“What clued you in? The uniform or the overuse of profanity?” He gave her a rueful smile, remembering his exuberant cursing. He should have waited until he was inside the clubhouse, but he hadn’t expected to run into anyone. Let alone someone like her.
Something sparked in her eyes, and her lips quirked. “Well, I guess it must be the profanity, since I don’t see much in the way of a uniform.” She glanced down his torso. He remembered he was bare-chested, having ditched his shirt.
“Yeah, well . . . had to let off a little steam.”
“So that was you cussing up a storm? I thought I was about to get trampled like a barrel of grapes.”
“No trampling, I promise.” From the gleam in her eye, she was probably teasing, but just in case, he took a step back. Again her gaze flicked down his chest, as if she couldn’t help it. “I’m not coming on to you either. Too sweaty. But if you want to hang around until after my shower . . .”
He said that mostly to get a rise out of her, since something told him she’d be fun to get all riled up.
But her face changed, the playful sparkle vanishing. She took a big step back and narrowed her eyes at him. “No, I do not. I want to deliver this message and get on with my day. Can you tell me where to find Mr. Ellington?”
Ellington—that was Duke’s last name. Most baseball guys had a nickname, though not many were named after jazz greats. What did this girl want with Duke?
“He’s busy bossing around baseball players. I guarantee he wouldn’t want to be interrupted.” He folded his arms over his chest. Excellent. Now those lively dark eyes were taking in his forearms as well as his torso. Usually, at this point, a girl would do something to signal her willingness to spend intimate time with the hotshot pitcher who’d gotten half a million dollars for signing with the Twins.
Not this girl. “I can see you want to be difficult, which is exactly what I would expect, given the contents of this document.” She tapped the folder. “Fine. In the interests of moving on with our lives—you to your shower and probably a six-pack and a groupie—why don’t you give me a hint about where Mr. Ellington’s office might be? I’ll wait for him there.”
Holy RBI. This girl could certainly talk. Her face moved as she spoke, her eyes danced; every bit of her seemed alive and in motion. She looked to be in her early twenties and had a sort of student-gypsy vibe about her. Her lips curved in a way that suggested she liked to laugh . . . and talk, and tease. She wore a tight white T-shirt molded to high, pretty breasts, and a flowery skirt that ended just above her knees. And red cowboy boots. Damn. How could he resist red cowboy boots? Those things ought to be banned.
He plucked the folder from her hand. “Got a pen? You seem like the kind of girl who would have a pen.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? And yes. But no. Why?”
“Want to clarify any of that?” He raised an eyebrow at her, while trying to get a surreptitious peek at the typing on the document inside the folder. Whereas we, the residents of Kilby County, it began.
She snatched the folder back. “Yes, I have a pen. No, you can’t write on the petition. And why do you want to?”
He put on a wounded expression. “I was going to draw you a map. These passageways can be superconfusing. It’s completely understandable that you got lost and found yourself at the place where the guys get undressed.” He winked, watching the flush rise in her cheeks. Yes, she was definitely fun to get riled up.
Then her words sank in. “Petition? What petition?” He tried to take the folder back, but she whisked it out of his reach. He barely missed grabbing her breast instead.
Before he could apologize, she stepped back with an exaggerated gasp of outrage. “There you go again. You Catfish really are a menace to decent society. Just like the petition says.”
“What?”
“That’s right.” She waved the folder. “They say you’re completely out of control.”
Caleb had heard the talk about the Catfish too. They liked to party a little too much, and they indulged in the occasional bar-clearing brawl, but then, they were fun-loving young baseball players, so what could you expect? Anyway, it wasn’t his problem. He intended to put Kilby in his rearview mirror as soon as possible. “I wouldn’t know. Can’t say that I care either.”
“So the stories are true? Did you guys really fill the community pool with rubber catfish? I heard the senior exercise group had quite a scare and had to call the paramedics.”
He snorted.
