High Heat (Hard Hitters #1)

by Linda Morris

  His blood pressure spiked and he shifted in his seat to hide his reaction. That he had a reaction to a girl putting her fingertip on his mouth astonished him. Her soft, kissable, suckable fingertip. His eyes narrowed. “You’re going to pay for that later.”

  She smirked. “Promise?” Her red lips parted.

  He looked up to see Coco watching them. He shook his head, his shoulders heaving in a sigh.

  They’d better cut it out before he made any more trouble for Sarah. “I’ll have more to say on the subject later.”

  She smiled and delved into her oversized tote to pull out a laptop. “I’m sure it will be a very interesting conversation.”

  “Am I crazy, or are you actually flirting with me?” He spoke in an undertone, conscious of the others nearby. He’d been angling for this for weeks, but now that it was happening, he could scarcely believe it.

  “What do you think?” Heck yeah, she was flirting with him.

  Suddenly his serious-minded, no-fun-allowed boss lady was showing her sexy, fun side. He’d been hitting on her for weeks, trying to see if she even had a sexy, fun side. He had to admit, he’d had his doubts.

  From her tote—what was that thing, a bottomless pit?—she pulled a tiny pair of reading glasses and donned them.

  Just like that, several of Tom’s teenaged sexy-librarian fantasies came roaring back to life. He’d nearly forgotten about those. For all of the beautiful women he’d been involved with, none of them had come even close to fulfilling this particular fantasy.

  Sarah Dudley, though… Even her name sounded like that of a repressed spinster who might have a core of heat under her cool facade.

  God, if they were alone, he’d pull her close and claim her mouth, letting his hands roam down to that smooth expanse of ankle peeking from beneath the hem of her pants. He’d unfasten the tiny buttons running so neatly up her shirt, spreading the fabric apart and letting his tongue run up the silken valley between her breasts. What kind of bra did she wear? Sleek black lingerie on a woman drove him crazy, but it wasn’t mandatory. He liked pink or white or even your garden-variety beige.

  Unfortunately, he had no chance of solving this mystery anytime soon. A three-hour ride on a bus with bad shocks and dozens of other guys for company was not exactly a setting for romance.

  Not that he did romance. Every woman knew what she was getting with him.

  A good time, a few laughs, and, if it went public, a bad reputation.

  Is that what he wanted for Sarah?

  He pondered as the bus pulled out of the parking lot. Whatever was going on between him and Sarah didn’t have to end in tears. They were two adults. They could behave discreetly and stay out of the limelight.

  They could.

  What did it mean if he felt like he was having an argument with himself—and losing it, at that?

  Chapter Twelve

  Sarah peered out into the corridor of the team hotel. The coast was clear. She felt her pocket to make sure her key card was there. It was.

  She ought to be exhausted. They’d gotten into Owensboro, Kentucky, around noon. She’d disembarked with Tom and met up with the home team’s PR people to finalize the details of Tom’s press conference.

  Like every press conference he did, it had turned into quite a show. He’d fielded questions with ease, making the reporters laugh and generating memorable quotes, like always. She’d stood at the back of the room, watching him shine and feeling a tiny bit of unreasonable possessiveness at the way Twitter lit up in response to his first full press conference since he’d gone down in game seven of the World Series.

  Silly. Just because they’d kissed a couple of times, and because he’d stood up for her right to ride on the team bus as a team employee, she owned him or something?

  No, she didn’t own him, but she had a claim on him. The claim of two people who shared an electric connection and wanted to see how far it went. Her father’s interruption on the night of the All-Star bash had only delayed the inevitable. Tom’s kindness to her today had reconfirmed her feelings.

  Standing there at the back of the room, watching him in his element, at ease in the glare of the TV crews’ lights, Sarah came to a decision. She knew what she wanted, and he wanted it too.

  She would have to make the first move. He’d made that clear.

  Time was short. His suspension would expire on this Kentucky road trip. After he returned to pitching, he could be called up to the big leagues any day.

