Bases Loaded (Mustangs Baseball)

by Roz Lee

  She took another fortifying sip. Cold courage. Straight from a bottle. Resisting the urge to drain her glass, she placed it carefully on the table.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. I’m not used to drinking in the middle of the day, that’s all.”

  “Me either, but if ever there was an event that called for champagne, this is it.”

  The alcohol already fuzzed her brain. She knit her brows in confusion.

  Antonio smiled over the rim of his glass. “You. Me. Naked together. That’s cause for celebration in my book.”

  Her entire body heated with a blush. Before the liquid courage wore off, she stood. “I’ll get changed now.” She edged past him to the dressing room door. “Remember your promise.”

  He saluted her with his flute. “No peeking. I promise.” The twinkle in his eyes and the tilt of his lips told her it was a hollow promise, though she had no intention of allowing him a chance to break it.

  With an extra tug at the knotted belt on her terrycloth robe, Clare stepped out of the changing room. Antonio stood. Wide-eyed, his gaze raked her from head to toe, stopping at the triangle of exposed skin on her chest. He licked his lips, and his nostrils flared like a predator scenting its prey. Instinctively, she grabbed the lapels of her robe and clutched them tight, but it was too late. The fire blazing in his eyes sparked an answering inferno low in her belly, and for a brief moment, she forgot her physical shortcomings. She felt beautiful. Desired.

  Her body hummed, and her toes curled in the plush carpet in a classic fight or flight response. The fight would be epic if she ever found the nerve to let him get close enough.

  “Your turn,” she said, forcing her feet to move toward the massage tables. Every step felt as if she fought an invisible force field, pulling her back into his space. Only her knowledge that having sex with her one time would be enough for him kept her going.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  Anchored by nerves, she remained still, following his movements with her hearing alone. There was the distinct click of crystal on wood then the hard jolt of the changing room door cutting off a muffled curse. She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was gone before loosening the tie at her waist and wrapping a folded sheet around her body.

  She felt awkward lying on the massage table like a beached whale, but it was too late to turn back. She’d swam into these waters, and she would to see it through—no matter what. Behind her, a door opened. Tiny pinpricks of heat traveled from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. She held herself perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as Antonio crossed the room.

  He did his best to entice her to peek—wiggling and flopping around, cursing as he did so. He was known on the baseball field for pushing the limits, so she should have expected this type of behavior. She bit her lip to keep from smiling and kept her face buried in the oval cutout in the table. Patience would win this game. If she pretended disinterest, he would eventually drop his guard, allowing her the chance to check out portions of his body without him knowing. It was a shame the rumors didn’t specify where exactly the tattoo would be—if it existed at all.

  He summoned the attendants who arrived on quiet feet and set to work.

  Antonio groaned and moaned and talked. All. The. Freaking. Time.

  “Ahh, that feels good.”

  “Yeah, right there. Oh, man.”

  “What kind of oil is that? It smells good.” When his masseuse named the product, Antonio said, “Clare, honey, we’ve got to get some of this stuff.” Then he groaned again.

  Why couldn’t he just drift off to sleep or something, so she could look all she wanted?

  After a while, she tuned him out and concentrated on the hands gliding across her skin. The attendants had introduced themselves when they came in. The woman, Serena, was there for Antonio. Clare’s attendant was a guy named Raul, who, it turned out, had the hands of a god. At first, she’d been self-conscious about having a strange man touch her, but between Antonio’s incessant noise and the way Raul systematically reduced her muscles to putty, she quickly forgot all about being naked in a room with three other people.

  Two of those people were professionals and had been paid handsomely to keep their opinions to themselves. Antonio, however, couldn’t and wouldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “Feeling good, Clare?” he asked right after Raul coaxed a soft moan out of her by working some kind of magic on the small of her back.

  “Mmm….”

  “It sounds like you are.”

  “Go away, Antonio.”

  His laugh sounded like he was short on air. “That good, huh?”

  “Shh. Raul has magic hands.”

  The sound that came from the other table wasn’t laughter. It sounded more like Serena was strangling Antonio with a towel. A flash of lightning shot through Clare. Antonio didn’t like hearing about her massage. Maybe he was jealous.

  “Do that again, Raul.” She tested her theory, purring the words. “It feels so good.”

  Another strangled sound came from the other table, along with a lot of shifting around.

  She actually enjoyed herself. Teasing Antonio was fun.

  Raul pulled the sheet up to her armpits and asked her to roll onto her back. Who knew it took so many muscle groups just to turn over? She moaned.

  Antonio growled.

  Raul went to work on her arms, stretching them above her head, pulling and kneading until she couldn’t have lifted a slip of paper if her life depended on it. Then he moved to her legs, rolling her calf muscles, moving up slowly to her thighs. It was Heaven.

  He tugged on her right thigh, and she realized he needed better access to the inside of her legs. “Open for me,” he said.

  It happened fast. One second, Raul’s talented fingers were liquefying her leg muscles, and the next—they were not. Her eyes flew open.

  Serena gasped and backed into a rolling cart. Bottles and pots of cream crashed to the floor. Clare sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts.

