by Laura Simcox
“Right.” She let out a short breath and lay her fingertips on his shoulders.
He slid an arm around her back and pulled her up against his chest. When his lips settled in the crook of her neck, her eyelids closed and her head fell back at the heat of his breath against her skin. He kissed her neck. Her jaw. And then, backing her against the counter, he lowered his mouth to hers, tasting the edge of her lower lip.
“Brett,” she said in a choked whisper and wrapped her arms around his warm neck. A second later, his mouth covered hers, the pressure and heat of his slow, deliberate kiss crushing her inhibitions. She kissed him back, arching against him, opening her mouth—inviting him inside. When his tongue slid underneath hers, he gave a low groan and threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head. He kissed her again.
Georgia groaned too—the throaty sound echoing in the empty room—and she felt her nipples harden against his chest. She wanted him to go deeper, wanted him to kiss her until she couldn’t think, but gradually he pulled his mouth away from hers. He nestled his head in her neck once more, and she drew in a deep breath, inhaling his clean, masculine scent. He held her close for a long moment, his chest rising and falling against hers.
When he eventually lifted his face to look at her, his eyes glittered with desire. “You’re so beautiful, Georgia.”
She gazed up at him, hearing his words but not quite believing them. No guy had ever called her beautiful before. It was on the tip of her tongue to protest, but she didn’t. She wanted to be beautiful—especially to Brett. “Thank you. I—you’re incredible.”
“So I’ve heard.” He gave her a wink.
“And cocky.”
“Heard that too.”
She surveyed his handsome face. “And you’ve got lipstick all over your mouth.”
“Now that, I’ve never heard.”
At his alarmed expression, she let out a little laugh. “Go check in the mirror.”
Slowly, Brett let go of her. When she pointed toward the bathroom, he shut the door behind him. Georgia was glad that he had because she needed a good thirty seconds of freak-out time. Closing her eyes, she pressed her fists against her forehead and took several deep breaths. Then she took a deep drink of sparkling faux wine. She stared across the room and shook her head. “Oh my God. Oh. My. God.”
Well, she couldn’t take that kiss back. That romantic, overwhelming, fantastic kiss. The best one she’d ever had. “Stop it,” she muttered to herself. Just because Brett had a magic mouth didn’t mean that she had to—
The bathroom door swung open, and he walked out, rubbing that sexy mouth. “I did have lipstick all over me. You were right.”
“I usually am,” she said quickly.
“I’ll bet.” He stopped near the edge of the counter, a half-smile on his face.
Georgia gestured with the cup in her hand. “Toast?”
“Yeah.” Brett lifted the other cup. “Happy Independence Day.”
“Same to you.” She touched her cup to his and drank.
He drained his wine and gazed at her, desire still lighting his eyes. “I don’t want to say this, but I’d better get going. Doubt I have to spell out why.”
“No. I’d rather you didn’t spell it out.” But she knew why. The hottest guy she’d ever laid eyes on—the most compelling guy she’d ever met—wanted her. Her! “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Nope. We’re off tomorrow, and then we’re traveling to play Omaha—”
“Oh yeah. I forgot.”
“You’re doing pregame interviews when we get back, right?”
She nodded.
“A piece of advice. Keep the questions simple. Real simple.”
Georgia didn’t plan to do that at all, but she nodded again. “Okay. Thanks for coming over.”
“Sure. It was my pleasure.” He crossed to the door. “I’ll give you that interview when we get back, Georgia. Next home game is the tenth, so I’ll stop by the studio that morning.”
She followed him and opened the door. “Great. Maybe by then I will have wrapped up the story about ballpark giveaways.”
“T-shirt cannon day is a fan favorite,” he said with a wink. Then he gazed at her. “I’ll be thinking of you, okay?”
Before she could answer, he stepped off the concrete block porch and jogged down the sidewalk. Georgia knew she shouldn’t linger there with the door open—her agents would have a fit—but she stood in the humid evening air and watched Brett until he’d gotten into his Jeep and driven away.
A second later, fireworks exploded in the sky.
