Game Winning Catch: (Secret Baby Sports Romance (Pass To Win #5)

by Roxy Sinclaire

  An egg-shaped man with an oblong head partially covered by a patchy, bushy afro moves stodgily over to Devlin, gripping a glass of brown liquid. His gait indicates that the glass in his hand is most likely not his first one.

  “I didn’t imagine that I’d see you here,” the less subtle man exhorts in a deep bass of a voice. “It’s been years since you attended. Trevor has been here on the company’s behalf for the last two years.”

  “I thought it was time to make a return.” Devlin grimaces before he introduces us. “Mr. Randall is a M.I.S. executive board member. Mr. Randall, this is my date, Ayron.”

  The round man’s square, overgrown eyebrows nearly lift from his face as he takes a leisurely glance at my form.

  “I suppose if a person could resurrect an appearance,” he leans to view my backside, “I assume that she could.”

  Devlin’s look of agitation grows as he leaves my side to guide Mr. Randall a safe distance away.

  “Let’s walk and talk, Mr. Randall,” he says before turning to me. “I’ll be right back.”

  Maybe some space will calm my body temperature down. This is just a job like any other. Almost like any other. Devlin is just a man. A sexy man, with big muscular arms and a fit figure, who makes my private places alert and soaking in his presence.

  Groaning, I stroll out of the room onto the verandah overlooking manicured acres of lush grass. The night air and the cool, quiet space are refreshing.

  I had thought giving Devlin the thirty-day trial excuse would keep him at bay, but the way his eyes burn against me, it may have turned him on more than settled him. Not to mention the way my body reacts to him.

  “I bet he took you to Baraide’s,” Giselle says as she flounces next to me.

  The wicked witch has returned. Her eyes are tight, and she is too preoccupied with her flute glass to look at me. I figured that she would pop up somewhere. She had been watching Devlin and me all night.

  I don’t answer. I just feign a smile.

  “It’s kind of cute that he found himself a project. I could tell that he was a little lonely after our breakup,” she smugly offers.

  “Words are like arrows shot at the sun” circles through my mind. If the venue had been different or my attitude on the fritz, the bitch would be bald right now.

  I look over at the woman with a pleased look, imagining ways to rip the expensive-looking weave from her head.

  “His company has been pleasurable,” I respond.

  The quick wince on her otherwise mute face lets me know that the comment affected her. If Devlin makes love with the same passion that he kisses, then I know she is missing that pleasure. A pleasure that I shouldn’t even be considering.

  “You look decent enough, so I thought I would do the polite thing and warn you. First off, nothing ever has or ever will come before that stupid company of his. As though he doesn’t already have enough money. Even if he does decide to keep you around as his little toy, you don’t belong in this world, and once he is done feeling charitable, he’ll be done with you,” she sneers.

  I lift a finger, with the intent of showing the demeaning debutant just how much I “don’t belong,” but the warmth of a familiar hand is at my back before I do.

  Devlin whirls me around, pulls me close to him, and in an instant places his mouth softly against mine. I catch a look of desire flash in his eye and he deepens the kiss, parting my lips and thrusting his tongue between them. He searches my mouth as though he was a poor man and my teeth were made of gold.

  My eyes close and I feel light enough to float away, but the strength of his tongue keeps me tethered.

  “Damn, girl,” he says, releasing my mouth and biting his lip. “I have never been kissed like that before.”

  Everything on my body associated with sex clenches, pebbles, or leaks in that moment.

  Giselle looks as though she wants to throw acid, and she silently slinks her way back into the party.

  “Sorry that the ice queen got to you,” he apologizes. “She is definitely my ex for a reason.”

  I should ask probing questions, guide him to understand the importance of past relationships in building a stronger future, but I have nothing. He kissed away all of the mental capacity that I have to analyze behavior and assess through conversation.

  I simply nod at him.

