by Jaci Burton
He fell into one of the cushioned chaises, taking Lisa with him. She snuggled up against his chest and watched the stars above them.
"Yes, we definitely have to stay a few more days," she murmured.
"I think you're adjusting to this decadent lifestyle."
"I could get used to it. We'll need to redo the backyard." She lifted her head. "Will you move into my house? Or do you want me to move into yours?"
"We can figure all that out later. Don't worry about the details."
"Okay. No matter what, we definitely need a private back porch."
He laughed. "I've created a monster. One who likes outdoor sex."
"Hey, we live in Florida. Might as well take advantage of year-round nice temperatures."
He tilted her chin back and kissed her. "I love you, Lisa."
"I love you, too. Thank you for not giving up on me."
"I never have. I never will."
She was so lucky. A wonderful husband, an incredible daughter, and an amazing future. They were bound together now, tied with invisible bonds that had always been there. She'd just been too blind to see them.
Now she saw clearly.
"Dinner should be arriving soon," she said.
"Good. You're working me to death on this vacation. I'm starving."
She grinned. "It's a good thing the food is great here, then. I need you to keep up your strength."
He stood and pulled her out of the chair. "There's also a matter of that special outfit you said you bought for later?"
"Oh, yeah. The one I'm going to wear when we consummate our marriage."
He snorted. "It's going to be a long night."
There was a knock at the door. Their dinner, no doubt. Lisa smiled and batted her lashes at Rick. "Better go eat your spinach. You're going to need it."
Keep reading for a special excerpt from
THROWN BY A CURVE
by Jaci Burton
Available March 2013 from Berkley Sensation
Garrett Scott sat in the St. Louis Rivers therapy room facing an entire team of sports medicine specialists, all wearing looks of doom on their faces.
From the team doctor to the therapists who'd been working on his shoulder for the past nine months, their faces said it all--he wasn't ready to pitch yet.
He was tired of it. Tired of being molded and manipulated and poked and prodded like some kind of experiment. His shoulder wasn't getting any better and he still couldn't throw a pitch. He was done. His career was over, and no amount of fake, hopeful expressions would make him believe any different.
"Let's go over to the pulleys," Max said. "If we increase the weight..."
"No. It's not going to help. I can't get my full range of motion and no pulleys, no weighted balls, no water therapy, and no amount of stretching is going to get it back."
"You don't know that, Garrett," Max said. As head of the therapy team, when Max had a plan, everyone always listened. "We haven't finished with the therapy and the season hasn't started yet. There's plenty of time."
Phil, the team doctor, nodded. "Max is right. You just haven't given it enough time."
Garrett glared at them both. "I said no. This has been going nowhere and we all know it."
Everyone started talking at once, but it was all white noise to him. They were blowing smoke up his ass about how he was going to pitch come April.
He'd heard it before, all the pats on the back and the encouragement that didn't mean anything if you couldn't get a fastball across the plate. They were just words. Empty promises.
The only one who didn't say anything was the woman hovering in the background. Dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, she wore the same team-color polo shirt and khaki pants as the other specialists and held a digital notebook. And she was giving him a look. A pissed-off one.
"You haven't said anything," he said, focusing his gaze on her. "What do you think?"
She blinked and held her notebook close to her chest. "Me?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not in charge of your recovery. There are people here with much more experience than me."
"You've watched my therapy, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"What do you think?"
They all turned to her, waiting. She finally shrugged. "I think your team is right. You'll pitch."
"My arm is stiff."
She moved forward and he got a good look at her. Despite the ugly uniform, she was pretty. Really dark hair and stunning blue eyes and a mouth that he was definitely noticing now that she'd opened it.
"Because you're babying it, because you won't give it your all. Your therapists know what they're doing, but you fight them at every turn."
As soon as she said it, her eyes widened. Max crossed his arms and Garrett could tell he was irritated.
Garrett wasn't. His lips quirked. "Go on."
"Look, I didn't mean to insult you."
"Yeah, you did. You've sat back quiet for all these months and you obviously have something on your mind. Spill it."
She looked up at Max, who shook his head.
