Bottom of the Ninth: Seattle Skookums Baseball (Game On in Seattle Book 6)

by Jami Davenport

  He could’ve tolerated her boring explanation of bits and bytes, but she was drunk, and Zeke couldn’t tolerate drunkenness. Alcohol had killed his sister four years ago, and he avoided women who drank to excess like a cat avoids water. Big turnoff for him. His half-hard dick wilted, signaling the night was over for him.

  The woman turned to a businessman who’d slid onto the opposite barstool, and the geek talk rose to a new level. He got her. Zeke was glad somebody did.

  He headed for the elevator and his lonely bed, which seemed lonelier. Not because of the redhead, but because of Paisley.

  Chapter 7—Out at First Base

  On Wednesday, Paisley paced the floor, waiting for Zeke to arrive home. The team played an early game with Texas, and she expected him back about midnight. She’d baked a pie, and the entire house smelled like apples and cinnamon. With her luck, the man probably hated apples, but she’d done her best. The kids would devour it regardless.

  Paisley hadn’t told Zeke about their visitors during any of the phone calls while he was on his road trip. Her intuition warned her to wait until they were in person. She knew most people would appreciate a visit from family members, but she wasn’t so sure about him.

  His brothers had also called her, asking if she could arrange a meeting with Zeke or give them his new number. She said no to both, but they left their numbers with her to pass on.

  What was with this family? She didn’t get it.

  Paisley wanted to see his face and judge his reaction to her news. He never talked about his family, and she didn’t understand why. She’d Googled Zeke. According to what she found, he came from a close family brought closer by the tragic deaths of a mother and sister. Yet something didn’t add up. If they were so tight, why did he appear to be avoiding them? Why hadn’t they come by as soon as he moved in? Why did he change his number and not give it to them? Where were his family photos? In all her unpacking, she hadn’t unearthed one photo of Zeke with the male members of his family.

  Zeke was obviously a private man, but would he be so private that he’d only hang with his brothers outside his home and never have them over or change his number and not give it to them? Who did that?

  Paisley didn’t have any brothers, but she wouldn’t want any member of her family to see where she lived now. They’d immediately milk her for money, and she’d cave and give them whatever she had in her pocket and her bank account. Even big sister Calico had sucked her dry emotionally. Just like their mother, Calico had immersed herself in drama right up until the day she died six months ago, leaving a huge hole in Paisley’s heart.

  The garage door opened and closed. Squelching her sad thoughts, Paisley plastered a cheery smile on her face and went to greet Zeke. She stopped at the end of the hallway to observe him. He came through the mudroom door dragging ass and hauling a large duffel bag. She could tell by the slump of his shoulders he was worn out. She imagined road trips did that to a guy, especially when he played for Seattle. Being in the uppermost corner of the country, the Skookums traveled more miles than any other baseball team.

  He glanced up and saw her. A slow smile spread from one side of his mouth to the other, lighting up his blue eyes.

  “Hey,” he said simply.

  “You look tired.” She smiled back. Her heart soared with happiness. She’d missed him. This was a man she’d only known for a brief time, and she’d missed him. She wasn’t much for analyzing her emotions. They just were. This time she almost succumbed and wondered what it was about him.

  “Long flight.”

  “You landed in one piece, though. That’s always a good thing.”

  “Barely.” Leaving his duffel on the floor of the grand entry, he walked toward her, stopping a few steps away. “It’s good to be home. Something smells good.”

  “I made an apple pie. Would you like a piece?”

  “Does a dog turn down a juicy steak?”

  She grinned up at him like a woman who’d found her savior. Unable to fabricate a response that didn’t make her sound like the hundreds of other baseball groupies who must hound him day after day, she said nothing.

  “How about a drink? I know I could use one.”

  “Sure.”

  She followed him to the kitchen as he poured a glass of wine for her and popped the top off a beer for him. He handed her the glass, and she handed him a piece of pie. Together they walked outside to the deck. It was a clear night, somewhat chilly, but her sweatshirt kept her warm enough.

  They sat opposite each other in plastic lawn chairs that had seen better days.

  “I guess we should add lawn furniture to the list.”

  “I’ll get right on that. I love spending other people’s money.” She shot him what she hoped was a sinfully wicked smile.

  He grinned back and wolfed down the apple pie. Finishing the last bite, he placed the plate and fork on a table and wiped the crumbs from his mouth with a sleeve. She watched, indulging in a brief fantasy that involved licking the crumbs from his sexy mouth.

  “Did you leave anything in my bank account after your spending sprees this week?”

  She jerked her gaze away from his mouth. “I’ll have you know, mister, that I haven’t spent a penny yet. I want your approval on my designs. And,” she winked at him, “my ideas will knock your socks off.”

  He laughed. “One thing I like about you is your humble attitude.”

  Paisley laughed, too. “I’m good, and I know it. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Their eyes met, and her body reacted with all the usual signs of attraction and then some. The truth she’d been denying hit Paisley squarely between the eyes, and perhaps between the legs. Not only was she infatuated with her new boss, but in less than two weeks, she’d fallen hard, a record even for her.

