Captivated

by Susan Scott Shelley

  “He has his own bedroom?” She laughed.

  “He sort of demanded it.” He came back to her, smiling, and cupped his hands at her waist. His lips touched hers, light and teasing at first, then deeper and demanding and urgent.

  She opened for him, tasting him, and becoming drunk on his flavor.

  With a mighty groan, he pulled back. “Before we go any further, there’s something I want to ask you.”

  “All right.”

  He drew her over to the couch, then sat and pulled her onto his lap. “What did Oliver do to you? Even since Zander mentioned it, I can’t stop thinking about it. For him to be that upset, I keep thinking it’s something awful, and that makes me want to hurt him.”

  Part of her resisted reliving the tale. “I really don’t like to talk about it.”

  “You don’t have to. It’s just…you mentioned it’s been a while for you and you wanted to go slow, and”—he paused, looking entirely uncomfortable—“I know I’m a big guy. I’m strong. I don’t want you thinking I’d ever push you or rush you or hurt you.”

  “It wasn’t anything like that with him.” She traced her finger over his brow, smoothing away the lines of worry. What a good man.

  His arms came around her, strong and secure, and her discomfort eased. “We dated. He went behind my back and used my connections to land a job at the label. Once he had that, he dumped me. I found out later that he’d orchestrated everything, from how he met me, to how he gained my trust, to how he’d copied my date book so that chance encounters when he’d find me having lunch with someone at the label weren’t by chance. He’d weasel his way in and charm everyone.”

  “He was dumb enough to admit it to you?”

  “I overheard him bragging to his friend when I showed up at his house to return items he’d left in my apartment.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He still doesn’t know that I know. If I’d been smarter, I would’ve realized something was up. It’s not the first time it’s happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “People have been nice to me only to get to meet the band, or they’re nice to me because they think it’s an easy way to get them or their friends or family in with the label.” She paused and looked at him. “I thought the same about you at first.”

  “Me? Because I mentioned I was a big fan?”

  She nodded. “I thought you were only being nice to me so you’d get to meet them.”

  “Seriously? I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “I figured that out the night you turned down dinner with the guys to hang out with me.”

  “All throughout that night’s game, I was thinking up ways to get you alone.”

  “I was afraid to get close to you, in case you turned out to be like the others. But I’m so glad you’re not like them.” She slipped her arms around her neck and kissed his jaw. “I want to get close to you.”

  He stood and clamped his hands on her hips. The hard lines of his body pressed against her. Strong and powerful. “I’m not like that other guy.”

  “I know, and I’m glad.” She wound her hands in his hair. Her gaze focused on his then lowered to his mouth. “Kiss me?”

  He dipped his head to the curve of her neck and nibbled and licked a path back to her lips. Goosebumps pebbled her skin. She teased his tongue with hers.

  “Wait a second.” He swept her off her feet and carried her into his darkened bedroom. The slow slide down his body inflamed every part of her.

  His fingers traced along her waist, up the sides of her body, and around to cup her breasts. A moan escaped her lips. Needing to touch skin, she glided her hands under his t-shirt. Fingertips met the ridged muscles of his abdomen. He sucked in a breath.

  Dom slipped her dress over her head and tossed it onto a chair. She kicked off her shoes and stood before him in her new red lace bra and matching panties.

  His eyes darkened and hands fisted at his sides. He looked wild, untamed, and appreciative of what she had hidden under her clothes. He hauled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor, then stripped down to his boxers. Golden skin covered sculpted muscles. She laid her hand on the center of his chest. Feeling his heartbeat race for her made her bold. She sauntered to him and rubbed against him. Heat seeped through the thin barriers. Every part of him seemed hard and restless. His hands streaked across her skin, claiming the areas covered in lace. Blunt fingers teased under the fabric. She closed her eyes on a moan. “The baseball critics are right—you do have great hands.”

  He chuckled and increased his pace.

