Caught by You

by Jennifer Bernard

  “Stop . . . talking . . . about . . . the wedding . . .” she moaned.

  “No. I won’t. Wedding . . .” He ran his tongue across the curls protecting her sex. “Wedding . . .” He circled his tongue around her clit, used his thumb to spread the moisture across her lips. “Wedding . . .” He hooked one long index finger inside her clinging channel. “Wedding . . .” His breath hot, he spoke against the hardening, warming kernel.

  She gasped and said something unintelligible.

  So he kept talking. “Next time I’m going to spread you apart on my lap, baby girl. Bend you over my knee and see what your sweet little ass looks like. I’ll put you on your hands and knees and fuck you until you can’t say your own name. Let you ride me until I’m raw. Until we’re both raw. Until we can’t say another word because we’ve screamed it all out.” He kept going like that, the dirty words inflaming him. He put a hand on his own cock, which felt as rigid as a lamppost. At the first hint of tremors shaking her body, he whipped his hand away and clamped it on her ass. As convulsions racked her form, he held her steady, locked between his hand on her rear and his mouth on her clit. Warmth flooded his mouth, the soft flutter of her orgasm like a gift.

  Lost in the darkness between her thighs, he heard only vaguely her muffled squeaks as she tried to contain her ecstasy. God, what he wouldn’t give to take her to a real bed and make love to her with every part of him. Hands, mouth, cock.

  Except . . . the vow. He was in new territory here. Did his intention to marry Donna, even when she hadn’t fully signed on yet, void the vow?

  When he finally withdrew his mouth from her, she was limp as a noodle, while he was still the polar opposite. He stood up, dragging his erection against the length of her body. She fisted her hand into the neck of his shirt and twisted it. Molten gold eyes met his. She looked satisfied and fierce at the same time. “I want you inside me, Solo,” she whispered. “You’d better rethink that vow of yours.”

  He gave a shaky laugh. “I was just thinking the same thing. At this rate, my dick might explode.” He remembered what Father Kowalski had said when he took the vow. “I may have a loophole. My priest was looking out for me. He said something like ‘unless you decide to get married.’ I have decided to get married. The way I see it, if you agree to actually have a wedding, then the vow’s history.”

  She shoved him so he bumped against the pantry door. “Are you using sex to coerce me into marriage?”

  “Will it work?”

  “No!” She cupped his erection and he let out a groan. “Explain to me why we should get married. Besides Zack, I mean. What made you think of it?”

  He closed his eyes, feeling her fingers trace the length of his penis. Her stroking was exquisitely torturous. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  “That’s not a problem, because I already do.” She pressed lightly on the head of his cock, which swelled enthusiastically in response.

  “Intuition.”

  “What?” Through the hazy cloud of his arousal, he could tell that caught her by surprise.

  “Gut instinct. I thought of it behind home plate, which is where I do all my best thinking. I have to keep my mind clear and completely focused. I think it’s a right brain, left brain thing. I’m so occupied with balls and strikes that my brain is free to come up with genius ideas.”

  “You thought of us getting married during a baseball game?”

  “Yes,” he said simply, because he’d reached the point at which communication was a lost cause.

  Just then a noise outside the pantry made them both jump to attention. Donna whipped her hand out of Mike’s pants and smoothed her dress down. He put a finger to his lips to shush her, then leaned his shoulder against the door so it would be impossible to open.

  The doorknob rattled. A man cursed. “Thought I got this fixed.” Crush Taylor. Donna’s eyes went wide.

  “I’m not going into a dark room with you, Crush,” came a frosty female voice. Mayor Wendy Trent. Former Miss Texas, first female mayor of Kilby, and rumored ice queen. Donna mouthed, OMG to Mike. “My only goal with this conversation is to give you a heads-­up about some information I just received.”

  “Really?” Crush sounded more skeptical than disappointed. “Your hair says otherwise.”

  “My hair?”

  “All that hair spray usually screams Touch me and you die, but this thing you have going on right now says, Come and get me, cowboy.”