  Flustered, she tried to cover up her nervousness with business talk. “Do you have plans in the morning? We can go over my ideas.”

  “I have batting practice later in the day, but I can make time in the morning.”

  They stared at each other, no longer talking as the same magnetic attraction she’d felt from the first day tugged them closer together. His smile faded and his gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips parted, an involuntary reaction to those searing blue eyes.

  More blistering than a physical touch, his gaze ran down her face and throat and settled on her breasts. He licked his lips, reminding Paisley she wore a camisole under her zip-up hoodie and was braless. She glanced down, and her nipples saluted him proudly.

  Caught gawking, his head snapped up, and he turned beet red. Paisley pulled the sweatshirt tighter around her and zipped it.

  “It’s cold,” she remarked with her usual cheerfulness.

  “Yeah, it is.” Despite his embarrassment, the heat in his eyes said it all. He didn’t think her nipples were hard because they were cold, and he was most likely right.

  “Uh, I’ve been meaning to mention this but decided to wait until you got home.” Paisley steered their conversation into safer waters.

  “What?”

  “You had visitors a few days ago.”

  He went on red alert, every muscle tight, and shifted uneasily in the too-small lawn chair. “Visitors?”

  “Yes, your brothers’ significant others. Your brothers also called and left their phone numbers.”

  “Fuck,” he growled, and slammed his beer bottle on the glass tabletop so hard she expected it to shatter. Shooting to his feet, he stalked to the edge of the deck and leaned on the railing, gazing into the distance. His shoulders were tense and his back rigid.

  Well, now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?

  * * * *

  Zeke gripped the railing. He stared at the view but was oblivious to the ferry cruising across Elliott Bay. Nor could he hear the mournful sounds of seagulls over the roar in his ears. He ground his teeth to dust as he processed one of the worst pieces of news he’d gotten since he’d been told of his sister’s death at
the hands of a drunk driver, a drunk driver who also happened to be his oldest brother’s girlfriend.

  “Fuck. Damn. Shit.” He swore over and over again, as if cussing would make things better.

  “Zeke?” Paisley stood close behind him. He could sense her presence without having to see it. Even the concern in Paisley’s voice couldn’t dispel the red-hot anger and loathing scalding him deep down to his soul.

  “They have no right.” The intensity of his snarl surprised even him.

  “I, uh, I didn’t let them in. They actually wanted to talk to me. They knew you were on a road trip. They didn’t say why they came by, but they seemed like nice women. They told me not to mention they’d been here. They were twins and—” Her voice trailed off.

  “Avery and Emma.” He spat out the words with more venom than two women he’d never met deserved. Zeke struggled with his temper, resisting the urge to take out his frustration and hurt on Paisley, use her as a surrogate for them, and—and do what? Exactly the thing he’d been fearing? Raise a hand to her? Hurt a woman when driven past a breaking point? Become the man his father was, proving the power of genetics?

  “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He buried his head in his hands and rubbed his face as if he could scrub away his past.

  “Zeke?” Paisley’s sweet voice, laced with concern, seeped into his consciousness. Her lilting tone weaved its way past the anger and hurt to the basic problem—his fear. Fear he’d be like his father. Fear he’d never be good enough for himself, let alone anyone else. Fear he’d always be alone because he wasn’t worthy of anyone’s love or friendship.

  He felt her hand on his shoulder and stiffened. “Don’t.”

  She ignored him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t,” he warned again.

  “Please tell me what I did wrong.”

  He spun around so quickly she stumbled backward, tangling her feet. He grabbed her before she fell, yanking her roughly into his arms. A chaos of conflicting emotions raged through his veins and infected his brain to the point where he couldn’t think rationally, if at all.

  Wide-eyed, she stared up at him. She gripped his arms but didn’t push herself out of his embrace. If she had, he’d retained enough sanity to let her go. Only she leaned into him, and the last thread holding his control snapped.

  He didn’t see fear in her eyes. He saw concern and caring, emotions never directed at him by anyone. He didn’t want her to care. She’d just get hurt. He wanted to punish her for being naive enough to care, and to punish his family for making him so broken. Most of all, he wanted to punish himself for allowing her into his life.

  He brought his mouth down on hers. There was nothing gentle in his bruising kiss. It was rough and demanding; animal lust in its purest form. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, and she surprised him by plundering right back.

  Instead of running as she should’ve, Paisley dug her fingers into his shoulders and wrapped one leg around his thigh, crawling right up his body like a cat climbing a tree.

  His anger exploded into pieces of lust-laden shrapnel, rampant with need and desire. He’d never felt such all-consuming hunger for a woman before. Her sweet body pressed against his, and her pelvis ground into his crotch, rubbing up and down on his erection.

  He hauled her ass onto the deck rail and stepped between her spread legs, never breaking the kiss. She wrapped those heavenly legs around his waist. Her heels dug into his back. He was hard as steel, and he needed to fuck her more than he needed to win a World Series.