  “You know that none of what she said is true, right?” He slides one of his large hands across his smooth, hunky face. “I know where you come from, and I’m glad that you aren’t like these people.”

  I manage to stick on a worried smile as anxiety twists through my insides. How long will I be able to push away this irresistibly sweet and sexy man? I have to hide the bag of chocolate for the candy dish at the office, just to keep myself from eating it all. He is ten times as alluring as a candy bar.

  “I know,” I answer. “Excuse me for just a little.”

  Without waiting for a reply or giving an explanation, I head away from those mesmerizing eyes.

  I step into the private restroom, take a deep breath, and call my friend.

  “I can’t do it,” I rush before Monique has the chance to pop out a greeting. “I can’t spend the evening with him. I just can’t.”

  The tiled bathroom floor receives the brunt of my agitation, as pacing seems to calm my nerves a bit, but not enough.

  “Calm down,” she orders. “What did he do? I got bail money under the mattress, if I have to come beat his ass.”

  “He’s been a perfect gentleman,” I nearly yell in disbelief. “His father had me pumped up to meet this pompous, anger-filled miscreant, and Devlin is nothing of the sort. He bought me clothes, paid for hair and makeup and a limo just to have me stand by his side while he showered me with compliments all night!”

  “The dog,” Monique exhales sarcastically. “I’m going to tell you like Ms. Agnes would—carry yourself right back in there and enjoy that man.”

  “You don’t understand. I can’t do that. He’s been too sweet for me to keep leading him on.”

  “So he’s getting to you?” Monique says. “It’s alright to care about him as a person. You’re helping him become better.”

  I shake my head.

  I have crossed so many lines already.

  “I have to tell him what I do and why I am here. I need to confess,” I say.

  I look at myself in the mirror.

  “And what about Ms. Agnes? What about getting the office space that you need?” she says. “You’ve more than outgrown that broom closet at the community center. Focus on the goal.”

  A knock at the door startles me.

  “You all right in there?” Devlin’s smooth voice, and the image of his tall, handsome body leaning against the door, coming to check on me, cause the flutters return as though they’d never been absent.

  “Why does he keep being so nice?” I whisper to Monique.

  Devlin knocks again.

  “Ayron,” he calls.

  “He’s outside of the door,” I snap into the phone while searching through the small space for a window, porthole, trap door or something. “I can’t face him again, Mo.”

  “Do I need to call an ambulance?” he asks.

  “I’m all right, Devlin,” I squeak.

  “You can do this, Ayron,” Monique reassures. “The ends will justify the means.”

  Ending the call with Monique, I open the door to Devlin.

  “Is everything all right?” He examines me, his gorgeous brows furrowed. He places a steady hand on my cheek. “I thought you may have done a disappearing act on me, until coat check said they saw you slip in here.”

  “I’m fine,” I stutter, lost in the feeling of his caress.

  “I wish that I could say the same.”

  “What’s wrong?” It is my job to worry about him, to comfort him.

  “I need you. This—” His mouth is against mine before I can speak.

  If my mind would have allowed me to protest, I would have, but not telling myself
the truth is futile. I want him.

  His skillful tongue breaches the cavern of my mouth, mapping the precise route to elicit moans. Heat courses through me. Devlin had skyrocketed me to a new place of pleasure with just the tangle of his tongue against mine.

  In a swift motion, he hoists me against the wall and releases my breast from the strapless gown. His hot tongue trails kisses down my neck onto my chest until capturing my hardened nipple. Each suckle lulls me further into a dream world. His world, and I am ready to sign up for citizenship, allow him to plant his flag in my fertile soil and claim me.

  Locking my legs around him, I feel the full rise of his hardness between my thighs, and I water at the thought of how good he could make me feel with other parts of his body if he works his tongue this well.

  I give in to the indulgence, a scorching shot of desire for this model-built man damaging my self-control.

  He tastes as good as he looks, and feels even better. Our tongues collide, and I am at a loss for words. I can only moan.