She shook her head sadly. “Things sure have changed since I came to games as a kid. And to think I thought it was safe here for a nice, civilized girl like me. Next time I’ll make sure to bring a bodyguard.”
A bodyguard? Now that was taking it a little too . . . He caught the gleam of mischief she hid under the sweep of her eyelashes. Damn. He’d been right before. She was teasing him.
Whether it was the incredible frustration of the last two hours, on top of the preceding frustration of being sent down, then traded—throw in the never-ending worry about his family—whatever the cause, all his emotions boiled over in that moment. In two quick steps he crowded her against the wall—no contact, just heat and sweat and closeness.
He growled in her ear, his lips almost brushing the delicate skin there. “There’s only one way to find out if the stories are true. But you have to want it. Bad. You have to be so hot for it, you come chasing after me and beg for it. Then you have to prove you can handle it. Put that in your petition.”
She stared up at him, her pupils dilated so far her eyes looked black, with a rim of glowing amber. The little pulse in her neck beat like a drum.
All of a sudden his cock was so hard his vision blurred. Damn. Where had that come from? She wasn’t even his type. In fact, she was on the irritating end of the female spectrum.
He let her go as if she was a grenade about to explode. “Duke’s office is down the hall to your right.”
Pushing open the clubhouse door, he headed directly for the shower. It was going to have to be a cold one.
Love comes out of left field in the second novel in USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Bernard’s sexy baseball-themed series,
CAUGHT BY YOU
Months of alternately flirting and bickering with Kilby Catfish catcher Mike Solo just turned into the hottest kiss of Donna MacIntyre’s life—and that’s a major league complication. Any hint of scandal could keep her from getting her son back from her well-connected ex. Then Mike comes up with a game-changing idea: a marriage proposal that could help win her case—even as it jeopardizes her heart . . .
Mike hasn’t been able to get the gorgeous, gutsy redhead out of his fantasies. The least he can do is fix the mess he helped create. Yet their engagement is quickly becoming about a lot more than doing the right thing. Because after swearing he’d never risk love again, Mike has found a passion that puts all his emotions in play, and a woman he’ll go to bat for again and again . . .
IF DONNA MACINTYRE made a list of people she’d never expect to see at the Kilby Community Library, Mike Solo would be right at the top. He was the popular catcher for the Kilby Catfish, after all, with a grin promising every kind of fun, and the sort of physique built from squatting behind the plate, not carrying a pile of heavy-looking hardback books to the checkout desk.
“Need a hand, Solo?” She slid next to him, propping one hip against the desk. “In case, you know, you’re wondering what all these big, thick things are good for.” She flicked one of the books; it looked like a serious biography.
Mike, as always, didn’t miss a beat. With a flash of his devil-green eyes, he murmured, “I know exactly what big, thick things are good for, but you can demonstrate if you want.”
Frank the librarian, nearly dwarfed by Mike’s tower of books, choked a little.
Mike raised an eyebrow at Donna. “Look at that, you’ve gone and upset the librarian, Red. That’s bad etiquette.”
“I didn’t—you—” He’d gone right into t
he gutter, not her. She wanted to protest, but the pink tinge on the librarian’s face made her shift gears. “Sorry, Frank. I’ll behave.” She leaned across the desk. “But you do realize that one of the notorious Kilby Catfish is in our humble library. I just hope the patrons are safe. We all know how crazy those ballplayers can be.”
“Now that’s just prejudice, plain and simple,” Mike announced, looking injured.
“I’m a law-abiding citizen here to settle up before I leave town. Frank knows I would never cause any trouble. Unless trouble comes looking,” he added, sweeping Donna with a glance that made her skin warm. “I have a few more of these, man. Be right back.”
“Thanks, Mike. I’ll get started.” The librarian reached for the top of the stack. Donna stared, mouth dropping open a bit. Apparently Mike was just as well-known to the staff of the library as to the bartenders at the Roadhouse. Well, well, well.
“Donna, you’d better come with me,” Mike added, putting out his hand. “I’m not sure I trust you alone with all those big, thick things.”
