by Jaci Burton
Grant smirked. "Yeah, he's doing good."
And then Leo proceeded to lean across him and explain to Kat what all that meant.
She listened intently and nodded, and he had to give her credit for at least appearing to act interested.
"So Tucker's a pitcher," she said after Leo focused himself elsewhere.
"Yes."
"And the rest of your brothers play football?"
"Yeah."
"So why did Tucker decide on baseball?"
Grant leaned back in the seat. "We're not sure if it was because he loved this game more than football, or if he did it just to piss off Barrett."
At Katrina's curious stare, he said, "Barrett and Tucker are twins. Barrett plays safety--that's defense--for the Tampa Hawks. He's one mean, tough, sonofabitch and I've never known anyone who loved football more than Barrett."
"More than you?" she asked.
Grant laughed. "Yeah, probably. Though I think my dad loves football more than all of us."
"So was your dad upset when Tucker decided to play baseball?" Leo asked.
"Not at all. Dad just wanted us all to do what made us happy. The fact that all of us ended up in sports was a bonus. He would have been just as happy if we'd been accountants. He didn't care."
Katrina focused her gaze on the pitcher's mound, where Grant's brother, Tucker, was taking warm-ups.
He was tall, like Grant, and had dark hair he wore a little long. But he also wore black glasses, which Katrina had to admit didn't detract from his attractiveness at all, at least not from what she could tell from this distance. And the pitches he threw were fast. Like, wow fast.
"Did you ever play baseball?" she asked Grant.
He nodded. "I played Little League when I was a kid. By the time I got to high school, I realized I wanted to focus on football. That's when Tucker moved strictly to baseball. He got a scholarship to play ball at Oklahoma."
"So he's really good."
"Yeah, he's really good."
"He's not only a good pitcher, he can hit, too," Leo said, still apparently studying his stats. "He's hitting three twenty-nine with runners in scoring position."
"Impressive." She didn't know all that much about baseball, but she did watch it some when Leo was catching the games on TV. And she liked statistics, so when he'd talk about hitting percentages and averages, she paid attention. They'd discuss the players, who was good and who was struggling at bat.
As a result she knew hitting three twenty-nine was amazing. Okay, maybe she knew a little more about baseball than she'd thought.
"Who's hungry?" Grant asked. "Hot dogs and beer? Soda for you kids, of course."
"You're no fun," Anya said, then winked. "I'll go with you."
That was a surprise, but she was glad Anya had a male figure to bond with. Having grown up without a father, she knew Anya hungered for a dad. Not that she'd missed anything with their own father, who'd been absent for most of Katrina's childhood, busying himself with work during the day and womanizing at night.
Katrina's mother thought she didn't know about the other women, but once she'd gotten old enough, she'd heard the whispered phone calls and had snuck out to follow him one night, curious about where he was going. She'd seen him with another woman, had watched him kiss her at the front door of her apartment before following her inside.
It had broken her heart. She'd never said a word about it to her mother, but she'd seen the sadness in her mother's eyes, and knew her mother was well aware of what her father had been up to.
And then Mom had gotten sick, and Dad had permanently disappeared. No doubt because he couldn't deal with Mom's illness and three children who so desperately needed him.
Coward.
Anya was much better off without a father like that. Though she'd never tell Anya or Leo about Dad. They only know he disappeared. They thought he went back to Russia. It was a story she told everyone. Or that he was dead. She'd made up various versions over the years to cover for his disappearance.
Whatever. Much better for everyone to think that instead of him shacking up with some woman. No one else needed to know what she absolutely knew was truth. That her father hadn't loved them enough to stay.
Hearing the sound of Anya's laughter, she looked up to see her sister and Grant making their way down the stairs, the two of them leaning into each other while juggling sodas, beer, and hot dogs.
Her sister had a serious case of hero worship going on. Katrina wasn't sure that was a good thing. She didn't want either Leo or Anya to form too close an attachment to Grant, since her relationship with him was, at best, a temporary thing.
Not much she could do about it now, though, since it appeared both the kids had bonded with him.
Then again, school would be starting up soon, and Grant would be forgotten once they got involved in their friends and activities again, so maybe she was worrying for nothing.
Grant handed her a hot dog and a cup of beer.
"Ballpark staple. It's like a ritual," he said. "Besides, hot dogs and beer taste like an expensive bottle of champagne, plus caviar, when you eat them at the ballpark."
She gave him a dubious look. "Seriously. You tried this on me in New York, and I have to tell you, the hot dog tasted like a hot dog."
"This is different. Would I lie to you about something this sacred?"
He had a serious look on his face, so she shrugged. "Of course you wouldn't. I'm certain this hot dog and beer will be a truly religious experience."
"See, now I want a beer," Anya said.
"And you can certainly have one."
Her sister's eyes brightened.
"In four years, when you turn twenty-one."
Anya pouted her lips, then looked to Grant. "See how abusive she is?"
Grant laughed. "Yeah, I can tell you're regularly tortured."
The teams were introduced, and Katrina ate her hot dog, which, again, tasted like a regular hot dog to her. Clearly she was missing something about hot dogs.