Georgia watched them for a minute before turning back into her mostly empty place. What to do now? Sit on her bed and stare at the blank walls? Obsess over the feel of his mouth on hers? She groaned and picked up her phone from the counter. Going for her phone when she felt uneasy was habitual, but scrolling apps gave her something mindless to do. Gave her time to think.
She flicked the phone on and saw that her sisters had texted her. Both of them. As she read the messages, a smile lifted her lips. Carolina and Virginia had said basically the same thing but in completely different ways because they were such different women.
“Just watched your baseball debut. Very impressive,” she read aloud. That was from Carolina. Then she looked at Virginia’s text again. “Saw that pitch on YouTube. Noticed your shoes matched your hat. Good job.”
Georgia knew that if she texted them back, she’d soon be switching screens like a crazy person. It’d be easier to just call, and since Virginia was the night owl, Georgia tried her first. Virginia picked up in the middle of the first ring. “Hey, Curious Georgia. Guess what? Carolina and Jake are here visiting the Big Apple.”
“Oh, nice.” Georgia cleared her throat. “Are you having fun?”
“Not as much fun as you appear to be having.” She paused. “So, what’s up, sis?”
“Not a lot now, but earlier—” Georgia let out an uncomfortable laugh, the memory of Brett’s hands traveling over her body popping into her mind. “Yeah, earlier at the ballpark . . . well, you saw.”
“Hmm. You seem unusually tongue-tied. Why is that?”
Tongue-tied. Georgia giggled.
“Oookay, you’re being weird,” Virginia said. “We need Skype.”
Georgia rolled her eyes. Both of her sisters were addicted to video chatting. Well—when they weren’t wrapped around their husbands. Virginia and Dex were known to “slip away” at work—they owned and managed a department store in New York City. And Carolina and Jake? Watching them look at each other was like watching a bonfire flare up.
Georgia wasn’t jealous, even though no guy had ever looked at her that way. Correction—no guy had looked at her that way until tonight. Oh God. She let out a sigh and sank down on the bed. She couldn’t quit grinning. She couldn’t stop the silly girly noises that came out of her mouth. She—
“I’m hanging up on you,” Virginia announced. “Go get your laptop and call me right back.”
“Oh, I’m kind of tired,” Georgia lied.
“Bullshit. Besides, Jake wants to talk to you about baseball.”
Georgia sucked in a breath. Of course. Jake was a college baseball coach. “Perfect. I can’t believe I haven’t thought to call him yet,” she murmured.
“Okay, now I know you’ve gone off the deep end of the South. You’re usually one step ahead of everyone,” Virginia said. “Skype. Now.”
“Bye.” Georgia hung up and reached for the laptop sitting next to her. A minute later, she pretended to smile casually as her sisters and their respective husbands crowded in front of the webcam. “Hi, everyone.”
“Hi, Georgia,” they chorused.
“We’re proud of you,” Dex said with his arm wrapped around Virginia’s waist.
“Thanks,” Georgia answered.
Carolina, who was petite, stood in front of the group. She pushed her hair behind her ears and leaned forward, peering. “Are you okay? Your lips look really chapp
ed or something.”
Oh God. The kissing. All the amazing kissing. Georgia tried to hide her alarm. “My lips? What do you mean?”
“Looks as if your lipstick is smeared all over the place,” Jake said. When Carolina narrowed her eyes at him, he raised his palms. “What? You brought it up.”
“I was going to be more tactful, but yeah.” Carolina cocked her head to the side. “You look as if . . .”
Georgia feigned confusion, even as she turned her head to the side. But how did a person hide her own mouth in a video chat? If she put her hand over it, her sisters wouldn’t let the subject go.
Virginia gasped. “Oh. Hang on a second.” She disappeared from the screen for a moment and bounced back in, holding a phone up, the screen facing Georgia. “This has something to do with it, I bet.”