  Donna put a hand over her mouth, her face turning red from the effort of not laughing.

  “Why don’t you have yourself another bourbon and we can discuss your hair hallucinations,” the mayor snapped.

  Mike’s eyes popped wide open, while Donna let out a giggle, which she quickly smothered.

  The mayor continued. “You probably know that the Wades have notified the Friars of their interest in purchasing the Catfish.”

  “The Wades can go fuck themselves.”

  “Yes, well, they’re assembling a strong case to get you removed from the league. Some of your own players have joined them.”

  Silence. Mike went absolutely still. He hadn’t heard anything about players coming forward against the team owner. When Crush spoke again, all playfulness had vanished from his tone. “Who?”

  “Actually, it’s just one attention-­hungry player. And no, I can’t tell you who it is. I shouldn’t even be telling you this much. But—­you know how I feel about the Wades. They should be out of the running based on the gambling scandal last year, but all charges were dropped so it won’t play into this decision. Dean Wade is planning a run for mayor. Owning the team could be a big plus for him.”

  “They can’t make me sell my own baseball team,” said Crush roughly.

  “They can,” Mayor Trent assured him. “Which you know very well. Listen, I want to help. This is your last-­ditch warning, Taylor. You’d better figure something out, and fast.”

  Someone called Crush’s name, and after a hurried swish of clothing and footsteps, the two disappeared.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Mike whispered. “I’ll bet you anything it’s Yazmer.” A dull headache throbbed at his temples, some kind of hangover-­like combination of worry and raging sexual frustration.

  “Ugh. If the Wades buy the team, what will happen to you?”

  He shrugged. “Not much. My contract is with the Friars. I’d be more worried about Kilby. And you. If the Wades buy the Catfish and Dean Wade gets elected mayor, what would that make Bonita? The mayor’s third niece once removed or some shit?”

  “They might as well crown her Queen of Kilby,” Donna said indignantly. “And hand over Zack while they’re at it.” She paced around in a little circle, her furious energy lighting up the dim space like a firefly. “Okay, Solo, that’s it. Let’s get married. And let’s do it big. Texas big.”

  Chapter 13

  DONNA TACKED ONE condition onto their engagement. She asked Mike to stop trying to make her fall in love with him. If she looked at it as a purely practical decision, it made sense. She still didn’t completely understand Mike’s motivations for proposing—­gut instinct, really?—­but the benefits of Crush’s plan trumped all her doubts.

  Everything would probably be fine, she kept telling herself. They had fun together, they were hot for each other. He was a rock-­solid guy, trustworthy to the nth degree. He was honest. He hadn’t tried to convince her he was madly in love with her.

  Which she kind of hated, actually. Over the past weeks, in the restless hours before falling asleep, she’d concocted detailed scenarios of Mike declaring his love for her. Love. Not a proposal of marriage, not a seduction. Love. The crazy, passionate kind that made you throw everything else to the wind.

  That’s what she wanted from Mike.

  In the meantime, there was Zack to consider, and the Wades and the Catfish and Crush Taylor and Yazm
er, and before she knew it, she was meeting Burwell Brown, the reporter for the Kilby Press-­Herald, to dish about the Catfish Wedding of the Decade.

  Burwell did not look happy to be interviewing her at You Bet I Do, the most popular wedding boutique in town—­probably because he usually covered state and city politics and other weighty issues. Cascades of lace and tulle surrounded them, as if they were touring the inside of a cream puff. Mannequins aimed blank smiles in random directions. The reporter followed her with a sour expression as she perused the selection of bridal veils.

  “I really enjoyed your article about the effects of globalization on the Texas economy,” she told him, blinking innocently. She plopped a frothy ivory concoction with a tiara of rosebuds on her head. “More importantly, what kind of veil do you think I should wear?”

  He took off his wire-­framed glasses and rubbed the ridge of his nose. “Go ahead, rub it in. So. You and Mike Solo. Apparently some ­people care.”

  “I’m really sorry you got stuck with this.” She laughed at his resigned expression. “How can I make this better for you? What do you need from me?”

