League of Her Own

by Faith O'Shea

  “Actually, that’s what you have been for close to a week.”

  There was mischief in his eyes, and a slight smirk on his mouth.

  She said breezily, “As they say, all good things must come to an end.”

  She slid off the stool and was about to take the empty plates to the sink, but the movement alone caused his body to stir. He snaked his arm around her waist and nestled her between his legs.

  When his lips settled on hers, he felt the sparks he thought might fade, in all their vibrant colors.

  “Not yet. Please, not yet.”

  She acquiesced more easily than he’d thought she would, slid her arms around his neck. Before he could edit the thought, he asked, “Who called you earlier?”

  She dipped her eyes and said softly, “No one you’d know.”

  He tightened his hold on her. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

  Her eyes shot up and met his. “I wouldn’t be here, like this, if I did.”

  “Good to know.”

  “You can’t keep—”

  He silenced her with a hard kiss. He liked knowing she would devote herself to one man at a time. He was going to make sure that man was him as long as he could.

  It was his cell that signaled an incoming this time, not a call but a text. “This might be it.”

  His voice was tight, apprehension now coursing through him.

  “What?”

  “It’s the Greenliners front office.” He’d read the partial message before swiping and reading the full text out loud.

  We have just reached an agreement with Mac Calipari and he has been hired as the new manager of the Greenliners. He will be assuming Jethro Farina’s duties immediately and will be handling all administrative concerns. He will be contacting all players and staff to discuss their futures with the team. He has a lot of ground to cover with spring training just weeks away, and I expect full cooperation from everyone involved.

  “Looks like speculation was right on target.” It wasn’t a surprise. He had the managerial experience to take this on, even if it wasn’t at this level. Was it his history with the team that had sealed the deal? Or his standing in the minors?

  Fifi had an expression of concern on her face but not for the reason he’d thought.

  “Poor Seb. Do you think he’ll be traded?”

  He shook his head, not willing to believe the new manager could be so vindictive.

  “Calipari is supposed to be a genius. I can’t see him letting a kid breaking up with his daughter five or six years ago have any bearing on what’s good for the team.”

  “But Seb hasn’t played for the team yet. He doesn’t have a history or any stats that would support any kind of move.”

  “Seb’s been generating talk for the last couple of years. He’s been touted as one of their up-and- coming stars, had been called up often enough they know what he can do out there. He’s the future of the team. Why would Mac throw that kind of talent away?”

  She met his eyes with hers. Hadn’t management done it to him? He had the same kind of status in the minors, had been promoted to the big league with the same kind of promise.

  “Seb gives it everything he has. That’s the difference. It’s Leo and the other coaches that might be at risk.”

  “Calipari will bring his own people with him?”

  “They usually do.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the family room.

  “Come on, let’s put on the MLB station. The story should break soon, and I want to see what they have to say about it.”

  She resisted. “I should take Hoover for her walk. I haven’t gotten to it yet today.”

  “Just let her out. She doesn’t really need a walk, does she?”

  “Part of my job, and unfortunately, I’m the responsible kind.”

  “Are you trying to tell me, in not so many words, that you’re not as anxious to hear about my new manager as I am?”

  “Actually, I do want to hear about him. I’m a fan, you know. I have the hat and sweatshirt to prove it.”

  “Tell you what. We’ll watch the interviews together and then we’ll both take Hoover for her walk.”

  And that’s what they did. She was surprised that he kept his word, but as soon as they’d listened to every scrap of information in the ether about the new Greenliner coach, they walked Hoover to her heart’s content, all within the limits of street lighting, debating all the while the pros and cons of the upcoming season.

  When they got back, he went beyond surprise to stunning the life out of her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Let’s go dancing.”

  “What? It’s almost nine o’clock.”

  “Most places don’t even open until ten.”

  Trying her best not to let the panic show, she stuttered out, “I thought you weren’t going to party?”

  “I won’t be partying. I’ll be with you.”

  She wasn’t sure how to take that, but she had other more important things to worry about.

  “I don’t have anything appropriate to wear. Besides, I don’t dance.”

  Visions of him at Izabella’s wedding came back with vivid details of his smooth moves across the floor. She could never keep up with him.

  “Everybody dances. Whether they do it well or not is the only thing debatable.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “That doesn’t solve the problem of my inadequate wardrobe.”

  “You can borrow something of Izabella’s.”

  Feeling a slow burn of embarrassment creep up her neck, she blurted out, “No, I can’t. That would be an invasion of her privacy.”

  He pulled his cell out of his pocket and next thing she knew he had the cell up to her ear as Izabella confirmed it would be fine if she borrowed something from her closet.

  Once the phone was back where it came from, he rubbed his hands as if taking pleasure in this.

  “Okay? You have permission.”

  “Are you brain-dead as well as an idiot? Haven’t you noticed there’s a little bit of a difference in our height and weight? Nothing of hers would fit me.”

