Designated Hitter (Reedsville Roosters Book 4)

by Trent, Holley

  The realtor blinked rapidly. “Well, it’s move-in ready, and—”

  Marina laughed softly, and the shake of her head stopped the lady’s mouth from running. “Yes, it appears to be, but some of the fixtures are as old as the house. There are some noticeable ridges under the carpet where the subfloor isn’t flush. There are stains in the laminate on the countertops. I mean, the house smells pretty and new, but whoever moves in is going to have to put some money and elbow grease into it the first couple of years. And the roof is…” Marina shuffled through the sheath of papers in her leather portfolio. “Well, the roof needs replacement. So, I’m prepared to make a competitive offer that accounts for the selling prices of recent comparable listings as well as immediate improvements that need to be made on the property. I mean, the fence posts in the side yard are starting to show rot, all the flower beds have been neglected and need to basically be torn out at this point, and—”

  “Okay, I get it.” The realtor chuckled nervously. “But it’s a great location.”

  “I’m not discounting that. Look, we’re talking about a cash offer. No waiting for loan closings. I’m ready to accept the keys as soon as an independent inspector tells me I’m not nuts for considering it.”

  The realtor swallowed hard. “Cash, you say?”

  “Well, I’m not gonna give it to you in piles of hundred-dollar bills crammed into a locked suitcase or anything. I’ll get you a cashier’s check.”

  The lady pressed her lips together and studied the ceiling for a bit. “Stay right here. I need to…go to my car and make a call.”

  “Take your time.”

  Please, take your time. Quinn was dying to clear the air.

  The realtor hurried away and down the stairs. When the front door slammed shut, Quinn turned to Marina. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”

  “God, about the house?” She pouted.

  Fuck, I made her pout already. Good job, jackass.

  “Did I miss something obvious and you couldn’t signal it to me while I was yammering away?”

  He chuckled. “No, I like hearing you yammer away. It’s sexy, a woman who knows what she’s talking about.”

  “Oh?” She furrowed her brow. “Well, I put on a good show of it, anyway.”

  “No, you actually do know, don’t you? You don’t have to pretend otherwise.”

  She had the audacity to blush. It was almost as if no one had ever accused her of such a thing, and that was a damned shame. To Quinn, Marina was obviously very competent. Anyone with half a brain would have been able to discern that.

  “That’s not what I need to tell you,” he said.

  “What, then?”

  “I wanted you to hear it from me—before word got back around from the crew or something.”

  “Did something happen at the house?”

  “Yes. I, uh…know how you think I go around picking fights, and maybe it does seem I’m a little more prone to them than other guys, but, that’s just how I am. I’m defensive, sometimes, and I don’t like to think folks are getting things they don’t deserve. I couldn’t let them stick you with that charge.”

  “What charge?” She put her hands on her hips and canted her head. “And what fight, Quinn?”

  “I mean, it didn’t get physical…just might have sounded like it at one point, I guess. They fucked up a wall in the kitchen and wanted to bill you for the plumber.”

  Her eyes went comically round. “Bill me?”

  “Mm-hmm. Uh, well, they won’t be.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Just convinced ’em that it was a shitty thing to try to pull over. Carpenter’s gonna pay for it out of his own cut, or dock his crew, or whatever. I just wanted you to know what it was about from me before you heard about it from them.”

  Her eyes went back to their typically narrow slits, and her neutral expression gave nothing away. That meant she was pissed. He hadn’t been in her acquaintance for long, but damn sure long enough for him to read that.

  Shit. He dragged his hands through his hair and groaned. “I—I didn’t want you to be mad at me, Marina. You left me alone to take care of things at—oh, fuck.” He sucked in some air and pushed up onto his toes as her surprising grip on his sac tightened.

  Her lips quirked up at one corner and she canted her pretty head. “You’re rambling, Quinn.”

  “I—I—I…” He fisted his hands and shook them out again and again, trying to compartmentalize the pain. Tried to let the pleasure come to the forefront, and it was there.

  Fuck, it’s there.

  She loosened her grip only to press her palm against his cock and grind. “They didn’t call me,” she said. “So, that means you handled it. I doubt they’ll say anything.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She skimmed her hands up his arms and then down, cinching his wrists. “I think we need to take a better look at this powder room.”

  “There’s not much to see to it. I mean—”

  She pulled him in and closed the door.

  Her hands at his shoulders pushed his knees down to the tile, and his gaze focused onto the tan smoothness of her thighs as she lifted the skirt of her sundress more and more.

  “It’s cute that you thought I’d be upset about that. I rarely get upset about a man taking care of business. You have to understand how rare an occurrence that is in my life lately.”

  “I want to do that for you.”

  “Take care of business? So go ahead.” She propped her right leg over his shoulder and tugged the crotch of her lacy panties aside to reveal a smooth, wet sex.

  He leaned in instinctively, dying to have a little taste of her.

  Her sharp intake of air when his tongue delved between her lips spurred him on.

  She laced her fingers through the back of his hair and circled her hips, pinning his mouth to her. “The way you wear a pair of slacks is a sin, Quinn.”

  “Mmm?”

