by Joanne Rock
Heath dialed Amber’s cell phone, hoping that wherever she was, she could be here soon.
He damn near had a heart attack when a male voice answered her phone.
“Where’s Amber?” he barked, heart slamming in his chest as if he was ready to break into a fist fight.
All that tension churning in his gut had just found an outlet.
“Skip?” the voice on the other end responded, sounding confused and appropriately wary.
He recognized the voice. The light accent.
Steam hissed from Heath’s ears as he considered the implication of Diego Estes having Amber’s phone. They were together? He told himself not to jump to conclusions, but life had been so damn adversarial with him lately, that proved tough to do.
“Yes,” he answered tightly, slipping off his necktie before it strangled him. “Put her on the phone now.”
“Whoa.” Estes tried to take the laid-back approach. “Relax. Amber let me borrow her phone to call Jasmine, but your girlfriend took off before I could give it back. She left a message for me with the guy behind the juice counter at the spa before she left, though. She told him she was going to some college library. I guess she wanted me to let you know that if you called her phone.”
A library? Frowning, Heath rose to his feet and strode back to the entryway of the suite. Turning on the light there, he saw a note on a stand near the basket of fresh fruit:
Had a lightbulb moment in regard to your team and went on a run to the college library on the UCLA campus, which stays open late. Come join me or else I’ll be back when it closes.
P.S. I let Diego borrow my phone to call the mother of his child and apparent love of his life.
P.P.S. You’re not off the hook with the quickie.
The storm inside him eased as he read the note. Amber wasn’t having a secret tryst with the third baseman. Duh. Although that twist of momentary anxiety and fury made him better appreciate how hard it had been for his ex-wife to deal with his fame and all the women it brought across his path. Jealousy sucked.
“Right. Sorry, man,” Heath replied lamely, knowing his fear had been obvious in his voice when he’d asked for Amber. But damn it, the call from the team owner had screwed with his head. “I’m going to find her. Just drop off her phone at the front desk, okay?”
“Sure thing, Skip. She really helped me out today, you know? I think I’ve got Jasmine actually considering making a trip up here.”
Estes sounded happy. Excited. And somehow Amber had a hand in that. Was it possible that Estes’s game would improve tomorrow because the guy had turned some kind of corner on his personal problems?
“I’m glad for you, man. Get to bed though, okay? Big game tomorrow and I’m counting on you.”
“Right, boss. One thing, though. You ever have a girlfriend ditch you for a trip to the library before?” Estes cracked himself up with that one before he cackled out a goodbye and hung up.
Guy was in too damn a good mood, something that hadn’t happened in weeks. Heath, meanwhile, was already in the elevator and on his way down to the lobby to call a cab. He wasn’t missing out on Amber for the sake of her books.
He’d been jealous to think of her with anyone else when Diego had picked up her phone. Now, all that possessiveness and the stress from the day needed an outlet.
But, oddly, he realized he wasn’t just anxious to see her because he wanted to give her that massage she’d missed with his own two hands. He was also curious as hell about what she’d told Estes and what was so all-fired urgent that she needed to visit the local book mecca at nine o’clock at night.
Her note suggested she had a thought about the team.
Even though he couldn’t imagine her books could provide the answers to his young team’s myriad problems, he appreciated that she wanted to help save his career from going down in flames when this road trip ended.
12
A COPY MACHINE HUMMED in the background while Amber worked in the library on the UCLA campus. The sound blended with the soft whir of an excellent ventilation system that kept the books in the stacks in optimal condition. The murmur of muted study group conversations drifted occasionally to her ears. Now and then, these comforting sounds that were the same in libraries everywhere were interrupted by the high giggle or squeal of some female in the stacks.
Again, totally normal. Apparently the semiprivate nature of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves provided enticing opportunities for grab-and-grope games on a universal basis.
It was the giggling that distracted her, reminding her that she could have stayed at the hotel and enjoyed even more private games with Heath. She only had him for such a short amount of time. What was she doing wasting precious hours with her nose in books, just like that night they’d met?
She knew the answer and didn’t want to face the truth.
She was falling for Heath in spite of numerous reasons that told her it was a very bad idea. They’d only just met. He’d admitted to being bad long-term material by way of the marriage that didn’t work out and his easy agreement to keep their relationship on a temporary basis. His work demanded so much from him that he had no time—or made no time—for anything else. Even if that hadn’t been the case, his job would always present endless temptation in the form of female fans. How could she ever handle that with her deep-seated insecurity issues? She’d drive him away with worrying.
Then there was her job, which wasn’t all that stable, either. The list went on so long she’d drive herself crazy thinking this to pieces—
“There you are.”
Heath’s voice sliced through the anxiety, scattering her thoughts and drawing her focus to the here and now. He strode down the aisle of tables tucked between the shelves of the biography section.