  He examined her as if studying something of great import. When he was done, he met her eyes.

  “A blouse would. You must have a pair of pants that you can accentuate with something silk.”

  He took her hand and dragged her up to her room, went to the closet, and began moving hangars around.

  In apparent frustration, he spun toward her and asked, “Don’t you go out? Ever?”

  “Only when I have to.”

  “Where’s the dress you wore to brunch?”

  “In a ball ready for the dry cleaners.”

  Along with the suit she’d worn to her first interview. The one now covered in grit and probably still wet from the soaking it’d taken.

  He huffed and went back to his inspection of the closet and finally, with no other alternative, removed a pair of black knit pants.

  “These will have to do. You get ready, put these on, and I’ll find something you can wear with them.” He was on his way out, when he glanced back and said, “You can wear those ankle boots you have.”

  She stood there, tongue-tied. She hadn’t even agreed to go out and here she was being dressed by a man she’d known for just over a week. And she was letting him.

  He came rushing back in, a top more jersey than blouse, in his hand. It was a sequined, ruffled number in tomato red. She knew it would have looked fabulous on Izabella but on her? She wasn’t taking odds.

  “Here. Get moving. I’ll throw something on, and we’ll head out.”

  “Do you even know where we’re going?”

  “Not yet. But I’ll find somewhere. You just concentrate on getting ready and I’ll take care of the rest. It’ll be fun, Fifi.”

  He looked psyched and it fueled her own curiosity about a night out with him. It would be the only one, so she might as well give in and ta
ke advantage. It wasn’t as if her dancing skills were going to make or break the relationship. There wasn’t one.

  She did as he’d suggested and spent an extra fifteen minutes in the bathroom with make-up and hair gel. When she looked at the finished product in her mirror, the red of the blouse giving her some contrasting color, she thought, Not half-bad.

  “At least I shouldn’t embarrass him.”

  “I should say you won’t.”

  He’d come into what should have been private space. He was a picture to behold, dressed in a suit, minus the tie, his fitted shirt half unbuttoned, giving her a peek at his chest hair, and she swallowed the lump that had caught in her throat.

  He buried his chin in her neck, his hands braced on her hips, and she almost swooned.

  “Mm. Something to look forward to. There’s nothing as seductive as dancing with someone. It can lead to a very satisfying night.”

  He turned her to face him, kissed her lightly on the lips, and led her out into he night.

  She was fidgety in the silence. She clasped her hands together and held them fast in her lap. As soon as they were on the highway headed for Boston, Rique asked, “When was the last time you were at a club?”

  She licked her lips and admitted, “Never.”

  She could feel his eyes on her, and the consuming heat it always provided.

  “Never? Not even in college?”

  “I was sixteen, remember? Too young to even think about sneaking in.”

  She’d watched with envy as her dorm mates would get ready on a Saturday evening, laughing, conspiring, girl talk filling the hall as they made their way out. She’d never felt so lonely.

  “I get that, but later?”

  “By then I had my routine. And I never did catch up age wise.”

  He was scowling. “You missed out on a lot because of your mother’s aggressive push.”

  “Like throwing up all night from binge drinking or waking up with a killer hangover?”

  There’d been nights she’d tended to the sick and supposedly dying. It was not something she wanted to experience for herself.

  “Those things can be avoided.”

  “Says you, Mr. Suave.”

  “Mr. Suave. Yes, it fits.”

  She looked out the window, rolling her eyes as she did.

  “I’m glad I’ll be the first one taking you. I promise to monitor your intake. I have other plans for tonight and they don’t include keeping you company as you hug the toilet bowl.”

  If she was going to hug something all night, she was going to make sure it was this man. Her time with him was running out.

  When they entered the darkened room of the dance club, the music was blaring, the floor was filled with bodies moving to the beat. He found them a bar table at the back of the room, removed her coat, and hung it on the back of the stool. As he looked around, he said, “I guess it does pay to come early.”

  A waitress was at his elbow before he finished the task and took his order; a tequila mimosa for her, a sparkling water for him.

  “I thought you were going to monitor my intake, not get me drunk?”

  “You said you liked champagne, and this is it with a twist.”

  “Tequila isn’t a twist, it’s an arm wrench.”

  He kissed her on the forehead.

  “It’ll loosen you up.”

  “I don’t need…”

  The waitress was already back and placed the sparkling orange mixed drink on a small square napkin. What was she wearing Speedo-shoes?

  Rique took a sip of his water and asked the brown-bobbed-haired female, “Can you start a tab for us, please?”

  She nodded and ran off to deliver the rest of the drinks that had been on her tray.

  Fiona lifted the flute like glass and took a sip. It was cold, tangy, and the bubbles tickled the back of her throat. The tequila gave it a punch that she probably didn’t need. Just looking at Rique gave her the same kind of rib-crushing hit.

  “Good?”

  “It is.”

