Extra Innings and In His Wildest Dreams

by Debbi Rawlins

  “No promises.”

  “Good enough.”

  He chuckled, already sounding drowsy. Or maybe she was the one who was a bit foggy. Definitely sated. Content. The thought roused her some. When was the last time she’d felt contentment? Felt so…right? Was it wishful thinking? Or something deeper? She wasn’t sure. For now though, she was going to live in the present, and enjoy every damn second.

  IT WAS SIX-FORTY WHEN Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked at the digital bedside clock. She hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep, not after going three marathon rounds with Dylan. Fortunately he was still sacked out; he had a game to play tonight and she knew he needed his rest.

  But she had a piece to write. It wasn’t going to be easy to compose a balanced article that did him justice yet respected his private battles. He claimed that he didn’t care that the media and baseball fans had been intolerant and sometimes jeering because of his refusal to give them any more than canned speech, but deep down he clearly did. Maybe too much. The fact that he’d chosen to put his story in writing suggested he was still trying to prove himself.

  She really ached for him. School and learning had been a breeze for her. She couldn’t imagine the frustration of studying so damn hard only to end up feeling lost and helpless.

  He suddenly flopped over onto his side, his back to her, but she knew he was still sound asleep. Cautiously she slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. After taking care of business, she slipped on the nightshirt she’d left hanging on a hook behind the door, and headed for her laptop.

  THE ROOM WAS DIM when Dylan grudgingly opened his eyes to slits, but he sensed it was morning. What sounded like the creaky wheels of a cart came from somewhere beyond the door. He patted the empty bed behind him and then flipped onto his back.

  Beth was sitting at the small hotel table, her hands in her lap, her shoulders hunched forward as she read the text-filled screen.

  Immediately his chest tightened. Jesus, she hadn’t wasted any time getting started on the article. Of course he’d given her plenty to work with. Hell, he’d completely laid himself out there, totally at her mercy. He wasn’t sure what made him more nervous, that she could expose him and the people he cared about, or that their relationship could come to a dead stop because of it.

  No, he trusted her, he reminded himself, or at least he’d gone with his instinct and chosen to trust her. He made a quick trip to the restroom and was surprised to find she hadn’t budged from her position at the keyboard when he came out. He wondered if she’d even heard him as he came up behind her.

  Not wanting to startle her, he said, “Mornin’,” a second before he put his hands on her shoulders and bent to kiss the side of her neck.

  She lifted her face and smiled, then seemed to notice he was naked and blinked a couple of times. “Did you just wake up?”

  He nodded, his gaze going to the computer screen, vaguely aware that her attention had shifted to his semihard cock.

  “It’s only a first draft,” she said, shoving her hair back with a nervous hand as she stood. “Read it if you want. I’ll order a pot of coffee.”

  “You want me to put some clothes on?”

  “Not really.” Her laugh sounded a bit self-conscious, and he pulled her close for a proper kiss before going to find his boxers.

  He slipped them on, then took the chair and started to read as she dialed room service. And kept reading for the next ten or fifteen minutes, his breathing coming easier and easier with each thoughtfully chosen word he absorbed.

  After a while, he felt the weight of her stare and glanced over to see her sitting on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her expression anxious. He wasn’t as bad as he used to be but he was still a relatively slow reader.

  “How long have you been up?” he asked, because she’d written an incredible amount.

  She moved a shoulder. “A couple of hours. Where are you?”

  “Last page.”

  A knock had her jumping up. “Must be the coffee.” She paused at the door, glancing at his boxers.

  “I’ll go hide in the bathroom.”

  “Nope. Got it.” She opened the door a crack, then stepped into the hall for a minute before reappearing with a loaded tray. “I ordered cream, sugar, everything, because I didn’t know…”

  “Perfect.” Dylan smiled. “I’ll fix a cup in a minute.”

  “I’ll do it if you tell me how you like it.” She set the tray down, her gaze flickering to the computer screen.

