Before she could speak, he slanted his lips, still tasting of her horniness, over hers, and punished her with a deep kiss. Her resistance was brief and her pushing turned into pawing as she opened her mouth and let him ravish her deep and strong.
Abruptly, he snapped out of the kiss and shoved himself away from her. “You will never get rid of me.”
Her eyes widened for a moment, before she realized he was done teasing her.
Her hands tightened into fists and she slashed her wrist over her hot mouth, the one that had been ripping his lips to shreds. Her chest heaved, and her face twisted with a sneer. “You don’t scare me.”
“That’s not what I’m here for.”
“Then why won’t you leave me alone?” Her breathing was still hard and fast, as if it were one step ahead of her. “Why are you bothering me?”
Why indeed? It wasn’t as if he couldn’t get laid any time he wanted. It was the fucked up fact that she wanted to fuck him to get rid of him.
No one got rid of Kirk Kennedy. No one.
Except his mother on her way to fuck her lover.
Kirk shook off the nagging memory and steeled his voice. “Next time you go on the prowl, take me along as your wingman.”
Maybe then, he’d understand her and quench his obsession. Maybe then, he’d be so sickened at the kind of man she’d bed and forget—the spineless wimps, the empty pretty boys, the brutes with no brains—he’d stop caring that he couldn’t melt the ice in her veins and bring life to those soulless blue eyes, empty and shielded, hiding the real woman beneath a glacial lake.
“Deal.” She all but sneered. Those perfect features on her perfectly proportioned face froze into a stern smile. “I’m off on Wednesday.”
Chapter Seven
Two days later, Jeanine was still unable to get rid of Kirk, not when he haunted all her thoughts and pissed the shit out of her. Arrogant tease. Her vibrator was no match for his skillful fingers, more numbing than stimulating, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how worn out she was from her self-administered, suboptimal climaxes.
She reached over to her night stand and unscrewed the sucky device, dumping the dead batteries into the wastebasket, then covered her face with her pillow as she recounted Kirk and his buddies partying at her bar after the doubleheader where he’d caught both games.
He and the two Asian pitchers who’d been going to The Home Plate, had staked out a table near the bandstand where country sensation Nash Powers and his group played.
That crowd totally didn’t get line-dancing or the two-step and made hip-hop moves. The Korean pitcher’s girlfriend, Jessica Song, had been especially annoying. She’d grabbed the mic when Nash asked for a volunteer and did a beatbox with her mouth.
As for Kirk, the show-off had jumped on stage with Nash and grabbed a guitar. The crowd loved his riffs, and Jeanine found herself biting the insides of her mouth at how much she hated her body for lusting after him and his skill and prowess. Word went around how he’d blocked six pitches, threw out a couple of base stealers, and hit a grand slam home run to clinch the second game.
Obviously, his success on the playing field had made his head bigger than ever—both heads, for sure.
She couldn’t wait until Wednesday to go on the prowl and cut him down to size. In fact, she’d fly him to Vegas and hit the high roller bars and make him watch her snag a couple of big ballers. Too bad, she couldn’t make an overnight trip out to New York City and attack him on his home turf.
Her alarm clock chimed again, and Jeanine threw off her blanket, along with Kirk’s leather jacket which she’d been pathetically sleeping with.
It was Sunday morning, and she had a wonderful day planned with little Bianca. The sun was shining, birds chirped merrily outside her window, and spring flowers were blooming in the desert. It was the perfect day to forget about Kirk and how he made her throb and clench in her sleep and wake up covered with sweat and the raw need to get laid—by anyone except for him.
Jeanine treated herself to a long, luxurious bath. She shaved her legs and did her skin treatments, making sure she was as smooth as silk. It wasn’t as if she cared about a man appreciating her skin. They never took the time or were too drunk to notice, but it made her feel like a million bucks to be perfectly put together.
Grabbing the pumice stone, she scrubbed her feet, smoothed out her elbows and knees, and stepped out of the bathtub.