Georgia squinted at the screen, watching the Redbirds video play on Virginia’s phone. She watched herself throw out the pitch. Not bad, actually. She watched herself standing there on the pitcher’s mound, looking a little nervous. And then she watched as the camera followed Brett trotting out to her. It zoomed in. And the look on Brett’s face—oh God, the look on her face—it was that inferno look. And it was on YouTube.
She took a deep breath. “Yeah, I must have bumped into my lips when I threw the ball. I guess I did smear my lipstick.”
When Virginia moved the phone away, she stared at Georgia with an incredulous expression. So did Dex. Even Carolina. Jake just grinned.
Georgia couldn’t take any more teasing tonight, and though she was dying to ask questions—like how to handle falling for someone when the whole world is watching—she just grinned back and thought about how to change the subject. She wasn’t about to discuss her feelings for Brett in front of half of her family. Georgia pointed at Jake. “I need to ask you a favor, big guy. Would you give me some baseball tips?”
“Of course.” He continued to grin.
“Great, great. Well, I’m pretty tired now, as you all can imagine. Long day.” She faked a yawn. “Have a great time in New York. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Carolina leaned down again. “It appears that you’re doing a lot more than we thought,” she whispered with a wink.
“Okay,” Virginia said. Her face filled Georgia’s screen, and then the view tilted as she walked away. A few seconds later, the display righted and Virginia was alone. “Spill,” she said.
Georgia thought about refusing, but Virginia didn’t give up easily. Plus, she really did need to spill, so she took a deep breath. “My internship sucks, and I have the beginnings of a mad crush on the totally stubborn guy who’s totally wrong for me. To make it worse, I’m supposed to be interviewing him, but he’s not cooperating. If I don’t get him to talk, I won’t get the course credit I need for my internship, I won’t graduate, and I won’t have a degree.”
“Oh.” Virginia’s eyes widened. “This is . . . so not like you.”
“I know, right?” Georgia flopped back on the bed and dragged the laptop closer to her head. “What do I do?”
“About what?”
“Well, for starters, how is it going to look if . . . I mean, you saw Brett and me on the pitcher’s mound, right?” she asked in a miserable tone. “Did you see the look on my face?”
“The look of adoration?” Virginia grinned. “It was beautiful.”
Georgia groaned. “What if the media blows it out of proportion? I am the media for God’s sake, and I want to be taken seriously.”
“No offense, sis, but you take yourself so seriously that there’s no room for anyone else not to. And as for the media—all you have to watch out for is the paparazzi.” Virginia made a face. “As for those bloodsuckers—avoid. Ignore. But don’t say a word to them—especially in denial. That shit will come back to haunt you.”
Ignore. It sounded easy, but Georgia never let anything in her life be easy. She nodded anyway. “Okay.”
“And please—have some fun for once. It thrills me to no end to see you having fun.” Virginia kissed her fingers and pressed them to the screen. “Get some sleep.”
“Thanks, Virginia.” Georgia summoned up a smile. “Good night.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.” Georgia shut the laptop and sat there staring across the room. Her gaze drifted toward the doorway and then settled on the kitchen counter. After the way she’d been kissed tonight—after the way she’d kissed Brett—it wouldn’t surprise her if there were scorch marks left behind.
She sighed. The best thing she could hope for? Not to be burned. By Brett, by WHAP, and—most of all—by herself.
Chapter Six
WHEN BRETT WOKE up to the blare of his alarm clock the following morning, Georgia’s lips were the first delicious thing to creep into his sleep-fogged consciousness. The second was the memory of her round, firm breasts pressed into his chest. Intent on half-dreaming of her for another few minutes, he smiled and turned to smack the snooze button. He missed. The clock tumbled off the nightstand, and, with a sigh, Brett bent to the floor to pick it up.
Rubbing his forehead, he draped the comforter over his shoulders and walked into the living room to flop on his over-sized sofa. It was cold in his apartment, and he liked it that way. Growing up with no A/C did that to a guy. The memory of his mother’s rundown shotgun house crept into his mind, chasing away the sweet thoughts of Georgia, which was probably for the best. He wasn’t sure that he could even process the fact that he’d kissed her. Besides, today was a day off, which meant visiting his mom anyway. Brett’s smile began to droop.
