Maggie had to think about that one. “Play Minecraft? Watch baseball?”
“Oh, my sainted Nora Roberts. This is a travesty. I need to go light some incense under my framed photo of Jude Deveraux.” She stopped to catch her breath, resting her hands on her thighs as sweat dripped off her. “It’s okay, I’ll lend you a few of my favorites. It’s never too late to see the light.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Maggie took a drink from her water bottle. “I had no idea the situation was so dire.”
Nina looked up at her and grinned.
Affection for her friend swelled her heart. Nina was completely different from anyone she’d ever been friends with—in a good, wonderful way. This might be the first friendship of her life that didn’t involve comparing thesis advisers or discussing equations.
“Have we exercised enough, do you think? There’s an iced mocha at Sacred Grounds calling my name.”
“Sure, I think halfway around the park is plenty.”
“The heat and humidity burns off more calories,” Nina pointed out, straightening up. “Isn’t there an algorithm for that?”
“No algorithm talk,” Maggie said sternly, taking her by the shoulders and pointing her in the direction of Sacred Grounds.
Nina’s phone beeped. “Sorry, it’s one of the alerts I have set up.”
“Alerts?”
“About Jim. Every time his name hits the news, bing! It comes to my phone.” She stared at the message. “Friars’ new shortstop Jim Lieberman makes PopSugar’s list of Major League Baseball’s ten hottest ballplayers.” Her face fell. “Great, now even more girls will want him.”
“He said he’d wait for you, right?”
“Yes, but he didn’t say anything about other girls. And he was very…um…uncomfortable when he left. You know,” she lowered her voice, “blue balls. Maybe they’re changing his mind.”
Maggie laughed. “Don’t worry. If blue balls were enough to change a guy’s mind, don’t you think Dwight and I would have gotten somewhere by now?”
Maggie made light of the situation, but the truth was, every day that passed, she got more confused about where things stood with Dwight. She’d never felt this way before—on top of the world one moment, in the depths of despair the next. When Dwight put his hand on her lower back as they walked into a movie theater, her spirits soared. The warm touch made her giddy with anticipation. When he held her hand, softly running his thumb across the fleshy part of her palm, she pretty much blanked out the entire movie.
But then he’d take her home and…nothing.
Okay, not nothing, exactly. They made out so much they steamed up the windows of the Audi. Each time, they’d go a little further, like following a treasure trail. A caress on her inner arm led to a kiss on the crook of her elbow, which led to a skimming of his hands along the curves of her breasts.
Which led to a short, searing goodnight kiss and…nothing.
She was losing her ever-loving mind.
Finally, one night, after a night at an arcade, where she kicked Dwight’s ass at every game and he was so funny about it, she nearly peed her pants with laughter, she’d finally had enough.
As they left the arcade, his hand naturally slid into hers, as if they’d been holding hands all their lives. He strolled next to her, all muscles and charisma, offering that killer smile to every Catfish fan who recognized him. When she walked alongside Dwight Conner, the world held a magical edge, as if a miracle might appear at any given moment. People were drawn to his air of open friendliness, to his laughing ease, and as a result, things like free drinks and life stories came his way. Hanging out with him was an unpredictable adventure.
And she was falling in love with him.
The knowledge made her pull her hand from his in a hurry.
He paused mid-stride. Other pedestrians stepped around them. It was still only around nine o’clock, and the heat of the day had finally faded into something more like “balmy.”
“What’s wrong?” He cocked his head at her, concern shining from his warm brown eyes. He wore a lightweight cotton shirt that hung loosely enough to keep him cool, but still managed to outline the powerful muscles of his chest.
“I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them.”
“Okay…”
She took a deep breath. Maybe this would be like inputting data into a program, then asking for a specific result.
“Do you think I’m attractive?”
“Yes.”
Ah-ha. It was working already.
“Do you want to have sex with me?’
His mouth twitched, as if he was working hard to hold back a smile. “Yeah.”
“Then why haven’t we?”
And there, her computer-model approach ground to a halt. He took her hand, engulfing it in his broad palm. “It’s not that simple, Maggie.”
“Why isn’t it? Do you always wait this long before you have sex with someone you’re attracted to?”
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t usually wait at all. But you’re different.”
“Different!” Her whole life, she’d been called “different.” She’d fled all the way to Texas to shed that label. But of course it had followed her. “I’m a woman too. I have all the parts any other woman has.”
“I noticed. Fine ones too.” He cast a glance down her body, so intent it made her shiver.
“So what makes me so different? Is it because of my graduate degrees? Is that intimidating? Or are you afraid because of my heart condition?”
She drew in a shaky breath. Asking these questions took a lot more courage than inputting data into a program. Suddenly she felt very exposed, as if she’d just opened her chest to show off her heart.
“Baby, how could you even think any of that shit?” Dwight tugged her arm so she twirled up against him. “I think your degrees are sexy as sin. And if you can swing a bat with no problems, I’m not worried about sex. We’ll work it out.”
