Double Play

by Joanne Rock

  But the feel of her pressed up against him didn’t compare with the sexy gasp from her lips. The sound tripped down his spine like a lover’s fingertip.

  “No more knots.” He smoothed his hands down her bare shoulders, absorbing her shiver as he bent to kiss her neck.

  “Good.” She arched back enough to yank his shirt hem up and splay a hand along his bare stomach. “That means no more delays. No more waiting.”

  He had to admit it was tougher to be on the receiving end of sensual touches than to be the giver. Her fingers gliding just below the waist of his jeans couldn’t have been more potent if she’d been stroking his shaft.

  Heat blazed up his chest in spite of the cool breeze blowing in the window.

  “I’d do a better job delivering on all those promises I made if you let me take my time.” Even now, his hands shook with the need to hold back. It had been a hell of a long time since he’d been with a woman.

  And ah damn, but he was feeling every one of those months—no, a year now—as Amber peeled off his shirt and stepped out of her dress.

  Wow, she was an eyeful.

  A barely there lace strapless bra matched white bikini bottoms. A thin silver chain looped around her waist and dangled three dark blue gemstones just beneath her belly button.

  “It’s because of those damn promises that I’m in a hurry,” she argued with whispered urgency as she brushed kisses along his jaw. “I have bad memories to live down, remember?”

  AMBER KNEW HEATH MUST have recalled her predicament, her wish to make sure she wasn’t sexually deficient.

  His touch went from reverent to mind-blowingly commanding. He lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed, her unbound hair trapped between their bodies as he laid her on the chenille bedspread.

  “Kiss me,” he ordered, his tone warning that he wouldn’t tolerate an argument.

  Obediently, she arched against him, savoring the rough scrape of his whiskers against her cheek and the press of his thigh between hers. He was too good to be true. Too delicious for words.

  She’d never imagined she could be the kind of woman who would find so much satisfaction in the physical, but right now she was a mass of throbbing want. How had she gone through life for twenty-eight years without ever seeking this kind of pleasure?

  “Stop thinking,” he muttered between kisses, breaking away from her mouth to lick his way down her neck.

  His hot breath against her skin made her writhe against the mattress, which only succeeded in rubbing her thighs against his. She wondered if a woman could explode from desire.

  “How do you know I’m thinking?” She hadn’t been doing much of that. “I’ve mostly been panting and moaning and that sort of thing.”

  She tried to unfasten his jeans, but her fingers hummed with some kind of trembly energy as if she’d stuck her hand in a light socket.

  “You weren’t moaning,” he assured her, circling a nipple with his tongue right through the lace of her bra. “I would have heard you.”

  She moaned. And not just for effect.

  “That feels—” She couldn’t explain it since she moaned again.

  “That’s more like it.” He tugged down one lace cup with his teeth. Then he unveiled the other the same way.

  “What else can I do?” She didn’t want to let him take the lead so much that tomorrow he would look back and think she’d been a failure in the sack. Not after what Brent had said to her. “How can I help?”

  He lifted his gaze from her breasts for a moment, and the look she saw there sent a peculiar shiver along the back of her neck. Intense and determined, he didn’t have the appearance of a young rookie sowing his wild oats with women far and wide. Just then, he had the hell-bent will of a man who could move mountains if he so chose.

  “You can think about me.” He took her hand in his and guided it to his shorts where an impressive bulge awaited her. “Only me. And how much I want you.”

  It was a sexy thing to say. It was also a beautiful thing to say to ease the last of her fears.

  And just then, Amber had a taste of the dangers of sleeping with someone just for fun. Because with that simple statement, Heath had touched her heart no matter how much she wanted this to be uncomplicated.

  But then, he palmed the throbbing place between her legs, applying sinfully delicious pressure where she wanted it most. Raw hunger edged out emotion and fears. She couldn’t hold back the gasps and sighs as he worked the most sensitive places until she was slick with desire.

