Bases Loaded (Mustangs Baseball) (14 page)

“Beautiful,” he
rasped against the top of her head. “So fucking beautiful.”

Another finger
joined the first. Her heels slid against the sofa until they met the solid rock
of his thighs. Her knees fell open in surrender. A slow moan escaped her lips.

“That’s it. Let me
give you this.”

He kept up the
pressure with the heel of his hand and pushed a third finger inside her. Clare
lost the ability to think. He massaged her pussy, inside and out, twisting her
up into a tight knot of need so acute she screwed her eyes shut against the
pain. She clawed her way up his chest until her breasts were squeezed between
them, and her face was buried in the crook of his neck. Winding her arms around
his head, she clung to him.

“Clare,
sweetheart.” His words were a caress, the arm at her back a band of steel.
“Take it. Now.”

He twisted the
knot tighter then with one plunging tug, jerked the end of the string holding
her together. She fell from the precipice with only his arm around her to break
her fall.

His shirt collar
absorbed her tears but couldn’t contain her sobs. He slowly extricated his hand
from her pants and cradled the back of her head while she cried out a week’s
worth of anger, loneliness, and frustration.

“Shh. I’ve got
you, babe.”

More than you
know.
A week without him, without his touch had been torture. He might
understand her body, but he didn’t understand her. She sniffed and peeled her
upper body from his.

“I’m sorry.” She
swiped at her cheeks with her fingertips, keeping her eyes downcast. She
couldn’t bear to look at him, or she would burst into tears again. She patted
his shoulder. “I ruined your tux.”

He shrugged. “No
problem. I have another one.”

Of course he did.
What was she thinking? This was Antonio freakin’ Ramirez. He made a gazillion
dollars a year.

She couldn’t
figure out a graceful way to remove herself from his lap, so she pushed against
his shoulders, scooted her butt over one hard thigh, and turned her back to
him. There. That was better. She sat cross-legged and buried her face in her
hands.

“Clare?” His hand
swept over her back in big circles. “Talk to me.”

“No.”

Circle. Circle.
Circle.
“How’s your headache?”

She took mental
inventory of her physical self. Her headache was gone, drat the man, but the
rest of her body felt as if she’d just run a marathon. “Gone.”

Circle. Circle.
Circle.
“I missed you.”

She tried to breathe
deep but hiccupped instead.
Dignity, Clare. Find some dignity.
“I missed
you, too.”

Circle. Circle.
Circle.
“You should go to bed, get some rest.”

She nodded and
unfolded one leg. Before she could unfold the other one, Antonio stood and
scooped her into his arms.

“Let me down.”

“No. Just let me
do this for you. For once, let me take care of you.”

It felt so good to
be in his arms, she squashed all further argument and let him carry her to the
bedroom. He set her on her feet next to the bed, drew the covers back, waiting
patiently while she slid between them. He tucked the covers around her, letting
his hands linger over her curves as if he needed to touch her again so he
wouldn’t forget.

She couldn’t
remember anyone ever treating her with such gentleness, and the thought brought
on a fresh bout of tears.

“What now?” he
asked, perching on the edge of the mattress.

“It’s just….”

She couldn’t tell
him. It was so much more than tonight. It was everything and nothing at the
same time. Her love for him. The way he made her feel inside. The insecurities
that lurked so deep inside her not even making love with Antonio could banish
them. The loneliness she would feel when he was gone, not just tonight but
every night for the rest of her life, because he
would
leave her.

The pad of his
thumb scratched her cheek as he gathered her tears. “Trust me, and I’ll make it
my life’s work to make sure you never cry again.”

Deep lines etched
between his brows and she hated what her lack of control had done to him. He
was too beautiful to worry.

“Please.” She
forced the word past lips swollen from crying. “I’ll be fine. I just need to be
alone for a while.”

He combed her hair
back from her forehead with his fingers, and his lips tipped up in a smile that
said he didn’t understand but he
understood
.

“Okay, love. I’ll
go. But just so you know, tonight was special.” He planted a kiss on her
forehead. Feathered a few more over her eyelids, her cheekbones, her chin. “I
could spend a lifetime making you come and never get tired of seeing you take
your pleasure from me.”

