The great hulking Rush player sitting next to her whipped out a hand and whacked her on the back, the force of it almost toppling her from the chair.
“That’s enough. You’ll make her swallow her tongue you hit her like that again.”
The ballplayer dropped his hand and shrugged as he looked at Mark. “Just trying to help out. She was choking.”
“She was fine—”
“Thank you, John,” she cut in, and smiled at the gruff-looking player.
The blond wasn’t about to be ignored or one-upped by Lorelei’s fit of choking and scooted closer to Mark. She cranked up the wattage of her bleached smile and ran a finger along his arm. When he tensed she misinterpreted the action for encouragement and practically purred, “You’ve got great arms, handsome. Why don’t we hit the dance floor so I can feel those strong arms wrapped around me?”
Lorelei had to give her points for that line. But she had a feeling Mark had heard variations of that from women just like her a thousand times. He looked almost bored when he slid his pale gaze up his arm to look the woman in the face.
“It’s Candy, isn’t it? Right. Well, I appreciate the compliment and the fact that you singled me out, but I’m not much of a dancer.” His gaze moved to the bruised man beside him and back. “Now, Drake here is a helluva dancer. Light-footed as a ballerina. Why don’t you two give it a whirl and get to know each other?”
Candy stuck her collagen-injected lip out on a practiced pout, but her gaze was assessing. “Are you a baseball player, too?” she asked Drake.
The giant winked at her from his good eye. “That’s right, darling.”
The blond straightened and pasted a smile on her face. She held out a hand. “It’d be my pleasure to dance with you, Mr. Drake.”
The ballplayer downed his drink and pushed away from the table. When he stood he towered over everyone. “Drake’s my first name, honey.” He slapped Mark on the back. “I’ll catch you boys later.”
With that they melted into the crowd and Lorelei looked back at Mark to find him staring hard at her. For a heartbeat their gaze locked, tension flowed between them.
The table was silent until Kowalskin spoke. “You’re a real ass, Cutter. Why didn’t you send her my way? I haven’t seen any action in a while.”
That started off a round of good-natured arguing between the players about who really should have gotten to dance with her. The conversation veered straight into the gutter and Lorelei found herself laughing at a highly politically incorrect comment. Until she saw the way Mark was staring at her.
“What?”
He grabbed a passing waitress, his eyes never leaving hers. “Hey, Cindy. Bring me a couple rounds of oyster shooters, will you?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Cutter. The club’s been hopping tonight. Everyone seems to really like this reggae band your sister hired. They’ve become a house favorite. Leslie’s really doing a great job managing your club. Business has been really booming since she took over.”
Lorelei waited until the waitress left. “This is your club? You own this place and your sister is the manager?”
He folded his arms across his muscular chest and leaned back. “Uh-huh.”
“Wow, must be nice to have the money to just buy whatever you want.”
His eyes narrowed. “It has its advantages.”
A flash of anger caught her off guard and she reacted, lashing out. “I’m sure it does. You get to have whatever your little heart desires, don’t you, Mark? Clubs, fancy cars, fast women, designer drugs. Whatever you want is yours for the taking.”
He whipped forward in his chair, a warning flashed in his steely eyes. “You pissed about something, Lorelei? Be woman enough to come right out and say it.”
Something hot flared between her breasts and she jerked forward across the table until they were inches apart. “You really want me to say it?”
He bared his teeth in a snarl and growled, “I dare you.”
The waitress chose that moment to return. Oblivious to the tension, she set the drinks on the table and beamed at Mark before disappearing again.
Reacting before she thought, Lorelei grabbed the nearest shot glass and downed it. Her eyes bulged when she encountered the raw oyster. A shiver ran through her at the slippery feeling and her stomach reacted with a greasy lurch. She almost spit the vile thing out until she saw that Mark was laughing at her. No way would she give him the satisfaction of seeing her gag. Forcing herself, she chewed the disgusting glob and swallowed it down.