  “Paisley,” he growled against her ear before sucking a small fold of skin between his teeth and biting down. “I want to do that to your nipples.”

  She whimpered, placed her hands on his cheeks, and forced his lips back to hers, her mouth as bruising and demanding as his. Their tongues danced together, along with their bodies.

  He swore he was going to black out from the force of his arousal. “I need you naked.” His chest heaved and his heart raced as he looked down at her. His hands squeezed her waist, holding her on the railing. Her lips were swollen from his rough kisses.

  “Zeke.” She said his name with such devotion that a modicum of sanity tickled back into his brain. She gazed up at him. Her eyes shone with an emotion so terrifying and foreign to him, he wasn’t sure he could put a name to it. Was that what love looked like?

  Love?

  The horror of being undeservedly loved poured water on the blazing inferno raging within him and extinguished the flames faster than a tropical storm extinguished a forest fire.

  With trembling hands, he gently lifted her off the railing. “We can’t do this.”

  “Why not? We’re adults.” Her big brown eyes regarded him with confusion and disappointment.

  Welcome to the club, honey, and get in line. I’ve disappointed every person in my life who’s ever cared about me.

  “Zeke—why?”

  “Because it’s not fair.” And because it means something to you and nothing to me. This was why he stuck with older women who just wanted to have fun with a younger man and never wanted a piece of him other than his body. This woman, whether she knew it or not, would never be satisfied with his body; she’d want his soul.

  “Fair?” She blinked several times as if trying to regain her own sanity.

  “Yeah. Fair. You’re a nice girl, and I’m using you.”

  “Oh.” She shook her head. “I don’t mind being used.”

  “I mind. I’m trying to purge my past by using your body as an escape.”

  “Why do you need to purge your past?”

  Zeke gently pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length. Her eyes were glazed with equal parts lust and confusion. “My brothers are not welcome here, nor is anyone even remotely connected to them. Understand?”

  She nodded mutely. “They seemed like nice—”

  He leaned close and leered at her. “I don’t fucking care if they’re nuns, I don’t want them here.” Zeke funneled his lust back into anger, knowing it was the only thing that would douse the remnants of this ache for her.

  “Understood.” She smiled a brave but shaky smile, one that was completely fake and never reached those beautifully expressive eyes of hers.

  He wanted to apologize for being such a douche. He wished he could explain, but he could never explain all the crap he kept bottled inside him. No one could know about the abuse he’d suffered as a kid or the secret burden he bore. Not even his brothers knew, though he held them responsible, as unreasonable as that might be.

  “Good night,” she said, still smiling, but he could feel the frost from five feet away.

  Zeke watched her go and mourned the loss of her warmth and the loss of something he couldn’t define.

  * * * *

  No way was Paisley sleeping. If she had a TV in the basement, she’d drown herself in old seventies family sitcoms, her guilty pleasure, and pretend to be Marcia Brady.

  But she wasn’t Marcia. Her life was no sitcom. And Zeke wasn’t the nice boy next door he pretended to be. Actually, she didn’t know who Zeke was, because he changed all the time. One moment he was the driven baseball player, another the easygoing employer, then the passionate would-be lover, or the angry, guilt-ridden guy she’d seen tonight.

  He was all of those things and none of them.

  Zeke Wolfe was an enigma. A guy who presented a perfect image to the public all the while hiding a past she couldn’t begin to understand.

  One thing she definitely understood: he and his brothers had a lot of history, and most of it had to be bad.

  He was more damaged than she was, and she did love a project more than she loved anything. When she had a project, she focused on the goal, rather than her problems.

  Zeke would be her new project. Before she left here, she’d wipe that sadness from his eyes and replace it with genuine happiness.

  She beamed at the thought. Yes, that’s what she’d do. She had until the first of May, over two weeks away, to accomplish the t
ask. After that, the decision would be up to Zeke, Al, and her.

  Starting with his house, she’d brighten up his days little by little.

  But she wouldn’t be brightening up his nights. She didn’t think she could take another rejection, and the man excelled at pushing people away.

  Chapter 8—The First Pitch

  Zeke owed Paisley an apology, but he wasn’t good at them. Besides, he might have to explain more than he wanted to explain, more than he’d ever explained to anyone, even Fernando.

  Instead of going over plans with Paisley on his day off, he avoided her and played a round of golf in the morning with Fernando. After which he headed to batting practice and out with the guys afterward.

  They could meet over the weekend. Al would be in town, and he’d be a good buffer and deterrent for acting on this undeniable attraction Zeke had for Paisley.

  The night ended too early, leaving him no choice but to go home, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he made things right with Paisley.

  He walked around the back of his house and knocked on the outside door to Paisley’s apartment. As an olive branch, he’d brought home four tickets to Friday’s game, three rows from the field and close to first base.

  She opened the door and smiled at him as if nothing had happened. “Zeke, come in.”

  He followed her inside and stopped to glance around the living room. She might’ve furnished the place with pieces from Goodwill, but it looked better than the tens of thousands he’d seen his friends spend on designer interiors. In fact, it looked more like home than any house he’d ever lived in.