  Two could play this game. With wandering hands, she set out to destroy his control. When she closed over him, his head dropped forward and he made a sound between a moan and a groan. “So good.”

  Dom secured his hands around her waist, and then he backed her toward the bed. After stripping off her lace and his cotton, he rolled on protection and then followed her down, sinking into the mattress.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist, ready to feel him. Bracing his hands outside her shoulders, he sank into her slowly. Dark eyes caught her and held, watching as he slid home. Irisa fisted her hands in his hair to anchor herself and lifted her hips in time with him. He increased the pace and thrust into her in hard strokes. The fire stoked higher and hotter and threatened to burn out of control.

  “Dom.”

  He claimed her lips and sent her crashing over the edge. Her release knocked him into a frenzy of harsh groans and snapping hips. His body tightened and then he buried his head in her neck as he pulsed inside her.

  Breathing hard, he pushed onto his forearms. Sweat dotted his brow. He traced his fingertip along the side of her face. “You okay?”

  “Mmm. More than okay.”

  “Good.” The mattress dipped and sprang as he rose. He disposed of the condom, then joined her in bed. Strong arms wrapped around her and he drew her against him. A cuddler.

  She rested her head on his chest. Falling asleep like this would be perfect. But he might not be willing to share his bed for the night. “Do you want me to go?”

  His hand stopped mid-stroke on her back. “Why would I want you to leave?”

  The baffled tone pleased her and made her feel silly for asking. “Not everyone likes sleepovers.”

  He nudged her body until they were eye to eye. “Don’t even think about getting out of this bed.” Firm lips rubbed over hers. “How’s that for a definitive answer?”

  “Pretty good.” She bit her lip to hide her smile. He wanted her to stay.

  “Just pretty good? Looks like I have some convincing to do.” He rolled her under him. “You better hold on tight.”

  Warm sunlight fell across her face. Irisa blinked a few times, orienting herself to the space. A heavy weight lay across her waist. Dom’s arm curled around her, holding her close to his body, even as he slept. She studied his features and couldn’t stop the smile blooming across her face. He made her happy.

  Champ wandered in and looked at her, head tilted as though he were waiting for something. He moved to the door and looked back at her, again waiting. Careful not to wake Dom, she lifted his arm and eased out of bed. She raised her finger to her lips and followed the dog out of the room. He padded into the living room and stopped at the balcony door.

  She let him out. He paced the length of it, then pawed at the door to come back in.

  “That didn’t take you long, did it?” She laughed and rubbed his head. He nuzzled her, then trotted to the kitchen, again pausing at the door and looking at her.

  Maybe he needed water, or maybe he was lonely. She followed, poured fresh water into his bowl, then eyed the single-cup coffeemaker, complete with everything she’d need on the side. She’d make two and surprise Dom in bed.

  Champ joined her as she doctored the cups with cream and sugar, then trotted ahead of her on the way back to the bedroom. Dom was still asleep. She set the mugs on his bedside table. The dog danced around the large room, then leapt onto a chair i
n the far corner to gaze out the window. Growling, he jumped down, and the chair’s contents fell to the floor. He stayed by the chair, barking.

  Irisa shook her head and crossed the room. Did he see a bug or a mouse? She crept closer. “Champ, come here.”

  Whining, the dog stayed in his spot. Reaching a careful hand into the pile, she picked up Dom’s t-shirt. A waft of cloying perfume hit her. She lifted the shirt to her nose and sniffed again. Gagged. And saw the red smear on the collar. Lipstick? Her stomach heaved.

  A brown envelope with her name, written across in block letters lay on the floor. Frowning, she turned it over. No return address, just her name. It wasn’t sealed, and curiosity compelled her to peek inside. A letter addressed to her and a flash drive with Natalie Frye imprinted across it in pink.

  Natalie Frye.

