Hot Number (Hot Zone Book 2)

by Carly Phillips

  “I think you’ve had enough. We’re playing tomorrow,” Damian reminded him. He sifted through Carter’s words in his mind. “My woman’s your woman? Micki Jordan?” Even as Damian said her name, he knew that the notion was an impossible one.

  Carter’s belly laugh caused more than one person at the bar to turn and glance their way. “Don’t you see the irony? You don’t even want Carole and she’s slobbering for whatever you’ll give her. I’m willing to take full responsibility for the kid and she’s discounted me like I’m dirt.”

  Nothing the guy said made sense, but if Damian had to guess, he figured Carole and Carter had slept together and Carter had fallen hard. Problem was, Damian had hooked them up just a few weeks ago, so unfortunately there was no reason for Carter to “take responsibility.”

  “Listen, buddy. You sober up and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  “You’re dismissing me the same way she did.”

  Damian rose to his feet. “Do I need to remind you about the facts of life? Even if you slept with Carole, she says she’s almost three months pregnant. That makes you an impossible candidate.”

  “Not if I slept with her for the first time back in April, which I did. To get back at you. I just didn’t expect to develop feelings for the woman.”

  Hot damn, Damian thought, he’d been right all along. Carole had been sleeping around while they were together. He hadn’t figured Carter in her travels, but what the hell. Anyone she’d been with gave him that much more hope that he wouldn’t be tied to her for eternity.

  “So when I handed her over to you?” Damian asked.

  “We had a good laugh,” Carter admitted. “Oh, and while we’re spilling our guts?”

  Carter was spilling, Damian was listening, but he wasn’t about to remind him and ruin the momentum. He wondered what else the rookie was about to confess.

  “Yeah?”

  He shook his head and actually looked sheepish for a brief moment. “I’m the one who led the photographers to Lacie’s. I hoped you’d get caught with your pants down and get some negative press for a change.”

  The confirmation of something Damian had suspected all along should have infuriated him but, coupled with Carter’s admission about Carole, Damian found himself in a forgiving mood.

  “And instead they decided I’d rescued Micki and I was a hero. Must’ve pissed you off.”

  Carter nodded. “Enough that when you didn’t show up for practice and Sophie Jordan said you were doing rehab work at your island home, I called the airport and had them hijack your bags.” Again, the other man glanced away, obviously unable to look his captain in the eye.

  “What else?” Damian asked in a lethally low tone, his forgiveness now coming in short supply.

  Carter rose to his feet and stumbled unsteadily. “Promise you won’t hit me.”

  This had to be bad, Damian thought, and winced before even hearing the news. “Just spit it out.”

  “I was the one who leaked the pregnancy news to the press and before you say I’m an ass, I’ll do it for you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt Carole. I was just looking to get back at you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Which doesn’t make it any better, I know. But losing Carole taught me a lesson and I’m damn sorry.” He hung his head.

  Damian didn’t know how much was drunken rambling, how much was truth, but at least Carter had developed a conscience. Enough to confess his sins, and those confessions had Damian wondering. And gave him legitimate reason to demand a paternity test from Carole without feeling guilty.

  “Let’s go get you sobered up,” Damian said, not bothering to address anything Carter had admitted.

  “You aren’t going to kill me?”

  Damian glanced at Carter’s pale face. “Nah. I think I’ll spare you. But if this repentant stuff is all an act and you pull a stunt like that again? I’ll be using your balls for batting practice.”

  Carter grinned, a drunken grin. “Fair enough.”

  “Carole know about any of this?” Damian asked.

  Carter shook his head. “But I’m going to tell her because, starting tomorrow, I’m turning over a new, responsible leaf. She’s gonna see I want to be in her life even if the kid turns out to be yours.”

  Damian shook his head and prodded the drunken man toward the bank of elevators in the hall, all the while wondering if fate would be kind to Damian Fuller, the man who’d been given everything.

  And hand him this one thing more.

  * * *

  Micki opened a bag of Tostitos she’d bought in the hospital cafeteria. She popped open a can of Diet Coke for herself and put Uncle Yank’s can on his bedside tray for him to enjoy later. While he dozed, she curled up on the chair in his private room and settled in to watch TV. Despite her best intentions, the channel landed on WPIX and the Renegades came into view on the small screen.

  The Renegades were in the field, down by two runs in the seventh, no outs, bases loaded. She watched a ball fly toward center field. She raised the volume.

  “…And Fuller goes back, back to the far wall. He’s there. He jumps. His hand hits the wall as the ball lands in his glove but he manages to hold on to it! Fuller prevents a grand slam but can he keep the number of runs down to a manageable level?”

  Holding her breath, Micki leaned forward in her seat.

  “Rodriguez scores on the sacrifice fly! Fuller throws to third and Baressi holds up at second base. Damian Fuller keeps the damage to one run.”

  Micki let out a long stream of air. “That was close.”

  “He’s got some mileage left in him yet,” Uncle Yank said from his bed.

  She turned. “You’re up!” she said, surprised.

  “What do you expect when you blast the television like that?”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “It hurts.”

