by Joanne Rock
“No.” The tension didn’t leave her shoulders. “I just wondered about what you said to Diego at breakfast. That stuff about your dad.”
In the same way one player’s anxiety about a game could affect a whole locker room, Amber’s tension was now his own. But he’d dodged this kind of thing from reporters for years. He had no intention of trotting out anything more than the status quo. His time with Amber was supposed to be about de-stressing, not confronting skeletons in the closet.
“Fire away.” He forced his voice into that easy, trust-me octave that could convince the press—and his rivals—that a star player’s injury was nothing serious.
Sometimes being a manager meant being a master of spin.
“Did you let Diego think you had something in common with him to make him feel better? Or do you honestly believe his playing career made it okay that you were ignored by your father?”
Heath blinked. Processing.
He was pretty sure his trust-me expression had frozen onto his features.
“Wow. I forgot what a straight shooter you are.” He’d never met a woman like her. Direct. Forthcoming. No games.
Hell, he didn’t know if he could match that uncompromising honesty. And he’d been worried about her playing him to get near a star? The idea had become so ludicrous to him in the past twenty-four hours that he wondered how he’d ever dreamed it up in the first place.
“I don’t mean to pry.” She backpedalled, no doubt sensing she’d stepped in over her head. “I was just blown away to think you could forgive a father for something like that, but then again I really hated to think you’d say that to Diego just to—”
“Don’t even finish the thought.” He lowered himself onto her bed beside the suitcase she’d placed there. “I would never concoct a story to manipulate my guys like that. I might hype up Boston to get them to play for me, and I might talk up east coast women like they’re the hottest to ever walk the earth to tempt the holdouts. But I’d never be dishonest with them.”
She moved toward a dresser tucked between two bookshelves and opened the drawers, top to bottom, pulling out shorts and tank tops. The sight cheered him, assuring him that he would have her all to himself tonight.
“I should have known.” She tossed the assortment of cotton in the suitcase and stepped closer to him. “You were good to Diego last night, letting him have a place to stay. And you must have been trying to help him out last week by giving him some time at the Nantucket house.”
“It’s tough for the young guys. Everybody wants something from them. They don’t know who to trust. Most of the people they meet only want access to a lifestyle. So they romanticize old relationships because at least before they made it big, they knew they were involved with people who genuinely cared about them.”
“And you can relate because you’ve been there.” Amber wrapped her hand around his.
He wanted to pull her into his lap and hold her there, but he knew the moment called for some nod to her original question about his father.
“Relating to the players is a big part of the job. But I don’t bring up the topic of my dad too often since I don’t like being compared to him. I still don’t see him all that much, but I forgave him a long time ago for ditching the parenting role. There are some people who do more damage than good by hanging around.”
She frowned and he sensed that comment only stirred up more questions on her part. Damn it. Maybe they weren’t going to be able to keep things simple between them, after all.
But then her expression cleared and she nodded thoughtfully.
“Okay. One last question before I finish packing.” She pinned him with a level stare and he wondered what she could fire his way next. Something about his screwed-up childhood? His failing career?
He steeled himself.
“What I really want to know is—and be honest—do you think it makes me less of a nerd if I told you I read wearing—” she dug into a drawer and shook out a tiny scrap of lace and satin that blew his mind “—nothing but this?”
8
MAYBE AMBER HAD BEEN a coward to back down from the conversation that would have helped her understand Heath better.
But by the relief in his eyes when she’d let him off the hook made her feel as if she’d just given him a Christmas present. She enjoyed making him happy. She still couldn’t believe she had that power over this sexy man.
He tugged her closer until she stood between his legs where he sat on her bed. His suntanned skin made him look like a swarthy, stubble-faced pirate on a sea of white chenille. He slipped the satin merry widow from her fingers and let it fall to the bed, all his focus on her.
“You’d be sexy wearing anything. And it’s not the books that run the risk of making you nerdy.” A grin teased his lips as he bracketed her waist in his hands. “It’s the fact that you dressed them all up in matching outfits like paper dolls.”
His fingers slid under her blouse to palm her bare spine. She liked fitting there, between his thighs, warm and safe and teasing. In fact, she liked everything about the man and the moment, including the knowledge that he seemed to want her as much as she really, really wanted him.
“I’ll have you know that my volumes will last longer because of those book jackets.” She steadied herself against him, bracing her hands on his shoulders as he tipped her forward, closer.
“Face it, Amber. Color coding your book covers is treading strongly into obsessive-compulsive terrain.” His hands spanned her ribs and skimmed upward, higher, until he cupped her breasts in his palms.
Pleasurable shivers arced through her, heating her blood and reminding her what sex had been like with him the first time. How generous he’d been. How he’d made her feel special when she’d been flat-out afraid of failure.
“I’ll stick with nerdy, thanks. And at least here we don’t have third basemen ringing the doorbell to interrupt.”
A fortunate thing, because she really wanted to see where this would lead. Her heart skipped and started a jerky rhythm as Heath eased the cups of her bra down. Capturing the taut peaks of her breasts between his fingers, he rolled the tips against his knuckles. His eyes never left her face, cataloging her expression and response.
