Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  I don't say a word though, outside of grumbling, as I turn back to the drive console.

  Chelsea sighs behind me; “Look, thank you, ok?”

  “For?”

  “For intervening back there at the pool. I- I wasn't paying attention at all.”

  I turn back to her, a big shit-eating grin on my face; “See? Now was that so hard, princess?”

  She rolls her eyes and looks away; “Just take the fucking gratitude, Toro.”

  “Look can you not call me that?”

  “What, your name?” Chelsea frowns at me again; “Oh, what, are we on a first-name basis now?”

  Keep up that attitude, honey.

  “People who call me that are usually people like jail guards or police or whatever. It rubs me the wrong way.”

  “Well, I am the police.”

  I shrug; “I mean, sort of. Look, just stick with Javier and we’ll be fine.”

  Her eyes roll; “Fine, Javier,” She says dramatically.

  Satisfied, I turn back to the steering column and start reaching underneath for the wiring; “So what were you reading?”

  “Huh?” I can hear her pacing the cabin behind me. She's fidgety, usually the mark of impatience. I can tell she's someone used to having a plan; someone used to sticking to a schedule. That she has no idea what’s coming next, or that I'm making this up as I go probably has her panties in such a twist.

  I grin to myself; I probably shouldn't be thinking about this chick’s panties in any capacity, but damn is it fun.

  “Back at the pool, you were reading something.”

  She stops pacing behind me; “You saw that?”

  I smirk up at her over my shoulder; “Yeah I was checking you out from my balcony for like half an hour before those assholes showed up.”

  She blushes, and looks away, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She might be the law, and she might still be holding a gun - however unloaded it may be - but damn is she sexy as fuck standing there in her white bikini hugging every curve of that hot little body. Her sarong is even half-transparent, especially with the light from cabin door coming in behind her. It takes me a second longer than it should to realize I'm letting my eyes wander freely over her body in a pretty obvious way. I glance up, just in time for her eyes to lock with mine, and that blush creeps back into her face.

  “Um, do you have a shirt or something?” She crosses her arms over the swell of her tits, biting her lip.

  I smirk and look down at my own bare chest; “Nope.”

  Get your fucking head in the game, amigo.

  I turn my head quickly, shaking the thoughts of Chelsea Archer's perfect bikini out of my head as I start to rip out the panel under the steering column.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I shrug as I start to yank wiring out; “They're going to track the boat, you know. We need to ditch it.” I turn back to her, unable to resist a little probing dig; “I mean, you did know that, right super-spy?” She frowns at me again, and in spite of how childish it is to needle her like this, it's pretty fucking fun too.

  “I'm deactivating the cruise-control lock. We’re going to send this baby off on it’s own as bait.”

  “How do you even know how to do that?”

  I turn back to her, flashing my most charming smile as I look up into her face; “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

  And really, there’s a lot about me that agent blondie probably doesn't want to know, even if she thinks she does. I rev the outboard engine of the dingy, motoring us to through the rocks to the hidden cove as the yacht plows off behind us under autopilot into the horizon.

  She may think she's curious about me - a lot of people are at first. But the reality isn't a movie. I’m not a fucking character in some script, and my life does not have a pleasant little story arc with a happy fucking ending. It's just broken, shattered, and littered with the bones of those who've tried to “know me” before.

  Yeah princess, there’s nothing you want to know about me; trust me.

  6

  Chelsea

  I hate this.

  I do plans. I do thinking ahead, sticking to the rules, and coloring inside the lines, and right now, we are everything but any of those things. OK, sure, we have a “plan” in that Javier thinks our best bet is to lie low here on the beach tonight to let the heat of the men looking for us cool off a little. But see, that’s the problem; it’s Javier’s plan, and I’m not sure I want anything to do with anything that comes out of that man’s head.

  I’m pretty sure I don’t want anything to do with any part of that man, actually.