He cupped her
cheek in one gentle palm and leaned in to place a tender kiss on her lips. She
craved so much more, but he’d given her too much already.

He stopped in the
doorway and turned. He looked like a GQ model framed in her bedroom doorway,
wearing his rumpled tuxedo. Fully clothed and tucked under layers of
bedclothes, she felt naked and exposed. He flicked the light switch, plunging
the room into darkness. Light from the hallway turned him into a James Bond movie
silhouette.

“Sweet dreams,” he
said. Then he was gone.

She listened for
the sound of the front door opening and closing before she curled into a ball
and let the tears fall.

Chapter
Fifteen

He drove too fast
on the way back to his hotel. Crisp November air rushing through the open car
windows did nothing to cool the nuclear reactor his body became the minute
Clare walked out in her don’t-fuck-with-me sleeping gear. Women had no idea
what that kind of get-up did to a man. Sure, the barely there concoctions they
bought to drive a man crazy with lust were nice, in an “I’m easy” sort of way.

When a woman wore
one of those outfits, a man knew he was going to get some. He wasn’t even going
to have to work for it. It was sort of like waking up on Christmas morning to
find none of your presents were wrapped. Sure, they had ribbons and bows on
them, but the mystery, the suspense, the anticipation of tearing the wrapping
away to find the surprise inside was gone. Kaput.

Not that he didn’t
appreciate a fancy gift on occasion, but Clare’s outfit tonight? Damn.

She might as well
have waved a red flag in front of a raging bull. It was a dare, a challenge
issued. Seeing her in those makeshift pajamas almost did him in. She was damned
sexy without even trying.

But she’d been
trying all right. Trying to discourage his interest. She had no way of knowing
her strategy was flawed. Women back in the day knew the score. The only way
they could get by in the world was to get married, so they wore dresses that
covered everything except an enticing glimpse of tits. Men were so hard up to
see what the women had under all their voluminous skirts, even glimpsing a bit
of ankle would give a guy ideas. He would marry the woman just so he could
unwrap the package.

Women today could
learn a few things from their predecessors.

When he and Clare
were married, he would buy her a closet full of pajamas—flannel ones with
buttons down the front so he could have the pleasure of taking them off of her
every single night. He’d unwrap her one button at a time, tasting each inch of
skin, lavishing attention on her breasts until she begged him to do more. Then
he’d flip her over onto her stomach, dip his fingers past her pajama pants
waistband, and yank them down. He’d sink his teeth into her ass a few times to
let her know who was in charge. Then….

Christ! Where was
an ice storm when you needed one?

He couldn’t
remember ever wanting a woman as badly as he had wanted Clare in those bunny
slippers. Hell, his need hadn’t wavered one bit—his dick was still hard enough
to drive rivets through steel. But he wouldn’t trade a fuck with a dozen
willing women for the evening he’d just spent pleasuring Clare. She’d needed
some TLC, and he’d given it to her. That was enough.

He lifted his hand
to his face and sniffed. Heaven scented his fingers. He rubbed his thumb over
the pads of his first three fingers, recalling the feel of her tight channel.
His fingers curled in, stroked his palm. Man, she fit so perfectly in his hand.
He could still feel her clit grinding against his palm, her soft, bare pussy
weeping for his touch.

Shit
. He
exited the freeway and came to a stop for the red light at the end of the ramp.
He had no idea why she’d cried afterwards. He’d never made a woman cry before,
and he didn’t have a clue what to say or do for her. Maybe he should have
stayed with her.

The light turned
green, and he accelerated through the intersection. Damn, her tears twisted up
his gut.

Clare wasn’t like
other women he knew. She was intelligent and strong. Her breakdown meant
something—he just didn’t know what. But he was damned sure going to find out.

He made his way to
his hotel, dropped his new SUV with the valet, and made a beeline to his suite.
Standing in the shower, letting the cold water work its magic, he contemplated
his next move. Thanksgiving was coming up. He’d find some way to get her alone
so he could talk to her, show her the surprise he’d bought for her.

* * *

Another bouquet of
red roses atop her desk greeted Clare the next morning. She dropped her
briefcase on the floor and pulled her chair from the kneehole. She smiled at
the small stuffed toy tucked into the bouquet. Pink bunny ears flopped over the
card it held in its furry paws.

