TRIPLE PLAY: AN UNRATED PREQUEL

by Leslie Kelly

  It wasn’t just their histories—the tragedies in their teen years that had molded them. They liked the same things—the fast rides—and disliked the same things—the spinny ones. He made her laugh and she made him want to show off.

  She’d held up her rapidly melting ice cream and let him help her finish it, melting right along with the confection at the sight of his lips and tongue devouring something sweet and soft. They’d grabbed hands and had never let go for the rest of the day, each of them taking every opportunity to touch the other.

  The tension had built, churning within her, and she sensed that he was feeling the same way.

  That night, when they’d gotten back to Seth’s place, they’d gone for a swim to cool off. In the silky waters of the pool, beneath a starry sky, Rand had taken her into his arms and kissed her the way she’d dreamed of him kissing her. Deeply, erotically, hungrily.

  But then he’d climbed out of the pool and taken off as if he’d burned himself. Ouch.

  The next day, he’d reverted to the big-brother treatment, not touching her, no matter how much she’d wanted him to. That, more than anything, had probably been what drove her to make the craziest mistake of her young life.

  They’d been celebrating her birthday at a big party at a private beach house, and Rand had come along. When he had gone to bed, Emily snuck into his room. She’d hoped he’d only been staying away until she was eighteen and officially an adult, and would be awake and waiting for her.

  He hadn’t been. He’d been sound asleep.

  But that hadn’t stopped her. Wanting to prove that she was not just the cute kid he thought she was—but, instead, the wild woman she dreamed of being—she’d stripped naked and climbed into bed with him. He’d woken up to a clinging, wanton, naked girl kissing him. And while he’d used all the right words to protest, insisting three years was too big an age difference between them and that he wouldn’t take advantage of his agent’s sister, his body told her he wasn’t immune to her. Not one bit.

  She’d thrown pitch after pitch at him. With desperate, sensual caresses, she’d invited him to step up to the plate and take a swing, until at last, he’d picked up the bat. Rand might be a shortstop, but that night he’d rounded the bases, sliding into third as if he’d just hit a triple play in Game 7 of the World Series. He’d taught her things about her own body that she hadn’t even dreamed of, proving that mouth of his was good for a lot more than smiling.

  It had been perfect. Wonderful. Literally orgasmic. And if there were any justice in the world, he would have sunk into her thoroughly aroused body and made her his in every way possible. She should have been left with a magical memory of the most amazing entry into womanhood any girl had ever experienced.

  Instead, her brother had burst in. The overprotective ump had stopped the play at third, ended the game and shipped her back to the minor leagues.

  Rand had gone on to be a superstar and a superstud, and she’d resumed being the good, quiet girl who didn’t make waves or take many chances. She could probably say she’d been his very first groupie. That’s apparently how he’d viewed her, judging by his utter silence and lack of response to any of her messages. Ugh.

  “I got it!” he suddenly chortled, snapping her out of her uncomfortable trip down memory lane.

  She glanced down; he had, indeed, disengaged the lock. The cuff she’d been holding had popped open. The other one was still attached to the bed, but at least now Rand knew it could be done. “That’s good. Now you can crawl under the bed and disengage the other side.”

  “I will.

  “Where’d you go just then?” He’d obviously noticed that she’d drifted away from their conversation into a past she’d tried hard to forget. “Just remembering all the things I still have to do today. I really should go. Please excuse the inconvenience, Mr. McConnell.”

  He held tightly to her hand, stopping her. “That’s lame.”

  “What?”

  “Mr. McConnell? Please. You’ve called me by my first name since the day we met. Remember, you kept calling me Randy?”

  If the adjective fits... Of course, it took one to know one. She’d more than earned that adjective all on her own, at least whenever she was around him.

  “Well, we’re not exactly the people we were then, are we?”

  “I am.”

  She snorted. “Right. You’re just the same young, hungry baseball player, only you have seventeen cars, a Learjet, a beach house and a Swiss villa.”

  “Where do you get this stuff?” he asked with an eye-roll. “Have you started reading the tabloids?”

  “The point is, we’re nothing like we once were, and since you’re a guest at the hotel where I am employed, I’ll stick to Mr. McConnell.”

  She tried again to get up, but again he kept her hand entwined with his, stopping her. “Don’t leave.”

  “I have work to do. And I suspect that, handcuffs notwithstanding, the suite should be acceptable, even to a superstar of your caliber.”

  “The suite’s fine,” he said, edging closer. Close enough that she felt the warmth radiating off his big body, and had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.

  Big mistake. Those green eyes captivated her—they always had. Rand had a way of looking at a woman as if he couldn’t see anyone else. He was staring at her that way right now, as if he could gaze at her for hours and never tire of the view.

  “God, you grew up to be one hell of a beautiful woman, Emily Crowder.” His voice was thick, throaty, filled with something she could now identify as hunger.

  Rand wanted her. He desired her.

  The realization shocked her for a moment, though it shouldn’t have. He’d certainly wanted her the last time they’d been together. Just not enough to contact her once her brother had forced them apart.

  Big brother’s not here now, though.

  She was all alone—on a bed—with the man of her dreams.

