Bases Loaded (Mustangs Baseball) (4 page)

Chapter
Five

She had officially
lost her mind. That’s all there was to it. Why else would she be meeting
Antonio downtown to help him look for a place to live?

He needed a friend
in Dallas. With her, he could have a woman’s companionship and not feel
threatened in any way. Despite his protests otherwise over dinner the other
night, she couldn’t seriously expect a man like Antonio to fall for her, and he
knew she knew. In his eyes, she was safe. No play at that base. He’d gone to
more trouble than necessary to insure her company until he settled in and made
some new friends.

All his seductive
talk had been just that—talk.

Clare circled the
block, looking for the entrance to the hotel’s parking garage. She spied the
opening she needed, but a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed she would
have to make the block again before she could get into the correct lane to turn
in. She mumbled a curse.

Boy, would Antonio
be surprised if he knew how unsafe she actually was. Ever since her days at Julliard,
she had harbored a crush on him. He’d been a rookie with the Marauders then.
She had pulled every familial string she could to get tickets to the games as
often as possible. It had been easy to get them when the Mustangs were in town,
but her uncle had only been able to do so much the rest of the season. Their
connections, plus a lot of scrimping and saving on her part, got her into the
stadium a few times each year. All so she could drool over Antonio Ramirez. And
dream. Or rather, fantasize. Dreams were for girls. Her fantasies were those of
a red-blooded, fully hormonal woman.

It hadn’t been
until years later she’d overheard a conversation and glimpsed the small, gold
charm with the jeweled bases. What Jessica had done to earn it had been shocking,
and the bitch delighted in reminding Clare every time she had a chance that
Clare wasn’t pretty enough to play
The Game
.

She almost hated
Antonio for making her think, even for one short afternoon, they could be any
more than friends or that she might one day earn a Bases Loaded charm of her
own.

Two more trips
around the block got her into the parking garage, and a few minutes later, she
searched for Antonio in the hotel’s expansive lobby. As a sought after free
agent, he had pretty much written his own ticket, signing a gazillion million
dollar, multi-year contract with the Mustangs. He could easily afford the
opulence of a five star hotel while he settled into his new life in Texas.

Scanning the
lobby, she felt out of place in jeans and the soft blouse that had been one of
her favorites for a number of years. She at least expected to see a few
tourists with kids, but everyone wore business suits, men and women alike. She
caught sight of a pair of sneaker-clad feet across the room and felt marginally
better until the body attached to the feet came into view.

Damn.
Antonio strode toward her like a jungle animal that had just spotted dinner.
Heads turned when he walked by. The man carried himself with an air of
confidence that quietly stated clothes didn’t make the man. She would have
wagered not a soul in the place noticed what he was wearing.

Her heart did a
somersault then lodged itself in her throat.

Confident strides
brought him closer. His gaze stripped her bare long before he came to a stop in
front of her.

“Babe,” was all he
said before he wrapped one arm around her waist, commandeered her cranium with
the other, and insinuated one thick thigh between her legs. He hauled her up
against him, and before her brain could comprehend what was happening, he
kissed her.

Lips. Tongue.
Teeth. He devoured her right there in the hotel lobby as if he’d snatched an
appetizer off a passing plate.

When he finally
broke the kiss, they were both gasping for air. Clare disentangled her fingers
from his hair—too dazed to consider how they’d become tangled there in the
first place.

“I missed you,” he
said, allowing her a little space, but still holding her close.

“Antonio….” She
glanced around the room. A few people stared at them. A few more tried to look
like they weren’t watching two adults making out in public, but most apparently
hadn’t found the encounter remarkable at all and had gone on with their
business.

“Did I tell you
how much I like to hear you say my name?”

“Yes, you did,”
she said, returning her gaze to his.

He smiled, and her
knees turned to jelly.

“Whoa, there.” The
muscles in his arm tightened against the small of her back, supporting her.
“Are you okay?”

She pushed against
his chest. “I’m fine. Really.”

His fingers dug
into the soft flesh at her waist.