“Ha . . . ha.” The rest of her no-doubt-brilliant comeback evaporated as his big hand enveloped hers in callused strength and heat. She and Mike Solo had been flirting with each other all season, ever since she’d first met him at the Roadhouse. But it had never gone further than that, for various reasons. Her complicated life, for one thing. His Vow of Celibacy, for another. Everyone knew that Solo took a Vow of Celibacy at the start of the season and never broke it.
Hoping her way with words would come back soon, she followed him out of the library into the hot parking lot. It was just so . . . strange to see him here, in real life, instead of out on the ball field or partying with the other Catfish. Like one of those “Look, celebrities are just like you” magazine spreads showing movie stars with cups of Starbucks. It made her wonder what else she didn’t know about Mike Solo.
He opened the door of a silver Land Rover and reached in for more books, giving her a chance to watch the flexing muscles of his back and a truly spectacular rear end. She averted her eyes before he caught her, fixing her gaze instead on the books he dropped into her arms. On the cover of the top book, the face of Steve Jobs stared back at her. “Do you really read all these books?”
“We have a lot of road trips and I like to keep my brain cells active. I’m a catcher, you know.” He extracted himself from the car, burdened with another stack of books.
“So?”
“So, catchers have to be smart. We have to know the game better than just about anyone. Strategy, patterns, human behavior. I have to know what someone’s going to do before they even do it. Like you, right now.” With a twist of his hip, he closed the door of the Land Rover. It was unfairly sexy, how he did that.
“Me, right now, what?”
“From what I know of Donna MacIntyre, you’re going to make a joke. That’s your go-to, make a joke. Come on. Tease me, baby. Do that thing you do so well.”
She clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to prove him right, though of course he was. Ever since she was little, she’d coped with all the crap in her life by laughing about it. What else could you do?
Lifting her head high, she marched toward the library. Mike caught up with her instantly. “Did I forget to mention I like it?” He leaned down close, so she felt his warm breath on her ear. Shivers raced down her spine. “Don’t hide your light for me. Joke away. Bring it on.”
“Maybe I’m not in a joking mood. This is a library, after all.”
“I keep forgetting that, maybe because I usually see you in a party atmosphere. What brings a wild and crazy girl like you here?”
For a reckless moment she wanted to tell Mike the truth. The whole story, in revealing detail. But she hadn’t even told Sadie, her best friend. Which was all kinds of wrong and had to change, right away. But for now . . .
“Picking out books for the Shark. He’s the boy I nanny for.”
“Love the nickname.”
“Thanks, Priest. I have a knack for nicknames.”
“That’s mine?” The confounded look on his face made her laugh. It was fun getting under Mike’s skin.
“Because of the Vow of Celibacy, you know. But don’t worry, that’s not your only nickname.” She winked.
“I shouldn’t ask. I really shouldn’t. What else?” He shifted his pile of books to one arm and held the door open for her.
She ducked under his arm. “Hottie McCatcher,” she told him demurely. “But don’t let it go to your head.”
“I’ve got news for you, Red,” he whispered, as Frank the librarian put a finger to his lips, urging them to be quiet. “Season’s over. The Vow of Celibacy has expired.”
Donna’s entire body, including her suddenly dry mouth, reacted to that piece of information. With a strangled squeak, she hurried toward the desk.
Mike followed Donna, drinking in the sight of her denim short-shorts and tight T-shirt, which he’d already scoped out as advertising a local zydeco band. Her body curved to a deep indentation at the waist. For about the millionth time he wondered how it would feel between his hands. Sexy, maddening Donna, with her copper-bright hair and changeable hazel eyes. He knew her face was pretty—heart-shaped and stubborn-chinned, with a damn dimple to boot. But to him it went beyond that. He always found himself caught up in the jokes she cracked, her cheeky attitude, her . . . daring.