  And no clue what she was going to do about it.

  3

  EMILY LOST HERSELF to possibility for a moment, imagining what might happen if she got rid of all the anger and self-doubt and just threw herself into Rand’s arms. He’d be willing, of that she was sure. In fact, his expression said he was aware of what was going through her mind and hoped she’d come to the decision he wanted her to reach.

  But she quickly snapped herself out of it. Gulping, she insisted, “I have to get out of here.”

  Rand ignored her, lifting a hand and brushing his fingertips across her cheek. “I knew you would be beautiful; you always were. But, Jesus, when you crawled out from under that bed, I almost had a heart attack.”

  “Please don’t remind me,” she mumbled. She wasn’t sure it was better that she’d totally humiliated herself in front of Rand instead of a complete stranger. If only she’d heard him coming in—but the penthouse was huge. She’d never heard the door, never suspected she wasn’t alone until he spoke.

  “It’s not something I’m ever going to forget.”

  “I wish I could.” She forced a bright smile. “Anyway, duty calls. Please don’t hesitate to contact the front desk if you need anything during your stay.”

  That had sounded good—calm, professional, unaffected. Somebody who didn’t know her, who wouldn’t have noticed the telltale flush in her face or heard the tremor in her voice, would assume that she and Rand had barely a passing acquaintance. Certainly they wouldn’t realize she was desperate to get away from him, if only to avoid either slapping him for ignoring her for all these years, or kissing him just to convince herself that she once had.

  His hands had been the first to stroke her breasts, his mouth the first to kiss her bare stomach, his tongue the first to lick into the slick, secret folds between her thighs. He’d been her first everything...except that one thing. That had to be why she w
as still so skittish around him. Everybody was a little weird around their first, er, almost-lover.

  And now, she was sitting on a big, plush bed with her almost-first, and he was staring at her as if she was a little girl carrying a basket of sweets and he the big, hungry wolf. Any woman would feel a little dizzy.

  “Well, um, it was nice running into you,” she said, trying not to imagine his lips, tongue or hands coming into contact with any part of her. She’d already had those dreams too often for one woman’s lifetime.

  “Stay,” he ordered, his voice silky, his expression heated. “Do what you want to do, rather than what you think you ought to.”

  She swallowed hard. She had to get up and get out of here. But the strength had been zapped out of Emily’s limbs. She couldn’t move, couldn’t resist, couldn’t slap him, couldn’t protest. Curiosity made her sit utterly still. And he was right, she did want it. As if mesmerized, she watched as he moved closer and closer, until their breaths mingled. A tiny gasp emerged from her lips the moment his mouth covered hers.

  He didn’t grab her, didn’t take her in his arms, didn’t try to possess her. He simply claimed her with a slow, sultry kiss. His lips explored her, reminding her of just how bad every other man she’d ever kissed had tasted and how perfect Rand’s mouth had always been. Her remaining strength departed and she leaned against him, needing him for support as he explored her with his warm tongue, delighting her with every delicious plunge.

  Worlds turned on such kisses, hearts were filled or broken, lives planned and lived, decisions made and regretted. He was a once-in-a-lifetime kisser—she hadn’t imagined it, hadn’t made it up after their brief, long-ago affair. Every other man she’d kissed since had been lacking because this man’s kiss had set the bar so high that no other man could reach it.

  But he wasn’t the one who took things further. She did.

  She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, twining her fingers in his thick, dark hair. He groaned as she pressed against him. Suddenly, he was grabbing her around the waist and pulling her onto his lap. Instinct had taken over, gripping them both and not letting go. The past was falling away, and driving desire was all that mattered now. The feel of him, the taste of him, the desire that racked her body—and his—were the only things that existed.

  Emily parted her legs and shimmied close, straddling him and arching against his crotch. Her skirt rode up to bunch around her waist again, and she whimpered when she realized just how hard he was, that ridge of steel nestling against her hot, damp core. Without breaking the kiss, he dropped his hands and stroked her thighs, tracing his fingertips up to her hips, and sliding his thumbs beneath the elastic of her panties.

  “Mmm,” she groaned against his mouth as he worked his hands together, until the rough pads of his thumbs were brushing the curls covering her sex. He echoed the sound, kissing her deeply as he twirled his thumbs. When he dropped one lower, to stroke her sensitive clit, she gasped and jerked, shocked and beyond excited.

  The kiss got deeper, hotter, hungrier, filling her with desire and answering seven years’ worth of questions about whether they’d really had this heated connection.

  Yes. Oh, God, yes.

  He toyed with her, stroking her expertly with his thumb, while sliding his fingers between her slick lips. A climax started building low inside her. Rand lifted his other hand to slide under her blouse, stroking her midriff, then reaching up to cup her breast. He tugged the strap down, far enough to reach her nipples, and plucked her delicately.

  Every stroke brought the tension higher, every thrust of his tongue was matched by one of her hips, until at last warm waves of pleasure burst through her, spreading out from her core to the tip of every toe, the end of every strand of hair. It rocked her, stunned her, and she pulled her mouth off his to let out a soft cry of delight as it swept her away.