  His ex’s name had come up during one of the searches she’d done when she first met Dom. She scanned the letter. Dear Ms. Rostov…my special friend Dom Torres sweetly offered to put us in touch…pursuing career in music…demo…enjoy and feel free to share with your industry contacts…

  Special friend? Hurt, betrayal, anger, and rage flashed through her like a pyrotechnics at a concert. She shoved the letter and flash drive inside the envelope. Mutual friend? How good of friends were they—with her perfume so strong on his shirt like they’d clung to each other for a long time, and lipstick smeared on its collar? And in his bedroom, no less. Maybe that’s why everything had smelled so clean last night…air-freshener to cover up evidence of another woman’s presence.

  Champ barked and raced to the bed. She turned, slowly.

  Dom was awake and smiling at her. “Coffee in bed? God, you’re perfect.”

  “Save it.” She stalked toward him and heaved the shirt and envelope. “We’re done.” Her clothes were all over his bedroom floor. She needed to get the hell away.

  “What the hell… How did you…” He got out of bed. “This isn’t what it looks like.” His hand reached for her.

  “Don’t touch me.” Her words ended on a shriek. She jerked away, wrestling with her bra, then gave up and pulled her dress on without it. “How could you?”

  “It’s not what it looks like.” His bellow reverberated throughout the room. “She asked me to give it to you. I said no.”

  “Right. Then why do you still have it? Why is there lipstick and perfume on your shirt? Should I give you more time to formulate the rest of your story?” Tears formed fast, blurring her vision. She couldn’t let him see her cry. She tugged on her underwear. Forget the shoes. All she needed was her purse, and that was by the front door. She bolted out of the bedroom and into the hall. Toward freedom.

  Footsteps slapped against hardwood. He grabbed her arms and tugged her against him. “Wait.”

  “No!” She fought against his hold. “I’ve seen enough. How stupid do you think I am? Do you like juggling multiple women, or is this part of a grander scheme where you use me to get her into the industry?”

  “Let me explain.” He matched her in volume. “I’m not seeing her.”

  Champ yipped and barked and sped around them in circles.

  She twisted around and faced Dom and pushed against his chest. “Let go.”

  “Then listen to me!”

  And damn it, the tears spilled over. She shoved with all her strength. A howling heavy weight slammed into her legs, knocking her off balance. She flung out her arms and connected with Dom’s face. His head snapped back. Pain rushed into her hands.

  He swore and released her, his hands flying to his head.

  She backed away and fled for the door. Purse in hand, she ran into the hall and onto the waiting elevator. The doors closed as Dom came into view, holding his head and dripping with blood.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sporting a black eye and a cut lip, he arrived at the team facility on Sunday evening for the charter flight to Sacramento. None of the guys were boarding the bus yet. He headed inside the building.

  Dusty walked toward him, travel bag in tow. He stopped and stared. “Another fight? Seriously? What the hell?”

  Dom opened his mouth to speak, but even that small movement stung his lip.

  His manager held up his hands. “No. I don’t even want to hear your excuse. You’re done. You’re not playing tomorrow, that’s for sure. Wait in the locker room. I need to find Ramon.”

  Heat flushed through his body and clawed through his gut. He slammed the door open and strode into the locker room. Slade’s brows rose. He nudged Adam and both men came over.

  “You look like shit. What happened?” Slade sat beside him.

  What the hell was he going to say? That his girlfriend’s fists landed in his face after his panicking dog made her trip? Who would believe that story?

  Adam sat on his other side. “Bar fight? Mugged? You should have called me.”

  Dom licked painful lips. “I didn’t fight. I wasn’t mugged. It was an accident.”

  More of the guys crowded around him and more than a few murmurs about how he ended up with the shiner circulated.

  “What kind of accident?” Slade nudged his side.

  Ramon and Dusty came into the room. Dusty glared at him and raised his voice. “Everyone out. We need to talk to Torres.”

  Adam and Slade tapped Dom on the back. He met every player’s stare as they filed out of the room. When they were alone, Dom rose, eye to eye with the men.