It was really hot out tonight, though, and the beer was refreshingly cold. Not exactly a life-changing moment, but she wasn't going to say that to Grant, who looked at her with a hopeful expression on his face.
"Good?"
"Amazing."
He looked suspicious. "Somehow I think you've had better dinners."
"Well, yes, of course. But as ballpark fare goes, this was good."
"And how many ballpark meals have you actually had?"
"Uh ... not a lot. But this ranked right up there. Seriously, it was a good hot dog. And remember, I live in New York. I have very discerning taste in hot dogs."
"This is true," Anya said. "It's a great dog. Though I can't really state how good the beer is."
Anya gave Katrina a hopeful look.
Katrina shook her head. "No beer for you."
Anya huffed out a sigh, and then it was time for the game to start.
Tucker was pitching first, so Katrina had someone to focus on besides the very good-looking man sitting next to her and her constantly chirping siblings.
She studied his mechanics, the velocity of his pitches, while Grant explained the types of pitches his brother threw. Apparently he had several, including what Grant described as one very nasty curveball.
"I know nothing about the different pitches," she admitted, which led Grant, Leo, and Anya to explain them to her every time Tucker threw one. Grant even demonstrated how one would hold the ball in his hand for the curveball.
"Tucker's got a unique spin on his, too," Grant said. "I've never seen one like it."
Next time Tucker threw a curve, she noticed the downward dive of the ball. And the way the hitter swung and missed.
"His curves are hard to hit," Leo said. "When he throws them perfectly, they're impossible to hit."
"Plus, a lot of hitters are fastball hitters," Anya said. "The curve is their nemesis."
By the end of the game, the St. Louis Rivers had scored three runs. Los Angeles had scored
none and they'd only had six hits. Tucker was impressive.
Grant had been extremely patient, explaining the subtle nuances of baseball to her. She'd found herself thoroughly enjoying the game--a lot more than she'd expected.
As they filed out of the stadium, she leaned into Grant. "Will we get a chance to meet your brother tonight?"
Grant shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. He has to catch a flight to Houston for his next series."
"That's too bad. I wanted to congratulate him on such a good game."
"Yeah, I'm sure he would have enjoyed that. Maybe some other time."
She had no idea when that would be since they were heading home soon. But it had still been a great night.
They got back to Grant's place, and Leo and Anya immediately scattered. Anya headed outside toward the pool with her phone, no doubt to text her friends, and Leo went downstairs. He'd asked Grant on the way home if he could play a game, which of course Grant said yes to.
They found themselves alone in the kitchen. She lifted her gaze to Grant.
"Thank you for taking us to the game."
"You're welcome."
"I'm sure the kids will thank you once they catch up with their friends."
He smiled. "Hey, I was a teenager once, too. I know the priority. Don't worry about it."
"I worry about them being polite and they should have thanked you."
"They did. Anya thanked me when we went to get the hot dogs, and Leo did when we were talking stats before the game."
"They did?"
He moved into her, slipping his arms around her waist. "Yeah, so quit worrying."
"It's my job to worry. I have to make sure I'm not raising assholes. There's already too many of those out there."
He swept his knuckles against her cheek, the action gentle and calming. "Yeah, I know. But Leo and Anya aren't assholes. They're awesome, so take the night off from being the anxious parent, okay?"
She sighed. "Okay."
"Good."
Anya came in from outside, her face buried in her phone as she was deep in conversation with a friend.
"Uh, hang on a sec, Leah." She tucked the phone in her neck, went to the fridge and grabbed a bottled water, then made her way over to Kat and kissed her on the cheek. "Heading up to my room for the night. Oh, and thanks again for the game, Grant. I had fun."
"Me, too. Good night, Anya."
She waved her hand above her head as she disappeared up the stairs.
Grant looked at her. "See?"
Katrina exhaled. "I guess you're right."
"Of course I am. Now, how about some wine?"
"I'd rather have beer. It's so hot tonight."
"Works for me." He went to the fridge and pulled out two cans of beer, handing one to her. "Now you can really relax, right?"
"Yes." He was right. She had to let it go. At least for tonight, anyway.
She started to pull up a seat at the kitchen island, but he shook his head.
"Come with me."
She expected him to take her upstairs, but he surprised her when he led her out back.
"Stop here, first. It's summer, and I don't want you bitten up by mosquitos."
She arched a brow. "Where, exactly, are we going?"
"You'll see."
He pulled a bottle out of one of the cabinets. "This stuff doesn't stink, but it'll keep the bugs from biting."
"Good to know." She stood still while he sprayed the exposed parts of her body, then did his own. He took her hand and they walked outside.
She thought they were going to sit by the pool, but he surprised her by walking around it and heading toward the wooded area behind it.
"Kind of dark back there at night."
He squeezed her hand. "Yeah, but I know where I'm going."
"You do? And where might that be? Don't forget I read crime thrillers."
He laughed. "Trust me."
"Oh, sure. That's what every serial killer says. Right before he chops the poor victim up in small pieces."
"Damn. And I forgot my knife. I'm doing this all wrong."