After all, the last time he saw her, she’d been standing up for her friend Sadie against the entire Wade clan of bullies. That took guts, and he respected the hell out of her for it.
At the desk, they both unloaded their piles of books. Mike pulled out his wallet and extracted two hundred-dollar bills.
Apparently stunned, Frank dropped one of the overdue books—an account of World War I fighter pilots—on the floor. “Oh, I’m sure it won’t be that much.” The librarian shook his head nervously. “We’re only up to five dollars so far.”
“Consider it a donation, then. A little something extra for keeping all these books out of circulation. Sometimes the season gets away from me.”
Donna was looking at him strangely. “You do this a lot?”
“Check out books and forget to return them? Been known to happen. Road trips. Injuries. Team drama.” He shrugged. “I try to make up for it. Are we good, Frank?”
“Good, good. Very good.”
“Excellent. Maybe I’ll see you next season. Hopefully not, of course. Nothing personal.” He winked at the librarian, which seemed to unnerve him, as he just kept nodding in response.
He turned to Donna, who had her hands in the back pockets of her shorts. Lord, she was sexy. And fun. The most fun he’d had with a girl in . . . well, definitely since Angela, and maybe ever. And they’d never even kissed.
Yet.
With a lightning-quick calculation—the way he figured things behind the plate—he did the math.
1.The vow was over.
2.Donna was giving him that sassy look.
3.She was wearing that T-shirt that hugged her gorgeous curves.
4.Tomorrow he’d be gone.
“C’mere a second.” He took her hand again and pulled her toward the tall, secluded stacks where the biographies were shelved. He’d never seen anyone in this section, and anyway, there were only two other people in the library, including Frank.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. But she followed him willingly. Maybe she’d had the same thought. It took two to create this kind of chemistry, after all.
When they’d reached the deepest part of the stacks, where dust floated in the quiet sunbeams, he stopped, then turned to face her. The sun lit her hair into a fiery cloud. “I’m going back to Chicago tomorrow. But before I go, I’d like to do something.”
“Return your library books. I can see that. You probably have some parking fines to pay too. Disorderly conduct, maybe?”
He ran a hand through the rough curls at the back of his head. “I have to confess something.” His Catholic-boy conscience had been tuggin
g at him this whole time. “Only a couple of those library books are mine. Mostly they’re my neighbor’s. He’s house-bound, so I pick up books for him.”
She blinked, her eyes a soft heather green in the filtered sunlight. “Your confession is that you don’t read big piles of books, and that you go to the library for your neighbor? What else, do you feed his cat?”
“Only when he forgets.”
Amusement lit up her little heart-shaped face. “I’m crushed. I was thinking there was a secret genius hidden inside that ripped body.”
She was talking about his body. Looking at it too, her gaze lingering on his chest. That was good. Seize the opportunity.
“Maybe I was trying to impress you. We’ve been dancing around each other all season. Don’t you want to see if there’s anything to this chemistry?”
Her eyes widened. “Here? Are you trying to add public indecency to all those fines?”
“Just a kiss. One kiss. There’s nothing indecent about a kiss.”
She seemed to consider that for a long moment, while a pleasant tension rose between them. He meant what he said; he didn’t intend anything beyond a kiss. He was leaving the next day, and one-night stands weren’t his style. But Donna had been on his mind for months, and damn it, he wanted one taste of those curvy pink lips before he left Kilby.
Finally she seemed to make up her mind. She took a step forward, brushing against him. A fresh fragrance came with her, like a fern unfurling in the woods. “Nothing indecent, Priest? I’ve got news for you.”
“What’s that?”
“There is if you do it right.” And she lifted her mouth to his.
About the Author
JENNIFER BERNARD is a graduate of Harvard and a former news promo producer. The child of academics, she confounded her family by preferring romance novels to . . . well, any other books. She left big city life for true love in Alaska, where she now lives with her husband and stepdaughters. She’s no stranger to book success, as she also writes erotic novels under a naughty secret name not to be mentioned at family gatherings.
Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel Page 32