  Dusty folded his arms across his chest. “You’re not coming on the trip. You’re benched for both series.”

  The series against the Storm—his hometown team—always drew a lot of supporters for him. His parents and extended family had purchased tickets, almost enough to buy out an entire section. To miss a game there due to sickness was one thing. But to be benched…he’d be labeled an embarrassing disappointment.

  “I can explain.” They might not believe him, but he’d tell the truth.

  “Save it.”

  Ramon held out a piece of paper. “I registered you for an intensive anger management course that runs four days this week.”

  “Anger management? I don’t need that.”

  “Dom, this isn’t negotiable. You’ll take the course or you won’t play for me. I’m trying to help you, son.”

  Trying to help, but they weren’t willing to listen. He opened his mouth, but what else was there to say? He accepted the paper.

  Dusty shook his head. “You’re not a clueless rookie, so stop acting like one.”

  Ramon tapped the paper. “Try to get something out of this. I’ll see you in my office on the fourteenth. They’ll give you a certificate of completion. Bring that with you.”

  “Fine.”

  “Go on home, now. We have to hit the road.”

  Leaving the facility behind, walking past the buses, and seeing his teammates on board, bile rose in his throat. His feet resisted continuing on to his truck. Damn it, he belonged on that bus. Anger carried him to his door and propelled his way home.

  His phone rang as he walked through his front door.

  Mom Cell. Great. But better to break the news to her rather than deal with his dad. “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweetie. We can’t wait to see you tomorrow night. Most of the family will be there. Your aunts, uncles, cousins, and their kids are coming, and I invited people from work and church. We’re all wearing our Torres t-shirts. You’ll have the loudest cheering section in the entire stadium.”

  Shit. “I’m not making the trip with the team.”

  “Why? Are you sick? Did you get hurt?”

  How much did she need to know? “They extended my suspension today.”

  “Why? Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I know how much you must want to be back on the field. Your dad’s right here. Let me put him on.”

  “No, Mom. I don’t need to talk to Dad.” He slammed his fist onto the kitchen counter.

  Muffled voices came through the line and then his father’s voice boomed out. “What did you do? They wouldn’t extend the
suspension without a reason. What the hell happened now? Another fight?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You have responsibilities to your teammates, your franchise, and your fans. What the hell good are you doing them if you’re away from the game?”

  “You’re right.”

  “How long are you out?”

  “Both series against the Storm and Bolts.”

  “You’re screwed if your replacement is better at your job than you were.”

  “I know.” Not to mention that he was probably already on a lot of his teammates’ and fans’ shit lists. His head throbbed. “Listen, Dad. I have to go.”

  “You better get your head out of your ass pretty fast, boy.”

  “Thanks for the support,” Dom muttered. But the line had already gone dead.

  Irisa dug through a box of wristbands. Irritation pricked along her skin. “These were supposed to be sorted according to color. And instead they send an entire freaking rainbow in one box.” She dumped the contents onto the dressing room couch.

  “You’re going to sort two hundred wristbands into separate color piles in the hour before we’re due onstage?” Brendan plopped down beside her.

  “Someone has to. If you want something done right, you apparently have to do it yourself.”

  He raised his brows. “I’ll help.”

  As she worked, two guitars played the opening riffs of “Cut Down”. She closed her eyes. Damn it, not that song. Brendan joined in drumming on the table next to the couch. Zander and Landry played faster and faster, and her nerves strung higher and higher. Blocking out the song didn’t work. She dropped the bands and stood. “Do you have to play that song?”

  The notes stopped.

  She paced the room, ready to crawl out of her skin. “And where is Jayne? She should be here helping.”

  “Relax.” Luke stood and rolled his shoulders. “She’s out picking up some stuff for us.”

  “Well, she should have cleared it with me before she left.” She kicked an empty water bottle. It skittered across the floor and hit the side of the trash can. “Really? You can’t even throw your trash away? I’m tired of playing maid.”