Proving His Worth

by Cari Quinn

  He palmed her breast, running his finger over the tip. Within a couple of strokes, she was already stifling a moan.

  “You’re so responsive. Lately it’s almost been like when you were—” He stopped, swallowed. Swallowed again. “You’re not…are you?”

  She couldn’t hold back her laugh. He looked like he was on the verge of an anxiety attack. If she hadn’t known him so well, she would’ve gotten worried at his reaction. But with Sterling, she knew panic came first. Then everything was fine. “Yes.”

  He swooped her off the counter and into his arms so fast that she got dizzy. “When? Where? How?”

  “Uh, when was about a month ago, I think. Where was probably our bedroom. And I’m pretty sure the how involved the use of your tie and that cute little duck-shaped vibrator you bought me for my birthday.” She laughed as he kicked the bathroom door closed and pressed her against it before lowering his mouth to hers.

  He’d barely kissed her before he was pulling back to grin at her like a loon. “You swear you’re not pulling my leg?”

  “No, but I’d sure like to pull something else.” She arched and rubbed against the hard column wedged against her belly. “That’s some hard-on you have there, pal.”

  “Yes, and—”

  A wail sounded from down the hall, and she grinned. “A little too loud with the door. Next time cool the enthusiasm and pick up the pace.”

  “Aye, aye.” But he grinned too as he set her down and cupped her face in his palms. “A month. So…August?”

  “Yep. Give or take. Because who doesn’t want to give birth during the dog days of summer?” She shuddered. “If I hadn’t been nearly delirious with sleep deprivation, I probably would’ve kicked you and your baby-making ideas out of bed for another year at least.”

  “Is it my fault I’m so virile that I hit a home run first time at bat?”

  “Right. And my fertility is secondary.” Only his adorable grin saved him from a shove. “Lucky for you I’m kindly disposed to you or else I’d slug you right in your virility, pal.”

  “Lucky for me,” he echoed, giving her a quick, hard kiss. “I love you so much, Mrs. Vance.”

  “Ditto, minus the Mrs. part.” When his hand crept downward, she couldn’t hold back her smile. He was so cute. To him, her belly was the gift that kept on giving. “Not showing yet. Sorry.”

  “You know that’s always my favorite part.” Another wail sounded down the hall, and he nudged her back and tugged open the door. He wrapped his arm around her waist as they hurried in the direction of the nursery. “So, dildo samples, huh? When should we expect those?”

  Ang laughed. “You’re one of a kind, Sterling Vance.”

  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author Cari Quinn wrote her first story—a Bible parable—in second grade, much to the delight of the nuns at her Catholic school. Once she saw the warm reception that first tale garnered, she was hooked. Now she gets to pen sexy romances for a living and routinely counts her lucky stars. When she’s not scribbling furiously, she can usually be found watching men’s college basketball, playing her music way too loud or causing trouble. Sometimes simultaneously. Cari loves hearing from readers. Please visit her at www.cariquinn.com and sign up for her brand-new newsletter!

  Look for these titles by Cari Quinn

  Now Available:

  Afternoon Delight

  Dirty Distractions

  Deuces Wild

  Protecting His Assets

  Guarding His Heart

  Coming Soon:

  Drawn Deep

  She’s the one woman who can get his ball back in play…

  Protecting His Assets

  © 2014 Cari Quinn

  Deuces Wild, Book 1

  For a while, MLB pitcher Chase “Deuce” Dixon used his bad-boy reputation as a smoke screen to cover up his elbow injury. But plummeting pitching stats don’t lie, so now he’s a free agent, spending the off-season in surgeons’ offices, and considering a post-baseball career in security.

  His first night moonlighting as a nightclub bouncer, he’s surprised that the singer on stage is his little sister’s pure, sweet, spitfire of a best friend. And some drunk guy is getting way too personal.

  Summer Maitland doesn’t need Chase strong-arming one of the few fans she’s managed to accumulate during the career she keeps secret from her family. And despite her body’s shimmering reaction to his touch, she certainly doesn’t need a self-appointed bodyguard following her around.