  “A horse tranquilizer?”

  “Funny. I know what you need. An angle. How about this. First Caleb Hart, now Mike Solo. Is there something in the Kilby water that inspires baseball players to fall for hometown girls?”

  “No.” Burwell shot that one down pretty quick.

  “Okay, then. Want to hear how he proposed to me? On one knee, with a bouquet of fresh-­picked flowers?” Probably purchased from Kroger, but that detail didn’t have to be mentioned.

  “Sure, go ahead.” With a weary sigh, Burwell Brown started his little pocket recorder. Donna winked at the hovering sales clerk, Amy from two years back in high school. If there was ever a good moment to let her imagination fly, this would be it. They needed to convince everyone that their engagement was real, based on real emotion. Sell it, girl, she told herself.

  “Well . . . it was one of those stormy nights we had a few weeks ago. I was at home in bed. Half asleep, and already dreaming of Mike. I’d been secretly in love with him for months, but I was sure there was no future for us. He’s a baseball player and I’m just an ordinary girl from Kilby. This isn’t a romantic comedy, this is real life. Have you ever heard that phrase, ‘Build it and they will come’? I think it’s from a baseball movie.”

  “Field of Dreams.”

  “Yes, exactly. I was dreaming of Mike, imagining what it would be like if he threw himself at my feet and told me he was dying of love for me. And then came a knock on the door. The strange thing is, I knew it was him. Destiny works in mysterious ways.” She broke off her story. “Make sure to put that quote in, Burwell. ­People will love that.”

  “Do you want to write the article yourself? Or maybe I should just go to the romance section at the bookstore?”

  “Hey, I’m trying to help you out here, give you something juicy.”

  “Fine, fine.” Despite his grumbles, she could tell he was getting caught up in the story. Who didn’t love a good romance?

  “I flung open the door,” because simply opening it wouldn’t be enough, “and sure enough, there he was, all wet from the rain, his thin shirt clinging to his firm muscles, desperate love screaming from every line of his face.” Amy gave a dreamy sigh, while Burwell rolled his eyes. “He thrust a bouquet of lilacs at me, the poor flowers drenched from the rain. Then he flung himself to the floor on both knees. ‘I must have ye,’ he declared.” Ooops, she’d added a bit of a Scottish brogue by mistake. She hurried onward before Burwell got suspicious. “ ‘You’ve been haunting my dreams ever since I first saw your beautiful face in the third row of the field box section along the first-­base line.’ ” She threw that in because it sounded like a better first meet than the Kilby Roadhouse. “ ‘Donna, I beg of you. Have mercy on me. Marry me now, or I’ll have no more reason to go on.’ ”

  “Really?” Burwell peered over his wire-­rimmed glasses. “A call-­up to the majors wouldn’t do it?”

  “What is baseball compared to true love? Make sure you use that quote too. The ladies will love it.”

  “Are we about done here?”

  “Let me just add that it took quite some time to convince me. My heart longed to say yes, but I wanted to make absolutely sure that it was the right decision. For my son.”

  At that, Burwell looked up sharply. “Did you say ‘son’?”

  Donna noticed that Amy was leaning in close to hear every word. Too bad. The time for secrecy was over.

  “Yes, I have a four-­year-­old son. Every decision I make is based on what’s best for him.” As far as she was concerned, this was the most important part. She had to make Mike look like the best potential stepparent any kid ever had. “Mike Solo has a deep love for family. He’d do anything for a family member. When I learned that he donated a kidney to his brother, I knew that my son’s well-­being would be in good hands if I gave in to my heart’s desire and accepted his proposal.”

  “Kidney?” All of a sudden Burwell looked much more interested in his article. “Can you tell me more about that?”

  Oh, cripes. Did other ­people know about the kidney donation? Mike hadn’t said that it was a secret, but then again, she’d never heard anyone talk about it. “Um . . . can we skip that part? I’m not sure if it’s public knowledge. And I really don’t know anything more about it.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll confirm it with Solo before I print it.” Burwell looked as though he’d swallowed an entire cream puff.