  But here I am camping on the beach with him, and trying to keep my cool and my head focused, which is getting harder by the moment. Javier’s playing a game here; I know it, and I can’t let my guard down. Part of me is shocked he’s even still here to be honest. I’d spent most of the dingy ride to the beach wondering what on Earth I was going to do to stop him when he inevitably bolted the second we hit the shore.

  But here we are a few hours later, and he’s still here; bewildering as it may be.

  “Dinner is served.” I look up and jerk my hands up suddenly to catch the piece of fruit Javier tosses my way; “Mangos,” He grins at me; “Sorry, looks like I forgot the china plates and serving wenches you’re probably used to, princess.”

  “Will you quit calling me that?” I frown at him, peeling at the skin of the mango with my fingernails.

  “Hey, if the shoe fits, right?” He smirks at me, flashing that cocky, toothy smile my way. I can’t tell if that grin annoys me because it gets right under my skin, or if it’s because part of me is OK with it being there.

  “You don’t know a thing about me, actually.”

  He snorts; “Please, I can see the silver spoon stuck up that cute little ass of yours from over here.” I frown as I take an angry bite of my mango, not even sure how to respond to that.

  We sit without talking for a few minutes, just staring out over what is honestly a gorgeous sunset over the ocean. It’s beautiful, even if I can’t quite enjoy it as much as I’d like to considering our current situation and who I’m watching it with. I still can’t believe I’m here; here literally on this beach with Javier and my original plan in tatters around me, as well as “here” generally speaking as in the mission itself. Clearly, I’m not qualified for this, and I’m positive now that Koufax’s only motivation for volunteering me for it was to humiliate me and wreck my career before I could even get anywhere.

  Asshole.

  I throw the last of my mango peel away and wrap my arms around my knees as I hug them to my chest. The sun dips a little lower over the horizon and I shiver at the hint of night-time chill that teases up my bare back.

  “I’d build us a fire, but I think it’s best to stay on the low tonight.” Javier’s looking at me, clearly having seen the shiver.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You can come over here and sit by me you know,” He grins that arrogant smile at me and pats his lap; “I won’t bite.”

  I frown at him and hug my knees tighter; “Yeah, uh, no thank you.”

  He rolls his eyes; “I’m just messing with you. Seriously, come sit over here and you’ll be a lot warmer.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Javier shrugs; “Your call, spy-girl; you’re the boss.”

  Right.

  “So we’re really here all night?” The idea of camping out sans-campfire, shelter, food, or really anything to even sleep on is starting to become less and less appealing the darker it gets.

  Javier nods; “Yup. We should stay out of sight.”

  Great; super. As postcard-perfect of a scene this would look like to an outsider, I know that this is hardly the “hot Latin guy on a beach fantasy” it might look like. I’m pretty sure that fantasy doesn’t involve being on the lam from guys with guns, nor does it involve the hot Latin guy being the last man on Earth you want anything to do with.

  Javier stret
ches out, his muscled, tattooed torso rippling in the low light of the last glimmers of sunset. I blush and quickly look away as I catch myself following the grooves of those chiseled abs down further than I should.

  Keep your head focused, girl. His being criminally good looking with that sinfully delicious body is all just part of his wickedness; I’m sure of it. He’s the snake and the fruit in the garden. He’s temptation and ruin wrapped up in this impossibly and wholly inappropriately attractive package, and I need to remember who he really is.

  Javier gets up from the sand and walks to the tree-line a few feet away. I’m about to ask what the heck he’s doing when I suddenly hear a very distinctive sound of water hitting sand.

  Is he fucking PEEING right in front of me?

  “Are you serious right now?”

  Javier starts laughing with his back to me; “What?”

  “Do you mind?” I huff, wrinkling my nose at him; “Can’t you go further into the trees or something?”

  He shrugs, still chuckling; “Thought you wanted to keep an eye on me.” He turns his head slightly and flashes a grin at me in the moonlight.