  If her heart beat any faster, it would lift out of her rib cage. She clenched the ice bucket closer to her chest. Did she have her key card? God, she hoped so. Her room door had just locked behind her with a click. She traced the rectangle of plastic in her pocket to make sure.

  She had her key card, just like the last time she’d checked, thirty seconds ago. Why was she so nervous? She just wanted to talk to the guy.

  Right. Talk. She’d brought the ice bucket as a red herring. If she ran into anybody in the hallway, she’d pretend she was looking for the ice machine.

  She was, sort of. She’d sent Tom a text telling him to meet her there. Asking him to come to her room would have been simpler, but she wouldn’t put such a thing in writing. She was nothing if not cautious. No sexting scandals for her, thanks.

  She gripped the ice bucket and rounded a corner, her mouth dry as sand.

  The coast was still clear.

  The ice machine was in an alcove at the end of the hall, along with a couple of vending machines. She’d spotted it on the way to her room after the press conference, where she’d carefully kept her distance from Tom.

  Forget that saying about old ladies being the worst gossips. Nobody spread rumors like pro athletes. If any of them saw her with Tom, the news would get back to her dad in a flash. He already knew about the bus incident. She’d ignored his name on the readout of her phone more than once this afternoon, and deleted a couple of voice mails without bothering to listen to the whole rant. Her father wasn’t pleased, but for once, that was too bad.

  She knew what she wanted, and no one, least of all her father, was going to stand in her way. He’d get over his displeasure.

  She stopped at the sight of Tom in the alcove, one hand stretched high to balance on the vending machine as he peered inside. His long, lanky body was stooped over a little, one foot braced slightly in front of the other. The pose showed his lean strength to its greatest advantage. His casual button-up had come untucked from his faded gray jeans, hanging loose over a dark leather belt that seemed like something a cowboy ought to wear.

  Oh, she hated to be shallow, but sometimes just looking at him made her throat tighten.

  He didn’t see her yet. The relative dimness of the hallway obscured her. If she wanted to back down, she could do it now.

  She didn’t want to back down.

  “Hi,” she said quietly.

  His eyes met hers and he straightened. “Hi. You wanted something?”

  She nodded, eyes wide.

  He glanced at the empty ice bucket in her hands and lifted a brow. “Having an ice emergency?”

  She hovered, on the precipice of disaster or triumph, and then tipped over. “Shut up,” she growled. God, she wanted him. Certainty felt good for a change. She was sick of doubt.

  Dropping the bucket with a clang, she grabbed the front of his shirt. She stretched up to take his mouth, and he more than cooperated, lowering his head and taking charge. Which was a good thing. She would have made a total fool of herself if she hadn’t been able to reach his mouth to make her grand gesture.

  He caught her up in his arms, pulling her to her tiptoes, and took her lips with an intensity she more than matched. Their earlier kiss had been a prelude to this—they had an intimate connection she couldn’t get enough of. He pushed her back hard against the vending machine, but she didn’t complain, even when her hair caught on something and tugged at her scalp.

  He lifted his mouth for a moment, his lips hot and damp. “I guess you must hav
e really liked it when I helped you on the bus.” If the unsteadiness of his voice told her anything, she affected him as deeply as he did her.

  She slid her hands through his hair, keeping him close. “Yeah. Shut up and kiss me some more.”

  His lips curved into a slow smile. “Okay.” He lowered his lips. Oh, she loved the sensation of being held by this man.

  Hours ago, he’d had the sports world hanging on his every word, but right now he was all hers, giving her his undivided attention.

  His tongue explored her mouth with exactly the right combination of strength and sensuality, teasing and tasting even as he pushed her to welcome him.

  He smelled like some combination of perfectly ordinary soap and aftershave. Probably a hundred other men used those things, but together, on him, they made her blood burn and her body sing. Why was that?

