For Another Day (One Strike Away Book 2)

by Mary J. Williams

  "I had in mind putting together something other than our heads," Rowan said, her fingers brushing his zipper. "Do you think you can rise to the occasion?"

  "If you want to find out, move your hand a little further. Ever had sex on the side of a well-lit highway?"

  "Threat?" Rowan asked. "Or promise?"

  Somehow, Nick managed to keep his eyes on the road while simultaneously sending her a smoldering look. Talent, indeed.

  "Threats are for wimps."

  Rowan looked out the window. There were a surprising number of lights. Why hadn't she noticed before? Her reputation would survive getting caught having sex on a public thoroughfare. But why risk the embarrassment? They weren't horny teenagers unable to control their hormones.

  Glancing at Nick, Rowan felt a rush of electricity. Not a teenager, but her hormones weren't acting as if they were aware of that fact.

  "How soon until we turn onto a dark side road?"

  On cue, the built-in GPS system told Nick to turn right in two miles.

  "I can wait that long. Can you?"

  Nick hissed—pleasure, not pain—as Rowan cupped him through the material of his jeans.

  "You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

  Unconcerned, Rowan squeezed, her breath hitching when she felt Nick's hard length grow until she wondered how he could stand the tight constraints imposed by the unforgiving denim.

  "I thought you liked to play."

  "I do. When I get a turn."

  Nick swerved off the highway onto an unpaved side road. Rowan bounced in her seat, but not enough to displace the hand. Perhaps her grip tightened—just a bit—causing him to suck in his breath.

  "Are you okay?" Rowan asked, trying to sound contrite. She failed miserably.

  "I will be. Soon."

  The side road had a side road. How Nick found what was really little more than a path hidden by a group of trees—in the dark—Rowan would never know. He rolled to a stop, turning the engine off.

  "We'll get cold without the heater."

  Rowan grinned at her own foolishness. The fire in Nick's eyes alone could heat a small town.

  Unsnapping Rowan's pants. In one motion, he had them and her underwear down her hips.

  "Raise your legs.

  The position should have been awkward. Because Rowan still wore her boots, her jeans were firmly ensconced around her ankles. Nick slipped between her thighs, spreading them wide enough to snugly accommodate his lean, hard body.

  Gasping, Rowan closed her eyes as Nick entered her in one powerful thrust.

  "Mm." The man was good. Very good. "You've done this before."

  "Sex?" Nick breathed in her ear, making Rowan shiver. "Sure. Once or twice."

  Since turnabout was fair play, Rowan found Nick's ear with her teeth.

  "You know what I meant."

  "Never like this. Cars are too small—as a rule. But with you, I've changed my mind." He sank deeper. "Best. Place. Ever."

  Five minutes later, adjusting her clothes, Rowan had to agree. Still winded and thoroughly satisfied, she couldn't stop smiling.

  "So beautiful." Nick gave her a lingering kiss. Sweet and tender. "Ready to continue our journey?"

  "Think we can get there without another unplanned stop?"

  Chuckling, Nick started the engine.

  "Probably. If you keep your hands to yourself."

  "I'll try," Rowan said, laughing with him. "But I can't make any promises."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  "MARSHA CALLS THIS a cabin? I don't think so."

  Rowan stared at the building wondering if they had the wrong place.

  "A little shack in the woods doesn't need a caretaker," Nick told her as he unloaded their things. "But I agree. Marsha undersold this place just a little."

  Rustic chic? Was that even a thing? Rowan figured the term fit. The logs—hewn by hand, no doubt—were huge. Which made sense. So was the house. The porch alone could hold a hundred people comfortably. She could almost see the beautiful people dressed in white, sipping some ridiculous cocktail invented especially for the occasion.

  "Too many Dynasty reruns."

  "Whatever you're daydreaming about, save it for tomorrow. The temperature is dropping as we speak. Let's get inside."

  "How many rooms do you think this place has?"

  "While I light a fire, you can count." Nick opened the door, standing aside for Rowan to enter.

  "Somebody beat you to the punch."

