Becka cursed and shook her head. She’d changed her mind. Once. And now she’d changed it back, that was all there was to it. Perhaps she’d felt like being a little uninhibited, but that was an isolated evening, as far as Duvall was concerned. Whatever her body thought it wanted, she didn’t need any more complications in her life. And Mace Duvall was the biggest complication she’d ever seen.
THIS WAS GOING TO BE entertaining, Mace thought as he walked down the hall. He wasn’t sure what he was going to enjoy more, teaching Becka a lesson or having her as a lover again. Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that they were going to be lovers. The lipstick thing, that had ticked him off for a few minutes, but only as long as it took him to savor the image of teaching her just who was in control.
Of course, he’d spent the past week with memory flashes of the night they’d spent together dancing through his head. Becka was not the kind of woman a man walked away from. Even if he hadn’t already decided to commit to the job, he’d have come back for her. Having the two things together as a package was well nigh irresistible.
His mouth turned up in a grin as he rounded the corner to the training room and stood out of sight for a moment, watching her work. That lithe body, those cool, capable hands, that sulky mouth had been haunting his dreams for days. When he taught, he heard her talking about helping others to excel. When he relaxed in his room at night, he amused himself by deciding just how he was going to make her eat her words. A notch on her belt his ass. The day he got taken to bed by a woman without wanting to be there was the day he lost his mind. Becka Landon needed to be shown a thing or two, and he was just the man to do it.
He cleared his throat. “So how does a guy get a rubdown around here?”
She gave an almost imperceptible jerk, then spared him a glance. “Players only, this close to game time.”
“I count.”
“You’re not a player.”
“I know how to play the game.” He walked into the training room and sat on the edge of the desk.
“Unless the game is baseball, we’ve got nothing to talk about,” Becka said, turning the taps to fill the whirlpool.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s the case at all,” he countered. “I’d say we’ve got plenty to talk about.”
“I’m on the job, Duvall. This discussion can wait.”
She wasn’t getting off the hook that easy, he thought. “Name the time and place.”
“How about—”
Cacophony broke out behind him. “Hey, Duvall, welcome back.”
“Duvall, I hear you’re infield this time.”
Becka threw him a triumphant smirk over her shoulder.
“HEY, FLORENCE, can you give my shoulder a rubdown before I hit the field?” Morelli asked.
Becka frowned. “You know, you wouldn’t have so much trouble with your muscles if you’d train harder in the weight room and focus more on stretching.”
“Hey, I do all the focusing I need when the ball’s coming my way.” He lay down on the massage table. Becka gave a small sigh and began working on his arm. The rest of the players drifted off. Chico stayed to talk with Mace, who apparently was staying to talk with her.
“This isn’t high school, Morelli. If you concentrated more on the basics, your performance would improve.” She was one to talk about concentration, she thought, fighting the urge to look at Mace.
“I knock myself out on the diamond,” Morelli said hotly. “I don’t know why everybody’s always on me about it.”
“I’m not talking about the diamond,” she said, pressing his muscle slightly to emphasize her point. “Training’s about more than playing. It’s all the off-diamond hours, too.”
Mace stirred. “She’s right. Every Hall-of-Famer I ever knew spent more time training off the diamond than on. You’ve got to, it’s the foundation of your game.”
Morelli raised his head to give Mace a man of the world grin. “Oh sure, like you did that? That’s not what I read.”
“Listen to what the man’s saying,” Chico said. “Why don’t you stop partying like it’s 1999 and start concentrating on the game?”
“Nobody listens to Prince anymore, Watson,” Morelli scoffed. “That’s what you get for being an old married man.”
“Put a lid on it and focus on your game, Morelli,” Chico said intensely.
Morelli raised his head and gave him a hard stare. “You got a problem with me, Watson? ’Cause I don’t see anyone’s saying anything about my performance on that field.” He put his chin back down on his hands. “Maybe you should be the one lifting weights or doing extra batting practice. How long’s it been, five, six games since your last hit?”
“Four.” Chico flushed a dull red as the jibe hit home. “Four games, Morelli. You got a problem with that, buddy?”
“I’d say you’re the one with the problem. Buddy.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Mace said. “You’re still on the same team and you’re supposed to be after the same thing.”
The two men were silent for a moment.
“Yeah, whatever,” Morelli said.
“I gotta go change,” Chico muttered and walked out of the room.
“You know,” Mace said casually a few moments later, “he has a point. What you’re doing isn’t good for the team and it isn’t good for you. You’ve got the talent, Morelli, but you’re not using it.”
“I’m just getting out and having some fun. I mean, we’re lucky if we get two days off a month. I just like letting off a little steam sometimes.”
Becka worked at his shoulder. “Yeah, well, you’d have more energy for doing your workouts and stretching if you didn’t party so much.”
“Partying relaxes me. Otherwise I’m wired and I can’t sleep. Working out, shit, the last thing I need is something else to do.”
“We all work a long day,” Becka reminded him.
“Hey what is this, tag team Morelli day?” he asked hotly. “There’s working a long day and then there’s busting your ass out on the diamond for five hours. You try doing batting practice sometimes and see how you feel after.”