  Her face heated and she pressed closer, wanting every inch in contact with him. He had such a magnificent body, and she wanted to know all of it: the curve of his muscles, the length of his bones, the coarseness of his weathered skin, the sandpaper stubble along his jaw. Beneath the hardness of his belt buckle rose an even more interesting hardness. She arched toward it, drawing a lovely, masculine sound from his throat.

  The ice machine behind her roared to life, dumping a fresh batch of ice and shattering the quiet. She tore away from him, her breath a torrent.

  She couldn’t believe what she’d done. She’d arranged to meet him out here where his roommate couldn’t see them out of concern for secrecy, and then she’d flung herself into his arms. Thank God nobody had come along.

  Score one for hormones, zero for common sense.

  “Want to come back to my room?” Subtlety was beyond her.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath, tugged at the hem of her jacket, and looked out into the hallway. No one was coming. It was late and they’d had a long day. All of the players with any sense had retired early.

  Tom apparently didn’t have much sense. That made two of them.

  “I think the coast is clear.” Retrieving the ice bucket off of the floor, Sarah headed for her room with him following behind. Oops. She’d forgotten to get any ice. Oh well—if anyone asked, she’d say the machine was broken. She turned around to make sure no one was following them, earning a grin from Tom.

  “Would you like me to walk five paces behind you just in case?”

  “Would you?”

  “Sure. That way I can watch your ass move as you walk in those pants.”

  She stopped long enough to give him a quick swat on the arm.

  “Oh, come on. You didn’t mind.” He reached forward to cup her butt, earning a squeal. “You didn’t mind that either.”

  Damn it all, he was right. Whether it was her family name or her no-nonsense style, she’d long ago been put on some pedestal where Plainview men were concerned. No one ever teased her, flirted with her, or tried to woo her. Rich begged, but that didn’t count.

  Only Tom seduced her. And did he ever.

  They reached her door in moments, and she pulled out the key card, fumbling and messing up the timing of the swipe twice. The heat of his body behind hers made it hard to concentrate. Finally the light blinked green and she pushed inside, holding the door open for him.

  He strolled in, betraying none of the awkwardness she felt. No doubt he was used to this kind of thing.

  How many women had brought Tom back to their rooms on the road?

  Stop it. You wanted this. You’re getting it. No strings attached. You know what he’s like.

  He pulled the ice bucket out of her hands and tossed it aside, and then did the same with the key card. He took a step toward her and stood there, shoulders slouched a little, letting his dark blue eyes run down her. He didn’t speak. He didn’t make a move to touch her.

  Instead, he simply wanted—with his eyes, with his body, with his mouth—and it was the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

  She lifted one hand to touch his cheek, and bit her lip when she realized she was trembling. He turned his mouth into her and pressed a hot, damp kiss into her palm, letting his tongue tease the skin there. He captured her hand in his, trapping it against the stubble of his jaw.

  Transfixed, she watched his eyes drift shut as he pressed a series of small kisses down the heel of her hand and onto the tender skin of her wrist. His stubble abraded her—the sweetest pain she’d ever felt. Something about the gesture, so gentle, so unexpected from party boy Tom, made her eyes prickle.

  Her free hand moseyed down his other arm, sliding over the smooth fabric and tracing the curve of the muscle underneath.

  “You sure about this, boss lady?” His eyes opened, alert and watching.

  “Sure.” The word came out quavery, so she smiled and tried to pass it off as a joke. “Why wouldn’t I want to get with the famous Tom Cord? You’re baseball’s greatest Romeo.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t talk like that. Not about us. Not about this.”

  His quiet words shamed her. “Okay.” He was right. She didn’t know why, but this felt like something big, something important, not like a woman banging a guy for a good time. It might be a fling, but she suspected it was something much more. She hadn’t been able to handle it, so she’d made a dumb joke.

  Maybe she’d better use her mouth for something else.

  Yeah, that sounded good.

  He took her mouth in another one of those wet, slow kisses he had down to a science. Maybe that was because of all of the practice he’d had.

  Stop it.