"Don't look at him," Garrett said. "Tell me what I'm doing wrong."
She sat next to him on the bench and laid her notebook down, her gaze lifting to his.
"Fine. You're argumentative, confrontational, and a general pain in the ass to deal with. Honestly, no one wants to work with you because you fight your recovery. Half of healing is mental and your head is the biggest obstacle to getting back on the mound."
Huh. He looked up at the rest of the group, who all did their best to avoid his gaze. "I see."
But when he looked back at--he had no idea what her name was. "What's your name?"
"Alicia."
"Okay, Alicia. You think you can make me a pitcher again?"
She gave him a confident smirk. "I know I can, if you pull your head out of your ass and work with me."
He liked her confidence. He liked her. She sure as hell was better looking than the rest of the sports medicine group. And she smelled good.
"Alicia," Max warned. "Why don't you head up to the office and I'll finish up here with Garrett?"
Alicia nodded, then stood and left the room.
Garrett laughed, the first time he'd laughed in a long damn time. "It's okay, Max. I like her. She's honest."
He'd never noticed her much before because she'd either been an observer or working with another player. As soon as the door closed, he turned to Max.
"I want her in charge of my therapy."
"No," Phil said, interjecting himself into the conversation. "As your doctor, I'm advising against it. Max is the head of sports medicine for the team. He's the best. Alicia doesn't have the experience he has."
"I don't give a shit if she's the water girl. She's confident. She's a sports medicine specialist, isn't she?"
"Well, yes," Max said.
"Then I want to work with her."
"You have a multimillion-dollar arm, Garrett. I'm not entrusting it to her."
Garrett stood and stretched, then looked at Manny Magee, the St. Louis Rivers coach, who'd been sitting in the corner of the room, silently taking it all in. "These guys have all been working on me for months and I haven't seen the results needed to throw a single goddamn pitch. I want her to work with me."
Manny stood and ambled over. He was tough, and always honest, so he knew Manny would give it to him straight. "That's because she's right. Physically, you're healing fine from the injury. A lot of your problem is you're resisting the treatment."
Maybe Manny was right, but he doubted it. What he needed was a new therapist. If Alicia and her smart mouth could get the job done, then maybe his career wasn't over.
He looked at Manny--at all of them.
"I need a change. What we're doing isn't working. And maybe someone new can help with that."
"I don't give a damn if a circus clown works on your therapy, as long as you're on the mound opening day," Manny said. "Just be ready for the season. We need your arm."
She'd always had a smart mouth, always spoke first and thought later. But to insult the entire St. Louis Rivers medical team in one sentence had been a serious, colossal fuck-up. She'd had some success as a therapist and had been getting great feedback from her boss in the time she'd been here. This was the job of her dreams, and to make matters worse, her cousin played for this team. Gavin was going to kill her.
The worst part was, she knew she was right. Garrett Scott was a seriously amazing pitcher. His injury had been bad, but there was no reason to think he wouldn't come back and be a great pitcher again, provided he cooperated with his rehabilitation. The problem was, he was the worst patient she'd ever seen in terms of cooperation. He resisted therapy, he argued with the treatment plan, and she knew damn well he wasn't doing his at-home exercises. He was one of those athletes who thought of himself as some kind of superhero. Get injured, do rehab, and be fine in a few weeks.
Unfortunately, serious injuries didn't work that way, no matter how young or virile you were. You had to work at your own recovery. The team had done a fine job on their part. He just hadn't done any of his part. He blew off his therapists with jokes and promises to do better the next time. And they all liked him so they placated him.
Ugh.
What he really needed was a fulltime babysitter. Which she didn't want to be.
She lifted her head as Phil and Max came through the door, along with the Rivers' coach and general manager, Manny Magee.
Great. They brought the coach with them. She was definitely fired. Manny had a reputation for being fiery and loud. She might even get screamed at before they canned her ass.
She sat up straight and lifted her chin, determined to take it like the professional she was.
Correction. If she was a professional, she probably shouldn't have told the Rivers' star pitcher to pull his head out of his ass.