She noted the “we’ll” with a rush of excitement. He was talking as if it was definitely going to happen. But still, he wasn’t dragging her off to bed. Something was still holding him back. “Is it because you’re not sure how I feel? Because I’ve been told I can be hard to read. Mostly that’s because my brain gets distracted. So in case you’re in any kind of doubt, I…well, you shouldn’t be. That’s all.”
For a moment, she thought of Nina and her romance novels. If only she’d done her homework and come up with some better lines. Anything would be better than what she’d just blurted. She cast around for one of the examples Nina had given her. “What I mean is, I think you should throw me down and have your way with me.”
First, she cringed as the words left her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut, almost too afraid to see his reaction.
But then his hand came under her chin, warm and firm, and he was tilting her head up so she would meet his eyes. “Let me ask you something, Maggie Blythe. You know I’m black, right?”
She stared at him. “Yes. I did notice that.”
“How would your parents feel about that?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Was that what had been holding him back all this time? “First of all, I know it seems like I cater to my parents a lot, but not that much. Second, this might be a shocker, but my grandmother’s black. She emigrated from Senegal to Britain. She was a mathematician, and she met my grandfather—who’s Scottish--at university. They had my mother, who’s biracial. She grew up in England, then came here and fell in love with my father, who’s white. So even though I don’t really look it, I'm actually one quarter Senegalese.”
Wide-eyed, he studied her face almost as if he’d never seen her before. “Maybe I do see a little black in you. Your hair’s got some frizz to it. Those lips of yours…mmm.”
She ran her tongue across the seam of her lips, enjoying his reaction to that move. “The point is, neither of my parents would have a problem with your color. At least I don’t think they wo
uld. If they did, it would be pretty hypocritical. Would your parents mind that I’m white?”
He shrugged. “My high school girlfriend was white. No big drama. They leave me alone when it comes to my love life.”
She envied the fact that his family didn’t hover over him the way hers did. “If my parents have a problem with anything, it would be your relative lack of education,” she told him.
He drew back, looking offended. “Lack? I have a completed college degree. That’s more than Jim Lieberman has.”
“Yes, but they both have PhDs. They consider me a slacker with my measly master’s degrees. And as for my choice to work in baseball, they really don’t approve. My mother had barely heard of baseball before she came here, and my father had some bad experiences being forced to play Little League. It’s the only thing I’ve really battled them about.”
“So all I need to do to win their approval is get a PhD and quit baseball.” Dwight gazed into the distance, as if imagining that scenario. Then he turned back with a big grin. “No problem.”
She burst out laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Okay, so maybe I’m not going to quit baseball tomorrow. But I’m making a point here. The reason I haven’t swept you into my bed is that this is different, you and me. I’m serious about it. More serious than I’ve ever been about anything except baseball. Maybe even that, because you were right. I am in it to further myself. I got a lot of ambition locked up inside me. I forgot it was there until I met you. You make me see things differently. With you, I feel like there’s something bigger out there waiting for me to go get it. Something great that I can do. And it’s all wrapped up with you.”
Maggie was having trouble catching her breath. This was so much more of a declaration than she’d imagined in her wildest dreams. But still, something didn’t quite add up. “So you’re saying you’ve been putting the brakes on things between us because it’s more serious?”
He nodded, dropping his head and lowering his voice to a murmur. “You could break my heart, Maggie Blythe. Maybe you see this as a walk on the wild side of the street. Getting with someone who isn’t a bio-matho-statistician with a few extra degrees up his ass. I’m just a baseball player. Do your parents know I crashed and burned in my one Major League stint? What would they think about that?”
Wonderingly, she shook her head at him. “I can’t believe you’re saying such crazy things. A walk on the wild side? That’s insulting. And do you really think my parents care how you did in San Diego? They don’t know a strikeout from a balk. It’s all a stupid waste of time to them. So you’re good!”
They both burst out laughing at how absurd that sounded. He took her hands in his and interlaced their fingers together. “Maggie, I would give my left arm—not my right, that’s my throwing arm—to take you to bed. But I won’t do it unless you’re feeling the same way I am. Like this is something special. Something that could change my life. Change both of our lives.”
As if hypnotized, she nodded. Electric currents of joy ran up and down her body. “I do feel that, Dwight. I want to be with you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and I don’t exactly know how to put it into words. When I’m with you, I feel like…I’m in Oz or something. Like the whole world has turned into a magical playground. Does that make any sense?”
He stepped toward her and dipped his head so his forehead touched hers. “I don’t know if it makes sense, but I do know that’s a damn good description. Now are you going to have your way with me or not? Because I’m dying over here, and I have been ever since I saw you hit that two-foot dribbler with my practice bat.”
12
After all the days of slow buildup, the drive to Dwight’s apartment seemed to take forever. They burst through the door, tangled up together, hands all over each other.
“Nice place,” Maggie gasped, gazing around the nearly bare apartment.
“It has a bed. That’s all I need right now.” He closed the door and turned so they faced each other. Cupping her face so he could look deep into her eyes, he brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “I think I might be falling in love with you, Maggie. I always wondered what that would feel like. I think this is it. I just wanted you to know that before we go any further. And don’t say anything back. You take your own time figuring out how you feel. This is me, what I got to say.”