  Chase has other ideas. If anyone’s going to lay a hand on Summer, it’s going to be him. Now if only he could keep his tongue out of her mouth long enough to keep her safe. And his hands to himself before he scares her off.

  Warning: Contains an ace hurler moonlighting as a bouncer moonlighting as a bodyguard, and an angel-voiced chanteuse who’s up for anything he can throw at her—in and out of the bedroom. This one could make you rethink the definition of fastball.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Protecting His Assets:

  By the time they arrived at her place, he’d come up with a plan to combat their aloneness for the next hour and a half before they started the trek into the city. He’d nail her shutters or whatever and then he’d stand at her sink and scarf down the ice cream without making eye contact or conversation. That would succinctly convey his disinterest.

  Or it might’ve if she hadn’t parked ahead of him in her driveway and rushed inside, declaring she needed to change. Hard to ignore someone who wasn’t paying you any mind.

  He dawdled in his SUV, not wanting to spend any longer in her personal space than necessary. In and out—that was his motto. No entanglements, no drama.

  When he knew he couldn’t stall any longer, he trudged up the wide plank porch steps to the door, noting the shiny urns full of thriving fall flowers and cheerful half moon welcome mat, and pulled open the screen door. He’d taken two steps inside when Summer bounded downstairs in a tiny ass robe that showed her legs approximately up to her nipples. Maybe even higher.

  “What the frig is that?”

  Slyly, she held out the object she’d hidden behind her back. “This, my dear Deuce, is a hammer. One uses it to nail…things.”

  “I don’t mean the hammer. I mean that piece of clothing. Why are you practically naked?”

  “I need to take a shower before my show.” She inched closer, the hammer still clutched between her perky breasts. And there was that word again. Perky. “You don’t want me to stink when I’m on stage, do you?” She lifted her wrist and sniffed. “I reek of—”

  “Chocolate and vanilla and everything nice?” He barely resisted a snarl.

  She smirked. “You seem stressed. Maybe you should sit down and eat your ice cream before you go play with my hammer.” As she stroked it, he shifted uncomfortably. If he didn’t have sex soon, he’d probably shoot off from the image of those golden fingers wrapping around the wood. Squeezing again and again.

  Christ. He needed ice cream or a cold compress or something. Maybe he should stuff his dick in the pint of chocolate. Couldn’t hurt.

  “I’m fine,” he gritted out. “Give me the freaking hammer. And go get dressed. We need to leave soon.”

  “Oh, we have plenty of time.” The way she caressed the word plenty made his balls throb. Stupid balls. Stupid celibacy.

  Like his pathetic truck trick, he took as long to mess around with her shutters as humanly possible. If they’d actually been loose, it would’ve helped. They weren’t. He still hammered and banged the outside of her house, hoping she’d feel guilty for driving him out into the cold and wind to avoid her numerous blatant sexual overtures.

  They had been blatant sexual overtures, right? Sometimes he just wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered. His fish couldn’t be lured with pink, perky nipp—hooks.

  When he came back into the living room, his hands ached from his vigorous needless pounding. Other parts of him ached because they hadn’t pounded anything in way too long. See
ing Summer all curled up in the corner of the couch with a spoon in her jar of sauce and his ice cream stuff spread out on the coffee table didn’t help with the latter.

  “Hey. Thank you. You’re so sweet.” She leaned forward and her robe gaped almost to the point of indecency. She didn’t seem to notice. “Here, let’s eat. I’ll get showered and ready to go when we’re done.” She waved her dripping spoon. “I had paperwork to do,” she added, all blue-eyed and pink-cheeked innocence.

  “Uh huh.”

  He took the opposite end of the couch and reached for his melting ice cream. Instead of his plastic spoon, she’d given him a fancy dessert one with a long handle. “You didn’t need to go to any trouble. I’m not company.”

  If she noticed his peeved tone, she didn’t react. She smiled around her spoon, currently hidden between her luscious pink lips. Then she slid it out, nice and slow. “No, but you are doing a service for me. Protecting my assets and all.”