“Antonio,” she
warned.

He loosened his
hold on her slightly, and she managed to create an inch or so of space between
them.

“I was worried
about you earlier. I thought you might have changed your mind about helping
me.”

She explained her
reason for being late and secretly vowed never to be on time if being late
would get her kissed like that. “I don’t know why you’re here. Downtown, I
mean. Doesn’t the traffic make you crazy?”

“Babe, I’m from
New York. This is nothing.”

He allowed her a
little more distance, and she took advantage, stepping away from him.

She adjusted her
purse strap on her shoulder. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

“I’d rather take
you up to my suite and forget the whole apartment hunting thing.”

But he wouldn’t.
She knew that, even if her heart did do another acrobatic move at the thought
of mattress aerobics with him. “You can’t live in a hotel forever, Antonio. You
have a six-year contract.”

“Okay. You
convinced me. Let’s get this over with.” He grabbed her around the waist again,
and they walked out hip-to-hip, despite her pleas for him to let her go.

The realtor met
them at the first high-rise, where she led them through a penthouse apartment
that had recently become available. The place had about as much appeal as an
empty cracker box, and Clare said so.

“It’s not you,
Antonio.”

“Why not? It’s
big.” He strode over to the floor to ceiling windows. “There’s a view, and the
building has security. What’s wrong with it?”

What wasn’t
wrong with it?
“It’s cold,” Clare countered. “Even if you filled the place
with warm colors and furnishings, it would still be cold.”

He shrugged and
asked to see what else the realtor had. Clare shot down two more apartments
before they called it quits for the day.

In the cab on the
way back to his hotel, Antonio said, “Tell me what kind of place you think I
should buy, since I clearly don’t have a clue what kind of living space I
need.”

“Are you mad at
me?”

“No, just
frustrated. I thought you would like all of those places, but you hated them.”

“I did. But if you
liked them, then choose one. You’re the one who’s going to have to live in it.
Not me.”

He had draped his
arm over the back of the seat and allowed it to drop to her shoulder. With
little effort, he slid her across the seat toward him. “Describe your perfect
house.”

“That’s easy. It’s
Georgian. Big, but cozy, with hardwood floors and high ceilings. Fireplaces in
all the key rooms, living room, den, dining room, bedrooms. Maybe even one in
the kitchen. It has a large yard dotted with hardwood trees that light up like
marquees in the fall. It’s on a quiet street where kids can ride bicycles. It’s
old, but not rundown old. It has history, if you know what I mean.”

“You’ve given it a
lot of thought.”

“Every little girl
has a dream house, a dream prince, and a dream wedding.”

“And where is this
dream house?”

The cab stopped in
front of his hotel. A liveried attendant opened her door and waited. “I have no
idea, but I can tell you this—it isn’t downtown.”

“Let me buy you
dinner. It’s the least I can do for dragging you all over the place today.”

Clare stopped in
the lobby and turned to him. “I appreciate the offer, Antonio, but no. I need
to get home. Things to do.”

He walked with her
to the parking garage despite her insistence she didn’t need an escort. “I know
you don’t, but humor me. I like spending time with you.”

She stopped at her
car, fished a set of keys from her purse. He stood by while she unlocked the
door. Just before she ducked into the driver’s seat, he caught her by the elbow
and pulled her against him.

Her mouth gaped in
surprise. He swooped in to steal another kiss. It seemed the only way he would
get to taste her was to catch her with her defenses down. So far, the plan was
working out well. He’d caught her off-guard three times, and every time, she’d
tensed then melted against him.

He savored her
unique flavor combined with a hint of the coffee the realtor had insisted on
purchasing for them. Careful not to let his hands roam places they weren’t
invited, he kept one on her elbow and carefully slid the other to the base of
her skull. The fall of silken hair over the back of his hand conjured thoughts
he was sure she would deem inappropriate if she were apprised of them.

Tires screeched,
reminding him of where they were. They broke apart.

“I’ve got to go,”
she said.

He loved the
breathless quality of her voice. She might be holding him at a distance, but
she wasn’t unaffected. Patience was called for.