  “Beth…” He got up, caught her around the waist and looked down into her fretful blue eyes. She could’ve totally nailed his ego to a post, but his faith in her hadn’t been misplaced. Man, the way she could paint a picture…

  “You haven’t finished.”

  “I will, but not until I tell you that you’re amazing. I mean, really amazing. I appreciate the fine line you had to walk. You did it with real class. Better than I deserve.”

  She blushed and relaxed in his arms. “So you’re okay with it so far?” she asked softly, sliding her arms around his neck.

  Emotion stirred in his chest. “I knew you were something special back in high school. But I never got it, until just now, that you were extraordinary.”

  “What do you mean? I’m just telling your story. You did all the hard work.”

  He shook his head. “Come on. You know damn well that another kind of journalist would have made my parents and coaches into monsters, made me into an egotistical ass. And that last part, I’d actually have to agree with.”

  “You’re giving me too much credit. I took all my cues from you.”

  He shook his head. “This shouldn’t even be about me.”

  “Excuse me?” She reared back.

  “What I meant is that I want your editor to be so impressed that he gives you a promotion and a raise.”

  “Oh, Dylan.” She cupped his face. “That is so sweet.”

  “Oh, God.” He rolled his eyes, tried to act casual, but the truth was she’d really gotten to him.

  “It is. You are. Too bad.” She hugged his neck so tight that he had no choice but to kiss the breath right out of her.

  “You’re going back tomorrow,” he said.

  “First thing.”

  “Then what? Another assignment?”

  “Only if there’s a parade in town.”

  He smiled, still holding her tight, looking into her beautiful eyes. “Maybe, if you’re not too busy with work, we could get together when I come to Wisconsin. We play there next week, four hours away from North Star.”

  “I know.” She looked guilty. “That’s why I hit you up for the interview here. Neutral territory.”

  “Ah, you were hoping I wouldn’t recognize you.”

  She gave a small sheepish shrug. “Um…okay, I admit it.”

  He touched her flushed cheek. “So how about it? Will you come? I’ll send you a ticket. It’s a forty-minute plane ride.”

  A smile like sunshine changed her face and his heart rate. “I’ll drive.”

  “I don’t want to waste any more time than we have to. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  “We do?” A slight tremor shimmied through her body, and he hugged her closer.

  “I hope so.”

  “Me, too.” Her gaze slid to his chest. “In fact we shouldn’t waste any more time now.”

  He nipped her lower lip, but let it go before he got carried away. “I’ve got an article to finish reading and a cup of coffee to drink. Then I’m all yours.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Dylan Andrews. All mine. Who’d have thought?”

  “I’ll give you something else to think about…me off season. Lots of free time on my hands.” He squeezed a handful of her perfect ass.

  She laughed softly, her breath catching when she pulled back a little to look at him with a touch of uncertainty. “I love the fall.”

  “Yep, chilly nights, Thanksgiving—my favorite holiday, by the way…” he said, holding h
er gaze “…then Christmas…”

  Beth studied him for a moment, then smiled and kissed him.

  Dylan closed his eyes. It was a good start.

  Bringing the Heat

  1

  ROB PERRY HAD STAKED OUT the backseat of the team bus and willed everyone to leave him the hell alone for the trip back to the hotel. Because luck had abandoned him months ago, when he’d been sent down to this Podunk Double-A bullshit, Woody Morgan was headed straight for him, his pudgy, ruddy face one big grin. The kid had hit a home run today and would be reliving the moment for a freakin’ week.

  “I told you I’d take him deep,” Woody said, plopping down on the seat in front of Rob.

  “Yep, you did.”

  Woody locked his hands behind his head, leaned back against the window and beamed like a kid who’d just learned how to pee standing up. “Rodriguez hung that slider and I wailed on it.”

  Rob wearily nodded and flexed his pitching arm. Had he been that enthusiastic and obnoxious at nineteen? Probably. Somebody shoulda just shot him.