“Who are they
from?” Laura stepped into the office. “Same guy as before?”

Clare nodded.
“Same guy.”

“Wow. Must be
getting serious.” Her friend put her nose to the bouquet, closed her eyes, and
inhaled. “What’s with the rabbit?”

“I don’t know.”
She carefully removed the bunny. What had happened the night before between her
and Antonio was somehow too private to discuss with anyone else. The feelings
he’d stirred up in her were too new, and she needed to hold them close a while
longer. At least until she understood them better. “Maybe the florist was out
of teddy bears.”

Laura shrugged and
plopped into a visitor’s chair. “So, who is this guy?”

Clare sat, opened
the drawer where she kept miscellaneous stuff, and dropped the stuffed animal
inside. “Antonio Ramirez,” she said, carefully tucking floppy ears down so they
wouldn’t get stuck when she closed the drawer.

“Baseball player?”

She sighed. “Yep.
One of the best.”
At all sorts of things.

Her friend studied
the flowers. Clare rocked back in her chair and closed her eyes. Blessed
silence descended on the room.

“You aren’t just
talking about baseball, are you?”

She sat up. “No.
He’s amazing.”

“And he sends
flowers the day after.”

No sense denying
it. The truth was probably written all over her face anyway. “Yes, he does.”

“He isn’t
apologizing, is he?”

“No. Antonio has
nothing to apologize for, and he knows it.”

“Arrogant.”

“Confident,” she
countered.

“A keeper?”

“It can’t last,
Laura.”

“Why, in Heaven’s
name, not?”

“He’s new to the
team, and he needs a friend right now. As soon as the season begins, he’ll have
women all over him, and he won’t need or want me anymore.”

“Hon, have you
lost your ever-loving mind?” She scooted to the edge of her chair and leaned
over the desk. “Men don’t send flowers like this,” she said and cocked her head
in the direction of the bouquet, “unless they’re apologizing or begging.”

“Maybe he’s just
being nice.”

“Nice, my ass. He
wants you. Nice is a mixed bouquet. Something seasonal. Red roses represent
blood. His. Either he’s bleeding to show how sorry he is, or his blood is
running hot for you.”

Clare stood. She’d
heard enough. “You are way off base, my friend. I’ve got a class in ten
minutes.”

Laura took the
hint. At the door, she paused. “I’ll see if I can find a geranium for you while
you’re out.”

“Why a geranium?”

“They represent
true friendship as well as stupidity. I’m your friend, no matter what, but
you’re stupid if you believe that man doesn’t want you.”

She stared at the
empty doorway long after the other woman left, her parting words running an
endless loop through her brain. She made it through her early class and
cancelled her later one. Her brain refused to think about any kind of theory
other than the one Laura had proposed. Was she underestimating Antonio’s
feelings for her?

She pulled the
stuffed rabbit out of her drawer and set it, facing her, in the middle of her
desk. Laura had to be wrong. All that mumbo jumbo about the meaning of certain
flowers was something only a woman would know. There wasn’t a man on the planet
who knew the difference between a rose and a daisy. Antonio had simply called
the florist and ordered the most expensive flowers available. The floppy-eared
bunny was evidence enough the flowers were thoughtful and nothing more.

Still holding the
unopened card, she slipped it from the envelope. Expecting a typewritten note,
she was startled when she recognized Antonio’s bold scrawl. She amended her
earlier thought. He had taken the time to walk into the florist shop and write
a personal message.

The next time
you wear bunny slippers, we’re going to do what rabbits do best.

See you on the
bunny slope.

Bring the
rabbit, he has the tickets.

I’ll bring the
carrot.

A wave of heat
began low in her stomach and rose like the tide at full moon to warm her face
and the tops of her ears. She clutched the card against her fluttering stomach.

Wait.

She read the card
again. The rabbit has the tickets? Tossing the card aside, she reached for the
stuffed toy. A closer examination revealed a zipper running along the bunny’s
back. Clare squeezed and, sure enough, caught the sound of crinkling paper. She
carefully pulled the zipper down and slipped the folded envelope from the
hidden compartment.

Inside were two
first-class airline tickets to Aspen for Thanksgiving weekend.