“If it would make you show up for your training session, I would.” Becka concentrated on working out a knot in Morelli’s shoulder.
He rose up on his elbows to glare at her. “Yeah, well, you knock a few out and I’ll think about showing up for weight training.”
“Name the day, Morelli,” Becka said evenly. When he laughed and put his head back down, she stepped away from the table and put a hand on her hip. “You think I’m joking, don’t you?”
“I think you’re dreaming.”
“Name the day. We go head to head and I bet I’ll come out better than you.”
He raised up again and gave a patronizing laugh. “Don’t embarrass yourself, Florence. I could beat you batting left handed.”
“Yeah?” She crossed her arms. “Then let’s see you do it.”
“Yeah, right.” He lay back down.
“No, I mean it, Morelli. Let’s do it, you and me.”
“Oh, come on,” he backpedaled. “You know I was just—”
“Then you shouldn’t have shot off your mouth,” she pointed out coolly. “That’s how you get in trouble, in case you haven’t noticed. Anyway, what’s wrong with making the bet? According to you, there’s no chance you’ll lose, so what does it matter?” She glanced toward Mace, who appeared to be fighting a smile. “We’ve got a witness, let’s make it official. End of this week, in the batting cage. You get more hits than me, batting left handed, and I won’t say another word about it. I beat you, and you start showing up for weight training.”
“What?” Morelli yelped.
“It was your idea,” Becka reminded him calmly.
“But I…” He stuttered into uncertain silence. Becka watched him, and it was like a transformation. The attitude trickled back, the confidence bloomed into swagger. “Yeah, okay, sure,” he said, a cocky smirk ghosting around the corners of his
mouth. “Hell, you beat me and I’ll do whatever you want.”
Becka looked at Mace again. “Duvall, you’re my witness, so when I paste his butt, he can’t weasel out of it.”
“You can count on me,” Mace said. He grinned at Morelli, who shot Becka a quick, uneasy glance.
“Well, I guess that’s it. You’re done, Morelli, go get dressed,” she said, slapping his shoulder and turning away.
The interchange had amused and diverted her. In a way, she was sorry it was over, because now all she had to think about was Mace, who still sat on the edge of her desk. She could feel his gaze burning into her back as she concentrated on gathering the kit of supplies that she usually took to the dugout.
“You do seem to get yourself into trouble with this betting habit you’ve got,” Mace said idly. “I’d think you’d learn after a while not to make bets you’re going to lose.”
Becka gave him a brief glance. “I’m going to win this one, Duvall, rest assured.”
“Oh yeah?” He looked at her with interest.
“I was on the softball team in high school and college. I was all-State twice, and my batting average was about .340.” She shrugged unconcernedly. “I know how to hit. I just need to spend some time in the batting cages for a couple of days to get my timing back. The worst that happens is I don’t make it, in which case I sic Sammy on Morelli and force him to show.”
“Why not do it that way to begin with?”
“I was hoping to avoid having Sammy bawl him out.”
Mace looked at her curiously. “Why? He’s got it coming.”
“Yeah, I know. It won’t help, though. It’ll only get his back up. He’s just a kid, Duvall.”
“You going soft on me, Florence?” he asked, studying her with those unsettling gold eyes.
“Of course not. I just keep thinking there’s a way to get him to straighten out before he throws everything away. Maybe losing a bet in front of his teammates will make him think. And if I lose, I lose,” she said with a shrug.
“You don’t always get off so lightly with bets.”
Didn’t she know it. “Practice is starting, Duvall. I’ve got to get out to the field.”
“Don’t think you’re off the hook.”
“I couldn’t possibly be that lucky,” Becka said with a coolness she didn’t feel.
BECKA YAWNED as she walked out of the clubhouse, letting the door slam behind her. She shivered a little in the cool night air. Good old New England, chilly even in the heart of summer. She walked to the rack where her bike stood. Too bad she couldn’t lock up her problems with Mace as easily as she’d snapped the lock on the chain that afternoon, she thought, leaning down to twist the dial through its combination. A mixture of luck and skill had allowed her to avoid Mace during practice and the game that followed. The players had helped, especially when they’d spirited him off to the dorms after they’d won their game against the Batavia Beavers. She couldn’t have asked for anything more, save his complete absence.
She squinted to see the dial in the dim lighting.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Becka jerked and smacked her elbow on the unyielding steel of the bike rack. She straightened to glare at Mace, rubbing the joint to ease the ache. “Will you stop sneaking up on me like that?”
“I could have done worse if I’d a mind to,” he said testily. “It’s 11:30 on a Friday night and I hope you’re unlocking your bike so you can put it on your car and drive home.”
“I don’t have my car here, not that it’s any of your business. I rode today.”
“And you’re out of your mind to think about cycling home.”
“If I’m out of my mind, you’re the one who’s putting me there,” she said grimly and bent back over to unfasten her lock. “I thought you were quitting.” Successful, she pulled the chain out of her tires and wound it around the stem of her seat.
Mace shrugged. “I thought it over and I decided to keep with it. You only have yourself to blame, you know. You were the one who guilted me into staying.” His voice turned lightly mocking. “I thought you wanted me to.”