Could he tell that he made her insides melt?
“You make a good point. Because if the phone rings or someone knocks on the door now, I’d really like to ignore them.” He released her long enough to unhook the bra and tumble her down to the bed with him. Over him.
“Lucky for you, reviewing so many books every month seriously cuts into my social time. My friends don’t ever come around to try to drag me out of the house anymore.” She also didn’t usually have a hot man in her bed that made her feel beautiful.
But this week was all about pushing out of her comfort zone.
“Lucky for you, I think book reviewers are really hot.” He tugged her blouse off, whipping it across the room as if it had been a frustrating impediment to the breasts he now kissed and licked.
He didn’t rush, even with a plane to catch in a couple of hours. Instead, he flipped her to her back and nudged her suitcase off the bed with his toes.
“It’s a blast being lucky,” she murmured, her eyelashes falling to half-mast with the instinct to shut out everything but what Heath made her feel. She couldn’t close them completely, though, not with the temptation of peeking at Heath’s hard, honed body.
What an incredible-looking man. She had never taken the time to salivate over athletes on television before. First, because she didn’t really watch sports, or much TV for that matter. Second, because she’d unfairly stereotyped athletes as jocks who were more interested in bodies than brains.
And while that hadn’t turned out to be true with Heath—clearly he appreciated her brain or he wouldn’t have asked her to spend more time with him—she had to admit that she’d begun to see the appeal of raw male muscle.
It was so much more than the ability to swing a bat or run fast. It represented a d
edication to excellence that she’d never thought about before. Plus, just the feel of that sinewy strength pressed against her body put her halfway to orgasmic.
Now, he unfastened her jeans and peered up at her with a dark, sexy stare that made her smolder.
“No more thinking,” he reminded her, just the way he had the last time he sent her careening into sensual bliss.
For a woman who’d built a career on thought and words, she had to smile at the dictate. It warmed her heart that he would remember her hang-up and caution her to avoid it.
“My brain is blank.” She closed her eyes now, settling the restless churn of thoughts so she could concentrate on just this moment.
He cradled her cheek and skimmed a thumb along her jaw.
“You can still look at me.” His voice in her ear startled her eyes open as much as the words. “I like your eyes on me.”
They connected in that moment. Amber felt the jolt as their gazes met. Locked. Whereas two nights ago had been all about want, need and desire, another element awakened just then to add to the mix of emotions.
Amber could not analyze it, though. Heath had succeeded in stripping her down to her panties, and he palmed the warmth between her legs through the white silk.
She gasped at the feel of him there, her mouth falling open while her pulse throbbed fast against his hand.
“That’s better,” he crooned, encouraging her with soft words as his fingers played over her sensitive flesh.
She clutched his shoulders, knowing if she could keep him there—right there—she would be spiraling off into bliss in no time.
HEATH LIKED THE BITE of Amber’s short nails in his skin, the soft sting against his back telling him that she was long past thinking and ready to feel.
He’d remembered that part from the last time he’d been able to touch her. Take her. She’d been thoughtful and still for a while, and then something had hit a switch for her and she’d lost herself to the moment so fully that he’d hardly recognized his brainy, cerebral lover.
The nails in his shoulder told him she’d arrived at that place now, and he felt like a few million bucks to know he could do that for her. It made holding back so damn worthwhile. He’d been ready for her since the previous night, so ready that he would have gladly jumped her the second they’d walked through her apartment door. But he’d waited and—damn—payback was sweet.
The soft cries in his ear were like Morse code for what she wanted, the notes higher and sweeter when she was getting close to the edge. He could have brought her there quickly, her body hot and wet and very ready for him.
But he drew out the pleasure to make it last for her. When she teetered too close to that sensual precipice, he allowed his fingers to wander away and tug her panties off. Or trace a damp pattern with her wetness along the inside of her thigh.
“Heath.” She flexed her fingers against his shoulder, her thigh hitching higher along the outside of his leg. “I’m so close. So—”
A low moan trembled through her. Everything remained suspended for a long moment. Then her cry filled the room, drowning out the soft whir of a ceiling fan overhead.
He held her tighter, absorbing the shock waves that rocked her body inside and out, anchoring her through the pleasure. He wanted his scent on her body and his voice in her ear when she came. If he only had these days with her, he would imprint himself on her so thoroughly she would never forget.
When the tremors eased, he released her enough to retrieve a condom from the pocket of his jacket that he’d tossed on the pillow.
“I’ll do it.” Amber surprised him by snatching the wrapper from his hand. Then, she seemed to second-guess herself. “Can I?”
Rolling onto his back, he gave her room to work. Her cheeks were still flushed from the orgasm, her dark hair slipping free from the tight braid so that she looked like a sweet, sexy mess.
“I’m yours to do with as you see fit.” His blood ran hot and his cock had been stiff for hours. “But you might want to be, uh, no-nonsense in your approach. I’m loaded and ready.”
Her gaze flashed to his and he could see the nervous excitement there.