  “Hard to focus on business when you look so good. Damn you.”

  He chuckled against her and worked his tongue in a little more to have better access to her clit.

  “Probably shouldn’t be doing this.” She pulled his face even more toward her. “Probably shouldn’t touch you, but fuck, I want to touch you. I want to make you do things.”

  “Mmm.” He nodded enthusiastically against her and kept spearing her with his tongue. He wanted to taste all of her—wanted to make her legs quake and for her to call out his name in that little bathroom.

  Make me do things.

  “Shouldn’t want to take you home.”

  Take me home, Marina. He needed his fingers to convince her. He took over holding her panties aside and she yanked his hair painfully as he slipped two fingers into her.

  He liked the pain. He liked how she was so desperately steering him to get what she wanted, and he wanted to give it to her—wanted to make her happy.

  “God. Fuck, yes,” she uttered through clenched teeth as he pulled her clit into his mouth and fluttered his tongue rapidly against it. “Work that tongue for something other than running your mouth, Quinn.”

  He’d keep his damn lips zipped for the rest of the day if it made her happy—if she kept letting him touch her.

  The front door downstairs opened and then slammed, and Quinn shoved another finger into her and put his thumb where his tongue had been. He massaged her wet nub as he thrust his fingers in and out of her slit, and stared up at her.

  Her mouth was open wide and dark eyes round. Her pussy clenched tightly around his fingers, and then her body shook hard.

  He threw an arm around her ass to stabilize her as she ground out her orgasm through clenched teeth.

  Footsteps sounded up the stairs and Quinn slowly, regretfully, pulled his fingers free from her and fixed her panties.

  She was outside the door and waiting, a bit breathlessly, as Quinn washed his hands and grinned like an asshole at his reflection in the mirror.

  “Give me a nu
mber,” the realtor said. “I’ve got the owners on standby and we can get the ball rolling tonight, if you don’t mind me acting as a dual agent.”

  “No need.” Marina sounded perfectly clearheaded and professional, in spite of what she’d just had done to her.

  A master at work. He couldn’t help but be impressed. Marina was a hell of a woman. Way too good for him, that was for damn sure, but knowing that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

  “I’m licensed to conduct real estate transactions in Florida,” Marina said, “so I’m handling all of my own paperwork up until closing. I’ll give you a number and can send you the written offer tonight for you to forward to them.”

  “What’s the number?”

  “Well…” Marina led the realtor down the hall and toward the master, itemizing cosmetic things that needed to be fixed.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Quinn, and he waved at her.

  He had to get to the bar.

  She mouthed, “Keep your phone on.”

  He nodded. He’d keep it attached to his ear, if he had to if it meant she’d call.

  He hoped she would. She hadn’t been turned off yet by the usual things that sent women running. His net worth was in the negatives, he had no stable work, and sometimes when clothes came off, he was a little nastier than some ladies liked.

  Marina was bound to give up on him like all the rest he’d given a piece of his heart to, but he was tired of superficial connections. He wanted someone to try to relate to him for a little while…even if they didn’t stay for long.

  He’d take what he could get.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On the stupidity scale from one to ten, inviting Quinn over to her rental condo for what amounted to a late-night booty call probably scored a strong seven, but Marina had been good for so long. Too long, maybe.

  When she wasn’t busy bouncing from project to project, she haunted fetish clubs to check out the local fare. She could remember the names of the men she’d played with in every major city where she’d done a flip, but couldn’t remember much about them beyond that. Hell, she didn’t even have sex with all of them. Sometimes, she just needed to remind herself that she was in control…and having a submissive male bend over backward—sometimes literally—to please her was a perfect way to bolster her self-assuredness.

  But, Quinn wasn’t a man she was going to forget about when she moved on to the next place. She knew too much about him, and perhaps not enough. She was confused about what she wanted from him, but if she played her cards right, he’d let himself be controlled. After a couple of hours negotiating with that parsimonious realtor, Marina was desperate to feel on top of things again.

  Quinn strolled into her short-term rental condo with his hands jammed into the pockets of his slacks, which made the fabric across his fine ass pull snug. He moved gracefully toward the luxe white sofa and turned to her. “Fancy digs.”

  She closed the door and locked it. “It’s just a rental,” she said. “I’ve been looking to buy something in Miami, but haven’t found the right thing yet.”

  “Beachfront?”

  “Not necessarily. Close enough to a place where I can dock my boat. Want a beer?” She walked to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. He’d need a beer—just a little something to take the edge off and get him relaxed as she eased him into how she liked to play when she was in that needy mood.

  She uncapped a stout and carried to him.

  He was sitting on the sofa, legs spread and forearms leaning against his thighs. He sat up to accept the drink, and then saluted her with it. “Good brand.”

  “I get something new as often as I can. There’s so much variety out there now.” She sat in the armchair across from him and crossed her legs at the knees.

  His gaze fixed on the apex of her thighs where the plackets of her bathrobe failed to shadow. She was nude underneath, having not seen the point of being dressed given what she had planned for him.”

  “I know it’s late,” she said.

  “I’ll be at the house on time tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure you will be. I just wanted to acknowledge that I know it’s late and that this is perhaps inconveniencing.”