  She had just enough sense to be sure he found a condom from somewhere before she allowed herself to become utterly mindless at his touch. Her panties disappeared around the same time he stripped off the rest of his clothes. The room became a sultry blur of body heat and ocean breeze, their limbs tangling in a teasing dance until at last he entered her.

  Her nails bit into his skin at the same time her teeth nipped her lower lip. She’d never felt anything like what she felt with Heath. She lost herself in him, in this. Mindless with the sweetness of it all, she realized she shouldn’t have to think so hard about sex. It could just happen. And be wonderful.

  Her heartbeat thundered like a storm coming in off the water. An urgent fire built in her blood. She twisted her head back and forth against the pillow as he drove into her again and again. Slow, then fast. Slow again.

  Her breaths came so quick she couldn’t catch them. Her legs wound around him tight, clutching him hard and squeezing him to her as he found a spot that turned her into a crazy woman.

  Release crashed through her so forcefully and for so long she thought it would never end. Waves of pleasure squeezed her insides, wringing every last sweet spasm from her until Heath joined her. Feeling his release was almost as gratifying as the amazing orgasm he’d given her. Knowing she’d satisfied him—this amazing, sexy, thoughtful man who could have his pick of women—made her glow with happiness, if only for a little while.

  Tomorrow, she would think about how to say goodbye to him. How to forget the way he’d touched her heart even as he touched her body. But for tonight, she planned to cling to her third baseman for all he was worth, taking every ounce of pleasure she could find until the sun rose.

  When she finally caught her breath, she kissed his shoulder and combed her hair off his chest.

  “So tell me, slugger, how does it feel to hit one out of the park?”

  4

  THE WORDS KNIFED through Heath’s euphoria like a one-hundred-mile-per-hour fastball coming at a man without a glove.

  “What?” His hands slid away from Amber’s shoulders, confusion fogging his brain.

  Could it be a coincidence that she used a sports metaphor?

  “You know.” She gestured meaningfully toward their bodies where their legs were still entwined. “I don’t know if you’ve got sexual superpowers or if that’s normal for you, but…wow.”

  She smiled and his euphoria returned, relaxing his tense shoulders. He didn’t doubt for a minute it had been fantastic between them.

  “Right.” Closing his eyes, he leaned deeper into the pillow, thinking he was comfortable enough he might spend the whole night here. “When you said ‘hit it out of the park,’ I—”

  “You thought I was going to quiz you about your day job?” She reached behind her to tug a corner of the bedspread up over her shoulder. Heath froze.

  The blissed-out warmth he’d known a few moments ago dissipated.

  “You knew who I was?” A lifetime of being sought after only for his wealth and fame gave the question more bite than he’d intended.

  She must have heard it, because she quit tucking the spread around her and looked up at him. Her body tensed.

  “Some big-deal third baseman, according to Rochelle. The friend who owns this house,” she clarified. Then, as if to lighten the mood, she winked. “Why? Were you trying to keep it secret?”

  He didn’t know where to begin addressing that question. Had she targeted him from the minute she’d arriv
ed? Or maybe she’d been content to meet some random player, clearly confusing him with Diego Estes. He didn’t want to shuffle his view of her to accommodate that new information, far preferring his idea of her as sweet and awkward. Overtly brainy but quietly beautiful. But now, his whole perspective shifted.

  “Oh, my God.” Reaching for the bedspread again, she pulled it closer. “You really did want to keep it a secret.”

  The confusion in her voice didn’t seem like an act. But damn. He’d been taken in by women who were only trying to get close to his job in the past. He wasn’t in any position right now to read her motives.

  He swiped his hand over his head, wishing he could wipe away the new ache that had started in his temples.

  “It’s no secret.” Plenty of well-known personalities made trips to the islands off Cape Cod, so it was not as if he thought he was hiding. “But if you were trying to hook up with the third baseman, you got the wrong guy.”