Her cell phone had been buzzing on the counter. Jeanine wrapped herself in a towel and picked it up.
“Hello? Oh, you’re there.” A panicking female voice stuttered. “I need a place to stay. Just a few days.”
Jeanine recognized that squeaky voice anywhere. It was her foster sister, Tina. Five years younger, Tina had been a scared, scruffy little girl who’d wet her bed and refused to shower or bathe when she first came to live with them. She’d immediately latched onto Jeanine as her protector, and gradually, Jeanine had been able to get her to improve her personal hygiene, although she still refused to wear anything but baggy and unattractive clothing.
“Of course, you can stay here,” Jeanine reassured. “Are you all right?”
Tina had moved to Phoenix a year ago, but Jeanine had been too busy to involve herself with Tina’s life, especially since she hung out with a motorcycle club.
“I’m fine,” Tina said. “Except I lost my job, and Lennie’s been drinking again. I just need to wait until he cools off.”
“Cool off? If he’s been hitting you, you need to call the police.”
“He hasn’t laid a hand on me. I swear. If it’s inconvenient, I’ll go somewhere else. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. Where are you right now?”
“Outside your door. I was ringing the bell. I kind of need to pee.”
“Shit. I was in the bathtub.” Jeanine pulled on a robe and rushed from the bathroom.
She opened the door, and Tina hustled in, making a beeline for the toilet. She left the door open and plopped on the toilet. Tina was also afraid of closed doors—claustrophobic, and had always insisted on sharing a room with Madge, the daughter of their foster parents, who was the same age as her.
While Madge was redheaded and chubby, Tina was a slip of a girl, wiry with knobby elbows and knees, a thin face and a spray of dark brown curly hair which never obeyed comb or brush. Her eyes held a constantly surprised look because she plucked her eyebrows into a thin line.
Even grown up, Tina still managed to pass as a teen, wearing sneakers and ripped jeans over baggy, long-sleeved shirts.
Tina pulled up her pants and flushed the toilet. “Whew. I feel better now. Have you heard?”
“Heard what?” The trouble with Tina was she never held onto a coherent thought. She ran a dialogue in her mind and didn’t realize the other person couldn’t hear what she was thinking.
“He’s out of jail.”
Icy fingernails scratched down Jeanine’s spine, raising goosebumps even in the warm bathroom. There was only one “he” who’d freak both Tina and Jeanine out if he were let of out jail early—their former foster father, George Simpson.
“I thought he still had two more years.”
“The judge reduced his sentence for good behavior.”
“Shit. So they just let him out?” Jeanine had made a resolution not to obsess about George Simpson. He had been sentenced to fifteen years in prison for taking a minor across state lines to have sex. Of course, he’d also had plenty of sex right in his home, but for some technical reason, the feds had been able to nail him on the crossing state lines business easier than the back home stuff. He could have been sentenced to life in prison, but the jerk had pled guilty and made a deal with the government.
“Have you seen him? Did he try to make contact with you?” Jeanine collected her thoughts and tried to sound calm.
“No, nothing. I didn’t even know until Javier sent me an email.”
Javier was one of the boys
who’d stayed with them off and on, always running away from the home to fight in the underground clubs.
“Did he say what Simpson’s up to? Where he’s going?”
“No. Something about getting a job and lying low. I think he’d go back to his hometown.”
Jeanine swallowed the irrational fear intruding in her throat. They’d grown up in one of those bedroom communities north of New York City, a place with lawns and single family homes. There was no reason for George to head home, since his wife had divorced him and kept the house.
“Anyway, I don’t care what happens to him.” Jeanine rubbed her wet hair with a towel. “Let’s not think about him.”
“You’re right,” Tina agreed chirpily. “He can’t hurt us now.”
“He never did hurt any of us.” Jeanine straightened her spine and waved her hand at her furniture. “Make yourself at home. I have to go out this afternoon and work at the bar in the evening, but we can have dinner if you get some groceries and cook.”