  She was ruining this because she couldn’t turn her damn brain off.

  Desperate to push unwelcome thoughts away, she pulled her hands free and wrapped them around his neck. Pulling his head down closer, she pressed her tongue into his mouth. The heat and hardness of his erection brushed against her abdomen, and her body bent to it. He leaned in, trapping her between his long, hard body and the unyielding wall, and it felt good.

  Not like an imprisonment. More like an embrace.

  Her body temperature skyrocketed and her heart kept pace. In a moment, her jacket slid to the floor, helped by Tom. She felt the buttons of her blouse being tweaked and suddenly desperately wanted her skin against his. Pulling back, she settled down to the task of unbuttoning his shirt as he did hers, their hands tangling and crossing until he stopped her with a low laugh.

  “Let me.”

  She let her hands fall to her sides and stood, shifting from one foot to the other until he parted the front of her shirt and peeled it back from her shoulders.

  “Pink. Your bra,” he said in response to her curious look. “I’d wondered what color it was.”

  “Yeah, I like pink,” she confessed.

  “I like it. It suits you.”

  Nobody but him would have said that.

  “I don’t wear pink much. Outside of my clothes, anyway. Too girly for a woman who works on a baseball team.”

  “I think you’re girly.” He let his eyes drop to the curve of her breasts. They were modest, nothing spectacular, but he didn’t seem to mind. He lowered the straps of her bra and traced a thumb across one soft peak. Without warning, he knelt to take one nipple in his mouth.

  “Oh, God.” She squeezed her eyes shut and savored the warm tug and moist heat of his mouth.

  He straightened and went to work on the button of her Capri pants. “But I don’t mind that you don’t wear pink in public,” he continued. “I kind of like knowing this about you. When we’re at the ballpark, you’ll be all business. The boss lady. Only I’ll know that you’re wearing a sweet little pink bra underneath it.” The zipper on her pants lowered with a rasp and he shoved them down. “And pink underwear with lace on them, for me.” He bent to press a kiss to the little rosette at the waist, and her stomach muscles clenched.

  “I didn’t wear them for you,” she blurted, and then wanted to crush her tongue between her teeth. Why could she not stop saying dumb things? Whatever connec
tion normally existed between her brain and her mouth had clearly been severed. “Ah, I mean, when I packed for this road trip, I didn’t know we’d be—I didn’t know you’d see my underwear.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll stop talking.”

  “You nervous?” He looked up at her, affording her the perfect opportunity to let her fingers weave through the softness of his hair.

  “Um, of course?” Why wouldn’t she be? She’d done this with boyfriends at college, and more recently with a long-distance boyfriend who’d visited from Cleveland for a few months until they both decided the hassle wasn’t worth it. “You’ve done this a lot more times than I have. With some of the sexiest women around.”

  “I thought you didn’t approve of the women I’ve dated. You said they were bimbos.”

  “I didn’t say they were bimbos.” Which was true, although she’d thought it. “But they were hot.” Oh, God, she could not stop blurting out the truth. The excitement was draining out of this encounter. She rubbed her forehead and sighed.

  “You are hot. Don’t ever think otherwise. You’ve got the prettiest long legs, and an ass that makes my mouth water.” He skimmed his hands over each part as he named it, and her breath caught. He reached behind her and unfastened her bra with a quick flick. His face darkened as her flimsy bra fell away. Her breasts weren’t large enough to bother with a sturdy bra. “Your breasts are beautiful too, and I really have trouble looking away from your mouth.” He traced one fingertip across her lip. “I have to admit, though, none of those things are what caught my attention.”

  “No? What did, then?” Why was drawing a breath suddenly so hard?

  “You don’t put up with my shit.” His bluntness startled a laugh out of her, easing the knots in her neck that had formed when her mouth had run away with her.

  “If I’d known that made me more attractive, I’d have done a lot more of it.” Her confidence was inching back.

  “Is that possible? Because you seem to have done a really good job of being unimpressed by me already.”