"Alicia," Phil said. "What you said to Garrett downstairs..."
"Yes, sir. I know. I was out of line. I'm sorry."
"Actually," Manny said, "it was exactly what he needed to hear."
She frowned and shifted her gaze to the coach. "Excuse me?"
"Garrett has been the perfect specimen of a pitcher for five seasons," Manny said. "We plucked him out of college ball, he spent six months in AAA before we brought him up, and he's been in our starting rotation ever since, with one of the lowest ERAs of any pitcher in the league. He's won the Cy Young Award twice, pitched a near-perfect game last year, and held the strike-out record the past two seasons. He's the golden boy."
She'd reviewed his file. She knew his record. But hearing it from Manny gave her an understanding. "He's never failed."
Manny nodded. "At anything. He doesn't know how. So having this injury threw him for a loop, ya know? The kid is one of the nicest people I've ever worked with, so don't take his black moods to heart. He'll get that kindness back once he finds his footing."
She looked from Manny to Phil to Max. "Wait. I'm not fired?"
Max laughed. "No, Alicia. You're not fired. Instead, we're putting you in charge of Garrett Scott's rehab."
Again--oh, shit. That's what she got for opening her mouth.
Phil and Max went over her new assignment. After they had left and Garrett came in a few minutes later, she stood, suddenly nervous. She'd always been a fan. The Rivers were, after all, her hometown team. And Garrett was nothing short of the most gorgeous man she'd ever laid eyes on. Six-feet-four inches of dark-haired, dark-eyed intensity, with a leanly honed body that was a work of art.
She'd spent her adult life studying body mechanics. She loved sports and sports players, and Garrett was one of the best.
And now he was all hers. Talk about a huge responsibility.
"They told you?"
She swallowed. "Yes. My question is...why me?"
He shrugged. "Because you stood up to me. I need to work with someone who isn't going to take shit from me. The rest of them tell me what they think I want to hear. They pacify me. I don't think you'll do that."
She needed to relax. Think of him as a patient, not a hot man standing only inches away.
"No, I definitely won't do that. I'm not going to take shit from you. And I'm going to work you until you beg me to stop. And when you beg me to stop, I'm not going to. I'm going to make you pitch again, Garrett. But it's not going to be easy."
"Okay. I cleared your schedule so you're only working with me."
She arched a brow. "You know, I can work with more than one player at a time."
"Probably. But you're only going to work with me."
A little ego there. Understandable. She'd deal with it. "Fine."
"Then let's get started."
"We will. On Monday. I'll take a few days to familiarize myself with your treatment plan, then develop one of my own. Since today's Friday, the weekend will give me the time I need."
"Fine." He whipped out his phone. "What's your number?"
She gave it to him.
"Okay, good. I'll call you on Sunday and we can get stuff set up. Does that work for you?"
"Sure." He gave her his number and she pulled her phone out of her pocket to add it in.
He was punching info into his phone, then lifted his gaze to hers. "What's your last name?"
"Riley."
His lips lifted. "Any relation to Gavin?"
"Actually, he's my cousin."
He looked up. "No shit. Is that how you got this job?"
He wasn't the first person to ask that question, and it always annoyed her. "No. I got this job because I'm good at sports medicine. I'm so good at sports medicine that you'll be pitching opening day, Garrett. Which has nothing to do with my cousin, and everything to do with me."
He laughed. "I like you, Alicia."
She wasn't sure how she felt about him. Jury was still out. She headed to the door. "You won't like me when I start kicking your ass, Garrett."
Click here for more books by this author.
Titles by Jaci Burton
Riding Wild
Riding Temptation Riding on Instinct Riding the Night Wild, Wicked, & Wanton Bound, Branded, & Brazen The Perfect Play Changing the Game Taking a Shot Playing to Win Anthologies
Unlaced
(with Jasmine Haynes, Joey W. Hill, and Denise Rossetti) Exclusive
(with Eden Bradley and Lisa Renee Jones) Laced with Desire (with Jasmine Haynes, Joey W. Hill, and Denise Rossetti) Nauti and Wild (with Lora Leigh)
