Going All the Way (Knights of Passion Book 1)

by Megan Ryder

  Hell, she barely knew anything about the sport. How could a woman, who had no discernible talent or knowledge of baseball, be so right about his swing? Relax and swing? It was almost as bad as breathing through the freakin’ eyelids. Yet, he couldn’t deny the results. A couple of singles, a double and his first home run of the season. It had felt great rounding the bases, hearing the jeers and feeding off them.

  And it was all because of her. It irked him to have to admit it but it was true.

  He hadn’t felt so alive in over a year, since his shoulder gave out and his so-called friends bailed on him. This time, rounding the bases and landing on home plate greeted by only the next guy up to bat. He didn’t expect a crowd, but a few more cheers from his own team would have been nice. Had being on the road always felt like Deja vu? Or was it just his new reality—different place but still the same. Him sitting in the hotel bar, having a drink, eating dinner, then going to bed. He had expected Stacia to join him after the game but, since that episode in the batting cage, she was off the grid. She must have been tired and gone to bed.

  The bartender slid his meal in front of him and he sighed. Another dinner alone. He used to be more comfortable alone. When did he start wishing for company?

  Damn, the least she could have done was have dinner with him, after getting him all hot and bothered.

  The door opened and reflexively he scanned the people coming in. Couple of reporters following the team but no one else he knew. He turned his attention back to his burger and resumed eating.

  A squeal had him groaning. Another goddamn groupie. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it! Jason Friar!”

  Did he always hook up with skanks? Sheesh, she was young, probably early twenties and dressed like she should be working the street or a low-end strip club. What the hell had he been thinking all those years?

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a reporter grab his phone. Before the young woman could latch onto him, another woman stepped in the way and hooked her arm onto his.

  “Honey, do you want to introduce us?” Stacia looked up at him with a sweet smile on her face, only her eyes snapped fire, promising retribution. The other woman stopped dead in her tracks, confusion written all over her face. Stacia held out her free hand. “I’m Stacia, Jason’s girlfriend. You are?”

  The other woman stuttered, muttered something and stumbled away; all the while Stacia smiled a brittle, cold smile that left no one doubting she was a woman who was well and truly pissed.

  The reporters slowly settled in their seats, waiting for the next drama.

  Stacia slid onto the bar stool next to him and took a swig of his beer then leaned over and kissed him on the lips, a brief girlfriend type of kiss, signaling to everyone he was taken. “Play along,” she whispered. “I’m trying to save your ass.”

  He stared at her, not sure what had just happened, but he knew one thing. “Damn woman, you’re better than kryptonite. I’m keeping you around.”

  The idea slammed him out of nowhere, like a pitch to the head. The notion of keeping her around felt so good, so right, that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.

  Stacia snagged a French fry and signaled to the bartender for a beer. She snagged another fry and he grabbed her hand. “You’re eating my meal. Get your own.”

  “Girlfriends always eat their boyfriend’s food. You want people to think we’re together, right?”

  “So, you believe me.” He studied her, watching her eyes, seeing if she truly believed him.

  “After that little incident, yes.” She snagged another fry. “And management will believe me too when I tell them. So, no worries about your contract.”

  “Right,” he said, drawing out the word, trying to understand the situation. “What about the reporters? They’re watching every move.”

  She casually glanced at them and waved. “So, maybe they’ll get off your back.”

  He stared at her, suspicion and another feeling—jealousy maybe—reared its ugly green head. “How many times have you played the girlfriend card to help a client?”

  She frowned, her eyes shadowed and shuttered. “Too many. It’s part of the job.”

  “How about being in my bed?”

  “I haven’t been in your bed.”

  “I seem to recall something different.”

  “It was in the hotel bed before you were a client,” she pointed out. “Doesn’t count.”

  “What about tonight?” He held his breath. Would she do it?

  “Tonight, according to everyone, we’re dating. If I choose to sleep with you, then it’s my choice.”

  “It’ll look odd if you’re on the road with me as my girlfriend and not sleeping with me.” Irritated at the game, he dragged his plate away and swatted her hand. “Mine.”

  “True, but I don’t see any other guys with girlfriends or even wives on the road. They’ll think I met you here.”

  “And slept in your own room.” He slid his plate away from her. “I’m hungry. Get your own.”

  She paused, a thoughtful look on her face. “Hmm,” she mumbled around a French fry but didn’t elaborate.

  “Wanna bet?” He leaned forward until his mouth was inches from hers. “Those reporters are vultures, caring more about the dirt they can stir up than the game news. Dirt sells papers and I’m good dirt. You’re stuck, darling. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”

  Satisfied that he’d made his point, he lightly brushed her lips with his then settled back in his seat. Great game, and Stacia later. What could be better?

  She narrowed her gaze, eyes cool and remote. “Babe, right now, all we’re going to be doing is sleeping unless your attitude changes.”

  He pursed his lips and turned his attention back to the burger. She reached for another fry and he slapped her hand. “Order your own. These are mine.”

  She scanned him, her gaze traveling up and down. “Do I need my strength?”