  “I think you overestimate how much sleep I get.”

  “You said it yourself—cowboys wake up early.”

  “And sometimes they go to bed late, too.” He took a long draw of the beer, pulled a coaster from the stack, and set the bottle on the coffee table.

  She chuckled. “So, you do have manners.”

  “Sometimes I act like it.” His grin would have made even the coldest woman feel warm all over, and Marina’s temperature was certainly ramping up to the caution zone. She felt it in her breasts. It pooled low in her belly and between her legs. It made her rub her thighs together and shift in her seat.

  Quinn pushed up a questioning eyebrow.

  Get on with it, woman. It’d been so long since she’d had The Talk with a man she might have been more than superficially interested in, and their working relationship complicated what could have been no-strings sex.

  “Listen,” she said. “I wanted to be upfront about why I invited you over so there are no misunderstandings.”

  “Go on.”

  “And so lines don’t blur. This has nothing to do with the renovation project. I’m asking for your time for completely non-productive reasons. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “That you’re not paying me to be here?”

  Way to put a fine point on it. She let a breath out through her parted lips. “I want you to know that you can leave, and that you have a choice to be here or not.”

  “What is it that you want from me?”

  “I want what you can give me. As much as you’re able to give me.”

  He picked up the beer bottle, but didn’t sip. Just stared down into the amber liquid and made it swish inside the glass.

  “Quinn?”

  He shrugged. “You make it sound so clinical.”

  “I’m trying to keep us both out of trouble. What I’m asking you for is ethically questionable given what you do for a living.”

  “Being paid for sex, you mean.”

  “I’m not trying to imply that—”

  “Yes you are. You’re either implying or fishing about it to learn the truth.” He took a sip and shook his head. “People always assume instead of asking because it’s easier. But I told you in the doorway yesterday that I’m real picky about who gets to touch me. Did you think I didn’t mean it?”

  She had thought that, and that was unfair. Had the tables been turned, she wouldn’t have wanted people making unqualified assumptions about her, either.

  She crossed her legs at the knees and rolled the ankle of her dangling foot. “So you don’t have sex with your clients. And because you don’t like me making assumptions, I’ll ask you this, even though I have no right to ask. Do you ever make them think you’re going there?”

  “Hoping they’ll keep me on so I’ll get a bigger payout? Fuck no. Because like you said, there is such a thing as questionable ethics. Sometimes, I do stupid shit that toes the line, but I wouldn’t do anything to compromise one of the best-paying gigs I’ve got. I get groped. Fondled. Needled. Begged to do more than I’m willing to do, but I always say no. I’ve been tempted, sure. But I say no.”

  She laced her fingers and spun her thumbs around and around each other. Maybe I should send him home. She had no business feeling as jealous as she was. Quinn wasn’t hers, and she wasn’t keeping him. She should never have called him.

  She looked at him and opened her mouth to tell him just that, but he set down his bottle again and stood.

  He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “What do you want from me, Marina? Huh?”

  “I…” She closed her mouth and furrowed her brow. Don’t lie.

  To start, she wanted to fire him so she could fuck him without guilt. But then she’d feel bad because he did a good job at that house and it w
ouldn’t be fair for him to dismiss him when it was more economically advantageous for him to stay on in the gig than to be assigned to a new one. She wanted to help him out, and herself at the same time in the most primal kind of way. Quinn was a cavewoman’s wet dream.

  She covered her eyes with her free hand and scoffed at herself. “It was a mistake. Me calling you, I mean.”

  “You don’t want me here?”

  “It was a mistake because I do want you here. Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly. You should go.”

  “I don’t want to go.” He hooked his thumbs beneath the plackets of her robe and parted them, exposing her breasts to the air, to his gaze. “Why do you want me to go?”

  “Because tomorrow is going to be confusing. I’m paying the agency for you to work for me.”

  “What does this have to do with work?” He pressed his palm to her chest and eased it down slowly. The calluses on his hand tickled her sensitive flesh and made blood surge to her nipples, and lower.

  But his gaze wasn’t on her breasts. It was on her eyes, and she wasn’t so cruel that she wouldn’t meet it—wouldn’t hold it.

  “You want to touch me? Or have me touch you?” he asked.

  “Some of one,” she whispered. “A lot of the other.”

  “Don’t go to the house tomorrow, then. Maybe that’ll help keep the lines from blurring. You could be with anyone right now, couldn’t you?” His hand glided across the underside of her breasts, tickling and arousing her—making her move reflexively toward his body.

  “I could be. Yes.”

  “But you don’t wanna be?”

  “No.”

  “’Cause you want me?”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  He laughed and scooped an arm around her back, drawing her close. His breath tickled her scalp and his erection, pressed between them and probing hard against her front—left no room for doubt in her mind that he wanted her, too.

  She wanted to touch him, but without all the guilt and the blurred lines.

  “You’re thinking too hard,” he whispered. He pressed her hand to his cock and let out a ragged breath, grinding against her palm. “If you want to touch me, touch me. If you want to fire me, fire me. But don’t let the two things have anything to do with each other.”