  Once her heartbeat began to return to normal, she sagged against him. He’d adjusted her bra, fixed her panties and was tenderly kissing her temple, then nibbling on her earlobe.

  “Still so responsive,” he whispered.

  She was busy trying to catch her breath, shocked, hungry, embarrassed. How could her ordered world have changed so quickly? A day ago, she’d forgotten all about Rand. Well, not forgotten, but she’d put him out of her mind. Now she was a boneless, postorgasmic heap on the man’s lap.

  “This is crazy,” she muttered.

  “No, it’s not. This is exactly what I came for.”

  The satisfaction in his tone made her brain cells start functioning in earnest again. She lifted her head and stared down at him. “What?”

  “The truth is, Emily, I knew you worked here. While I certainly didn’t expect to walk into my room and find you on your hands and knees in front of me, I absolutely planned to find you. I came here to finish what we started seven years ago.”

  Emily froze, not sure she was hearing him right. The shock was making her slow to react, and she could only gape at him. His stare didn’t shift away; his expression was entirely serious.

  “You...what?”

  “I came to see you, Emily. You are the reason I accepted the invitation to appear at the fund-raiser, and why I had my assistant push for me to get a room in this hotel.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  The room seemed to spin, and his words echoed in her ears. She tried to grasp them, tried to evaluate them, even as her body heard, understood and reacted. Once she accepted that he’d really said what she thought he’d said, she almost fell off his lap onto the floor. He wrapped a tight arm around her and kept her from pitching backward.

  “You tracked me down?”

  “What’s money for if you can’t hire a private detective?”

  Her jaw dropped. She stared at him, trying to make sense of the amused, self-satisfied twinkle in his eyes, unsure of how to react. He’d hired someone to find her. He’d come here to...to...

  “You found me and came here so you could fuck me?”

  “You don’t have to put it that way,” he said, the twinkle fading as he realized she wasn’t going to react with orgiastic bliss. “I just... Wanted to finish what we started.”

  Seven years was a long time to wait between foreplay and consummation. Was he really so cocky, so self-confident, that he assumed he could just show up after years of silence and she’d immediately drop her panties and lay out the welcome mat?

  One year after their experience together and she would have. Two, and she’d have given it serious consideration. After three she might have at least been tempted.

  But seven?

  Orgasm or no orgasm, she wasn’t that desperate. And the idea that he’d had people looking for her was upsetting. If she’d been his long-lost love, maybe she’d have been flattered. But he’d just admitted he’d only come here to bed her—to slide into home the way he hadn’t been able to that last night.

  “Sorry, Rand,” she said, forcing the words from between clenched teeth, “but there is no way that’s going to happen.”

  She made the words sound serious and strong, then rolled off his lap to sit beside him on the bed.

  “Of course it is,” he said with a confident laugh. “You’re dying for me, Em. You’re dripping with want, the same way I am.”

  “That’s some ego, buddy.”

  Rand replied by lifting his hand to his mouth. His fingers glistened with the liquid desire he’d wrung from her. Sliding his tongue against one fingertip, he licked at the juices from her body, reminding her of how wet and wanton she’d been for him only a few minutes before.

  She didn’t need the reminder. Her panties were drenched, the lips of her sex swollen, her core empty and throbbing with the urge to be filled.

  But not by him. Not like this. Not when he’d come here to add the one notch to his bedpost he hadn’t been able to be
fore.

  Her body might want to give him what he desired, but her mind wanted to throw him off the damn roof for ignoring her for so long, then waltzing back through the door believing he could have her with a crook of his finger and a stroke of his thumb.

  She needed to forget his fingers and his thumbs and his everything else and pretend he’d never reentered her life.

  “Em, it isn’t what you think.”

  “Yes, it is exactly what I think,” she snapped.

  He reached for her, that strong, tender hand that could give her so much pleasure.

  No. No pleasure.

  Her brain had shut down—she had to get away. She also sensed, however, that the moment she got off the bed and walked toward the door, he’d follow. Trying to convince her. To seduce her.

  He reached for her hand. “Stay with me,” he said, his voice throaty and sexy. “Let’s stop the wondering—we both know how good it would be.”

  Yep. Seduction. He could seduce a nun out of her habit.

  Emily had to get out of this room and make sure he couldn’t follow her. So, reacting instinctively, she lifted the handcuff and snapped it around his wrist.

  His eyes rounded in shock. “What are you doing?”

  She got off the bed and strode out of the suite’s bedroom.

  He called after her. “Emily, you can’t...”

  “You got it open once. I’m sure you will again.”

  Then with his muttered curses echoing through the penthouse, she left, slamming the door behind her.

  * * *

  SHE’D LEFT. EMILY had handcuffed him to the bed, and strode out. Rand couldn’t believe it. She’d been aroused to the point of insanity—as had he—and yet she’d walked away.

  He couldn’t understand it. Not only had she walked away from what she desperately wanted physically, she hadn’t even demanded a full explanation about why he was here. He’d told her part of it, that he’d come for her, certain she would at least be curious. Hell, part of him had hoped she’d still be the same wildly impulsive girl and throw herself into his bed, damn the reasons and to hell with the consequences.