  Woody studied him for a long, irritating moment. “I bet I could’ve taken you deep back when you were in the Bigs. Even in your heyday.”

  Lopez and Sawyer were sitting in the seat in front of him. They both glanced over their shoulders, then at each other. Sawyer shook his head, but neither guy said anything to Woody. They probably figured Rob would take care of him and his big mouth.

  Yeah, Rob wanted to kill him for the reminder that he was the old man of the team, and he would. Right after he got back to the hotel and iced his aching thirty-three-year-old arm.

  He laid his head back and closed his eyes, hoping Woody would get the hint and shut up or leave. A minute later a miracle happened. Woody got up and bumped his way to the front in search of another victim.

  Rob breathed in deeply. They’d won tonight, thanks to his relief pitching in the ninth. No reason for him to be grouchy. Except that it was beginning to look as if a reliever was all he was going to be from now on. Shit. Twelve great years in the Majors, and it had all come down to this. To be fair, only eleven great years. That last one… Man, he’d really screwed up.

  “Nice work tonight, Perry.”

  He opened his eyes and watched Coach Johnson lower his lanky form into the seat Woody had left. “Thanks, Coach.”

  “Keep that up, and you’re gonna be getting that call from the Talons next week.”

  Rob grunted. He was trying not to think about it. Hell, who was he kidding? For the past four nights he’d lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, wanting to get back to the Majors so damn badly he could almost taste it.

  “There’s a lot of talent out there, Coach,” he said quietly. “A whole lot younger than me.”

  “True.” The pitching coach chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds. During the five months Rob had spent with the Wichita Wolverines, not once had he seen the man without a big wad of gum in his mouth. “But your arm is strong and you still bring the heat. Numbers are all that matter to the suits.”

  His arm didn’t feel so good right now. But it would once he got back to his room and took care of it. That part he kept to himself. As long as he could still deliver, there was no need to send up a warning flag.

  The bus stopped at a red light, and Coach slapped the back of the seat with an open hand, then pushed to his feet. “Well, twenty minutes to the hotel. I reckon you’re headed straight to your room.”

  “You got that right.”

  Coach chuckled. “Yup. Best to keep your nose clean.”

  He ambled toward his seat up front, and Rob watched him, taking no offense at the reminder, because keeping out of trouble was exactly what Rob planned to do. It was no secret that he’d gotten sloppy with his personal and professional life, and it had cost him, big-time.

  Being demoted to the Minors had gutted him. The humiliation had almost made him walk away from the game he loved more than breathing. But quitting wasn’t an option. Everything he was, he owed to baseball. To say he’d kept his eyes on the prize since that nightmare of a meeting was an understatement.

  But he was surprised that Coach was walking with a slight limp. He didn’t usually. Maybe he’d twisted his bad knee, or it was arthritis. The guy had played Minor League ball for a while, until he’d torn up his leg.

  As much as he liked the straight-talking, easygoing man, Rob did not want to be almost sixty sitting in an old bus giving a veteran pitcher a pep talk. And definitely not watching cocky young bucks preen every time they hit a homer.

  These young kids…hell, they didn’t know what it was like to play in the Majors. They’d all dreamed about it. Some of them had asked him to describe what it meant to be standing in the middle of the diamond with thousands of fans screaming your name. He could tell them the hotels were first class, the women so goddamn beautiful they hurt your eyes and the money…the money was incomprehensible at first. But being a Major League player wasn’t only about those things. It was the pride and excitement that burst inside a man’s chest when he threw his first Major League ball that couldn’t be described.

  Shit, Rob had to get back to the Show. No matter what. Before he just withered away.

  TORI GALLAGHER PARKED her rented Porsche as close to the hotel entrance as she could then darted inside. The team bus would be here within a half hour and she had some fast sweet talking to do if she wanted to surprise Rob.