  Devlin moves his zipper loose and sanity begins to seep in.

  I tear my face from his.

  “I can’t,” I pant. “I can’t do this.”

  His ragged breaths fall against my neck as he nuzzles the crevice.

  “No worries, babe,” he whispers between kisses. “I’ll take care of you.”

  I wiggle and motion for him to let me down.

  “This isn’t right,” I say.

  Devlin helps me to my feet and I fall against him, resting against his heaving chest and thumping pulse.

  He encapsulates me with his arms.

  “I’m not out to just hit it and quit it,” he explains, placing a kiss on my head. “I have never met a woman as caring and wise and as beautiful as you.”

  I look into his eyes.

  “Then there is no rush,” I remind him. “Good things come to those who wait. You agreed to my thirty-day trial period.”

  He punctuates his compliance by drawing in a long breath.

  I step out of his embrace and fix my clothing. He tucks and straightens his clothing as well.

  “If that’s what it takes, then I’ll wait,” he exhales with a shake of his head.

  I gather my emotions and willpower before exiting.

  As Devlin and I move out of the building, enjoying the warmth of our hands held together, I notice a man and woman interlocked in a passionate kiss near the bushes.

  “I guess there’s something in the air tonight,” I say, nodding toward the pair.

  The instant Devlin spots the couple, he releases my hand.

  He steps to the side, but I place a hand on his arm

  “That’s Trevor and a woman who’s not my sister,” he says.

  His eyes narrow as his body turns in the direction of the unsuspecting Trevor.

  I feel his muscles tensing underneath my hand.

  The tightening of his jaw is a sure sign that a problem may occur.

  “Going over there won’t change anything,” I add, hoping to keep him calm enough to keep his position in his family company.

  “Standing here won’t make it better, either,” he replies, stepping out of my grasp and marching forward through the plush grass as if he were leading an army.

  “He’s not worth it,” I reason.

  He turns quickly toward me, his expression hardened.

  “That asshole is cheating on my sister, the woman that he is about to marry. I can’t stand back and allow that,” he says while removing his tuxedo jacket.

  I don’t like a cheat, and don’t care about the other half of the money I would get from David Masters, but I can’t see Devlin go far from me. That won’t happen if Devlin is in jail.

  “Let your sister make the decision on how to handle that,” I warn. “Would she even believe that you hit him because of another woman? Think this through.”

  This causes him pause. Devlin’s eyes narrow as his jaw goes slack, and his once-flared nostrils relax.

  Thinking quickly, I push up to confine his lips with mine, dosing out the percolating passion with a twofold mission—keep him out of jail, and feel his warm, slippery tongue again.

  “I will take you back in that bathroom if you keep kissing me like that,” he threatens after pushing away for some air.

  “You ain’t ready for this,” I tease before noticing that Trevor and the woman are gone.

  “Good trick,” he winks. “I still didn’t un-see Trevor’s snake ass. He’s got his coming.”

  “If you wrestle with pigs, you end up just as dirty,” I say to him.

  “What?”

  “Something that my granny used to tell me,” I explain. “Even if you are clean, if you wrestle with pigs, if you stoop to their level, you get just as dirty.”

  He shakes his head.

  “When it’s about my family, I don’t care about a little dirt.”

  “But is that leader-like?” I propose. “Be smart about it. Strategic and not street. Presidents of anything don’t go around punching people. Let’s figure this out.”

  He pulls me close to him.

  “Kiss me again like before and I’ll consider your approach,” he growls.

  And I do. His touch feels right, like our romance is real.

  Riding next to Devlin has become the most natural thing. His opening and closing my door, the super-charged rumble that flows under the seat, and the bass that booms from the speaker are all commonplace now.

  I slide a hand across his thigh as though he were mine, as though I am not party to a charade to force this passionate and beautiful man into services he may not really need.

  “Is there anything that you want to talk about?” I question sincerely.