  He was about as far from ladies’ man Diego Estes as he could get. Grabbing his shirt, he got to his feet and pulled it on.

  “I wasn’t trying to hook up with anyone.” Her voice was steely.

  “What about The Mating Season?”

  “Oh. Yes.” That seemed to fluster her. “Well, I was trying to educate myself on the dating scene to help me meet people, but I certainly didn’t set out to meet some big-deal ballplayer whose name means nothing to me anyway.” She paused in the middle of the rant, sat up and yanked his socks out of his hand before he could put them on. “Wait a minute. Who are you if you don’t play for the Aces?”

  She looked so distressed at the idea he wasn’t a major leaguer that it steeled any trace of regret at walking out on her. Memories of all the low-down tricks groupies had used to meet him came back with a vengeance—right down to the phone call a crazed lady fan had placed to his new wife, pretending to be his mistress. Anger burned hot in his gut as his brain lumped Amber into that category of tricksters.

  Wrenching his socks back, he jammed them in his back pocket as he headed for the door.

  “Instead of reading a book on how to meet guys, next time you ought to pick up a players’ roster so you know who you’re talking to.” He paused to look at her, silhouetted against the bed with the moonlight as a backdrop. “I don’t play for the Aces. I manage them.”

  Walking out of her bedroom, he didn’t look back.

  HEATH HAD BARELY returned home when his cell phone started ringing.

  He knew it couldn’t be Amber since she didn’t have his number. Furthermore, she probably didn’t want to speak to him any more than he did to her. He’d been a little harsher than he’d intended.

  Pulling the phone from his pants pocket, he saw the caller ID. Of all the freaking luck, it was Diego Estes, the Aces’ third baseman that Amber had mistaken him for.

  “Estes, dude, it’s almost two in the morning.”

  “Is it that late already?” the kid shouted over music blaring in the background and the noise of a few hundred other hardcore partying types. “Sorry about that. I just wondered if you’ve seen my iPod. I think I left it at your beach house.”

  Heath had walked straight into the living room and turned on the television to distract him from thinking about Amber and how he’d rather be oblivious and in her bed than wise to her maneuvering and alone in his place.

  “No sign of it, but I’ll leave a note for the cleaning people and see if they find it when they come in.”

  “You okay, Skip?” The kid seemed to have found a quieter corner of the bar or party or wherever he was because the pulsing bass had decreased in the background.

  It still made Heath feel a hundred years old to be called Skip, the traditional nickname for a team’s manager in baseball. Wasn’t he just the hotshot rookie a blink of an eye ago?

  Having Amber mistake him for someone like Diego ticked him off, even though the guy was nice enough. Estes had a world of problems of his own, and Heath was damn grateful to have escaped the worst of the groupie phase of his career unscathed.

  “Yeah.” Heath dropped onto a couch across from the TV, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while. “I just ran into a woman who thought I was you. Must be she knew you were staying here last week and somehow she got us confused. Too bad, because she seemed…”

  He didn’t finish the thought, knowing he shouldn’t have this conversation with one of his players anyhow. Besides, how would he go about describing Amber? Nice didn’t seem to cover it when she was sexy and straight-talking—or so he thought—and unexpectedly vulnerable.

  “Was she hot?” In the background, Estes seemed to be waving off people who wanted to talk to him, their conversation interrupted by a muted “Not now.” Then his attention seemed to return and he picked up where he left off. “You deserve someone totally hot, but someone with a good heart, too, Skip.”

  At twenty-three, Diego was older than a lot of rookies since they’d scouted him in the Caribbean where up-and-comers weren’t involved in the baseball draft. Still, in the ways of the world, twenty-three was damn young, and in spite of the wise-sounding words Estes offered now, Heath knew the player had run aground in his own relationships.

  “You think I’m taking dating advice from you, Estes?” Locker room gossip had it that Diego had been trying to get in touch with an ex-girlfriend back home in the Dominican Republic who’d dumped him before he came to the States a year and a half ago. Of course, there was a good chance she wouldn’t want anything to do with a guy who had a huge female following and was frequently referred to as a ladies’ man in the tabloids.