She smiled in triumph and smacked her lips. “Mmmm, that was good. Why don’t you try one, Mark?”
Still laughing, he grabbed a shot glass and stirred the red cocktail sauce until it was blended with the vodka. “You sure that was good, sweetheart? It looked like you were about to lose your lunch from where I’m sitting.”
That was the truth, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “Not at all. I positively love raw oysters.”
He raised the shot glass to his lips and Lorelei felt her skin crawl when she saw the grayish oyster pressed against the side. With a flick of his wrist he swirled the liquid, his eyes locked on her. He must have seen her shiver because he let out a laugh and tilted the glass in salute. Then he tipped his head back and downed the shooter in one fluid motion.
Mark slapped the glass on the table, his eyes filled with amusement, and smacked his lips. “Mmm, that was good.”
Smug bastard.
Lorelei wasn’t about to be outdone and reached for another glass. Taking a cue from him, she snatched a fork from the table and stirred the liquid until it was thoroughly blended.
“Are you sure you want to do that? I’d sure hate to see you toss your cookies over a little oyster. Maybe you should just set the glass down before you embarrass yourself.” His voice shook with suppressed laughter as he issued the backhanded challenge.
Lorelei looked him dead in the eye. “Fuck you, Mark Cutter.” Before she could change her mind, she threw her head back and tossed the drink down. Then she slapped the glass on the table. “Bring it on, pansy boy. I can take whatever you dish out.”
Laughter erupted down the table and she swirled her head around to see Mark’s teammates looking on in avid fascination. JP, the rookie, grinned at Lorelei. “I think I’m in love.”
John snorted and cuffed the young guy’s shoulder, “You’re just horny, boy. Besides, I’m the one really in love.”
Kowalskin piped up, his voice full of admiration, “Will you marry me, Lorelei? Forget that pretty boy. Let me show you how a real man treats a lady.”
Lorelei laughed in surprised delight. “I’m flattered, Peter. And maybe I’ll just take you up on that offer. Can you cook?”
He flashed a grin and ran a hand over the black shadow beard on his square jaw. “Nope, but I can hire you a mighty fine chef.”
Mark shoved away from the table and stood up, the humor gone from his eyes. “Forget about it, Pete. She’s already taken.” He rounded the table and grabbed her elbow. “Come on, Lorelei. We’re going dancing.”
She let him pull her out of her chair, amused at his reaction to the guys’ mild flirting. “I thought you didn’t dance.”
“I said I didn’t feel much like dancing. Now I do.”
“Oh well. I beg your pardon.” Those oyster shooters had a pretty decent kick to them. Lorelei felt heat spreading out from the pit of her stomach, enjoyed the looseness flowing through her limbs.
As Mark led her through the crowd, the deep beat of the music seeped into her, the groove of the reggae got her blood pumping. The heavy bass pulsed low in her gut and her body started to sway to the rhythm.
Mark’s hand slid down her arm, leaving a trail of jangled nerves, until his large, hard palm was flush against hers and his long fingers were tangled with hers. Her head whipped up and her eyes sought his, but he was still pushing his way through the crowd. Didn’t he feel it? The hot current of electricity that sparked between their hands and shot up her arm?
She didn’t even like him most of the time, but she felt a crazy chemistry with him. And deep down she felt hugely relieved. It meant she was alive. Vibrant. Having experiences and living life—something she’d become desperate for.
For the first time in two years she felt carefree and a little reckless. And it felt good.
Someone bumped her from behind and pushed her forward into Mark. Swallowing a yelp, Lorelei tried to push away, but he gripped her hip with his free hand and pulled her closer. When they were flush against each other, he started to move. His hips rolled loosely as he swayed to the side and his hard thighs brushed hers. Taking the lead, he placed his hand on her hip to guide her until they found the rhythm, rocking back and forth.