  It wasn’t so much about surprising him as it was making sure they had some private face time. She wanted to see him, make sure he was okay. She’d read the Dallas sports pages yesterday, something she generally tried not to do, and saw the article by self-proclaimed baseball authority and certifiable idiot Levi Ralston. The moron had shared his opinion that the Talons were better off without Rob. Tori had seen red. Every Texas baseball fan knew Rob had been the heart and soul of the team for a decade.

  Her vehemence about Rob’s pitching talents had nothing to do with her father owning the Talons. She never discussed team business with him; in fact, they didn’t speak all that much.

  She went straight to the front desk, but instead of her old college friend standing behind the counter, there were two young women. The tall blonde eyed Tori’s short black dress and silver stilettos with a touch of disapproval mixed with envy, so Tori addressed the other clerk.

  “Hi,” she said, with a big smile. “Can you tell me if John Goren is working tonight?” she asked, hoping neither one of them recognized her. Probably not. She hadn’t been in the tabloids for ages.

  “Mr. Goren is at dinner,” the blonde said.

  “I think he might be back already,” the other clerk offered. “Let me check his office.”

  “Thank you,” Tori said sweetly. “I’ll wait right here.”

  She turned around to check out the lobby. She’d never been here before, not even when she’d attended Duke University several miles away. There’d been no reason to come to a place like this. It was just a small low-end hotel, with a cookie-cutter lobby and a shabby bar, yet it was better than where a lot of Minor League clubs put up their players.

  “Tori?”

  At the sound of John’s voice, she turned around and gave the big ole teddy bear her best smile. “Well, hello there, stranger.”

  He lit up as he stepped away from the door to the back offices, and she was glad she was going to be doing business near Durham. It would be nice to catch up with John, nurture the friendship they’d had in college. Now that she finally knew how to be a friend.

  “God, Tori.” He spread his hands. “I thought you were still living in Paris. How long has it been?”

  “Aeons.” She gave him a hug and a peck on his whiskered cheek. “I can’t believe you haven’t cut that thing off.”

  He touched his beard and grinned. “I keep it trimmed.”

  “And look at you wearing a suit. Do you still have that godawful heavy-metal T-shirt with the skulls?”

  “I’ll have that to my dying day,” John s
aid, laughing. He nodded at the two front-desk clerks and then walked her farther into the lobby, toward the bar. “You in town for a while?”

  “At least a couple of weeks. I hope we can get together sometime.”

  “I’m off work in two hours.”

  “Actually, tonight I’ve got something to do. How about next week? Wednesday night? Dinner?”

  “You bet. I’ll take you to a great little hole in the wall. You’ll like it.” A flush blossomed from his neck to his broad face when she brushed a piece of lint off his lapel. “I can’t believe you looked me up.”

  They’d been buddies during junior and senior year. He hadn’t gone to Duke but to the University of North Carolina where they’d met at a football game. John had quickly slipped into the habit of cleaning up her messes, and back then she’d gladly let him, because…well, she’d been a mess herself. Always partying, taking life for granted, making headlines in the tabloids, anything to annoy her father.

  “Well, you’re not going to believe this, either. I opened my own design studio in Dallas and I just leased a place to open a second one here.”

  “No kidding. That’s terrific, Tori.” He took her hands and squeezed them, and her gaze caught on her watch. She didn’t have much time. “I’m glad you finally found something you want to do.”

  “I love interior decorating. I really do.” She hesitated, cleared her throat. “And while I can’t wait to talk to you about it, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure. Anything. You need a room?” He chuckled. “Nah, you wouldn’t stay in a place like this.”

  She simply smiled. Agreeing would make her sound like a snob. “I hear you have the Wolverines staying here.”

  “We do.” He frowned toward the parking lot. “The bus should be here soon. Why?”

  “There’s a pitcher who used to play on my daddy’s team… He got sent down to the Wichita Wolverines this past season—”

  “Rob Perry. I know who he is.” John’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t tell me you still have a crush on him.”