  Across the room, Antonio pinned Raul to the wall with one hand at his neck while his other hand held a sheet at his waist. The white fabric hung between the two men, presumably covering Antonio’s junk, but left his oiled back and ass exposed.

  And there it was. A neatly penned baseball diamond graced his left buttock. Each base was filled with a different color, and below home plate were the words “Bases Loaded.” Just exactly like the tiny charm Jessica had worn on her clit.

  Bases Loaded is real. The club wasn’t an urban legend, after all.

  Her head spun, remembering what Jessica said she had done to earn the charm. Oh, Lord.

  She swallowed hard, imagining herself at the center of all that masculine attention. She only vaguely understood how it could even be possible, but her body hungered for the experience.

  Antonio’s voice cut through her lust-fogged brain. “Keep your hands off her.”

  The masseur’s face was purple, but he gasped out his agreement while he clutched at Antonio’s wrist. “I won’t touch her. I swear!”

  “Antonio!” Clare yelled. “Let him go!” She swung her feet off the table and wrapped the sheet around her body, toga-style.

  Raul’s feet hit the floor. He shot an apologetic look at Clare and ran out of the room as if the hounds of hell were after him. Antonio turned. From the look on his face, Raul had been wise to escape while he could. Her partner was seriously pissed. His oiled chest rose and fell with each short, rapid breath. Anger made his olive complexion even darker, and something wild dwelled in the depth of his eyes.

  His gaze landed on her—swept her from head to toe in carnal assessment. Her nipples tightened and heat gathered in her abdomen. It was mating time at the OK Corral, and she was the hobbled mare. Her knees rattled. She opened her mouth to warn him off, but a squeak from her right drew his attention away. He shot a look at Serena who appeared ready to faint. Huddled between the two massage tables, she clutched a towel to her thro
at as if that would protect her in some way.

  “Leave us alone,” he growled.

  Serena glanced her way.

  Clare nodded at the frightened masseuse. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.” I hope.

  She’d never witnessed a violent act up close and personal before, but behind the violence in Antonio’s actions lurked something even more frightening. Lust. No one had ever looked at her with the same intensity she’d seen in his eyes when she’d ordered him to let Raul go.

  The woman wasted no time worrying about Clare’s well being. She scooted sideways past Antonio and fled the scene.

  “What was that all about?” Clare asked as soon as the door clicked shut.

  “Are you kidding me?” Antonio raked his hair back from his face with the same hand he’d used to control Raul. “He was touching you.”

  His chest heaved with exertion. Despite the sheet he still held over his groin, his nakedness made it hard for her to think straight.

  “Yes, he was. He had been for the last forty minutes or so. It may have been my first massage, but I know touching is part of the process.”

  Antonio blinked. “Yeah, well, he had no business telling you to…to…. It wasn’t that kind of massage.”

  “He was massaging my legs.” Which she suddenly realized were about to collapse. She reached for her robe and turned her back to him. “My legs were too close together.” That’s what happens when you have fat thighs. She slipped the borrowed garment on then allowed the sheet to drop to the floor. She tied the belt at her waist and made it to the loveseat against the far wall just as her knees gave way.

  Antonio chose that moment to drop the sheet covering his crotch and reached for his robe. She allowed herself to check out the rest of him as he shrugged the terrycloth over his shoulders, pulled the front closed, and belted it in the most unselfconscious manner she’d ever seen. He was clearly comfortable in his body, and why wouldn’t he be? He was beautiful—all hard, sculpted muscle from his broad shoulders to his slim hips and long legs. An athlete’s body. Toned and honed to play the demanding outfielder’s job.

  Her gaze swept over the defined ridges of his abs and locked on his erect penis. Her mouth went dry.

  “No one touches what’s mine.” His voice snapped her back to reality.

  “Yours?” Me?

  Antonio refilled their champagne glasses. She automatically took the one he thrust in her direction, being careful to avoid touching him.

  He drained his glass and refilled it. “Mine, Clare.”

  It was easy to see the Italian blood he’d inherited from his mother when he was agitated. He stood like a Roman god, his feet braced apart, his spine straight. His eyes were fiery shards of obsidian. “I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I want you, Clare. Now. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. No more massages. I fuckin’ can’t stand the thought of another man’s hands on you.”

  So much for the Bases Loaded fantasy.

  “And it’s okay if another woman touches you?” she asked in an effort to mask her disappointment.

  “That’s different,” he reasoned.

  “I don’t see how. You were doing an awful lot of moaning and groaning over there. What exactly was Serena massaging?”

  He stared at her. She’d gone too far. A man like Antonio wouldn’t tolerate a woman being jealous where he was concerned.

  “You’re jealous.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Maybe.”

  His sensual lips curved into a broad smile. “You are.” He nodded and sipped his champagne. “I like it.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “I like it. No one’s ever been jealous on my behalf before.”

  Clare set her glass down before she spilled it. “I wasn’t jealous. I was pointing out that you seemed to be having a lot of fun over there.”

  A frown replaced his smile. “I was trying to distract you, so you could relax and enjoy the massage. Then you did, and it was all I could do to keep from leaping from my table to yours. Those sounds you make when it feels good…you were killing me, Clare. Raul had no business saying those words to you. I don’t care what you think he was trying to accomplish. The man was hitting on you. That was the last straw.”