Those kind dark eyes held so much tenderness, so much consideration. If she hadn’t already had feelings for him, that moment would have tipped her over the edge. But she’d had enough talking now. She wanted touch, she wanted skin. She wanted to lose her mind and stop thinking for once.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She slid her hand under his shirt to touch his bare skin. Closing her eyes, she took in the taut muscles of his abdomen, the ridges of bone and sinew that made up his spectacular torso. “About that bed…”
“On it.” He bent and scooped her into his arms like a baby. She wrapped her arms around his neck and licked the skin that stretched across the tendon there. His taste intoxicated her, so rich and masculine, like smoking a cigar in a leather armchair while sipping a brandy. His arm muscles tightened until they felt like iron bands under her knees and back.
Her whole body buzzed with arousal. She felt as if she were expanding, like hot air filling a balloon, like joy filling a heart.
When they reached his bed, he set her carefully onto the bedspread. He tugged his shirt up his back and over his head, then the white v-necked undershirt he wore underneath. He stood before her, a picture of defined muscles and chiseled magnificence.
“You have to promise me something, Maggie,” he told her in a serious tone, even as his chest rose and fell with each rough breath.
“Hm?” She was too blown away by his naked chest to utter more than one syllable.
“If anything doesn’t feel right, you have to tell me.”
Her gaze flew up to meet his. Oh—he meant her heart. She’d completely forgotten about her heart—that valiant organ keeping her alive. “I promise. I can start right now, actually. It doesn’t feel right that you’re standing at least a foot away from me and we’re not touching at all.”
A wide grin lit up his face and he stepped closer, until his knees brushed against her. “Is that better?”
“It’s getting there.” She shifted her position so she knelt on the bed and rose up. Chest to chest, hips to hips, they faced each other. She felt the hard press of his erection against her thigh. The sensation brought her desire to a fever pitch. Reaching down to trace the outline of his shaft, she shivered with need. And then his hands were on her ass, taking command, moving her just so against his arousal.
The tension built inside her so quickly she couldn’t track it. It took her over with breathless speed, and all of a sudden, she was frantic to feel him naked. “Please,” she muttered against his mouth. “I can’t…”
“Shhh.” Even his warm breath against her ear heightened her need. “I got you.”
He reached for the hem of her dress and drew it up her body with a sensual slowness that felt excruciating. He let his fingertips linger on the backs of her thighs, the curve of her ass, the upper dip of the cleft between her cheeks. “I really dig how you’re put together, baby. This right here, this might be the sweetest spot.” He skimmed his fingers across the skin of her lower back. “But I have a lot of comparison to do before I make a final call.”
She shivered against him, nothing but a mass of shivers and thrills. To encourage him to get the darn dress off her body, she lifted her arms above her head. But still he took his time, pressing kisses onto her belly, between her breasts, onto her neck, until finally the dress was gone and she faced him in bra and panties. She’d actually gone shopping to find something sexier than her usual underwear, and thank God she had. When Dwight took in the red lacy bra and boy shorts she wore, he gave a soundless whistle.
“That just ain’t fair, girl. You trying to kill a brother?”
She laughed and reached for t
he fastening behind her back. He stopped her by putting his big warm hands over hers. “I got this, sweetheart. You just relax. I’m going to take care of every little thing. Don’t you worry.”
Resting her head against his hard chest, she let out a soft laugh. “I know your batting average is pretty good. I wasn’t sure about your bra-unfastening average.”
A deep rumble vibrated under her ear. “That’s funny. Good one. But we aren’t talking averages here. Nothing about this is average.”
She couldn’t argue with that, not when sweet, thick desire was sweeping through her body like a freight train filled with honey. When her bra was gone—it took him less than a second—her newly freed breasts pressed against his chest, the tips going hard as diamonds. Between her legs, a low throb. Touch me, feel me, it chanted.
Dwight must have heard, because he slid his long fingers under the edge of her panties. Sensitive and knowing, they skimmed across the soft curls covering her mound. The second the pad of his finger touched her clit, a shocking jolt of pleasure shot through her. She gasped out loud. He froze.
“You okay?”
“Yes! Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” Her plea was practically a moan.
He gave a low laugh as he moved his fingers again, shifting his hand so he could touch more of her. “Hell no. I told you I got this.”
They paused for a moment so he could slide off her panties, then he came back to that aching, throbbing bundle of nerves. This time she bit back her automatic moan of pleasure, afraid he’d stop again.
“You make all the sounds you want,” he told her. “No holding that shit back. I want to hear you.”
So she abandoned herself to the wild sensations he was creating with his long, strong fingers and his expert friction. He stoked the fire higher with every circling, fondling, intoxicating movement he made. His other hand slipped behind her to settle on her ass. He used it to press her close, work her body against his other hand.
She was going to burst into flames, soar into oblivion, shatter into shards, but it was all out there somewhere, right out of reach. If she could just get there, if he would rub harder, press a little more, yes, right there, oh my God, exactly there, don’t stop…she was nearly sobbing now, frantic and needy, grinding her mound against his hand, urging him on.
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