“You’re the best.” Tina wrapped Jeanine with an exuberant hug. “You’re so brave. You stood up to him and told him off.”
“I sure did.” Jeanine gave her a squeeze. “He’s not so scary. I bet he’s so old now, we can knock him over with a feather.”
“You, definitely. What are you, a black belt now?”
“First degree. Just passed my test.” Jeanine made a muscle on her bicep, which wasn’t much, but Tina admired it just the same.
“I promise I’ll be out of your hair in a few days. I just have to find a job and then Lennie will let me come back home.”
“I think you should find a job and find your own place,” Jeanine said. “Forget about Lennie.”
“I can’t live alone like you do.” Tina shrugged exaggeratedly. “I’m not brave. I have to have a man to protect me.”
“Or a black belt,” Jeanine said, pulling on her karate clothes. “You want to work at the bar? Marcia and I’ve been thinking of hiring someone to manage late nights.”
“How much are you paying?”
Jeanine mentioned the amount she and Marcia had budgeted for, and Tina accepted.
“Great. I’ll train you tonight,” Jeanine said.
“You don’t think Simpson’s going to hurt anyone else, do you?” Tina jumped topics of conversation again. Why was she so obsessed with George Simpson hurting anyone? But then, Tina was a fearful child and her nights were ruled by bad dreams.
“No, they’d definitely not let him have access to children. He has to be a registered sex offender.”
“Besides, he’s old. I hope they beat him up in jail.” Tina cracked her knuckles, then swung her fists, displaying aggression that in some way soothed her.
Even though Tina refused to talk about it, Jeanine was sure she had been abused before arriving at the Simpson’s. Jeanine, of course, had done all she could to make sure Tina stayed safe, but in some way, it made her dependent on a protector—which was why she refused to leave Lennie. That prick made her feel as if she deserved whatever he dished out. Jeanine would have to work harder on getting Tina to stand up for herself. The job managing the bar would be a start in gaining confidence.
Jeanine tied her black belt around her waist and patted the knot. “I gotta run. The extra key’s on the hook. Make sure to lock up, and I’ll see you this evening. We’ll eat at The Hot Corner.”
“So, I don’t have to cook?” Tina had already grabbed a bag of potato chips and the TV remote.
“Just don’t burn the place down. I rather like it here.” She slipped on her clogs and exited her apartment, shaking her head. No matter how needy Tina was, she always brought light into Jeanine’s life, simply for the fact that she looked up to her, admired her, and believed she was a superhero.
* * *
Kirk scratched his unshaven face and yawned. Even though he caught the doubleheader the day before, he was still expected to show up at the park before noon for the evening game. The coach had been duly impressed, but today’s game belonged to Josh.
Lucky for him, he didn’t have to concentrate, what with the memories of Jeanine flooding his mind and engorging his cock. That woman was hot, like a firecracker, and so responsive to him, yet she was likely responsive to every other guy too. How could he possibly be special to her if she was popping with every Tom, Dick, and Harry?
He poured himself a cup of coffee and scanned the internet, googling “Women Sex Addicts.” Clicking on the articles, he studied the criteria, symptoms and causes for a woman to become a sex addict. The number one risk factor was abuse or neglect, with most reporting witnessing or experiencing sexual abuse as children.
The power to overcome or master the trauma of abuse was the primary motivation for many women. A secondary motivation was overcoming loneliness.
Kirk snapped his fingers. Either Jeanine had been abused or she was plain lonely. She certainly didn’t look abused. She appeared self-assured and confident as if she could conquer any man she chose.
The alternative was loneliness. He knew next to nothing about Jeanine and her family and friends, other than Marcia and Brock. What had her childhood been like? Had she had a boyfriend in the past and had her heart broken, or was she one of those who never ventured into a relationship?
Which was strange for a woman, especially someone as gorgeous and desirable as her.
He had to admit he was stumped, as far as why Jeanine felt the urge to go to bed with so many different men. Unlike most women who slept around, Jeanine didn’t seem bothered by it. She’d never tried to explain it away or acted apologetic about it.