Propping her
elbows on the edge of the desk, she dropped her face into her upturned palms
and groaned. She’d allowed herself to forget about the one remaining bid item,
hoping against hope he would forget about it, too.

No such luck.

Along with the
tickets was another handwritten note with every travel detail outlined down to
the minute. He’d included a packing list, that if followed to the letter,
wouldn’t allow her past the front door of the condo booked for their use, much
less onto the bunny slope.

Clearly, he had no
intention of skiing.

Her desk phone
rang, and she almost jumped out of her skin. It had to be a colleague or one of
her students. Everyone else called her on her cell phone. For a half-second,
while she stuffed the plane tickets back in their envelope and stowed it in her
desk drawer on top of the Bases Loaded charm, she considered not answering the
call. But she had a job to do, so she slammed the drawer shut and reached for
the phone.

Tony faltered.
Clare sounded out of breath, like she’d raced to get the phone before the
caller hung up. Or shit…that’s the way she sounded right after she came. The
thought rocked him, and it took a second for him to recover his equilibrium.

“Hello?” she
repeated. “Is anyone there?”

Get a grip,
Ramirez.
“Clare. It’s me, Tony. Did you get the flowers?”

A sigh then a
creaking sound. Her desk chair. He remembered the noise it made when she’d
leaned back in it the day they fucked in her office. He’d gone down on his
knees and put his hands on her thighs. As his hands went up her skirt, she’d
tilted back a bit. Yeah, that was the same sound.

“Yes, I did. Thank
you. They’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful
as you.”

Silence.

“Clare?”

“Please, Antonio.
You don’t have to keep doing this.”

“What? Telling you
you’re beautiful or sending you flowers?”

“All of it.”

“No. Unacceptable.
What did you think of the bunny? Do you know how hard it is to find one of
those this time of year?”

“He’s cute, and I
appreciate the thought—”

“Did you find the
tickets?”

“I did, but I
can’t go with you. I’ve already made plans for Thanksgiving.”

“Cancel them. You
said you would do the auction items with me. This is the last one, babe. Spend
the weekend with me.”

There was the
creaking again. He could imagine her sitting in her office, her skirt hiked up
to her hips, stroking herself through her panties.

“What are you
wearing,” he asked.

“What?” she
shrieked. The chair squeaked again.

“I asked what
you’re wearing?”

“Um…a skirt and
blouse. Why?”

He wedged his cell
phone between his ear and his shoulder, awkwardly standing to open his fly
before his jeans strangled him.

“Lock your door.”

“Antonio,” she
warned.

“Just do it,
okay?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You should. You
don’t have another class this morning, do you?”

“No. I had an
early class. I need to work on the lesson plans for a new class I’m going to
teach next semester.”

“Good. Then do as
I say. Lock the door.”

The chair creaked
again, and a loud thump came over the line when she dropped the receiver on her
desk. He held his breath until she picked the handset up again.

“Okay. Door is
locked. What’s this all about?”

“It’s about convincing
you to spend Thanksgiving weekend naked with me.”

“And I need the
door locked for that?”

“Yes, you do. What
kind of skirt are you wearing? One of those loose swirly things or is it tight
on your hips?”

“I don’t see what
that has to do with anything,” she protested.

“You’ll see. What
kind of skirt?”

“It’s a pencil
skirt,” she said with an exasperated sigh.

“I like those.
They show off your ass.”

“Antonio.”

He could see her
plain as day. When she lost her patience, her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed.
Sexy.

“Are you wearing
pantyhose?”

“What century do
you think this is?”

“I’ll take that as
a no. Good. Stand up, pull your skirt up to your waist then sit back down.”

He could hear her
breathing on the other end. Good. If he could hear her, then he was getting to
her. After a long pause when he wasn’t sure if she might hang up on him or see
where this was going, he finally heard a loud
thunk
indicating she’d
dropped the receiver on her desk again. That and the creaking of her chair told
him she was following his instructions.

His heart beat so
hard it could power a jackhammer. Unable to sit still, he stood and paced the
confines of his hotel room, waiting for her to return. He double locked the
door to prevent interruptions then crossed to the bank of windows and pulled
the sheer panels closed.