Slow Heat

by Jill Shalvis

  “And Cheez Doodles.”

  “Always.”

  “Cool.” And he smiled.

  Her heart swelled in her chest until her ribs nearly burst. “I love you, Tag,” she whispered, and kissed his cheek.

  “Jeez!”

  She laughed. “We have to run to the clubhouse at the first media break. I’m giving a quick clip to some foreign reporters today.”

  “Can I wait here?”

  Progress. He was asking. “No,” she said gently. “I want to watch your intake. The last time I didn’t, you liberated Santos’s tobacco, ate too much, and puked up everything but the kitchen sink.”

  “Aw.” But he dropped it. And on the walk to the clubhouse at the media break, he tugged on her hand. “Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s more than okay. Being with you.” He grimaced when she grinned and hugged him again.

  The game went late. At eleven that night they were tied and heading into extra innings. Sam sent Tag to the hotel room with Gage’s assistant, and he was crashed out cold in his room when she staggered in two hours later at one in the morning after a tight win.

  Two seconds later, there was a soft knock at her suite door. She opened it to Wade. “Congratulations on the win,” she said. “Nice homer in the fourth. And eighth.” She smiled. “And tenth.”

  “Thanks.”

  She leaned against the doorjamb and looked him over. He wore jeans and a slightly oversized button-down, untucked, looking like his usual million bucks. But unlike always, his expression was actually open, and just a little vulnerable, which she found devastatingly charming. “You hurting?”

  He shook his head.

  “You upset with your dad?”

  “Yeah, but that’s more a way of life.”

  “Then what?”

  He put his hands on her hips and nudged her into the room so he could shut the door. Pulling her in close, his voice dropped to a soft murmur against her ear. “Maybe I just want to be with you.”

  Her heart caught. “No reason?”

  “Lots of reasons. Many, many reasons.” His hands swept up her body and made it quiver. “Where’s Tag?”

  “Asleep in his room.” And damn, but she wrapped herself around him like she hadn’t seen him in months. “I was about to shower.”

  “Yeah?” He guided her into the bathroom, reaching behind him to lock the door. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  She flipped on the hot water. He stripped. Apparently he was joining her. When he was gloriously naked, he divested her of her clothing as well, stopping to stare in surprise at his number tattooed on her shoulder.

  “I know,” she said, embarrassed. “It’s so middle school, but—”

  He dropped his head and kissed it, backing the words up in her throat as he continued with the kisses to her breast. “I like it. You’re branded as mine.”

  At the mine, her belly quivered. “Tag’s just in the next room,” she whispered.

  “The kid sleeps like the dead, I’ve seen him.” He ran his tongue over her nipple, and at her throaty gasp, looked up. “But to be safe, you’ll have to try to keep the ‘harder, Wade, harder’ down to a minimum.”

  “I don’t—”

  He grinned against her breast and she closed her eyes. She did, God she did. There was no doubt he brought out her wild side.

  He made his way to her other breast and ran a finger along her bikini line. “My name or number right here would be nice . . .” He slid a hand between her legs. She sucked in a breath as he dropped to his knees.

  “Shh,” he reminded her softly, then pressed her back against the sink and put his mouth on her. He drove her straight off the edge—and even had to reach up and cover her mouth with his hand at the end when she cried out and shuddered.

  Rocked off her axis, she slid bonelessly toward the floor, but he caught her in his arms and stepped into the shower with her, then pressed her against the wall and slid into her with one flex of his hips.

  Then it was his turn to let out the low, husky gasp, and hers to cover his mouth.

  And this time, when Sam came back to herself, she burrowed into the man who held her, feeling something new, something catch deep inside of her. She’d tried it his way. She’d given the light and easy thing her very best shot, but she’d passed light and easy a long time ago. She’d fallen completely, head-over-heels in love with Wade.

  And probably, it was going to kill her.

  The Heat took the Cubs series three-two, which made the fans and management and the sponsors happy. That should have been enough for Wade. At one time it’d most definitely have been enough.

  And then the hurricane named Samantha had hit, and things had changed.

  On the late night flight home, the plane was quiet and dark as Wade slipped into a seat next to Sam, who was working on her BlackBerry. Tag was passed out cold across from her, sleeping in his favorite position—arms and legs akimbo. Wade smiled as he pressed his leg into Sam’s. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  She didn’t seem nearly as sated and relaxed as she had in the shower the night before last, and he took another look at her, seeing the strain in her eyes. “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “Last-minute details for the charity dinner in two nights.”

  He nodded. The event was a big one and required one of his least favorite things—a tux. But as he’d be Sam’s date, and she would no doubt wear something that would make his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, it’d be worth it.

  She didn’t say anything else. She always said something . . . He nudged her again. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  She hadn’t take her gaze off her BlackBerry, so he dipped his head to make eye contact.

  She swiveled her head toward him—a distracted question mark in her eyes.

  Huh. He took in her slight frown, and the way her brow was furrowed. “You have a headache?”

  “No.” Her voice was soft. Not unfriendly, but . . . not warm either.

  “Okay.” He kept looking at her, trying to understand what was going on, because something was going on. “I’m getting the feeling I’m missing a memo.”

  She set her BlackBerry down and looked at him, really looked, as if she were searching for something important inside his head. “And what would that memo say?” she finally asked.

  “It would tell me how I’d fucked up, with instructions on how to fix it.”

  She sighed and went back to her phone.

  “Are we having a fight?” he asked.

  “Are you mad at something?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Then no. We’re not having a fight.”

  He watched her work for a moment, at a complete loss. The last time she’d been upset had been the other night at the bar with her father. Wade had been able to take her mind off that pretty easily by getting her naked. Served to reason it might work again, so he slid his arm around her, cuddling her in against him to kiss her neck. God, she smelled good. “Ever join the mile-high club?” he whispered.