  “You’ve already done so much for me,” he responds sliding his eyes across me. “I truly mean it. I can count the number of people who have looked out for me the way that you have, and none of them are living.”

  His eyes divert then and a comfortable silence falls between us.

  “I lost my father when I was five years old. My mother passed away when I was eleven. I went to live with my grandmother after that and now she is gone as well,” I confess.

  The least that I can do is give him a piece of my truth. In my practice, I parcel information intermittently about myself when I feel that it will help, but I don’t feel like I am talking to a patient. I want him to know about me.

  He lays a supportive hand across mine, and I feel comforted.

  “I couldn’t imagine losing so many loved ones at such a young age,” he says before returning his hand to the steering wheel.

  “It’s a lonely feeling,” I tell him, swallowing the tickle in my throat.

  “My father wasn’t around much, and he shipped me away every chance that he could,” Devlin explains quietly, watching the road intently. “When I was home, my siblings didn’t like me. My cousins teased me. I was often surrounded by people and still felt alone.”

  “You are worthy of their love Devlin, of love in general. No matter how many degrees you achieve, how hard you work, or how many people you hit, it won’t change the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally,” I explain to him. “When you are making these decisions that can alter your life, you have to think about whether you are doing it for you or because you want their approval. If it’s their approval that you’re searching for, it may not happen.”

  His slow nod informs me that he heard what I had to say.

  “You kind of sound like a tennis coach I once had,” he says, smiling over at me. “I’ll think about what you said.”

  “Really?” I say, remembering my mentor, Dr. Tirash. David Masters had convinced me of this crazy scheme based on the relationship that my mentor had with Devlin as an adolescent.

  “Yeah. I’m still not that great at tennis, but I learned a lot about life,” he says. “Things that a man should teach a man, that a father should teach a man.”

  “Maybe your father couldn’t teach you those things, but gav
e you what he could,” I suggest. “He’s a hard worker, a successful businessman, and so are you.”

  “I didn’t think about it that way,” he admits.

  “That’s why you have me,” I blurt without even thinking. Under usual circumstances, he would have me as a therapist as long as he needed. In this situation, there is a time clock and it is ticking loudly.

  12

  Devlin

  Images of the alluring Ayron scroll through my mind as I slide my hand up and down over my aching dick. Fuck. I can’t believe I had her right there, legs open, pussy primed and juicy. I could smell how wet she was when I had her nipples between my lips. Focusing on a thought of her bouncing that plump peach-like ass on my dick pulls me closer to the edge.

  Thirty damn days. Who agrees to that stupid shit? I certainly don’t have to wait more than thirty minutes to fall in between the legs of a woman. I hadn’t even waited that long in junior high when I used to sneak and meet Heather Hanks in the woods between the boys’ and girls’ dormitories.

  I shake my head.

  Oh those eyes, and those words. I had never met a woman who, with one look, made me want to open up my entire soul and give it all to her. Her touch is patience defined. Calming. If she were here right now, I know she would have some saying to focus my mind, or have me rethinking my entire life, some guru shit so that I could fall asleep. She’s that kind of lady. Woman. One worth waiting for.

  The sunlight beams entirely too bright into my bedroom. I use the remote to draw the shades before I roll across my California king-size bed. The bed I had designed special after watching an episode of “MTV Cribs” that featured Shaquille O’Neal and one of his mansions. Shaq had a custom bed fit for his seven-foot frame. I’m not quite that tall, but at six-foot-three, a regular-king size bed doesn’t seem like enough.

  I slip into my house shoes and slink into my walk-in closet. The vaulted ceiling allows for three levels of clothes, mostly suits, to hang. I flip through the color-coordinated button-down shirts and shrug. I move to a row of neatly hung slacks arranged by hue from black to blue to tan. None of them seem like the right thing to put on for a day not spent at work. I even work holidays. My father always had. I can’t remember a day when work wasn’t involved and now someone is threatening to take that all away.