She slid a glare at him, though it was ineffective in the darkness. "So not funny."
Then he gave her an evil laugh, and she was even less amused. She tried to pull her hand away, but he put his arm around her. "I promise I have only good intentions--mostly."
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But since she was already in the woods with him, she supposed she'd go along for the ride--or walk.
Besides, she was alone in the dark with a very attractive man.
Somehow she got the idea he had more in mind than just a walk.
That she was very interested in. And like her favorite books, she couldn't wait to see what was going to happen next.
TWENTY-THREE
GRANT DIDN'T INTEND ON SCARING KATRINA, BUT HE could tell she took every step cautiously, as if she didn't quite trust his intentions. He didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted by that.
So he took his time leading her into the woods to the cabin by the pond.
"This is where you bring your victims, right?" she asked.
He turned to face her, unsure if she was really that scared. But then he caught the upturned corners of her mouth. Relief washed over him. For some reason it was important that she trust him.
"This is where I bring you. Only you. And sometimes where I go fishing. It was a big highlight of the property when I bought it."
He led her along the path. He knew it well enough he could see it in the dark, but he still took his time, pointing out fallen limbs and rocks so Katrina wouldn't trip over anything. When they got through to the clearing, he led her to the edge of the pond. There was just a sliver of moon tonight, enough for her to see the water.
"It's beautiful here," she said, her voice lowered to a whisper.
"Yeah. It's a nice peaceful place to get away on my own and do some thinking."
She tilted her head as she looked at him. "Do you have a lot to think about?"
"Sometimes. If I have a bad game or occasionally pregame, I'll come out here with my fishing pole and think about what went wrong or how I want to approach a game plan. It's so quiet with nothing to distract me, it helps my mind-set."
She stared out over the water, then nodded. "I can see that. It's a good meditation spot."
He'd always considered it a good fishing spot, but he understood what she meant. "Yeah."
"What's in the shack?" she asked.
"Fridge, sink, a small bathroom, and a bed. Not much, really. I've thought about tearing it down and building something bigger, like a guesthouse kind of thing."
"Can I see it?"
"Sure."
Since the property was well fenced, he never locked the door. He turned the knob and opened the door, waiting for Katrina to walk in before he closed the door and turned on the small light in there.
"This is interesting," she said, moving into the very small sitting area that only had space for a couple of chairs.
Immediately past that was what one would generously call a kitchen, with a mini fridge and a sink. No stove, though.
"There's a bathroom through that door on the right. Just a toilet and sink. No shower. And the bed tucked into this room."
She peeked into the room and saw the twin bed. "Yes, you definitely need to tear this down and build a guest cottage. You need more space and a full kitchen."
He could already see her mind whirling with ideas. "I assume you'll drag Anya out here tomorrow with her tablet, and the two of you will sketch out some ideas?"
She was still looking around. "Maybe."
He put an arm around her shoulders. "Good. I could use a few ideas, and so far the ones you've come up with have been great. Have at it."
She turned in his arms, then laid her beer next to the sink. "I have a few ideas."
He set his can beside hers and grasped her hips, enjoying the feel of her. "I'd like to hear those ideas."
"Well, it involves get
ting naked. Or semi-naked. I feel like we were just warming up before the ball game tonight and we didn't get to finish what we started. Being in such a hurry and all."
Just the sound of her voice could get him riled up, hard, aching and ready in an instant. "Oh, I can definitely finish what we started. Right here and right now."
He left her only long enough to turn off the light, shielding them in darkness. Not that anyone knew where this place was besides him, but he wanted the privacy.
Because she was wearing those pants, and he wanted her out of them.
"Shoes off."
She toed out of her tennis shoes, and he grasped her pants, peeling them over her hips and down her legs. He tossed them in the chair. Her underwear went next, leaving her naked from the waist down.
There was just enough light in the room to see her, to see how beautiful she was. He kneeled, grasping her ankles and letting his hands roam up her legs, shouldering between them to spread her thighs.
She was leaning against the small counter, so she had balance when he put his mouth on her sex.
He heard her breathe in sharply when he flicked out his tongue over her clit. He drew his tongue down, taking a slow, long taste of her. She was salty honey, pouring over his lips and tongue as he laved her sex until he felt her tremble.
He grew harder, and palmed his cock as he licked her over and over, listening to her breathing and her moans as he took her right to the edge.
"Yes, right there," she said. "That's going to make me come."
He moved his mouth over her clit and sucked, feeling her entire body shudder as she came. He grasped her butt and pulled her closer, licking her all over as she came down from her climax.
That's what he'd wanted, that climb of pleasure for her. Making her come. Taking her there never failed to rock his goddamned world. And now he was filled with the scent of her, the taste of her lingering on his lips. He was hard as hell and aching to fuck her.
She was breathing heavily as he kissed her hip bone, then stood. He grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it off, then nuzzled her breasts, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. She was lax, her head resting against his shoulder as he removed her bra and tossed it in the pile.
When she lifted her head, she cupped the nape of his neck and pulled him toward her for a kiss. He was full, his balls heavy with come. He dove into the kiss, groaning against her lips as her tongue slid against his.