He watched her car
until it disappeared up the ramp toward the exit. The ache in his groin was
something he was getting way too familiar with. It had been an almost constant
companion since she walked into that ballroom, and his life.

When he signed the
contract with the Mustangs, he hadn’t given much thought to where he would
live. He’d grown up on Long Island and spent a sizeable chunk of his first
Major League signing bonus on his Manhattan apartment. He liked living there—in
the heart of the city. And everyone he knew had said his apartment was nice.
But then, no one’s opinion had mattered but his. Now that he’d met Clare, he
wanted a place she would be comfortable with, and that clearly wasn’t anything
in downtown Dallas.

He took the
elevator to the thirty-fourth floor and entered his suite. He tossed his keys
on the nearest hard surface and raided the mini bar. After the roller coaster
of the last few hours, he needed a good stiff drink.

It hadn’t occurred
to him Clare wouldn’t like a downtown apartment. In fact, he had done a lot of
picturing the two of them together, but his imagination had only gone as far as
the bedroom. And for the life of him, he couldn’t recall a single detail of the
room except it had a big bed and they used every inch of its surface. He’d
never gotten past that in his Clare-and-Tony-together thoughts. It didn’t
matter to him where they lived, but it mattered to her. He needed to look
deeper.

What had she said
about the three places they had looked at?
It looks cold. This one has no
soul. It’s okay, but I just don’t see you living here. This is a pop hit, and
you’re more of a classic.

No one had ever
compared him to a classic. No one but Clare. He couldn’t explain what the
comment meant to him, but he did know he wanted to do everything in his power
to live up to the man she thought him to be.

He closed his
eyes, remembering Clare standing in the middle of the first apartment they had
seen. She had nailed it. The place was cold and lifeless, and even though she
was as hot as they came, her vibrant heat hadn’t touched the austerity of the
room. Now that he had stepped away, he could see what she saw. She would hate
his Manhattan apartment. It was all glass and chrome and cold stone floors—all
the things Clare said were not him, and he knew for certain weren’t her style.

Maybe he would put
it on the market, furniture and all. That way he could start over completely in
Dallas. He’d find a place that suited both him and Clare.

He mulled that
over for a few minutes. Yeah, it was time to make changes in his life. He
hadn’t lied to Doyle Walker. He
had
actively sought out the Mustangs
when his contract with the Marauders expired. He loved New York, but he’d
always liked it when the Marauders played in Dallas. There was something about
the city that appealed to him. It could be the slower lifestyle or the more
hospitable climate. Or maybe he’d sensed Clare was near.

He needed to leave
more than New York behind. It was time to relinquish his spot in Bases Loaded
to someone else. The club existed in the shadows of the Major League. The
brainchild of some players with giant egos and even bigger libidos, it wasn’t
for everyone. Most of the membership hailed from East Coast teams, but thanks
to trades, there were members on just about every team. As far as he knew, he
was the only one on the Mustangs, but perhaps not the first to wear the red and
blue uniform.

Sworn to secrecy,
the women who played the game successfully earned a clit piercing along with a
gem and diamond studded charm. He hated that every time he took Clare in his
arms, he thought about how beautiful she would look running the bases.

Clare would
probably club him over the head if he suggested she any such thing. She wasn’t
the kind of woman to do something like that, and he damned sure wasn’t going to
corrupt her by suggesting she play. He would not project his depravity on her.

But that didn’t
keep him from imagining how the tiny charm would look dangling from her clit.

Shit.

He shifted to
relieve the pressure behind his fly. If this kept up, his cock would have a
permanent indentation of his zipper along the length of it.

He
would not
invite Clare to run the bases. He wasn’t even going to tell her about the club.
Thankfully, the tattoo on his ass was easily explained away as a tribute to his
baseball playing days. She need never know the truth of it, even if he did
manage to get close enough for her to see his butt. Maybe when they were
tottering around the nursing home together in about fifty years, he would tell
her what it really meant. Perhaps they could laugh about it then.