  “You most definitely need your strength.” All in all, not bad for a night’s work.

  Loudly, a couple of the reporters got up and left the bar, leaving three others, including Stan Garvin, the most veteran of the reporters and the biggest pain in Jason’s ass. His mood suddenly soured; the food tasted like sawdust.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He started to slide off the stool, but she placed a hand on his arm. Stacia glanced over at the reporters, her face thoughtful.

  She swiveled on the barstool and hopped off. “Be right back.” She left the bar, headed toward the ladies’ room.

  Jason sipped his beer. Ah shit. What was she plotting now? He probably didn’t want to know. But at the minimum, it should make for great after dinner entertainment.

  A few minutes later she came back, trying to hide her smugness. He eyed her suspiciously. “What are you planning?”

  “Who, me?” She widened her eyes, doing her best to appear sweet and innocent, but he wasn’t buying it.

  He leaned close and murmured, “I know you’re not that sweet, darling. So, what’s up?”

  She smiled mysteriously, jerked her chin toward the mirror behind the bar and said, “Watch.”

  He couldn’t understand why he was watching the reporters’ table but he followed instructions. Suddenly, the groupie who only moments before had been all over him was sliding into the booth and snuggling up to Stan, who was getting more and more red in the face. Finally, the girl gave up and walked away with a shrug.

  Stacia swirled back around next to him, took a large swallow of beer, then slid off the stool. “Be right back. Keep watching.” She slid into the booth across from Stan, his face turning even redder within a minute or so of her presence.

  Jason gave up all pretense of not watching and turned to face the drama in the booth.

  *

  Stacia slid into the booth across from Stan. “Hey, Stan. How’s the wife? I hear your son is looking at colleges on the West Coast. Maybe a scholarship?”

  “Who are you?” The older reporter eyed
her suspiciously. “How do you know about me?”

  “Doesn’t really matter. What I do know is I saw a very interesting event take place here a few minutes ago. Nice girl, Stan. What would your wife think?”

  The table suddenly grew quiet, as if a switch had turned off the sound. Only the television and dull murmur of other people filled the silence.

  “What the…?” Stan blustered.

  “Don’t bother denying it. I have it all on camera.” She showed him the picture on her phone. “Your wife wouldn’t like seeing that. I wonder what she’d say.” She yanked the phone back before he could grab it.

  “Nothing happened. I don’t even know that girl.”

  She slipped the phone into her pocket. “True, but I could flash that picture and say all sorts of things, even blatant lies. I think I could get a lot of people to believe me, don’t you?”

  “Is this about Friar and that girl?”

  “No, it’s about all the bullshit you guys have been giving him—the girls, the slurs, everything. You take an incident and blow it out of proportion, giving people the wrong ideas.”

  His face flared bright red and his eyes narrowed. “And you’re so sweet and innocent in all of this, right? The image consultant who is supposed to make him look like a choirboy? Like you’re not lying to the public.”

  She shrugged. “I’m doing my best to ensure he keeps his nose clean. Jason has done his part. Then vultures like you try to set him up in a compromising situation to sell papers. How is that ethical?”

  “Lady, it’s the way things are.” He clenched his jaw and glared at her.

  “Really? Why does it have to be that way?”

  “It just is.”

  “Well, let’s change it, shall we? I delete the picture of you and that woman, and you start being more fair.” Now she was in her comfort zone, wheeling and dealing with reporters. These guys were so much easier than the journalists on the political beat. Those guys would have bluffed a lot more, kept her dangling longer.

  “He refuses to talk. We have to come up with stuff to fill our columns.”

  She leaned across the table. “What if I give you access to him? An exclusive?”

  “No one wants an exclusive with a has-been.” Stan scoffed and jerked his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Stacia refused to budge. “Do you believe he’s a has-been? I don’t think so. And when he nails it this season, and everyone wants a piece of him, you’ll have your exclusive.”

  “What if he sucks the rest of the season? He’s worthless to me.”

  “Do you really think he’ll suck? I didn’t think so.” She sat back and watched the expressions flash across his face, anger, consideration, finally resignation. Gotcha. “Here’s the deal. I get rid of the pictures, you get your exclusive, and you stop fanning the flames against him.”

  “It’s blackmail.”

  “Whatever works.” She finally allowed the smile to show, satisfied she’d made her point. She loved the rush from this part of the game. She felt powerful and invincible all at the same time.

  He gave her a nasty look. “You’re a piece of work. How can I trust you?”

  “Just my word.”

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  “That’s none of your business, but no, I am not sleeping with him.” It wasn’t really a lie as she wasn’t sleeping with him now. It was just a matter of time and she knew that. So she crossed her fingers in a childish gesture under the table.

  The reporter was experienced enough to be suspicious but cagey enough to want the exclusive. “How do I know he’ll cooperate?”

  “That’s my job. I’ll handle it. We have a deal?” She held out her hand and they shook. “Pleasure doing business with you.” She slid out of the booth and walked over to the bar. “You’re giving Stan exclusive rights to your season. Be sure, if you don’t want to talk to any reporters, you still talk to him.”