  “He wasn’t—”

  “He was hitting on you. Believe me, I know.” His tone allowed no argument. He paced away then back again. “Look, I understand you don’t think men find you attractive, but you couldn’t be more wrong. Men lust after women like you.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s why I have more dates than I can handle. I have so many I have to turn most of them away, or I’d never get to stay at home and wash my hair.”

  “You equate being attractive with having dates. That’s where you’re wrong. They don’t ask you out because they know it would be the end of the road for them. No more sowing wild oats and all that shit. They’d be goners, and they know it. That’s why they don’t ask you out. But, you see, that’s where I’m different. I told you I was scared shitless, but not because I think you’re my forever, but because I’m afraid someone else might get to you before me.”

  She grabbed the champagne she’d abandoned and drained the glass.

  “I want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you, and I want you to get to know me, too. And, fuck yeah, I’m going to be jealous and possessive. And as soon as you’ll let me, I’m going to claim what’s mine.”

  A knock sounded on the door. Antonio arched an eyebrow at her. She clutched the lapels of her robe tighter and nodded.

  “Come in,” he called out.

  Chapter Seven

  A man wearing a business suit complete with an understated tie cautiously opened the door. Stepping inside, he shut the door behind him.

  “Sir, Miss.” He nodded at them. “I’m Nathan James. This is my establishment. I’m so very sorry for what happened here.” He shook his head and made a face as if he’d tasted something vile. “Raul has never done anything like that before. We’ve never had a complaint against him, and he’s been in my employ for several years. Nevertheless, once is all it takes. He no longer works here. Please, accept my profound apologies.”

  “That was quick,” Antonio said.

  “Serena told me what Raul said to your….”

  “Wife,” Antonio supplied.

  He shot her a look that said no argument would be tolerated. She decided to let it slide. Under the circumstances she’d rather they believe she was Antonio’s wife than his…whatever.

  “What he said to your wife,” Mr. James continued. “Unacceptable. He clearly found your wife’s charms irresistible, but that is no excuse. He didn’t conduct himself in a professional manner, and anything less will not be tolerated in my place of business.”

  “I appreciate your position and your swift action regarding the matter. If you’ll give us a few minutes to shower and dress,” Antonio said, dismissing the business owner.

  “Take your time. The suite is yours as long as you require it.” Then he was gone, and she was alone with a smug looking Antonio.

  “I told you he was hitting on you.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “You think so?” He parted his robe, allowing his cock to spring free. He wrapped his fist around it and stroked. “This is what you do to me, Clare. I want you every minute of every day. I think of you when I close my eyes at night and I wake up dreaming of sinking into you.”

  “Really?”

  He sounded so sincere, and with the evidence plainly in front of her, she could almost believe it was true.

  He tucked his erection under the flap of his robe in the same unselfconscious way he had earlier, as if his arousal was something he’d learned to live with. He reached for her hand. “Come here.” One firm tug and she was on her feet following him across the room. “Let me show you what I see when I look at you.”

  He pushed the changing room door wide, so they were face-to-face with the full-length mirror on the back. There were two things she hated in this world—camer
as and mirrors. They could be counted on to shatter any illusions one held about themselves, and the last thing she wanted to do was confront her ample shortcomings with The Sexiest Man Alive. Eyes lied. Reflections did not.

  His strong arms bracketed her waist, anchoring her back to his front. The thick ridge of his arousal pressed against the small of her back. She tugged at his forearms in a futile effort to dislodge herself. He held her tighter and moved his lips against her ear.

  “Look in the mirror, Clare.”

  Reluctantly, she raised her gaze. Her heart fluttered at the picture they made together. She looked almost small cradled against his much larger frame. Her ivory skin appeared pale in contrast to his darker bronze tones.

  “You’re breathtaking.” His hand came up to trace the lines of her face. “You have the features of an angel.” His thumb swept over her mouth, leaving a trail of fire. “Your lips would tempt a saint to sin. And your eyes…they’re windows to your soul.” His gaze met hers in the mirror. “Everything you feel shows in them. Right now, you’re wary but excited. Aroused, perhaps.”

  “I’m not.” Even she didn’t believe her breathless lie.

  “Ah, but you are.” His fingers closed around her jaw then slid down to span her neck. “Your pulse is racing, and your eyes are dilated. You want me to touch you. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise.”

  She wouldn’t, couldn’t.

  “However, I will stop if you want me to. Say the word, Clare, and I’ll let you go.” He held her still for the space of a moment. “No protest?”

  She shook her head because she was positive no sound would come out if she tried to speak.

  “Good, then I’m going to touch you, look at you. I’m going to show you why I, and every other man on the planet, would want to be with you.”

  His hand at her throat slipped lower, past her clavicle, dipping into the V of her robe, coming to a stop just above the swell of her breasts. Sensations rippled across her skin, and her nipples tightened in anticipation of his touch. She grew lightheaded. Her body recognized the problem, and her lungs involuntarily filled. Her heart raced in response, sending oxygen rich blood to her brain.