  She slid him another look, this one inscrutable. “Are you suggesting we hit the bathroom and have sex?”

  The tone froze his eyebrows. “Um . . . yes?”

  “Let me ask you something, Wade. The month’s over, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So what exactly are we doing now?”

  “Uh . . .” He figured whatever he said had better be really, really good and convincing. “Seeing where things go?”

  “With a purely physical relationship.”

  He knew a trap when he saw one. “No.” He shook his head. This one he knew. “We have more.”

  “Really? Like what? I’m just trying to define this. For me.”

  “Well . . . we laugh.” He flashed her a grin, but she didn’t return it. “And we talk.”

  She just looked at him. Great. Now she held her tongue. “Usuall
y we talk,” he amended, and pulled back a little, stroking a strand of her hair behind an ear. “What’s the matter, Sam? Just tell me.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I wanted to be able to do this, the light and fluffy nonsubstance thing.” She opened her eyes again, and they were filled with frustration and a sadness that wrenched at him. “I really thought I could jump in and jump out again at will. But as it turns out, it’s hard to turn it on and off.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m having a really hard time with the off part, Wade.”

  He stroked a finger over her jaw, thrown by the pain in her voice, by the way his own throat felt too damn tight. “So leave it on.”

  “For now, you mean. Open-ended.”

  “Yeah.”

  She let out a laugh that tore at his heart. She nodded, but then shook her head in the negative. “I wanted to,” she whispered. “Because I want you. But I’m not getting any vibes from you that justify the risk. I’m sorry, Wade.” She looked away, and then when she met his gaze again, her thoughts were successfully hidden from him. “I can’t.”

  He hated the panic tightening his gut. “So . . . where does that leave us, Sam?”

  “With no us.”

  Chapter 28

  More than any other American sport, baseball creates the magnetic, addictive illusion that it can almost be understood.

  —Thomas Boswell

  The next day, the Heat took Seattle at home by the skin of their teeth, and Wade took a cleat to the shin. It happened in the last inning, and he spent a long time in the shower afterwards trying to get the ache out. But his shin wasn’t the only thing that hurt. His chest hurt, his gut hurt.

  Everything fucking hurt.

  By the time he dressed, the clubhouse had pretty much cleared out. Pace had gone home with Holly. Most of the guys, happy to be back in Santa Barbara, had plans with family. Sam had avoided him pre-game, and was doing the same now, so Wade grabbed his keys and left.

  He went home, but the empty house mocked him. Even his father had somewhere to be, leaving Wade truly the only one with nobody. He got back into his car. He drove, having no idea what his destination was.

  He ended up at Sam’s building. He wasn’t sure why, but hell, now that he was here, it’d be rude not to go in and see her. Tag opened the door to his knock, and with a look of disappointment, peered behind Wade.

  “You got someone better coming over?” Wade asked him.

  “Pizza,” Tag said.

  Wade nudged the kid aside and walked into the condo, staring in surprise at his father, who was sitting at the dining room table. “What are you doing here?”

  “Keeping the kid and his tutor company.”

  Wade took a long look at his dad, who seemed more than a little strung out. “You okay?”

  “Trying to be.” John was indeed fighting his addiction, but Wade wasn’t sure he was winning.

  “Anyone know where Sam went?”

  “No se.” Tag grinned. “That’s Spanish for I don’t know. Your dad taught it to me. Want to know what else he taught me?”

  “Uh . . .” John was frantically trying to get Tag’s attention, making the motion of a knife slicing across his neck. “Ixnay on the haring-shay, please.”

  “Comer mierda,” Tag said proudly.

  Eat shit? Wade narrowed his gaze at his father, who had found something fascinating to study on the ceiling.

  “He paid me to say it to the cab driver who brought him here,” Tag said.

  “Christ, Dad.”

  “Sorry, but the guy was a real prick.”

  “Prick,” Tag repeated.

  Wade pulled out his wallet and handed Tag a ten.

  Tag pocketed the money and when it was out of sight, he asked “What was that for?”

  “To notrepeat anything my father says.”

  “Sweet.”

  “Got any for me?” his father asked, palm out.

  “No. You’ve bled me dry.” He pointed at Tag. “Behave yourself.”

  “Okay. So are you going to go out, too? Like Aunt Sam?”

  Wade’s world stuttered to a halt. “What?”

  John fake coughed and said, “You snooze, you lose,” at the same time.

  “Dad, a moment?” Wade jerked his head toward the kitchen.

  “Can’t. Sorry. Very busy.”

  “Now.”

  John sighed and rose to his feet, meeting Wade in front of the stove. “This isn’t my fault. This time it’s your bone-headedness, son, all on your own. I’m completely innocent.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Wade gave up on him and went to Tag. “Do you know how to reach your aunt?”

  “Uh-huh. I always know, on accounta’ we’re family,” he said, clearly repeating back Sam’s words verbatim.

  “Okay, good. So . . . ?”

  Tag slid him a sly look. “So now it’s okay to tell a secret?”

  Shit, the kid was good. “Is it a secret?”

  Tag just looked at him.

  “Sorry, man, but no more cash tonight.”

  Tag sighed. “I can call her and she’ll come back. She told me to call her if I needed anything, that she’d be here in a jiffy.”

  Which was no help for Wade. “Same goes for me, kiddo. You need me, you call. Anytime, okay?”

  “ ’Kay.”

  With one last long look at his father, Wade headed out. Stopping in front of his car, he reached into his pocket for his keys and glanced at the window of the Italian restaurant across the street.

  Sam was sitting inside at a table near the window. She was with a man, talking animatedly, and laughing. Then the man reached over and kissed her right on the lips, and Wade abruptly shoved his keys back in his pocket and strode inside.