High Heat (Hard Hitters #1)

by Linda Morris

  “Among other things.” He shoved his cap back and scooted closer. She caught the scent of beer on his breath, but it was a pleasant, manly smell. His arm shifted to touch her bare forearm, and the heat seared her all the way down to her toes. “Women like me for all kinds of reasons.”

  Oh, she bet they did. Really, did every woman he met fall over, legs in the air, when he crooked his finger? The urge to take him down a peg overpowered her. “Totally. I’m sure your girlfriends get great tickets to ball games, for starters. Heck, it would almost be worth dating you to get seats behind the plate for a big-league game.”

  He laughed outright. “Come on. Lighten up. I’m a hell of a lot of fun once you get to know me. You should give me a chance.” The front seat of her crossover seemed smaller than ever. How had he gotten so close?

  “I’m sure you’re a heck of a guy, but there are so many reasons why I would never date you. Trust me, they far outnumber the reasons I would date you.”

  Damn. She’d meant to cut him off at the knees, and instead she’d inadvertently revealed that she had thought about him that way.

  She tried again. “I mean, not that I personally would date you. I meant, there are reasons why someone, not me, would—”

  He brushed a finger against her lower lip, effectively shutting her up. “Shhhh.”

  No cobra had ever mesmerized its prey more effectively than Tom Cord. He held her gaze, and it seemed like everything slowed down. Sounds, sights, everything faded into the background, and only Tom’s blue eyes mattered. She’d once dreamed of having his attention, and now she had it.

  He shifted slightly in his seat, leaning in, bringing his lips within a few inches of hers. She caught a whiff of the soap he’d used to wash up with after the game, mingled with the scent of the beer he’d drunk. Both were intoxicating.

  Would he kiss her? God knows she’d thought about this so often when she was a teenager, but this was a thousand times more intense than she’d ever imagined.

  His hand brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face. He leaned in, his lips about to claim hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her mouth. Her eyes drifted shut.

  Unbidden, a vision of Christina Caputo rose in her mind.

  Sarah was not Tom’s usual kind of girl, not by a long shot, and he was definitely not her kind of guy. The pickings tended to be slim for a single professional woman in Plainview, which was why she’d been seeing her CPA on and off for a couple of years.

  Worse, she was front office and Tom was a player.

  Her eyes snapped open and she stopped him with a trembling hand to his chest. “Hold it there, bud. I’m in management. I don’t date players.” What had she been thinking? He’d been in town all of a day and she’d almost fallen into his arms without a fight.

  She exited the car with all due haste and slammed the door behind her, glaring at him through the window.

  He unfolded his long body and extracted himself from the car. Unhurried, he closed the door and leaned against it, shaking his head with a smile. “Maybe so. But you ain’t never met a player like me before.”

  ***

  Well, that might have been a mistake. In his pleasantly beered-up state, he’d been thinking maybe he could ingratiate himself with Sarah, get to know her a little bit. Maybe she’d take a shine to him and invite him to spend the night in her bed instead of leaving him to fend for himself on a couch.

  Her reaction had sobered him up fast.

  He knew when a girl was into him, and Sarah Dudley definitely showed some signs. She kept her cards close to her vest, not making it obvious, but she laughed at his jokes and let her pretty brown eyes linger on him when she thought he didn’t notice. Back when he’d been in college, she’d been a young, skinny tomboy who’d peppered him with baseball questions, and he’d hardly looked at her twice, his brain filled with nothing but his upcoming majorleague career and chasing every pretty girl he could find.

  Now, on the other hand, she was all grown up. He’d wanted to circumvent her guard, take the bull by the horns, and move in for a quick kiss that would speed things along. Instead he’d pissed her off, guaranteeing he’d wind up on the couch.

  He rolled over and punched the flat pillow she’d practically thrown at him along with a blanket. Wide-awake, he watched the headlights of a passing car throw shadows across the ceiling.

  Sarah Dudley was interesting.