  With a sinking feeling, Donna finished the interview—­embellishing as much as she dared. Darn her overactive imagination and inability to think before she blurted things out. What if she’d revealed something Mike didn’t want the world to know? As soon as she escaped from You Bet I Do, she called Mike.

  “Quick question. Do ­people know about your kidney?”

  “What ­people?”

  “Just . . . ­people. ­People in Kilby. ­People who might read the Kilby Press-­Herald.”

  Mike’s creative swearwords were all the answer she needed. She groaned. “I’m sorry, Mike. If Burwell Brown calls you, you can just tell him it was a misunderstanding. That I had it wrong, or I was delusional, or drunk, or anything.”

  “You know I can’t do that. That’ll defeat the whole purpose of the interview. Let me think. Just . . . don’t say anything for a second.”

  Blindly, she kept walking toward her Kia, barely noticing the crew working on the utility pole and the new blossoms on the jacaranda trees. If she’d completely ruined things for Mike, she’d have a hard time forgiving herself. He’d put himself out for her—­again—­and again she’d brought him nothing but trouble.

  “What exactly did you tell him?”

  “Well, among other things that you can skip over if he puts them in the article, I told him that you donated a kidney to your brother. I didn’t say his name, or when it happened, or anything like that. I said it proved you’d do anything for your family.”

  “Hmm. Well, maybe that’s not so bad. Management already knows, but I never told the guys on the team. It won’t be a problem if they know. Maybe I’ll get a few extra beers out of it, knowing them. Sick bastards.”

  She blew out a breath of relief. By the lighter tone of his voice, she knew it would be okay. “I’m sorry, Mike. You keep doing things for me and all I do for you is cause trouble.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” His voice acquired a husky edge. “But if you want to make it up to me, I won’t say no. Come to the game.”

  “I’m on my way to work right now. Busy day. There seems to be a cavity epidemic lately. And everyone wants to ask me about my engagement. By the way, my lawyer wants to send you flowers. Since she usually lectures me on my bad behavior, it’s a nice change.”

  “I’ve been thinking. I think you should quit that job.”

&nbs
p; “What?”

  “I can support you. And that gives you more time to be home with Zack. The judge will appreciate that.”

  Donna had to lean against a lamppost because the world seemed to be swaying around her. Stay home with Zack? She’d never even pictured that possibility. Her highest hope had been to earn enough to cut back on her hours and get the best possible day care for him. Stay home?

  For a crazy moment, she wondered if Mike had literally been sent from heaven to improve her life. Then her natural skepticism crept in. “Is this whole thing a big prank? Maybe Hamilton Wade put you up to it, out of revenge?”

  “Donna. Come on. How many times do I have to prove that I actually want to be with you?”

  A certain three-­word phrase might help, but she knew that wasn’t coming.

  “Come to a game this weekend, Donna. We’re having fireworks for Memorial Day, some military tributes. Come early, I’ll show you around the stadium. The more we’re seen together, the better. Lots of ­people come to the games. Hundreds. Sometimes thousands.”

  The thought of watching Mike play baseball again made her weak in the knees. He was so sexy in his lobster suit. “I wish I could bring Zack again. He’s with the Hannigans this weekend.”

  “I’m sure we can find ways to have fun without him.”

  They did. As Mike was showing her around the ballpark, he pointed out a closet where the on-­staff physical therapist kept her supplies. Since they couldn’t pass up a chance to explore another small, claustrophobic space, they slipped into it and locked the door from the inside.

  “Terry isn’t going to like this. She guards her territory like a junkyard dog,” Mike murmured as they slid into each other’s arms like seals sliding into the ocean, as if a shared embrace was their natural habitat. As always when Mike touched her, Donna fell into a dreamlike excitement, her senses overwhelmed, the way a fever disorients the brain. She felt Mike’s knowing hands find all the spots that drove her crazy, felt liquid spring between her thighs, her nipples tighten. This time, she stopped him.