“I’ll try not to get too distracted.” She had the wrapper off and prophylactic in hand. Her gaze dipped southward toward his boxers, erected like a damn circus tent. “But it might not be easy.”
She might as well have stroked him with her tongue. His cock stirred and throbbed. Seeming to sense the urgency, she worked to free him from the boxers. Still, by the time she rolled the condom on, he had no choice but to take charge again before he lost it all over her.
He thrust deep, burying himself inside her. Then stayed there for a long moment to collect himself. Sweat popped along his forehead and his back, the effort of holding back rapidly catching up to him. He bracketed her shoulders with his hands in the bedspread, levering himself above her to find the right angle that would take her to that sensual ledge all over again. This time, she seemed to know what she wanted, wrapping her legs around his hips and lifting to meet each thrust.
As he followed the song of her gasps and moans, he didn’t let go until he heard that high, keening note in her throat. Only then did he move as deep, as hard and as fast as he wanted, chasing that perfect pleasure until it steamrolled him.
Bliss filled his veins like an illicit drug, a heady rush that bowled him over and made his blood boil. It was a union as un-freaking-real as anything he’d ever felt in his life.
He had no business getting involved. No right to bring a woman on the most important road trip of his life.
Furthermore, the brainy reviewer and the driven athlete made no sense together.
But no matter that nothing added up. He couldn’t wait to have this woman all to himself.
9
AMBER HANDED HER champagne glass to the flight attendant on her way off the plane with regret, thinking she could get used to flying first-class.
Hitching her bag on her shoulder, she followed a few men in suits who’d sat in front of her on the commercial flight, winding through the jetway and into the concourse. Heath had apologized for not being able to seat her on the team’s chartered aircraft, explaining that he could only bring the team, the trainers and Aces’ staffers on board. But he’d meet her at LAX as soon as her plane landed since they got in at the same time.
No skin off her nose. She’d never experienced the luxury of a seat on an airline that left her room to cross her legs and served her peanuts before anyone else even got on board. She couldn’t imagine what a first-class seat reserved just hours in advance must have cost. Probably enough to pay her mortgage for a month. Possibly two.
Her cell phone buzzed in the pocket of her long linen shorts and she pulled it out to answer as she dodged two little boys chasing each other while engaged in a swordfight with paper straws.
“I’m never flying coach again,” she answered, knowing Heath would be on the other end, looking for her.
She stood on her toes to try to see him ahead of her as she rode the escalator down to the exits for ground transportation.
“Amber?” The voice in her ear was not the low, sexy growl she thought it would be.
In fact, just then she spotted Heath waiting for her by the doors, just as he’d promised. And he didn’t have a cell phone in his hand.
“Brent?” Her forward progress slowed. Halted.
A woman behind her bumped into her and then went around with a muttered oath about cell phones being the work of the devil.
“Where are you?” her ex-boyfriend asked, not bothering to answer her question.
And well, duh, she recognized his voice just from hearing him say her name. How many weeks had she gone hoping he’d give her a call and see the error of his ways, if only so she could tell him to taking a flying leap off a short building?
“I just touched down in L.A.” She didn’t tell him to make her life sound exciting—it hadn’t been until two days ago—but so he wouldn’t fret. One thing she’d credit
Brent with was that even if he thought she was an Arctic breeze in the bedroom, he would still worry about her if she refused to tell him where she was. “I’m meeting some friends.”
Up ahead, Heath appeared concerned. He started toward her as she ducked out of the rush of humanity toward the exits. Her butt hit the wall of free phones for local hotels.
“You’re in Los Angeles?” He didn’t sound relieved to know where she was. “Your paper is on hard times, your section might get scrapped, your job is in jeopardy and yet you found time to make a run for the Pacific? What the hell are you doing there?”
She straightened, not appreciating his tone one bit.
“I’m sure it’s no concern of yours,” she told him coolly, half wishing she’d told him she couldn’t talk because she was in bed with her new lover. Her eyes went to Heath, who was only a few steps away now. “What did you want, Brent? I’m really busy.”
“I’m sorry.” His tone was conciliatory. “I e-mailed you a couple of days ago to see if you had time to talk. When I hadn’t heard back—”
“You hoped to talk?” She wished that sentiment didn’t make her feel like a wrung-out washcloth, but it did. “Doesn’t that fall into the too-little-too-late category?”
She wanted to hang up on him. Truly, she did. Heath stood beside her with his overwhelming sexiness and his thoughtful concern for her, having paid a boatload to transport her here for a few days. But how could she cut Brent off at the knees when Heath would vacate her life and leave her with the Brents of the world?
As much as she resented Brent personally, she owed it to herself to try to recognize what went wrong with him. That way, she would do better the next time when she—inevitably—ended up with that same type of quiet, practical, steady guy.
“I just need to see you, okay? I need to explain about some of the things that happened. Will you call me when you get back in town?”
Her eyes slid to Heath, who tugged her rolling suitcase out of the path of pedestrians. He withdrew his cell and made a quick call of his own.