  Cute, yes, but so were lots of girls. Sexy, yes, in a way that he sensed she wasn’t totally aware of. Smart and tough.

  Not tough, exactly. Prickly, maybe. Sassy. Yeah, that was it. Unintimidated by him and willing to put him in his place, or at least do her damnedest to. His mouth curved as he remembered her eye-roll when she’d claimed, with a straight face, that he had nothing to offer a woman besides front-row tickets to a ball game.

  He’d had groupies falling over him for so long, he hardly knew what to do with a woman who gave him the stiff-arm.

  Correction. He knew exactly what to do with Sarah Dudley, and it involved long, sweaty nights in his bed. Plenty of female fans approached him in bars and slipped him their numbers on his way to the clubhouse, but something about a woman who had enough self-respect to call him on his BS whetted his appetite.

  He lay awake far too long, shifting on the uncomfortable couch and plotting how he’d make stubborn Sarah face up to the inevitability of the two of them. He’d only be in town for a couple of weeks, sure, but oh, what a sweet couple of weeks they could be, if only she’d give him a chance.

  Chapter Three

  “Morning. You’re up bright and early.”

  His voice made Sarah nearly drop her bowl of cornflakes. The sight of him in the kitchen doorway did make her drop her cornflakes.

  Tom Cord stood bleary-eyed, his jaw dark with stubble, wearing boxers and a Thrashers T-shirt. Apparently she hadn’t dreamed the events of last night, although he certainly looked like something out of one of her reveries. He scratched his bicep lazily. “I think you dropped something.”

  Words, words, words. If she thought about them long enough, she’d probably be able to make sense of what he was saying. Right now, though, all that male skin and sexy stubble had short-circuited her brain and kicked her heart into a trippy beat.

  “Excuse me?” She took a step, and cornflakes crunched under her shoe. Oh, right. She’d dropped her cereal. Luckily she hadn’t added the milk yet. Thank God she’d showered and dressed before coming to the kitchen. She’d expected him to sleep late after his night of partying. Obviously not.

  She swept up the mess under Tom’s gaze, her face afire with the knowledge that he was probably watching her with a smirk. “Did you want breakfast?”

  “Sure.”

  “You drink coffee? I was about to put a pot on.”

  He shook his head. “No caffeine for me. It dehydrates you.”

  She stopped, looking up at him. That didn’t fit the image of the hard-charging Tom Cord who did whatever the hell he wanted, ignored his coaches, and didn’t take care of himself. She opened the fridge. “Orange juice?”

  “Sure.”

  On the small table in the nook off of the kitchen, she assembled a simple breakfast. She’d had an idea in the shower this morning—a brilliant one, if she did say so herself. Tom Cord had been in town less than twenty-four hours and he’d already caused trouble. If her father found out he’d been partying with the Baileys, and tweeting about it, no less, he’d have a fit.

  She’d never been so glad that her father never looked at the Internet. Thankfully, she’d nipped that little impending PR disaster in the bud, but Tom obviously warranted close watching. As the VP of PR, she was the most logical one for the job.

  Tom joined her at the table, his bare calf brushing her leg under the table. It sent a shiver up her thigh, but he didn’t react. No doubt this kind of thing was commonplace to him. He probably shared breakfast with women he barely knew all the time, if he even bothered with that. More likely he hit the
road or called them a cab without even giving them a bowl of Cheerios first.

  “You know anyplace I can stay in town?” A spoonful of cereal hovered next to that exceptionally well-shaped mouth. “Surely this burg has a motel. Where do people carry on their seedy affairs?”

  Sarah stared, diverted despite herself. Like she would know about that. Her love life consisted of occasional boring dates with her CPA. “Maybe the good people of Plainview don’t have seedy affairs. Did you ever think of that?”

  He scoffed. “Please. People everywhere screw around. It’s human nature.”

  “It certainly seems to be your nature.” The jab escaped before she could stop it.