  “Think what you want, but I know you shouldn’t turn your back on the people who make you feel happy to be with them. That’s too rare to give up for the insincere, fly-by-night types that surround us in this game.”

  Heath closed his eyes and pressed against the lids with his hands. His head hurt. And despite the anger he’d felt at Amber when he’d stomped out of her beach house full of righteous indignation, he felt regret flame to life.

  “You there, Skip?” Estes prodded.

  “I’m trying to decide if I’m just tired or if you’re actually making sense.” He was only giving the kid a hard time, since Heath hadn’t been half as wise when he’d been twenty-three. Hell, he hadn’t been half that smart when he’d gotten married and proved to be a supremely lousy husband.

  The bark of laughter on the other end of the phone hinted at a dark bitterness.

  “I had my heart gouged out with a spoon because I was too blind to recognize something good when I had it. Trust me when I tell you that I’m making sense.” Estes muttered something about double-checking his car for his iPod and then he was gone—leaving Heath wondering what was going on between Diego and that ex-girlfriend of his to have the guy so turned around lately.

  Diego’s batting average had taken a nosedive in the last four games and Heath had hoped that the rest over the All-Star break combined with time at Heath’s Nantucket place would straighten Estes out. But clearly, the player was still struggling with personal stuff.

  Sad to think the twenty-three-year-old was giving him advice when it should be Heath helping his players wade through the challenges of playing in the big leagues. Was Estes right about not being so hard on people that made you happy? Heath flipped the channels on the television, thinking about how Amber hadn’t really pursued him. Sure, she’d run into him at first, but then she’d disappeared into the crowd and had sought out privacy at a picnic table back at The Lighthouse. It wasn’t as if she’d actively tried to hit on him.

  He’d bought her the beer and invited himself to have a seat with her because she’d seemed down-to-earth. And yeah, maybe he’d kind of liked that she’d been totally unimpressed with him. So could he blame her now for not making a big deal about knowing his affiliation to baseball?

  Thunking his head on the arm of the overstuffed sofa, he had the sinking sensation he’d been an ass to walk out on her earlier. He’d apologize tomorrow. Make
it up to her somehow.

  Because despite the fact that his career dreams were teetering on destruction as Estes’s bat cooled off and the numbers in the loss column got higher, Heath had enjoyed himself tonight.

  And that was the first time he could say that about any moment spent off the baseball field in a long, long time.

  OF ALL THE NERVE.

  Amber had repeated the phrase like a mantra to herself a few dozen times since Mr. Full of Himself had departed the night before. Now, she muttered it in between writing lines for the lone book review she’d promised to her editor during her vacation. A week off wasn’t really a week off in her department these days.

  She’d taken her laptop onto the patio of Rochelle’s house, refusing to allow her conceited neighbor to think she was hiding from him after he’d walked out on her before the sheets were cold. Of course, the day’s favorite phrase—of all the nerve—had the tendency to show up in her book review, insinuating itself into the text so that she had to keep going back and erasing it.

  Honestly, where did the man get his arrogance? She’d refrained from calling Rochelle, preferring not to share the embarrassing details of her encounter with Heath. But part of her wanted to know more about him, if only to understand why he’d treated her the way he did.

  He’d been kick-butt awesome one minute, making it his mission to prove to her she was a desirable woman worthy of sexual fulfillment. And when she remembered that Heath, she wanted to knock on his door and kiss him all over. But how could that same man turn so wretched the next moment, implying that she’d gone out hunting for a famous face?

  “Amber?”

  The sexy timbre of the familiar male voice rolled over her senses, making her aware of the new arrival on the other side of the patio railing.

  She hadn’t noticed his approach, but Heath stood there dripping wet from a morning swim, the rivulets of water running down washboard abs into soaking swim shorts.