  She continued to satisfy her thirst as they listened to the music in silence, Rique’s foot tapping under the table. Nervous, she was slurping at the bottom of her glass with her straw like a vacuum cleaner sucking up cookie crumbs. Loudly and with growing frustration.

  Rique flagged the waitress over to order her another. It arrived just as a new song came on, and before she could take her first sip, Rique had her hand in his, pulling her to the edge of the dance floor.

  She resisted until the music began to thrum through her. She hadn’t been honest. She did like to dance but did it in the privacy of her condo. She could get a bit crazy when immersed in a good song. And this was a good song.

  She felt her hips begin to move of their own volition, sashaying to the beat. Her eyes slid closed, and she raised her hands to the sides of her head as it kept the same tempo. When she felt Rique take her loosely in his arms, she gave in, draped herself within the embrace, and became one with the motion. He pressed her close, molded her to his body, then twirled her under his arm before reeling her back in. His hands were everywhere. Each touch was an electric shock. Each drum beat pounded in competition with her heart.

  He whispered, his breath hot and steamy against her ear, “I thought you said you didn’t dance.”

  “Not like you.”

  His fingers trailed down her arm, clasped her hand in his, pulling her back against his rock-solid form.

  “Where did you see me dance?”

  “Reid and Izabella’s wedding video. Your date was able to keep up quite well.”

  Her voice was breathy, almost seductive. It wasn’t like her but when she was with him, he did such funny things to her metabolism, she became someone else.

  “I don’t remember who I brought.”

  Her eyes flew up to meet his. “You certainly seemed pretty cozy.”

  Desire lit up his dark brown eyes. “I love to dance.”

  He proved it over the course of several more songs, most upbeat, until they finally played something slow and sensual.

  “Come here.”

  His arms were tight around her middle as he guided her in a what might have been something international, the movements precise. It wasn’t the box step, which she’d learned in dance class when she was in elementary school. He was graceful, powerful, and she could do nothing but melt against him.

  His chin was in her neck, and he began to trail light kisses along her jawbone. The heat he was generating was of the delicious carnal variety, his knee probing between her legs, as he pressed her around the floor. She could feel the bulge beneath his zipper when he arched her in, pelvis to pelvis. His moan created a yearning so abrupt it felt like a stab of pain.

  “We need to go home. Otherwise, I’ll be tempted to ravish you right here and now.”

  “This isn’t ravishment?”

  It seemed like even his eyes possessed her.

  When he crushed his lips to hers, she lost all sense of time and place. It was as if he was making love to her mouth, letting her know how he would make love to her body.

  When the music floated into nothingness, he whispered into her ear, “Why don’t you finish your drink and then we’ll go.”

  “We haven’t even been here an hour.” Now that she had a slight buzz going, she wanted to stay. Dancing with him was another mind-altering experience that she didn’t want to end.

  “It served its purpose.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Foreplay.”

  With a hint of tightly controlled restraint, he kissed her again before leading her back to their table. He helped her into her coat as she finished the last couple of mouthfuls of the tasty concoction. Even without it, she would have been light-headed. She was more intoxicated by Rique than by the tequila. The combination might prove to be lethal.

  He guided her out to the car, his adrenaline running so thick in his system that he felt like a horny teenager. He would not take her here, not that there’d
be room. He wasn’t sixteen anymore, but he couldn’t believe how hormonally challenged she was making him. He wanted her as desperately as he’d ever wanted a woman. She’d been putty in his hands on the dance floor, molding herself to his body, following his lead as if they were one. Dancing always made him amorous. The sweat, the closeness, the intimacy, but dancing with Fifi had… It had driven him to leave the venue early. He’d always been able to stall the emotions, relish the anticipation, but not with her.

  He wanted to feel her beneath him, to fill her with all he was. He couldn’t remember being this tight with need.

  As he tucked her into the seat, he pleaded, “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

  When her glazed eyes met his, she said, “Not until much later, I promise.”

  He slammed the door, raced to get behind the wheel.

  In order to keep her awake, not quite trusting her to do it herself, he asked, “Do you know the story of Reid and Izabella?”

  “Bit and pieces. I know they got married years after Melina was born but that she’s his. That when he got traded, they bumped into each other, and when Leeni got sick, he was there for them.”

  “He was not known for his ability to commit. He’d loved my sister since they were kids but refused to acknowledge it. They spent a lot of wasted time apart from each other. Even the day of the wedding some of us weren’t sure he’d show up. It was only when we found out he’d taken dancing lessons so he could tango with Iz at the reception that we knew he’d been

  sucker-punched into submission.”

  “He looked like he knew what he was doing.”

  “He was a little stiff, but he didn’t do a bad job. It’s a very sensual dance if you do it right. Do you know who he took lessons from?”

  She shook her head before saying, “No.”

  “Izabella’s old flame, or rather his wife. They owned a dance studio, where Izabella used to go once a week. It was her one night out to relax and recharge. Everyone needs one of those, don’t you think?”