  On the far side of a huge living room, a stone fireplace dominated the wall. The wood inside was ablaze.

  "A cheery welcome."

  "And a dangerous one."

  "Don't worry. I would never leave a fire untended."

  Startled, Rowan spun around. A small, wiry-looking man of indeterminate age set their suitcases by the stairs. A big, welcoming smile on his face, he held out his hand.

  "Name's Jimmy Sears. No relation to the store."

  Shaking his hand, Rowan had to smile back. Jimmy had that kind of face. One that drew a person in.

  "You must be Marsha's caretaker," Nick said.

  "Right the first time. I live about three miles up the mountain. Take care of several homes 'round these parts. Lots of city folks build vacation places. I'm one of a handful of year-round residents."

  "We appreciate the fire."

  "All part of the job. There's plenty of split wood in a pile just outside the back door." Jimmy tipped his head in the direction of the kitchen. "I'll bring in the last of your bags then get out of your way. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call. If I'm not around, my wife will take a message."

  "Thank you, Jimmy." Rowan looked at Nick. "Want some tea?"

  "Sounds good. And something to eat. Marsha mentioned that Jimmy stocked the fridge."

  "Angie already took care of dinner."

  Rowan picked up the wicker basket sitting next to their suitcases, sitting it on the granite countertop.

  "You unpack that while I heat up the water."

  The cupboards were well organized—another thank you to Jimmy. With little trouble, Rowan found a canister of loose-leaf tea and two heavy ceramic mugs. She filled the electric kettle which sported more buttons and settings than she had ever seen on a small appliance.

  "There's enough food here for a small army." Nick lifted the lid on one of the containers, breathing in the aroma. "I don't know what this is, but I think I'm in love."

  "When food is involved, Angie believes the more, the better." Rowan opened another container. "Ravioli. My favorite. Green salad with her special dressing. Black olives. Spaghetti. Manicotti. Chicken Parmesan. Antipasto."

  "Tiramisu?" Nick showed her the luscious dessert.

  "Angie developed most of her own dishes. But the tiramisu is her Grandma Fiorina's secret recipe. I don't know what's in it, but I've never tasted better."

  "Remind me to send Angie a dozen thank-you roses." Nick swiped his finger through the sauce covering the spaghetti, his eyes closing with pleasure. "Roses aren't good enough."

  "Angie's favorite flower is a gardenia," Rowan said, amused by Nick's reaction.

  "Mm. The woman could open a restaurant in any city in the world. Including Rome. The lines would be around the corner."

  "You hit Angie's dream right on the head. World-famous restaurateur. She has the drive and ambition."

  "I know some investors who are always on the lookout for a new, surefire project. If you don't think Angie would mind, I could give them a call."

  Rowan stared at Nick. Was he for real? All Angie needed was that first hand up. But finding somebody to believe in her—as Rowan knew from bitter experience—wasn't easy.

  A phone call might not seem like much. But for Angie, Nick's one gesture could change her world forever.

  Rowan wrapped her arms around Nick. He was
n't playing games. He didn't expect a favor in return. She had always hoped men like him existed. Finding proof lightened her outlook on his sex considerably.

  On tiptoe, she kissed his cheek.

  "You're a good man."

  "Is that a yes?" Nick asked, smoothing back her hair.

  "Yes, please. With a cherry on top."

  "I can't make any guarantees. But I'll call as soon as we get back to Jasper."

  They ate in front of the fire, spreading their feast out on the mahogany coffee table. A little of this, a lot of that. In no hurry, they sampled everything ending with a shared helping of dessert.

  "Is Grandma Fiorina still around?"

  "Happy, healthy, and living with her third husband in Arizona."

  "Any chance she might leave him for a younger man?"

  Rowan chuckled. "I've met husband number three. He's a babe. Seventy-six. Has a thick head of hair. Works out daily. And absolutely adores his wife. They share the same interests. Go dancing every week. And he makes her laugh."

  "Sounds nice."

  "Yes. It does."

  Nick rolled to his feet. Across the room, he perused a stack of CDs, picking one. A slow, romantic tune filled the air.

  "I'm a little rusty, but if you're willing, so am I."