  “I’m not married. There’s nothing seedy about my affairs.” He shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

  “Hmmm.” She should have never opined about his love life. It was none of her business. “As a matter of fact, we do have a motel. It’s called the Plainview. I don’t think you’ll like it, though. I have another idea.”

  “What, you think I should be waiting for Ms. Right to come along?”

  She bit back a sigh. He wasn’t going to be dissuaded from the ill-advised topic of his sex life.

  “Saving myself for marriage, maybe?” His lips quirked.

  “No,” she said, stung by his cynicism. “Of course not. I think maybe you ought to be a little more selective.”

  The humor dropped off of his face. “Selective? I am selective! What, you think I bang everything in a skirt?” He leaned back, looking truly affronted.

  She tipped her chin. “Please. Christina Caputo got her start on Real Hotties of Community College. I think it’s safe to say that a selective man would not have hooked up with her.”

  “Oh, that.” He shrugged. “You have to admit she’s hot, though.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t really worried that you might be having sex with unattractive women.” She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. Something about him got under her skin. She took another bite of cereal. Maybe eating would keep her mouth too occupied to blurt out anything else inappropriate.

  He grabbed the box of cereal and poured himself another bowl. Good Lord, the man had inhaled an entire bowl in the time it had taken her to eat half of hers. “I prefer to have sex with physically attractive people. So what? That puts me in line with roughly ninety-eight percent of the population.”

  He’d certainly had no trouble looking right past her when she’d been an awkward teenager. Not that she’d been looking for sex back then, but being noticed would have been nice.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to get with attractive women, but caring about nothing except the way a woman looks is shallow. Aren’t there some smart, interesting, educated, and attractive women you can sleep with? Some anti–Christina Caputo?” How on earth had she gotten on this topic? Lecturing baseball’s biggest Lothario about the joys of meaningful relationships did not fall under her job description. He had a way of sucking her into inappropriate conversations.

  “Sure, I guess.” He shrugged. “I’m not a relationship kind of guy. Historically I’ve been looking for a meeting of the nads, not a meeting of the minds.” He shoveled another scoop of cornflakes in.

  She sat back in her seat, mouth agape.

  Get it together, Dudley. Holding a press conference to explain that their superstar pitcher got that black eye when she punched him over breakfast would be a game changer for her career in PR, and not in a good way.

  “As I said, there is a motel in town, the Plainview.” Ice coated her words. “I wouldn’t recommend it, though. It’s a dive. I do know of one place you could stay, however.” She took a deep breath. “You can stay here with me. In the other half of the duplex,” she blurted when his expression froze. “I bought this house as an investment, and I’ve been renting out the other half. It so happens, you’re in luck. My last tenant moved out two weeks ago. It’s fully furnished.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. I’m not picky. I’ll have the hotel send my stuff out today.” He lifted his glass and chugged half his OJ in a gulp, his throat bobbing.

  “Great.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll set you up with the key before I go into work.”

  Her dad wouldn’t be thrilled to learn about her new tenant, but she could handle him. She’d make him see that keeping Tom free of scandal and involved in positive PR for the team was worth putting up with him in close proximity for a couple of weeks.

  He was certainly no threat to her. Tom might sniff at the skirts of every woman in town, but she could withstand temptation. She’d proved that last night when he’d made his move in the car.

  With him in the next-door duplex, she could keep an eye on him. Whether she could keep him out of trouble was yet to be determined.

  ***

  “Hey, Tracy, I sent something to the main printer. Could you grab it for me and run it in here?”

  Sarah’s assistant, Tracy Rice, stood outside her office, checking her texts. Tracy had come to work for her two months ago. She’d been a model of quiet efficiency, but Sarah still barely knew the girl at all.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thanks.”

  As VP of public relations and the lowest-ranking executive, Sarah had a small office near the end of the hall, at the opposite end from the larger spaces her father and brother occupied. Her assistant sat in a cubicle outside her office.

  She scrolled down her computer’s screen, working her way through a flood of emails. The ticket office wanted to know which game the Quik-E-Stop wanted to sponsor for two-for-one ticket night. She’d asked the store’s manager last week, but he’d delayed giving her an answer. Time to ride his butt a little bit.