Eyes focused, jaw muscles flexed, he had looked just this same way that night she’d seen him stalk out to home plate to speak to an umpire. He appeared determined. Intense.
Ready to have his way.
A happy shiver trembled over her skin. Even knowing that being with him could be harmful to her heart, she couldn’t fight the desire to take whatever happiness she could squeeze out of these few days.
“Hi.” She felt breathless. Awkward.
Another muffled giggle that emanated from the rows of book nearby made heat suffuse her cheeks.
Heath didn’t seem aware of the sound, however. His attention veered toward the books scattered around her. He turned two of the volumes so that the covers faced him.
“Red Auerbach. John Wooden.” He turned more covers. “You’ve got coaching books from every sport here. Everything from NHL great Lester Patrick to baseball’s own one-line king, Yogi Berra. Does this have to do with your lightbulb moment?”
“I—” She took a deep breath, willing away the strong attraction she now realized was rooted in more than the physical. As much as she’d like to hide in a hotel room with Heath for days on end, she also wanted to help him. “I could be way off base here, and you know my baseball knowledge is zilch. But I ran into Diego at the spa today.”
She launched into a retelling of their conversation about the third baseman’s girlfriend while Heath dropped into the seat next to her. His expression remained thoughtful, considering. Which seemed nice, given how far she’d tread out on a limb to offer an opinion on the baseball world.
“So, call me crazy,” she continued, holding a high-school football coach’s memoir close to her chest, “but I thought I’d go to the source for the best wisdom out there on how to develop team chemistry and motivate players. It seems like that can help win games when you’ve already got the necessary talent in place.”
“You researched all this stuff for me?” He thumbed idly through a book of motivational quotes taken from coaches of every conceivable sport.
Amber couldn’t tell if he thought she was simply being nerdy again, or if he was feeling that she’d stepped on his toes by trying to research something he’d devoted his life to. Then again, maybe he didn�
��t think either of those things and he would see beyond the books to a depth of caring about him that she hadn’t meant to reveal.
Hastily, she began stacking the resources to diminish the visual impact of the umpteen volumes scattered everywhere.
“I’m a bookworm. It’s what I do.” Too late, she realized her actions had uncovered a legal pad full of notes in longhand.
Amber Nichols, geek extraordinaire.
Heath’s hand darted to hers, stilling her efforts to clean up the area.
“This is really great of you. I’ve meant to read a lot of these at different points in my career, but never made the time.”
His eyes conveyed a sincerity that melted her heart and made her realize she was toast when it came to this man. How had she let this happen?
“It was nothing—”
He kissed her, staunching the flow of words with the tender barrier of his lips. Awareness flamed to life, flicking over her skin to tantalize every inch of her with wanting. Her eyelids drifted closed, her senses narrowing to focus on Heath’s scent and touch. She breathed him in, letting the moment burn away the awkwardness, the worries and the burden of too many thoughts.
He pulled away from her so slightly that she did not even bother to open her eyes. “It’s not nothing,” he whispered, his thumb roaming over the back of her hand in a sweet, subtle stroke. “It’s something no one else would have thought to do for me and something I really needed tonight.”
She forced her eyes open at the vehemence—the pure conviction—in his voice. Happiness warmed her heart for a moment and then her attention snagged on the last part of what he’d just said.
“What do you mean? Did something happen?” She could tell something must have gone wrong.
“The team owner called after the meeting. He said they’re giving me run of the team for this road series, but if I can’t win in L.A., I’m done.”
“You can’t be serious.” Her eyes were wide-open now, the electric hum in her skin short-circuiting at the news. “That’s like my department editor saying I have to sell a few thousand more papers to keep writing my column.”
How incredibly unfair.
Behind them, an assistant librarian strode through the floor announcing they would be closing shortly.
“Well, it’s done.” Heath squeezed her hand tighter. “I can’t make any radical changes to my game plan at this point, but who knows? Maybe I can light a fire under these guys in the locker room thanks to your help.”
He gestured toward her piles of notes and books. Never in her life had her academic approach felt as small as right at that moment. He was being unfairly railroaded, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to help.
“I had so many ideas. I thought the players’ wives and girlfriends would get together more. I thought you could get some more translators for a night out—”
“And maybe I’ll have the chance to try all of that.” Rising from the chair, he scooped up her bag and notes. “I’ll sure as hell look over some of this before I hit the locker room tomorrow, but right now there’s only one thing that will make this better.”
“A breach of contract lawsuit.”
“No.” With his free hand, he tugged her toward the elevator. “Sex all night long. And the sooner the better.”
Her heart tripped over itself even more than her suddenly stumbling feet.
“Oh.” She looked back with longing at the high shelves of books that hid lovers among the stacks. “I know somewhere we could go just to, er, take the edge off.”
HE’D BEEN TEMPTED.