  She knew what the admission cost him. “Sophie’s been making phone calls. We’re getting you the best physical therapist there is. You’ll be up and about in no time,” she promised her uncle.

  He nodded. “You’re good girls. I don’t tell you that often enough.”

  Micki smiled. “Yes, you do.” She rose, walked to the bed and leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek.

  “Oh, shit. Make it louder,” her uncle said, suddenly agitated and pointing wildly toward the TV.

  Micki turned and grabbed the remote, which was wired to his bed. She raised the sound, but she’d already caught sight of Damian in the outfield, surrounded by his coach and trainers.

  “…And Fuller is helped off the field. We don’t know the full extent of the injury or if it’s related to his last stint on the DL, but as soon as anything comes our way, we’ll report it back to you.”

  Micki hit the mute button once more. She met her uncle’s worried gaze with one of her own. Her stomach plummeted because she knew, whether or not this injury kept him out of the game, Damian was going to take it as yet another sign that the career he loved was coming to an end.

  “This can’t be good,” she said aloud.

  Her uncle shook his head. “But you can’t fight age forever,” he said, thoughtfully.

  Micki wondered if he was referring to Damian or to himself.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Damian’s seven-day road trip was cut short by a plane ride home to see Dr. Maddux and undergo a full battery of tests on his wrist, including X-rays and an electromyogram that recorded the electrical activity of the nerve and muscle cells in his wrist. Maddux said he’d call him with the results, but it didn’t take a damn machine to tell Damian that there was pressure on the nerve and swelling there, too.

  Based on the tingling numbness and almost complete lack of feeling in his thumb, Damian figured it didn’t matter much what the diagnosis was, his season just might be finished.

  Not to mention what was left of his career.

  He poured himself a second shot of whiskey and sat down in his favorite leather chair in his den. He left the plasma screen black, n
ot wanting to flip channels and see what was happening in a world that for him was falling apart. How much more crap would be dumped on his head before it was all over? Damian wondered, feeling sorry for himself and not giving a good goddamn.

  The doorbell rang and he ignored it. He wasn’t in the mood for company, especially his sisters, the only people besides his parents that Rafael, the doorman, would allow up without calling first.

  The buzzer sounded a second time and then a third. Obviously Rafael had told them he was home. With a curse, Damian rose and headed for the door, intending to kiss whichever well-meaning sibling was behind it hello and then goodbye.

  “Don’t you realize when someone doesn’t answer the door he doesn’t want to be bothered?” he asked at the same time he pulled it open wide.

  “Hello, Oscar,” Micki said with a big smile.

  He scratched his head, his slightly inebriated brain not comprehending her reference.

  “Oscar the Grouch. Now let me in so we can talk.” Without waiting for permission, she ducked under his arm and strode inside.

  He slammed the door shut behind himself. Micki was the one person he wanted to see and the person he’d been avoiding. He figured he’d dumped enough of his problems on her without adding his injury to the list.

  He followed behind her, taking in the sweet curve of her rear end encased in tight denim and the hint of skin at her waist peeking out below the cropped top. Her hips swayed as she walked and his groin grew thick and hard with wanting her. At least some part of his broken-down body still worked.

  “So how’d you get Rafael to let you in?” He slammed the door shut behind him.

  She shrugged. “I was just honest. I told him you’d been through a lot and you needed a friend. He looked me in the eye and buzzed me right in. I think if I’d said I’d come to seduce you he’d have tossed me out on my rear end.”

  Damian laughed despite himself. “He’s definitely done that before for me. He’s a bouncer in his spare time.”

  “You need security to keep the women away, huh?”

  He could tell she was deliberately keeping the conversation light for his sake and decided the hell with it. He wasn’t in a light mood and she might as well know it going in.

  “Right now I want everyone to stay away.” He caught himself immediately. “Except you.” He hadn’t wanted company, but with Micki he didn’t feel the need to entertain her or make small talk.

  She’d never been to his apartment, yet she made herself at home, heading straight for the den and his oversize club chair. Since she’d taken his seat, Damian eased himself beside her on the arm of the chair.

  “So, how bad is it?” she asked, reaching for his good hand, the one not in a brace.

  “Can’t feel my thumb, and the rest of the hand tingles like it’s asleep.”

  “What do the doctors say?”

  He shrugged. “They’re being deliberately vague till the tests are read. They’re still mentioning carpal tunnel and a pinched nerve, but nobody’s willing to commit to anything.”

  Micki swallowed hard. She’d come here because he’d ignored her calls on both his cell and his home number, and she’d realized he was probably holed up here throwing a pity party for himself. She glanced at the half-full glass of whiskey and frowned. She hated that she’d been right.

  Damian was the least self-pitying man she knew, but the potential for bad news was strong and he’d spent who knows how long denying the inevitable.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way and jump all over me, okay?” she asked.

  He tipped his head towards her. “I promise not to take it the wrong way. As for jumping you—”

  She laughed. “Those weren’t my exact words.”

  “They work well enough for me,” he said in a husky tone she couldn’t mistake.

  A tremor of awareness shot through her, but she forced herself to keep her focus. He might not realize it, but he needed sound advice and she was here to give it to him. “Didn’t you realize something like this would happen eventually?”