“Hardly,” she snapped, jerking the wheel out of the bike rack. “The team can do just fine without you. Sammy’s talking about getting into the play-offs. Who knows, maybe he’ll even take them to the championships.”
Mace picked the bike neatly out of her hands and began walking toward where his Bronco was parked. It was demeaning to try to pull the bike away from him, Becka decided, trying to look as if she were voluntarily walking with him rather than chasing her property. He was right, she supposed, they had to hash things out sooner or later. Besides, she was more tired than she wanted to admit. Biking home had definitely lost its luster. So, she’d let him drive her home, they’d have a little chat on the porch, and that would be that.
When he parked his truck at her house, though, she wasn’t so sure.
“Where does the bike go?” he asked shortly.
“Upstairs in my work room. I can get it,” Becka said, reaching unsuccessfully for the bike.
“Oh no, we offer a full service operation,” he said, neatly evading her groping hands and heading toward the porch with the bike on his shoulder. When she unlocked the front door, he just walked right into the hall and up the stairs. Short of having it out with him in the hall, she didn’t have a lot of choice about letting him into her flat, Becka thought.
That didn’t mean she had to like it.
Mace set the bike down in her hallway and followed her into the kitchen. Because she needed to keep her hands busy, Becka reached into the refrigerator for a couple of iced teas and set them on the counter. “So what exactly are you doing back here?” she asked. “I assumed you were heading back to Florida.” She leaned against the kitchen counter and tipped her head back to take a drink.
“I don’t believe in unfinished business.”
“You finished your assignment with the Weavers.”
“I don’t mean the Weavers. I’m talking about you and me.”
“There is no you and me,” she corrected.
He studied her, taking his time. She refused to back down, but she could feel the telltale heating of her cheeks that meant she was giving in to the redhead’s curse and flushing.
“So what is it that really gets you? That I made you want me, or that I made you like it?”
“You didn’t make me do anything, Duvall. I did what I wanted to. You just happened to be the equipment I did it with,” she said, and took another drink of iced tea with studied carelessness.
“You’re funny when you try to be tough, Florence.” When Mace moved closer, she would have edged away, but she was trapped against a corner of the U-shaped counter. He stroked a fingertip along her collarbone and she shivered.
“You know,” he began conversationally, “there’s something I don’t understand. If you’re the one who seduced me, then why is it you start trembling every time I touch you?”
“You’re just bent out of shape about the lipstick,” she said lightly.
“I’m amused about the lipstick,” he corrected, brushing his fingers through the ends of her hair, letting the strands spill over his fingertips. “In my experience, when people protest too much, it’s usually because the opposite of what they say is true.”
“Meaning?” She didn’t notice when he took her drink from her hand.
“Meaning you didn’t seduce me.”
“Oh really? Then just what did go on?”
“I seduced you.” Then his hands were on her and his mouth was dragging her down like an undertow into a dark current of passion that left her powerless and gasping for breath. Blindly, she clutched at him, found her hands running up and down his back, reminding herself of the body hidden beneath the clothes and how much she wanted it. When it felt this good, did it really matter who was in control, who was running the show? She heard his groan even as it vibrated against her lips, felt the thud of his heart against her. When it felt th
is good, was either of them really running things?
Mace slid his hands down over her hips and then back up to pull her shirt out. Her mouth worked magic on him and he fought to keep his focus. Her scent tantalized him, the slow twist of her body against him pulled him in. More. He only wanted more, wanted to take them both to that place, that red-tinted physical place where sensation alone ruled.
For the past week and a half she’d slipped into his dreams, driving him to twist and turn through the night to wake in a haze of arousal. The quick, cheap release he could bring himself hadn’t even dulled the knife edge of need that scraped at him.
He could have her now, the thought drummed through his brain and tempted him to just keep going, to get her heedless and naked and half-mad with need so that he could bury himself in her. Instead, he clawed his way back to sanity and pulled away.
Becka’s eyes gradually cleared. “Let go of me,” she said venomously.
“Not on your life.” He pulled her closer to him and rubbed his lips over hers. “It really fries you, doesn’t it?”
“What fries me?” Becka struggled to free herself unsuccessfully.
“The fact that I can seduce you. The fact that even though you don’t want to want me to touch you,” he leaned in to suckle her earlobe, “you want it. The way you wanted it in the hotel.” He licked at her lips and felt her soften against him. “The way you want it right now.”
“You caught me in a weak moment, Duvall,” she managed. “It’s not going to happen again.”
He smiled dangerously. “Oh, I think it will. Want me to demonstrate?”
His hands slid under her shirt, roaming over the sensitive skin until she shuddered. She felt as much as heard the clasp of her bra unsnap, and then his hands were on her, making her gasp at the friction and warmth. Helplessly, she heard herself moan. His lips on her throat, he gave a soft laugh at her surrender, but she couldn’t make herself care anymore. All she could do was want him.
He was harder than he could remember, Mace thought feverishly. That was what came of spending a week fantasizing about the memory of making love with a woman. And now that he could feel that pliant body in his arms, it was unbelievably difficult to think about anything but getting her out of those clothes and onto the bed.
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