Heat washed over her, wave upon wave, as they moved together. In time with the throbbing bass they swayed, Mark’s finely toned body beckoning her, urging her to sin with every erotic brush against hers. Lorelei felt herself melting, drowning. And she didn’t want it to stop.
Giving herself over to the moment, she let the music seduce her, let the man inside. Just this once, for this dance, she fell into the moment.
The music slowed and the tempo changed. Spinning in Mark’s arms, she reached for his hands as she backed up against him until she could feel his arousal strain against her butt. She pushed against him in a slow grind, heard his deep groan with a sense of feminine triumph.
Lorelei released his hands and raised her arms to wrap around the back of his neck. Her body shivered deliciously when his hands stroked possessively over her rib cage down to her hips. His fingers dug into her flesh and jerked her back as he thrust forward, ground against her.
She closed her eyes as sensations flooded her. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she gloried in the feel of his heart hammering in his chest. His breath poured hot down her neck as he lowered his head. The ache between her legs grew until she was throbbing in time to the music, her inner thighs slick with her desire.
Damp tendrils of hair curled around her fingers when she shifted to grip his head with one hand, as she turned her face to him and found his mouth. She moaned as his lips covered hers, hard and desperate.
They continued to grind erotically, moving slowly to the music, his mouth devouring hers in a kiss of raw animal need. He placed a hand on her neck and added pressure, gently squeezing in an arousing display of sexual dominance. His tongue thrust into her mouth, stroked aggressively, possessively against hers. And he didn’t let up the assault until she whimpered into his mouth in complete surrender.
When it came he ripped his mouth from hers and swore. His voice was rough and primal when he growled, “I want you, Lorelei. I’ve never wanted anyone like this. Tell me you feel the same.”
She opened her eyes to find him staring hard at her, lust burning hot in his translucent gray eyes. His mouth was slick from their kiss. Lorelei could feel his chest heaving against her back, expanding with great gulps of air.
With gentle pressure to her neck, Mark urged her on. “I know you want me. Your body is so turned on I can feel it. You’re practically begging to be fucked. Admit it, tell me you want me and I’ll give you the best fuck of your life.”
Lorelei stopped dancing and stared at him as the world came crashing in on her. As she looked into his eyes full of passion for her, reality settled heavily on her shoulders. She tried to push away from him, but his grip tightened. A warning sound came low in his throat.
Her body screamed for release and Lorelei had to admit she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. It would be so easy to give in to this wild, wanton need inside her to embrace her sensuality with Mark. She ached for it. But suddenly it wasn’t as simple as that, and the idea of using him solely for that purpose seemed wrong. Somewhere between oyster shooters and dancing to reggae, something had changed.
She didn’t want to be just another name in a long list of fucks in Mark Cutter’s life.
Firmly pushing out of his embrace, she braced herself for his outburst and hitched her chin. “I do want you, Mark. More than is probably good for me.”
His voice was sharp with sexual frustration and growing anger. “Then what’s the problem, Lorelei? What do you want from me?”
“I want you to remember me. My name, my face.”
With force, he raked his hands through his hair, the movement jerky. “What do you mean? You’re not making any goddamn sense.”
“A year from now, Mark, when you’ve moved through a dozen women and added more to your list of sexual conquests, I deserve to be more than just another faceless screw.”
Chapter 14
MARK SWORE AS another ball flew past his glove and sped toward the backstop behind him. On his feet in a flash, he chased it down ruthlessly and spun toward third. A runner had rounded the base and was speeding toward home. Instantly judging the distance to the plate, Mark’s feet kicked into motion, determination to tag the runner out his only motivation. That was his goddamn plate. Seeing him advance, the runner lowered into a slide, forcing Mark to dive headfirst toward home, the ball stretched out in front of him nestled firmly in his glove.
The impact jarred him, and dirt flew obscuring his vision. He knew he’d tagged the runner, but had he already crossed the plate?
The answer came roaring from the umpire and it pissed Mark off. “Safe!”
Like hell he was.