  “Uh huh.” That would now be his standard answer to everything.

  “Come on, Chase. We used to be friends.” She stretched out her bare legs and nudged his thigh with unpainted toes. The surprising lack of artifice turned him to stone faster than any coat of passion red or whatever they called that crap. “Can’t we hang out and have fun?”

  “Sure. You having fun yet?”

  She heaved out a sigh. “No, but I know how to get the party started. I have a confession to make.”

  “God help me.”

  “I have a pair of Daggers team panties with your name on the ass.” Though he was too busy swallowing his own spoon to look her way, he heard her sucking on hers. “I’m wearing them right now.”

  The Daggers had team panties? That fabric got to cup her slick pussy while he nursed the hard-on from hell?

  Surely there had to be an appropriate way to redirect this conversation. Until his brain cells regenerated he’d focus on not adding fuel to her fire. “That’s nice. Always glad to have a fan support the team, even if it’s not technically mine anymore. Did you catch any games last season?”

  “I never missed one of your games.”

  His chest tightened and he dropped his forgotten spoon in his waffle bowl. Pretty soon he’d be able to drink his ice cream. “Why?”

  “I’m a baseball fan. Can’t say I kept up on much of the drama that surrounded you and the team, but I like the sport itself.” She shrugged and swirled her spoon in the jar, clinking the sides. “I like you too. Not that you’d ever see me that way.” Her mirthless chuckle echoed in his head. “Sister’s best friend equals no stray zone, right?”

  His brain had detoured somewhere around the mention of her watching all his games. Then he clicked into the rest. “What way?” he asked, knowing full well. He shifted to face her, needing to watch the words form on her damp lips. Hearing them wasn’t enough. “You know I like you too.” Too much. Dangerously much.

  “It’s different.”

  “And?” He motioned for her to continue. “Don’t stop now.”

  She pulled her knees up closer to her chest, slightly parting her thighs. Letting him glimpse the royal blue color that belonged to his team. Had been his team. The pang came swift and hard, dissipating only when she whispered, “And I’m wet for you. Every day. Every night. All the moments in between.”

  A groan ripped from his throat. He couldn’t let the images form behind his eyes or he’d never get the words out. “Dammit, Summer.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t handle the truth.” She didn’t sound sorry. She sounded pissed. Yeah, well, join the club.

  “With you and me, it’s not that simple. It can’t be.” Big blue eyes bored into his and made his throat go dry. He couldn’t seem to figure out what to say to stop all of this, and worst of all, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to. “Yes, there’s Cass. We have so much history…”

  “Why is that a bad thing? We know each other so well.” She flung her toes at the vial of white chocolate chips on the coffee table that, now that he’d given up alcohol, served as his most potent vice. Other than her. “I know you don’t want anyone to know you love chocolate and hate peas.”

  His mouth twitched. “I don’t care if people know I hate peas. They’re vile.”

  “I also know you’ve bought into your persona more than anyone else. You’ve actually convinced yourself you’re a boozer who bangs any chick who moves. That’s your identity now and you wear that badge of shame with pride.”

  Chase pressed his knuckles into the cushion beside him, craving that quick, obliterating pain that would shoot up his arm and erase everything else for an instant. For once, it didn’t come. “What do you know about pride? You watch my games on TV and you remember what vegetables I hate. That doesn’t make you some expert on me.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know about pride. I know it won’t keep you company in bed at night. Neither will those women who don’t care about how you like your ice cream or how you bob your knee when you’re nervous—” she gave his leg a pointed glance until he went still, “—or that you miss your mom the same way I miss mine, even if you’d die before saying it. I know you, and I’m still sitting here. Tell me that doesn’t count for something and I’ll call you a liar.” She studied him with way too knowing eyes. “One more thing you can add to that list of failures you wave around so much.”

  The chaos in his head could be quieted with one simple statement. He could disavow a million honorable reasons for why he shouldn’t take what he wanted and take it hard. Except one.