Right about now, his mom would be standing in the tiny bathroom, a cigarette hanging between her lips as she teased her hair. Well, assuming she was up because she had a job to get ready for. If she was unemployed, as she was a lot of the time, she would be asleep on the couch in front of a floor fan because her bedroom was too hot in the summertime and her neighborhood—he’d long since quit calling it his neighborhood—was too dangerous to leave the windows open.
Brett stared across the room at the open door to his bathroom, which contained a soaking tub with jets. The vanity was marble. So was the counter in his kitchen, which surrounded high-end stainless steel appliances. He lived in a luxury apartment in Harbor Town, on exclusive Mud Island, because he could. Even though he was playing in the minors, his contract was with the major league. He could afford it. While his mom could barely afford to buy groceries. She lived in a shithole in Southeast Memphis because she was too stubborn to take help—and worse? She wouldn’t help herself. What kind of fucked-up pride was that?
Brett had been asking himself that question for years and had tried to fold her into his life. He’d given her season tickets to Redbirds games in an effort to see her more, but Margot Knox didn’t come to games because she didn’t want to embarrass him. On the flip side, she had no problem talking him up to anyone who would listen. She was proud, in her own way. And strong. He knew that.
Joe, who was all the way up in St. Louis, hadn’t given up on Margot either, but there wasn’t much he could do. Brett was hanging on by a thread, himself. On his rare days off, he made the drive across the bridge, past the stadium, and south—his stomach clenching as his childhood came into sight with every weedy block he passed—until he reached Margot’s house.
Today would be no different, but today he needed to have a talk with her. And he needed to focus on that, not on kissing Georgia. That was its own Pandora’s box that he didn’t even need to be thinking about at the moment.
With a groan, Brett threw off the cover, walked to the kitchen, and pulled out a gallon of milk. He drank straight from the carton—because he could—and took a quick shower. Twenty minutes later, he was in his Jeep, headed over the bridge. After fighting through traffic and battling the wave of frustration about, well, everything that threatened to set his mood at a simmering boil, he arrived on Melody Avenue, which sounded a hell of a lot better than it looked. He parked in front of the small, weathered house, s
topping on the cracked sidewalk to pick up an empty beer can. He threw it in the bushes, climbed the rickety porch, and knocked on the security bars covering the front door.
“Mom?” He knocked louder, the bars rattling under the pressure of his fist.
“Brett?” Margot’s raspy voice was loud—too loud, as always.
“It’s me.”
“Oh, good.” The door opened with a creak, and Brett stared at his sleepy mom, all petite five feet of her, standing in front of him wearing a halter top and cut off sweatpants. She looked worried. That was nothing new, but she looked nervous too. About what?
“Hi, sweetie,” she said. “Come on in.”
Brett kissed her cheek and stepped into the stuffy, dark living room and, as he usually did, reached for the remote to turn down the blaring TV. “How are you doing?”
“Great,” she said enthusiastically, as she always did. “Joe sent me something new for my collection.” She gestured to the end of the room, which was packed full of carefully arranged baseball souvenirs, most of the items displayed on a couple of folding card tables. “A signed ball from the All-Star Game.”
“Cool.” Brett walked over and picked it up, rolling it in his hands. With hard work, he’d be bringing home a Major League All-Star ball soon too. But he had to focus. He couldn’t have any more incidents like yesterday—getting thrown out of a game just because he couldn’t keep his temper under control. Joe didn’t sweat the small stuff—that’s what he always told Brett. But Joe wasn’t still stuck in Memphis. Joe hadn’t gotten involved with the president’s daughter. And when Joe’s life story had been shoved in front of the viewing public, it had been by a random reporter at WHAP. If Georgia decided to dig deep and put Brett’s story on the air, the viewing public would be a lot bigger just because of who she was. On top of that, Brett didn’t want to tell it to her. He’d put her on a pedestal, and it turned his stomach to think of her touting him as a poster boy for overcoming poverty. He put down the ball and turned around.