Jumping to his feet to argue the umpire’s call as the dust settled, Mark could barely hear the discontent from the crowd around the blood pounding in his ears.
A warning look from the umpire stayed him, though. He’d been tossed from a game on more than a few occasions for arguing calls. Biting back the anger, Mark registered the sound of cheering from the opposing team’s fans, their very presence a punch to his already bruised ego.
Thoroughly ticked, he slapped his mitt hard against his thigh and prepared for another batter. The Denver Rush were taking a thrashing. And it was completely his fault. One hundred percent his frigging fault. He wasn’t playing worth shit tonight.
He was jinxed. And he deserved it for being idiotic enough to have a woman for a good luck charm. They caused nothing but trouble.
Before play could resume an argument broke out between JP and the runner on second. JP was nose to nose with the guy, spouting obscenities. Adding insult, the shortstop lashed out with his free hand and knocked the runner’s helmet from his head. The umps rushed over to break it up, hollering as they waded into the pissing match.
The game got under way again and Mark took his frustration out on any call he disagreed with, criticizing the home plate umpire every chance he got. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he suddenly didn’t care.
When a runner tried to steal second after a pitch, Mark caught the ball, leaped forward, and rocketed it off with punishing force. Though the second baseman tagged the runner out, it did nothing to assuage Mark’s ego.
The ousted runner jogged toward the dugout and glared at Mark as he came into range. “You’re a real asshole tonight, Cutter.”
“What’d you say, Norton? You whining about something?” Mark rolled his shoulders beneath his pads and shifted on his cleats, ready to take him on.
The player just shook his head and entered the dugout. Smart move on his part, but there was a part of Mark that was pretty bummed about it. He felt like kicking some ass.
Mark tried crossing himself for good luck and shook the feeling off. He hoped to God he’d be able to get his head back in the game.
With the runner out at second, that made two outs in the top of the third. One more and he could take a few minutes, cool down and collect himself on the bench. All he had to do was keep it together. The Rush were down 6–1.
Ten minutes later the bases were loaded and Mark knew his luck had completely deserted him. He’d given up two more runs—easy runs that he should have been able to stop. In a fi
t of temper he cursed a blue streak. He couldn’t remember playing a worse game in his life.
By the time the last game in the series was over Chicago had scored more runs, ending the game in a humiliating 9–2 defeat. The locker room was hushed when Mark walked inside.
They were all taking the loss hard. The Rush had been in the position this game to really put them in the running for the playoffs. They’d blown it.
Now they had a road trip coming up and the Phillies to contend with. Every Rush player despised going to Philly. The fans were notorious and made the games there damn tough. But it was part of the deal and it meant Mark had one day to get his head back in the game. He wondered briefly what it meant that he’d played like ass even though Lorelei had been there. Maybe he’d run out of luck. Or maybe he’d just sucked because he’d sucked. The end.
Drake Paulson dropped down on the bench beside Mark. Shaking himself, he leaned over and began undoing the laces of his cleats.
“You looked like you were struggling out there tonight, Cutter.”
Mark started on the other cleat. “You could say that. I played like shit.”
The big infielder stretched his leg out and began unwrapping the bandage around his knee. “We all have off games. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”
With his cleats off, Mark stood and began to undress. “I’m not. I’m just stating facts.”
Drake clipped the bandage and tossed it in the open locker behind him. “I should have played better at first. You aren’t the only one to blame for tonight.”
“Maybe I wasn’t the only one, but I was the biggest contributor.”
The scarred veteran leaned his huge shoulders against the metal locker. “When a woman gets under your skin it can really screw with your game. I know.” He eyed Mark. “I saw the two of you the other night. You’ve got it bad, brother.”
Denial was swift and strong. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m fine.”
“How long have we been teammates? Five, six years? This is the first time I’ve seen you lose focus. It’s the first time I’ve seen you look at a woman the way you did last night.”
Stealing Home: A Diamonds and Dugouts Novel Page 12