  Surprised, Rowan took Nick's hand.

  "You dance?"

  "I shuffle." He moved them off the rug, onto the hardwood floor. "Sorry I can't promise any fancy moves."

  "Fancy is way overrated." Rowan rested her head on Nick's shoulder. "I can't remember the last time I danced. With a man."

  "You dance with women?"

  "Sure. Angie and I will get out on the dance floor anytime the music moves us. And we've been nicely lubricated by a margarita or two."

  "I hope I live up to Angie's standards."

  "Better." Snuggling closer, Rowan hoped the song never ended. "So much better."

  Rowan lost track of time as one song led to another and another. The fire crackled, the lights were low. The night was… perfect. No other word fit. She wouldn't have changed a thing.

  "Why don't you head up to bed? I'll bank the fire and put away the food."

  "I can help."

  Nick's kiss held the promise of more.

  "Tomorrow, you can handle clean up duty." He turned her toward the stairs. "Go. I'll be up in a few minutes."

  Before Jimmy left, he carried their bags up to the master bedroom. Though they tried to insist the gesture wasn't necessary. All part of my job. Jimmy took pride in what he did. And wouldn't hear of taking Nick's offered tip.

  Rowan easily found the room at the end of the hall. She hadn't gotten around to counting, but on this side of the house, there were six doors before she reached the master. She wondered how often they were all filled. Or perhaps Marsha simply liked variety. A different bed every night?

  Huge was Rowan's first impression. Truly a room fit for the master of the house. Or in this case, the mistress. In a pinch, Marsha could have rented out the walk-in closet. And the bathroom. Combined, their square footage surpassed Rowan's entire house.

  Maybe Rowan exaggerated. But not by much.

  Her nightly rituals were complicated. With a clean, moisturized face and freshly brushed teeth, she was ready for bed. Opening her suitcase, she had the choice of silk or flannel. One was practical. The other a wispy male fantasy.

  All day, Nick had put her first. Even now, he tidied up so she could relax. He deserved a treat.

  Quickly shedding her clothes, Rowan slipped the whisper of silk over her head. Feet bare, she walked to the fireplace. Ready to light, she had the blaze going in no time.

  All she had left to do was turn down the covers, crawl into bed, and arrange herself in what she hoped was an alluring, provocative pose.

  Nick didn't keep her waiting long. And Rowan quickly discovered Angie was right. Look in his eyes. The flair of pleasure told her she'd made the right choice of nightwear.

  "All for me?" he asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

  "Like what you see?"

  Silly question. But Rowan, her skin tingling as Nick's dark gaze devoured every inch of her, couldn't wait to hear the answer.

  "Oh, yes," he nodded slowly. His shirt hit the floor. Followed by his boots and socks. "I'm a very, very, lucky man. Give me five minutes. And don't move."

  Where would she go? Everything Rowan wanted was right here. She kept her eyes on the thin line of light under the bathroom door. When it went dark, she took a deep breath of anticipation.

  The door opened, Nick stepped out. Naked. Exactly how Rowan liked him. The firelight highlighted every rippling muscle as he walked across the room, stopping at the foot of the bed.

  The mattress dipped. Nick crawled toward her on his hands and knees.

  "We aren't going to get much sleep," he warned, his hand sliding up Rowan's leg.

  Rowan sat up with a welcoming smile.

  "I can sleep anytime. Tonight, all I want is you."

  SNOW BLANKETED THE ground, the skies having deposited several inches the night before. But the white stuff didn't stop Nick from taking his morning run. He knew the dangers of slacking off on a regimented off-season routine.

  More times than Nick could count, he'd been witness to teammates reporting to Spring Training overweight and out of shape. Months were spent trying to catch up, time they should have spent simply playing the game.

  The fresh snow cushioned the sound of Nick's feet hitting the road. His shoes—the ones he packed when he traveled—were designed for all-season running. Another time, he would have veered off into the woods to enjoy a little tougher terrain.