Amber had glanced toward the towering racks with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, twirling her braid between her fingers like a naughty co-ed bent on getting into trouble. It was the last thing he’d expected from her, and he’d bet his World Series ring that she’d never tried something like that before. Which, of course, had made him all the more eager to take her back there and fulfill every fantasy.
But a public indiscretion could have him booted out of the clubhouse before tomorrow’s game even got under way, so he’d opted to pay the cab driver double to deliver them back to their hotel quickly.
Now, he sat beside her in the darkened backseat of a yellow taxi while the driver sped down Sunset Boulevard.
“I can’t believe I missed out on a chance like that.” Heath breathed in the scent of her shampoo where he’d already started to unwind the braid. The layers of hair inside were still slightly damp even though he’d bet she’d showered hours ago. “If I get fired tomorrow and my public image no longer matters, you have to promise me you’ll go back to that library with me.”
“No way.” She ducked her head against his shoulder and rubbed her cheek against his chest. “I can’t believe I proposed something so outrageous in the first place. It’s just that I’ve heard couples fooling around in the stacks in libraries a million times. Maybe it’s a rite of passage for academic types.”
Other cars honked as their cab extricated itself from a knot of traffic.
“Damn it.” Heath could picture her working diligently in nameless libraries around Boston, trying to ignore the sounds of couples sneaking a feel nearby. “I deprived you of something you could have thought about every time you’re in a library for the rest of your life.”
And knowing Amber’s love of books, that would be a lot of times.
“Why don’t you make it up to me by providing what I’ve really wanted all evening?”
As the cab drew to a stop in front of the hotel, he racked his brain to think what that would be.
“The massage?” He hated to give her up for that long, but this was supposed be her vacation.
One of the hotel valets opened the taxi’s door while Heath paid the driver. Amber’s half-undone hair slid forward over one shoulder as she stepped out of the cab and peered back at him.
“The quickie.”
Hallelujah.
Heath turned to the valet still holding the cab door while Amber walked toward the hotel a few paces ahead of him.
“The front desk has my girlfriend’s cell phone. Could you send it up to Room 5163 in about an hour?” He passed the kid a ten. Then dug in his wallet for a second. “Actually, make that two hours, and could you tell room service to bring something then, too? Good red wine and a pizza?”
“Of course, Mr. Donovan.” The kid nodded, hiding any smirk he might have had at overhearing Amber’s mention of a quickie. “And I’ll be rooting for you tomorrow. I’m from Hartford.”
“Good man.” Heath slapped him on the back. “We’ll need some fans on our side.”
He hurried to catch up to Amber, wanting to touch her so he wouldn’t think about that damn game anymore. As much as he appreciated hearing from the Aces’ fans, he couldn’t worry about things he couldn’t control. His best pitcher wouldn’t be ready to pitch until the following game, so they had to go with a new guy they’d just pulled up from the minors. The bullpen had been struggling all year since they had no depth in that department—No. He shut down that line of thinking, jogged through the hotel doors that a bellhop held open for him and hurried past the front desk.
At the elevator bank, Amber stood inside an empty car, one finger pressing a button on the control panel.
“Going up?” A smile teased one side of her lips. She’d lost the tie in her hair somewhere between the cab and the hotel, so now the waves spilled free over the shoulders of her simple cotton dress.
“Hell, yes.”
He barged in the elevator and dragged her finger away from the button that held the doors open. He didn’t wait for them to close behind her, but backed her up against the rear wall, his hands on her waist.
She went willingly. Eagerly. Shrugging her purse strap off her shoulder, she let it fall to the floor and then wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her hips to his, sealing them together.
“You forgot to hit the button for the fifth floor,” she whispered, arching her neck as if she wanted a kiss there.
Her soft whimper vibrated against his lips and hummed along his tongue. He could feel the thrum of her pulse at her throat and the need to have her naked seized him hard.
“Hurry,” she urged, untwining an arm from his neck to reach for the elevator buttons.
Some part of his brain told him they were probably at the penthouse level by now. Thank God no one else had wanted a ride yet. He leaned back enough so she could reach the button for their floor.
Ding!
The elevator chimed as it slowed to a stop—on the sixth floor instead of the fifth.
“Stay in front of me.” Heath moved Amber to stand between him and entrance, unable to gain control of himself before the sliding doors hissed open.
He kept his arms wrapped around her waist and ducked his chin to kiss her shoulder.
“Hey, Skip.” The Aces’ big-money closer, Chase Montoya, stepped into the cabin with star pitcher Jay Cannon.
Clearly dressed for a night on the town, Jay’s black silk shirt and black pants made him look like stereotypical New York mafia while Montoya’s baseball jersey and gold necklace as thick as a climbing rope were more suited to a rap video.
“You guys aren’t setting a bad example for my rookies by blowing off curfew, are you?” Heath wished he could put Amber under his arm and hide her from view since these two gawked at her as if they’d never seen a woman before.