  He stared at her. “Have you lost your mind? He’s been the biggest asshole riding my tail.”

  She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “He’s on our side now. You’re welcome. See you upstairs, baby.” She smacked a stunned Jason on the lips, waved to the reporters and she sauntered out of the bar.

  Chapter Nine

  After the awkward drink with Stan, which turned out to be slightly better than expected, Jason headed for his room. He threw his sport coat on the bed and grabbed the remote, still too keyed up to relax. Before he could scan the channel options, a knocked sounded at the door.

  He opened the door to reveal Stacia still in her ice-blue suit, holding a six-pack in her hand. She offered it to him.

  “I thought you might like to celebrate.”

  He pulled her into the room then slammed her up against the door, fusing his lips to hers. Now this was what he called a celebration.

  After a momentary surprise, Stacia kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his. She brought her hands up and banged his back with the six-pack, effectively deadening the mood, at least for now. His blood was hot and she was there.

  He grabbed the six-pack and stalked into the room.

  Stacia straightened her suit and followed him, perching delicately on the edge of the bed. “Well, this room looks a little different.”

  “Every room is different and yet the same. I didn’t really expect to see you here.”

  She looked a little uncomfortable and avoided his gaze, wringing her hands in her lap. “Well, here’s the thing. They’re out of rooms for the night.”

  He leaned against the wall, still holding the beer, not trusting himself to get any closer to her. “You didn’t have the travel secretary make arrangements?”

  “Travel secretary? No, I worked with Maggie to get a flight. I honestly didn’t expect the hotel to be booked. There’s some type of software convention and all rooms are taken.”

  He nodded slowly, a bad feeling making its way up his spine. “So, where are you staying?”

  She glanced at the king-sized bed, her thoughts screaming out at him as if she had vocalized them.

  “Isn’t that how we got into trouble before? I thought you didn’t want to make that mistake again.”

  “I suppose you could look at it that way. You said you wanted to keep me around. Now, I’m closer than ever. And I’m supposed to be your girlfriend. Didn’t you say I was better than kryptonite?”

  His cock twitched at the idea of her being at his disposal. The possibilities were endless. His body was still humming from the game, the victory over the reporters, and the hot kiss. Having her on the other side of the bed was almost more than he could take. The perfect remedy for what ailed him. He hardened at the memory of their one night together, and the promise of what could be.

  She caught his heated gaze and flushed. “What?”

  Damn. She looked good enough to eat. In more ways than one. “There’s only one bed. And you are my girlfriend.”

  Her eyes dropped, and a small smile played about her lips. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m thinking you have too many clothes on.”

  She adjusted her jacket like a suit of armor, and sternly looked at him. “We need to talk about the other night.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and flopped on the bed next to her, inhaling her soft perfume, and resisting the urge to seduce her out of the discussion. “I already explained it to you. I thought that’s why you brought the beer? To make sure I was all tucked in, alone.”

  “I told you that we needed to clean up your image. Attacking a reporter is not helpful.”

  “He started it.” Even to his own ears, he sounded like a whiny child, a broken record.

  “Irrelevant. You’re being judged in a whole new light now. You have to be the mature one, the adult, for once in your life.”

  “Wasn’t that the point of your little show downstairs? So I don’t have to deal with that bullshit anymore?”

  “No, of course not.” She blushed. “All I am asking
is that you be more careful. Since we can’t control other people and you can’t be a hermit, we need to distract the media and everyone out there who wants to discredit you.”

  He sipped his beer. “I’m listening.”

  She let out a breath. “Excellent. I drew up a bunch of ideas, community groups you could get involved in to show you’re a nice guy.”

  He groaned. “I am a nice guy. Aren’t I being nice, not attacking a single, beautiful woman in my room who is begging for a piece of me? I don’t have time for outside distractions.”

  She cleared her throat. “That’s beside the point. You say you’re a nice guy. We need to show that to everyone else. And let’s face it, you’re not exactly warm and fuzzy.”

  He leaned over her and caged her neatly between his arms. “What do I care what other people think? As long as I hit the baseball, score runs, and don’t make any errors, that’s all that matters. No one ever cared before.” His lips tickled her forehead, the strands of her bangs brushed against his skin, teasing her senses, arrowing straight for his cock.

  She sucked in a deep breath and shook her head. “That was before. You got away with everything up to murder, as far as I can tell. Now, you have to prove yourself all over again. You’re not the nineteen-year-old phenom out of high school, the darling of major league baseball. You’re a thirty-four-year-old ballplayer who has alienated the media, the fans and the players by your bad attitude and arrogance. Since you haven’t played in over a year, you have no credit with anyone. You need to build that before you can get away with anything.” She poked his chest. “This is your new reality. Get used to it or get out. Because no one is cutting you any slack.”

  As she spoke, he pushed off the bed and paced the room, running his hand through his wavy chocolate hair. She stood and walked over to him, resting her hand on his back. “I know this sucks, but it’s reality. So now, we need to fix it.”

  He turned around, anger tightening his face. Another bargain. Another person who wanted to use him for their own gain. “What’s in it for you?”