  “You’re my employer and I won’t compromise your safety for any reason, including unnecessary personal involvement.”

  “I can’t employ someone who refuses to accept payment.” She spooned up more chocolate and reminded him that he hadn’t finished his. A thought that vanished as soon as she trailed a thick line of white sauce along her full lower lip.

  He might as well admit defeat. She’d officially signed his death warrant.

  He wasn’t thinking about her mouth wet with chocolate sauce. Not even close. He wanted her lips wet from him. Wanted to lean down and drag his teeth over her flesh and taste what he’d left behind after she’d relieved the relentless throb in his balls.

  “You don’t know what you’re stirring up, little girl.”

  To protect her, he’ll have to cover the bases—first, second, third, and all the way home.

  Guarding His Heart

  © 2014 Cari Quinn

  Deuces Wild, Book 2

  Cassidy Dixon isn’t about to let her overprotective big brother know she has a stalker problem. But when she turns to his bodyguard agency partner, former MLB player Jax Wilder, she realizes she’s made an even bigger mistake.

  Jax is even more overbearing, and soon he’s getting too close for comfort—as in panty-melting close. Heat is the last thing she needs in her under-siege ice cream shop—until hot tempers explode into the best angry sex of her life.

  For once, the last thing on Jax’s morning-after mind is escape. He’s wanted Chase’s little sister too long not to make a move when opportunity strikes. He knows the reasons why she lives a careful life, and he’s ready to be the man she needs. If only she’d stop trying to get away…

  Certain Jax feels guilty for sampling forbidden, way-too-sheltered fruit, Cassidy sets out to prove that she’s not as innocent and inexperienced as he thinks. She never expected him to rise to the challenge…or to be ready to risk everything to keep her safe.

  Warning: Contains an overworked bodyguard who is juggling a stalker and a woman desperate to unleash her wilder side. This hero knows how to ride…to the rescue and a motorcycle, among other things. Beware of curve balls and acts of spontaneous outdoor sex.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Guarding His Heart:

  Jax Wilder was about to go stark raving mad. Minus the raving. And the stark.

  Either that or he’d petrify right in this chair by the time Chase returned from his girlfriend’s east coast tour. Hey, maybe Chase could
sell Jax’s body as a baseball relic and earn back the income he’d yet to produce much of on a regular basis since they’d started Deuces Wild.

  Jax shook his head and sent the metronome on his desk swinging again. A bodyguard agency. Who the fuck had come up with that idea?

  It was days like this, when he was sitting around, thumb firmly up his butt, in the oversized coffin his business partner optimistically called an office that he wondered why in the sweet hell he’d left baseball. He’d had it good there. He was still winning games, still fairly well respected, possibly because he was one of the few who hadn’t been chewed up and spit out by his supposed fame. Yet.

  That yet was part of why he’d left. The rest of the reason was in the photo tucked in the corner of his blotter. His mother’s smiling face beamed up at him, her hands full of the flowers he’d surprised her with when he’d returned to town for good. He’d caught that surprise and pleasure with his phone’s camera and had printed out the picture so he never forgot what he’d come back for. Yardley, New York was no one’s tropical paradise, but it was home.

  Sometimes home counted for a fucking lot.

  He was tapping the metronome’s small silver balls again when the door swung open and a dark head wrapped in a patterned scarf peeked in. The woman wore oversized glasses despite the gloomy day outside, and they tipped down her nose, practically obscuring her face. He started to ask if she had an appointment—knowing she didn’t, since he set the appointments—and fell silent as she swept inside and flipped the lock in the door.

  Jax rose. “Uh, Miss, can I help you?” Why the hell are you locking yourself in with me? She wasn’t bad looking from what he could tell in her long coat and even longer skirt, but other than offering him a more pleasant last image when she shanked him, he couldn’t see how that mattered. “This is a bodyguard agency,” he added, hoping she read the implication of big bad danger in his tone.

  So what if there were more dust motes than weapons in this place? So what if he was alone and unarmed, minus the switchblade he’d taken to carrying in his boot? Badassedness was an attitude more than a state of being.