  Concentrating on the email she was writing, she didn’t notice that Tracy hadn’t returned with her papers until the sound of a throat clearing caught her attention.

  “Hey, Paul. What’s up?” She beckoned him in, her gaze dropping to the sheaf of papers he held in his hand. “Is that my lease?”

  “Apparently it’s Tom Cord’s lease.” He strolled in and sat in the armchair in front of her desk. Her office was utilitarian, with memorabilia and baseball photos on the walls and in a display case near the corner: a signed Nolan Ryan baseball in an acrylic protective box, her first glove from Little League, an official team photo of this year’s lineup, framed. No “woman’s touch” for her office. Next to her computer sat a photo of her as a child, wearing a pink dress for Easter, her hair pulled back into a scrunchie. She sat on her late mother’s lap, her mom’s head, with its shiny brown pageboy haircut, tilted toward hers. The photo was the only non-baseball article in the room.

  “Yeah. I’m renting him the other half of the duplex for his stay in Plainview. Can you believe his agent had him staying in a hotel in Louisville?”

  Paul shrugged. “That’s not so awful. I’ve heard worse ideas.”

  She stared at him. Had he gone crazy? “What happened to team spirit? You know Dad wants players living here in town, no matter how short their stay is. Remember when Mark Justin rented a condo in Bloomington and tried to drive in every day? Dad had a fit and told him if Plainview wasn’t good enough for him, he could find another club to play for.”

  “Mark Justin wasn’t Tom Cord.”

  Frowning, she extended her hand for the lease. After a moment, he sighed and handed it to her.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I’m saying Tom has a whole lot of potential to cause trouble for you, especially if he’s living right next door. You know how he is with women.”

  She eyed him. “You think I’m in some kind of danger from your old college buddy? What is he, some kind of predator?”

  “Oh, come on. You’ve read the gossip. You know what he’s like.”

  “Yeah, and you know what I’m like. Trust me, I have no interest in Tom in that way.” She looked back to her screen, scrolling aimlessly up and down without seeing anything.

  Honestly. Men could b
e so annoying. Did her brother think she was still some teenager, helpless in the throes of a first crush?

  “What’s Rich going to think about this? You living in the same house with another guy?”

  “Paul, that’s weak. You don’t even like Rich.” It was true. Her brother didn’t care for the CPA she’d been seeing off and on for a couple of years. Honestly, maybe he was onto something. She’d met Rich Blakely when he did her taxes, and the highlight of their relationship so far had been when he’d found an extra five hundred dollars’ worth of deductions she’d missed.

  “Really,” Sarah continued, “it’s like you think I’m a little kid or something. Big brother has to come and protect me, and from who? His old college buddy.”

  “You can’t deny you once had a thing for him.” He wagged a finger at her.

  “Yeah, I once had a thing for Justin Timberlake, too. I got over it.” Mostly.

  “Pardon me if I’m not worried that Justin Timberlake is going to show up here and talk his way into your bed.”

  “No such luck,” she muttered.

  “Ah-ha!” He pointed an accusing finger. “I knew it! You haven’t gotten over Justin Timberlake, have you? And something tells me maybe you haven’t gotten over Tom Cord either.”

  “Oh, please. Hanging on to a celebrity crush out of nostalgia is a lot different than continuing to chase a guy who didn’t give you the time of day when you were a kid.”

  “Yeah, but I know you. That hurt your pride. Maybe you’re tempted to show him you’ve grown up.”

  “Paul, I am grown up, which is why I’m not interested in Tom.” If it weren’t so annoying, her brother’s protectiveness toward her would be touching. “I don’t date players, and Tom has the most awful taste in women anyway. Remember Christina Caputo?” She wrinkled her nose.

  “I remember.” His voice took on a distant note and she bit back a scathing comment. Ten bucks said that her brother had a thing for the sexy reality star. Hypocrite.