  “I-” I stumble; “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  His shorts are slung low, and the soft glow of the moon traces shadows and valleys over the fine grooved muscles of his back, and the curve of his extremely sculpted ass.

  God, what is wrong with you, girl?

  “You want me to come closer so you can get a better look?”

  I jerk my eyes up to see Javier looking right at me over his shoulder, a smug look on his face.

  “No, that’s quite alright.”

  Is he STILL peeing?

  He raises his hands up in the air, though I can still hear his stream on the sand; “I’m hands-off, princess. You can come shake it off it for me; you’re the boss after all.”

  “Oh fuck off.”

  He chuckles as he finishes and tucks himself back into his shorts before he turns and saunters back over towards me. I shiver again as I catch myself staring up into his dark eyes; this time, it’s not from the temperature.

  “Offer still stands if you want to keep warm, babe.” He winks, those smoky eyes of his glinting temptation and all sorts of wrong.

  “No, thank you.” I say quietly but firmly. I just need to focus through tomorrow, and getting him into custody; that’s it. And after that, I can go back to my normal life and go have all the hot Latin guy fantasies I want alone and away from this man.

  I just need to get through tomorrow.

  Javier lies back on the sand, his hands behind his head as he closes his eyes and shifts into a comfortable position. He’s quiet for a minute and I curl up on my side in the sand, watching him, before a grin spreads across his lips; “You can close your eyes and get some sleep, Agent.” His grin widens as I blush, somehow feeling caught even though his eyes are closed; “I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll be sure to wake you if I need a hand taking a piss again.”

  He snorts a laugh before he settles back into the sand. I watch for another few minutes, still blushing in the darkness until I see his chest start to rise and fall with his steady breathing.

  I just need to get through tomorrow.

  7

  Javier

  I wake up to the sun glowing brightly through my closed eyes, making me grumble and frown as I'm torn from my broken sleep.

  I growl as I slowly wake up, my eyes focusing on the annoying chirping of the birds over my head, the glare of the sun in my eyes, and the hard sand beneath my back. I'm instantly thinking of the nice, soft, comfy bed I had back at the hotel; the room service, the air conditioning, the satellite television.

  You just had to step in, didn’t you? Moron.

  I could still be in that damn bed right this very moment. Hell, I could still be there with literally any other hottie in the world that I could’ve been checking out at that pool besides Chelsea fucking Archer. I’d still be living large if I’d just kept my damn nose out of business that didn’t concern me, and all it’d have taken was just being who I am. I’m the bad guy. I’m no fucking hero, so why the hell did I have pretend I was back there?

  I groan, shaking sleep from my head as I sit up and try and toss those thoughts from my head. I'm sore from the ground as I stretch, once again thinking angrily about the hotel room I left behind me.

  Well, it’s not jail either, pal.

  But that doesn't mean I can't miss that sweet hotel room; maybe some room service for a steak, some tequila, and possibly some hot young thing in a bikini. My thoughts instantly drift back to Chelsea's full tits in that white bathing suit; the sarong slung low across her hips-

  I suddenly look around, more awake now. Speaking of Agent Sugar-tits; where the fuck is she?

  I stand, covering my eyes to peer through the trees at the shore as I start to make my way towards the beach. I'm pushing aside ferns and branches and just about to step foot onto the sand, when I finally see her.

  Holy fucking shit.

  She's swimming in the easy waves of the protected cove; ducking her head under and coming back up to push the water and the hair back over her head and down her bronzed back. It takes me a full five seconds to realize what's missing from the scene, and when I do, I'm instantly rock fucking hard.

  It's her bathing suit; her white, thin little bikini is sitting on a rock right next to the water.

  Which means I'm watching C.I.A. Agent Chelsea Archer swimming utterly naked, not thirty feet away from me.

  She ducks under again and comes up, half turning towards me as she pushes water out of her face. Holy fuck this girl is gorgeous. I can only see her from the waist up and at an angle, but it's just enough of a look to catch a glimpse of the curve of her breast, and just a peek of a soft, pink nipple; rosy and hard in the chill of the water.