Yep. He really needed to get laid and stop thinking about her. That tease he did on Jeanine had done a number on him, and no amount of self-gratification in the shower was as satisfying as the thought of sinking into her wet and juicy slit.
He was off his game. He hadn’t gone out with any woman since meeting this puzzle named Jeanine Jewell. Sure, he’d flirted with them at the bar so Jeanine could see how every woman flocked to him, but as to actually getting to first base, it hadn’t happened—other than the smoking hot touch and feel he’d had with Jeanine at the back of her bar.
Maybe he should have gone through with it, let her come and then pumped his cock into her until he exploded. Who said he couldn’t change his rule? Sleep with her and pursue her for more. After all, with the way she’d been intruding into his thoughts at all hours of the day and night, he might as well admit he was ready for some rule breaking.
Kirk pushed away from his computer, more pumped up now that he had a plan. He’d not only break his own rule, he’d break hers too.
If she thought he’d stand by as wingman and let any other guy into her panties, she’d miscalculated.
She was a lonely woman who sought a few minutes of pleasure to paper over her empty heart, but she’d be lonely no more with him, Kirk Kennedy, as her best buddy. He’d stick to her like glue and wear her down, and then, he’d not only give her the best sex she’d ever had, but have the best sex ever in return.
And then, he’d decide whether to let it go or not. On his terms. Not hers.
Chapter Eight
This had to be crazy. Jeanine snuck a peek in her side mirror as she pulled her car from the driveway. A man wearing a gray hoodie over a densely tattooed chest and well-cut abs stood beside a telephone pole playing with his cell phone. He wore dark glasses, so she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t watching her instead of the phone in front of his face.
Hadn’t she seen someone suspicious the other night after karate? Maybe it wasn’t the same guy. The one at night obviously had a shirt on, but he’d also worn a hoodie.
She stepped on the gas and quickly turned onto the street, but not before checking him out in her rearview mirror. He was definitely an athlete or construction worker covered with ink. Could it be someone she’d bedded? She’d been careful to keep her activities to visiting teams, coaches, and an occasional tourist, but who knew if every man told her the truth about himself?
Her intuition hadn’t failed her yet, and most of the guys she slept with were exactly her type—out looking for a good time without emotional involvement. No creepers need apply.
Except Kirk Kennedy. She hadn’t gone too far with him, thanks to his big tease, but he was already making demands. Said he wanted to be friends. Why? What could he be so interested in her about?
He was a big league baseball player—a highly sought after catcher, and definitely a trophy bachelor to be landed and bragged about.
There had to be more behind this than a challenge. The guy was positively creepy the way he’d fixated on her. Luckily, he was occupied with games, games, and more games. Spring training wasn’t a time to goof off. It was all about working hard and hustling to make the twenty-five man active roster once the season started.
Jeanine steered her car onto Birch Street, where her friend Marcia lived. The formerly unkempt yard was now well manicured and the house sported a new coat of paint. What a difference a year made once Brock had returned home.
She was halfway up the walkway when the screen door slapped open and little Bianca skipped over the porch to the steps.
“Booyakasha!” Bianca jumped up and made a swishing sound as she yelled the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ catch phrase.
“High five, girlie, you ready for your yellow belt?” Jeanine raised her hand and gave Bianca a slap on her palm.
“I’m going for my black belt.” The five-year-old sprite yanked Jeanine’s heavy black belt.
She was small for her age and the perfect mix between Jeanine’s friend, Marcia, who had a tinge of Navajo blood, and Brock Carter’s freckled Irish roots.
“How’s your baby brother? Is he sleeping through the night yet?”
“Nope! He’s still colicky. Wah. Wah. Wah.” Bianca plugged both her ears.
Jeanine cringed. After the baby was born, Marcia had been constantly exhausted, and now that spring training had started, Brock was busier than ever.
Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance Page 5