  However, sometimes the snow literally was a blanket, hiding obstacles from his ever-vigilant eyes. The last thing he needed was a twisted ankle, or worse, a broken one. Not to mention the possible collateral damage to his hands or arms as he tried to cushion his fall.

  Better safe than sorry. Nick's body was his livelihood. Some injuries were unavoidable, but he couldn't take a chance on his own stupidity knocking him out of the game.

  Knowing his body, Nick estimated he'd run close to his seven miles a day target. Once the regular season started, he would cut back on the roadwork. A treadmill and time in the weight room were enough during the long six-month campaign.

  The cabin came into view as Nick rounded the corner. Sprinting the last hundred yards, he jogged up the steps, tapping the snow from his shoes before removing them. The laces were soaked through, so instead of untying them, he toed off the sneakers.

  Taking the key from his pocket, he opened the front door. He could have left the door unlocked. Who would try to break in way out here in the middle of nowhere? Nick wasn't worried about thieves. His concern had to do with leaving Rowan alone.

  Weirdos, creeps, and villains didn't just lurk in cities.

  A burst of heat greeted Nick, reminding him that though the exercise had provided his body with the illusion of warmth, in truth, the temperature outside barely skimmed the upper teens. His skin felt clammy and icy cold.

  The thought of a long, steamy shower put an extra spring in his step.

  "Coffee." Breathing deeply, Nick dropped his shoes, detouring toward the kitchen. "I smell coffee."

  "And bacon." Rowan rushed to pour Nick a cup of liquid caffeine. "The waffle batter is ready for the iron as soon as you're ready for a waffle."

  "I hoped you'd still be in bed."

  "You're lousy at sneaking out of bed. After you left for your run, I explored the house, taking advantage of the workout area in the basement. You should check the place out. I've been to high-end gyms with less equipment."

  Conscious of his sweaty state, Nick tried to spare Rowan, planning on a quick kiss. She wasn't buying.

  "I'm a mess," he protested when she hugged him close.

  "You're like ice." Rowan's warm hands snuck under his hoodie and t-shirt, rubbing his bare back vigorously. "Why don't I draw you a bath?
From the size of the tub, you can have a good soak all the way up to your neck."

  "I'll start the bath. You grab the coffee."

  Nick nipped at Rowan's neck, eliciting a low, husky moan. The sound had zoomed to the top of his favorites, beating out the roar of a crowd after he lofted a long, high home run over the centerfield fence.

  "Me? I've already had a shower."

  "We're going in the water to get dirty, not clean."

  "Where do you get the stamina?" Rowan asked. But her disbelief didn't stop her from turning off the waffle iron. "After last night, I thought you would need at least half a day to recover."

  "You inspire me. Five minutes. And don't forget the coffee. You know what?" Nick grabbed a mug, filling the dark liquid to the rim. "I'll take mine with me."

  Brushing another kiss across her lips, his gaze locked with Rowan's. Her blue eyes brimmed with laughter—and desire. A potent combination.

  "Make that four minutes." Nick took a sip of coffee before hurrying up the stairs. At the top, he leaned over, catching Rowan's attention. "Three and a half."

  "If you don't hurry, I'll be there before you start."

  "Start without you?" Nick slowly shook his head. "Never."

  IN A BLINK, Saturday became Sunday. Then Monday. And Tuesday. Nick didn't have much difficulty talking Rowan into staying until Wednesday morning. His appointment with Cartwright wasn't until the afternoon. Why not enjoy each other and their surroundings until the last minute?

  They went for long walks. Talked for hours about nothing and everything. Nick told Rowan about his mother's last days and her wish to have her ashes strewn over a flower-covered hillside.

  Rowan told him about her engagement. To this day, she wasn't certain why she agreed to marry Wilton Jacobs. A lapse in good judgment? Temporary insanity. Though according to her family, she was crazy for not taking him back.

  When Rowan spoke of her early childhood—before Leo—her voice took on a wistful quality.

  "I don't know if I remember my father. Maybe my memories are wishful thinking. But in my mind, he was wonderful. He loved us. We had a good life, never wanting for anything. I know my mother was happy. A thirty-six-year-old man isn't supposed to die of a massive heart attack."