  “Ever hear of denial?”

  She thought of her Uncle Yank. “I’m vaguely familiar with the term. Look, you’re thirty-five and have a multimillion-dollar contract. You’ve been selected for ten consecutive All-Star appearances, you’ve won an All-Star MVP award, five Silver Slugger Awards and ten consecutive Golden Gloves, and that’s not the half of your accomplishments. That’s a lot to be proud of no matter when you have to step down.” She glanced up and noticed the satisfied expression that curved his mouth into a sexy grin.

  “Has someone been reading up on me?” he asked.

  She nudged him in the side with her elbow. “Don’t be so arrogant. I just happen to know these things.”

  He burst out laughing.

  She ignored the burn in her cheeks. “My point is—”

  “I get your point, Micki. I just can’t accept it.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time you do.” She let out an exasperated groan. “Maybe it’s time that spoiled little boy who thinks everything comes so easily acknowledges that his time in the field and at the plate has passed. That doesn’t mean the future doesn’t hold great things.”

  She slid forward and rose from her seat, certain he needed time and space to absorb her words.

  “Wait.” His hand on her shoulder stopped her.

  “I think I’ve given you enough to think about. I should go.”

  His hand curled tighter around her, his fingertips branding her with their heat. “What if I don’t want you to leave?”

  Micki’s heart skipped a beat, maybe more, before it kicked in once more. “You aren’t upset about what I said?”

  He let out a harsh laugh. “Sure I am. That doesn’t mean I’m upset with you.”

  She turned to face him. “Nice distinction. Another way of not dealing with your feelings?” she asked lightly, though how she could speak with both his large, warm hand and his chocolate gaze on her was beyond her.

  Her mouth had grown dry, and not because of the sexual tension, though it was strong. Something had changed between them.

  For the first time since they’d returned from the island, for the first time since the paternity scandal, Micki truly felt as if they were back in their easy, comfortable state.

  And because of that connection, the teasing took on more sensual, provocative undertones. Desire raced through her at the thought.

  He raised his hand and cupped her cheek. “Know what I like about you?”

  “What’s that?” she asked, trembling as she spoke.

  His thumb caressed her face. “You don’t pull any punches. You tell it like it is. And you aren’t afraid to go head-to-head with me.”

  “I learned from the best.” Once again, she thought of her uncle.

  “Well, you should know something. Your guts and your spirit? They turn me on.”

  His voice was gruff and, combined with his purely masculine heat, it turned her on. Still, before she’d consider sleeping with him, she had to make some things clear.

  “Damian?”

  “Hmm?” His gaze bored into hers.

  She gathered her courage because what she was about to say was the last thing she wanted, but she had no choice. “This can’t be more than a one-time thing.”

  One more time together before the paternity results came in. Micki knew that once they determined whether or not he was the father, she’d lose him one way or another. To his new life with a baby or to his old life that he couldn’t seem to let go of.

  He stared into her eyes, his hand caressing her face, remaining eerily silent as he pondered her words. She trembled with passion and desire, ready to jump him at a moment’s notice. But Micki needed confirmation that they agreed on the ground rules.

  She swallowed hard. “Do you understand?”

  A muscle ticked in his cheek. “I ought to. They’re my damn rules.”

  It had been a while since she had had the freedom to act on her feelings and she di
d so now. Slowly she reached out and smoothed her fingers over the lines of tension on his face, trying not to let her emotions show. “And? Do you want to go along?”

  “I want,” he said in a deep voice. “I want you badly.”

  His words freed her from worry or from thinking about anything except tonight. A seductive smile curved her lips.

  He slid his hand from her cheek to her shoulders, his fingertips dipping below her neckline. His touch was hot on her skin, his intent to tease and arouse obvious—and effective.

  She trembled, her nipples puckering into hard knots beneath her lightweight T-shirt as she reached for the opening on his collared polo shirt.

  He stopped her, grabbing her wrist with his good hand. “I think I can maneuver things better in the bedroom.”

  “Tonight you don’t have to worry about maneuvering or using that wrist at all,” she promised him. “Tonight it’s all about you.”

  Damian appreciated the sentiment, but he wanted to make love to Micki hard and fast, to block out everything around him but her.

  “Show me the bedroom,” she said, her voice low and husky.

  Apparently she was calling the shots tonight. Fine by him. He didn’t want to think, not even about her words. She hadn’t sugarcoated her feelings and because he trusted her judgment, he’d think about what she said—but he’d do it tomorrow. As she’d pointed out, they had another agenda for the rest of the night.

  Her hand in his, he led her down the hallway ending at his large master suite. She stepped ahead of him toward the bed, a place he’d only slept in alone. Despite all the women who’d passed through his life, he’d protected and held onto his privacy, both on the island and here at his apartment. Though Micki had shown up uninvited, he had no second thoughts about sharing his personal space. She’d already become intimately involved in his life and having her here felt right.

  The bedroom lights were on dimmers and he lowered them enough to set the mood. He joined her by the bed, where she’d already begun to strip off her clothes. He had every intention of following her lead.