  My cock throbs in my shorts. The old me, the younger, crazier me, might've stepped out right then. I would've walked right over and made my move. A girl like that needs to be handled right, and I'm willing to bet uptight, prim, frosty little Agent Archer hasn't been “handled right” in her whole life. I also decide right there that I’m just the type of scoundrel to show her how it’s done.

  Except, that’s the old me. You grow up a bit getting stabbed in the fucking jugular and going to jail though.

  You grow up a lot.

  And you learn more about how the normal world works outside of the fucking insanity and chaos that I’ve lived in all my life. You learn things like knowing that she'd lose her shit if I did anything remotely like jumping out and telling her we should fuck. Sure, the old me might've even welcomed the smack - hey, it’s a reaction. But I'd like to think I've maybe grown up a little.

  Just a little.

  I mean I want to step right out, grab her by the waist and pin her to the sand. I want to kiss her deep, run my hands over every inch of that fucking insane body, and bury my cock into what I'm positive is a pussy as tight as that attitude of hers.

  But, yeah, no. The new me understands how fucking weird a thought that is. Also, beyond how predatory the idea sounds, this girl is off fucking limits.

  She's the C.I.A.; the enemy. This bitch is here to put me away, probably for a very long time, and I'd do good to fucking remember that.

  8

  Chelsea

  I might be dropped head-first into chaos right now, but I need my routines to stay normal; to stay focused. My routines usually include a long, muscle-burning swim in the pool at my gym, so when I first wake up, the shore is the first place I go.

  That and I really need to bathe after the insanity of yesterday and sleeping on the sand.

  There’s a guilt about leaving Javier still sleeping when I head down; guilt because my first thought is wishing I had something to tie him up with so I could walk away without thinking he might run. But then I’m just mad at myself for even thinking weak thoughts like those. Guilt? The man is a criminal, and an escaped one at that; running away is what he does.

/>   But it’s also quite early, and I know most people aren't up anywhere close to my normal waking schedule. I weigh the possibilities in my head for another minute, watching his muscled, tattooed chest rise and fall with his sleeping breath. His hands are still behind his head, his eyes closed, and I let my eyes wander down over the tightly wound body of the man I'm in charge of. I look down over the ink and muscle of his chest and shoulders, my eyes lingering for a moment on the scar on his neck from Quinn; now covered by a tattooed rose.

  My eyes drop further, down those chiseled abs and the deep grooves on his hips; in general the body built for sin. I follow the trail of hair leading down his abs under the waist of his shorts, and suddenly I gasp as I notice the huge bulge there.

  Oh my GOD, he's hard.

  He's actually very hard, apparently, and I blush furiously as I wonder just what sort of dreams Javier Toro is having at this moment.

  Yeah, I need to get this man and that body out of my head.

  He's not going to run.

  I shake my head and quickly make my way down to the water's edge, taking off my sarong and laying it on a rock by the water. It's absurd that I'm thinking about Javier Toro like that. It's unforgivable, really, after what he did to our family.

  Well, and what our family did to him.

  Oh shut up, the voice inside chides me, making me frown.

  I start to strip off my bathing suit, realizing how bizarre it is to do that before a swim, but also knowing that I don't exactly have a change of clothes, and the idea of spending all morning in a wet bathing suit is just uncomfortable to think about.

  The water is surprisingly cool as I dunk under, the chill of it tingling across my sun-warmed skin. I suppose I’m just overwhelmed a little with the adventure of the last twenty-four hours, which is why I'm not thinking clearly. I'm out of my element, and pent up, and just confused. And I blame my sex life back home, or rather, lack thereof. Boyfriends? Yeah, right. I don’t have time for life, let alone a relationship. I don't even have time for just going out for something casual, even if wanted to. Working for who I work for is like having the most overbearing father-figure in the world monitoring your dating life. There's just too many levels of security around me.