything and nothing at the same time. Her love for him. The way he made her feel inside. The insecurities that lurked so deep inside her not even making love with Antonio could banish them. The loneliness she would feel when he was gone, not just tonight but every night for the rest of her life, because he would leave her.

  The pad of his thumb scratched her cheek as he gathered her tears. “Trust me, and I’ll make it my life’s work to make sure you never cry again.”

  Deep lines etched between his brows and she hated what her lack of control had done to him. He was too beautiful to worry.

  “Please.” She forced the word past lips swollen from crying. “I’ll be fine. I just need to be alone for a while.”

  He combed her hair back from her forehead with his fingers, and his lips tipped up in a smile that said he didn’t understand but he understood.

  “Okay, love. I’ll go. But just so you know, tonight was special.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. Feathered a few more over her eyelids, her cheekbones, her chin. “I could spend a lifetime making you come and never get tired of seeing you take your pleasure from me.”

  He cupped her cheek in one gentle palm and leaned in to place a tender kiss on her lips. She craved so much more, but he’d given her too much already.

  He stopped in the doorway and turned. He looked like a GQ model framed in her bedroom doorway, wearing his rumpled tuxedo. Fully clothed and tucked under layers of bedclothes, she felt naked and exposed. He flicked the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. Light from the hallway turned him into a James Bond movie silhouette.

  “Sweet dreams,” he said. Then he was gone.

  She listened for the sound of the front door opening and closing before she curled into a ball and let the tears fall.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He drove too fast on the way back to his hotel. Crisp November air rushing through the open car windows did nothing to cool the nuclear reactor his body became the minute Clare walked out in her don’t-fuck-with-me sleeping gear. Women had no idea what that kind of get-up did to a man. Sure, the barely there concoctions they bought to drive a man crazy with lust were nice, in an “I’m easy” sort of way.

  When a woman wore one of those outfits, a man knew he was going to get some. He wasn’t
even going to have to work for it. It was sort of like waking up on Christmas morning to find none of your presents were wrapped. Sure, they had ribbons and bows on them, but the mystery, the suspense, the anticipation of tearing the wrapping away to find the surprise inside was gone. Kaput.

  Not that he didn’t appreciate a fancy gift on occasion, but Clare’s outfit tonight? Damn.

  She might as well have waved a red flag in front of a raging bull. It was a dare, a challenge issued. Seeing her in those makeshift pajamas almost did him in. She was damned sexy without even trying.

  But she’d been trying all right. Trying to discourage his interest. She had no way of knowing her strategy was flawed. Women back in the day knew the score. The only way they could get by in the world was to get married, so they wore dresses that covered everything except an enticing glimpse of tits. Men were so hard up to see what the women had under all their voluminous skirts, even glimpsing a bit of ankle would give a guy ideas. He would marry the woman just so he could unwrap the package.

  Women today could learn a few things from their predecessors.

  When he and Clare were married, he would buy her a closet full of pajamas—flannel ones with buttons down the front so he could have the pleasure of taking them off of her every single night. He’d unwrap her one button at a time, tasting each inch of skin, lavishing attention on her breasts until she begged him to do more. Then he’d flip her over onto her stomach, dip his fingers past her pajama pants waistband, and yank them down. He’d sink his teeth into her ass a few times to let her know who was in charge. Then….

  Christ! Where was an ice storm when you needed one?

  He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman as badly as he had wanted Clare in those bunny slippers. Hell, his need hadn’t wavered one bit—his dick was still hard enough to drive rivets through steel. But he wouldn’t trade a fuck with a dozen willing women for the evening he’d just spent pleasuring Clare. She’d needed some TLC, and he’d given it to her. That was enough.