Bases Loaded (Mustangs Baseball) (5 page)

He snagged a soda
from the mini-bar and set his laptop on the desk near the window. He logged
onto the real estate website and plugged
Georgian
and
big yard
into the search engine.

* * *

Clare slipped into
her comfy sweats and huddled under the throw she kept on the sofa. She wasn’t
really cold, but after spending the afternoon with Antonio, she wanted to hide
from the world. What had come over her? What kind of alien had taken possession
of her brain to make her blurt out her house fantasy?

He must think she
was totally insane. And really, she’d opened her mouth and shot down every
apartment they had looked at—all because she had some fantastical image of the
man in her head. Maybe he liked all those ultra-modern designs. He probably
did. That’s why the realtor had to show them all those places. They’d been what
he had asked to see. He’d probably be the proud owner of one of those
apartments right now if he hadn’t asked her along.

She pulled the
fuzzy throw over her head and groaned.

Well. That was
that. He wouldn’t call again. He probably ran up to his suite and called the
realtor as soon as he saw Clare’s taillights leave the garage. It wasn’t any of
her business if he wasted his money on a place that was all wrong for him. It
wasn’t like she would ever see it anyway.

She groaned again
and popped her head out from under her makeshift tent. Her obsessing over
Antonio needed to stop. Ever since the fundraiser, all she did was fantasize
about him in between bouts of hating him for making her feel so many different
emotions.

The red-blooded
woman in her wanted to believe he found her attractive, but the insecure girl
in her had more doubts than the Mustangs had wins last season. Still…he had
kissed her three times. Was that considered first base? It certainly was in her
book, especially the way Antonio kissed.

If she never had a
moment alone with the man again, she could live off the memories of those kisses
and everything she’d felt when he held her in his arms. She had never
experienced anything as exhilarating, as arousing. His body was hard all over,
and she had sensed his strength. It was as if he knew he could hurt her and
took care not to. Maybe that accounted for the odd sense of safety she felt
when she was with him. Maybe that was why she’d told him about her auction
fantasies and her perfect house fantasy.

Thank God, he
hadn’t asked her about her perfect man fantasy because she probably would have
blurted out that
he
was the perfect man she fantasized about.

Okay, so she did
believe him when he’d said he liked her body. Maybe a little. Both times he
kissed her, he had held her close enough to notice his arousal. Maybe he
was
attracted to her. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. She wasn’t a total
dog. She had been in a few relationships, and a couple of those resulted in
trips to the bedroom. But none had lasted long after Mr. Wrong had gotten what
he wanted from her. After Mr. Wrong number two, another professor at the local
college where she taught music theory, she had decided platonic relationships
were the way to go. She couldn’t get her heart handed to her on a platter if
she kept her clothes on. Removing her clothes stripped more than her body, it
stripped her soul bare, and the only thing worse than finding out a man didn’t
want her body was finding out he didn’t want her soul either.

Not that Antonio
was going to call again, but she’d do well to stay at home if he did. She’d
already shown him too much of herself, inside and out.

Chapter
Six

Clare parked her
car in front of the exclusive spa. Indecision was her middle name today. She
almost didn’t get out of bed. Then she almost called Antonio to cancel. Then
she almost didn’t dress for the occasion. Then she almost didn’t leave the
house. On the drive across town, she almost turned around and went back home.
Twice.

The place oozed
opulence—even from the outside. She ran a hand over the black slacks she had
finally decided on. Not that it mattered what she wore. If she went inside, she
wouldn’t be wearing them for long. This auction item was for a couples massage
which meant being naked in the same room with Antonio Ramirez with nothing but
a sheet to hide behind.

Her skin tingled
just thinking about it. This was the stuff of her fantasies, but now the
reality of it was on the other side of those massive carved wood doors,
everything looked a whole lot different. She chewed her bottom lip and stared
at the doors, trying to work up the nerve to get out of the car.

One step at a
time.
She closed her eyes and held the steering wheel in a death grip. A
knock sounded on the window beside her, and her heart leapt into overdrive. She
let out a squeak that should have been a scream but didn’t quite make it.

Oh, shit
.
Antonio
.
With one hand braced on the top of her car, he leaned down to peer through the
window at her. Her hand trembled as she fingered the button to lower the glass.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” She mustered
what she hoped was a smile.

“Right on time. I
like that.” He reached for the door handle and tugged, but the automatic lock
was still engaged.

“Sorry.” Clare
powered the window back up and removed the key from the ignition. The number of
possible escape scenarios had just dwindled to zero unless she concocted a
sudden illness. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch. Her stomach felt like gangs
of butterflies were having a turf war inside, and imagining Antonio naked
beneath a sheet had warmed her skin enough to perhaps convince an EMT she had a
raging fever.

She reached for
her purse with one hand and pushed the unlock button with the other. Antonio
held the door open for her, stepping back so she could exit the car.

“Were you waiting
for me?” he asked.

“Uh…. No. I
mean….”

“You were deciding
if you were going to go inside.”

No point in
denying it. He’d caught her. “Yes.”

She slumped
against the car. He stood less than a foot from her, close enough she could
smell his aftershave. Masculinity shimmered off him like some kind of
testosterone aura. It made it darned hard to think. “I…this….”

He closed the
distance between them, pinning her back against the car door. His hands came to
rest on her hips, holding her in a soft caress. “We’ll have separate tables. No
touching. No peeking. I promise.”

His smile was
genuine and disarming. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand,
cutting off her protest.

“Just let me lie
beside you for an hour or so. That’s all I ask.”
For now
hung in the air
like a flashing neon sign.

“You won’t look?”

“I’ll make a deal
with you. I won’t peek unless you do. That puts it entirely in your hands. If
you peek at me, I get a peek at you. If you don’t, I don’t. Think you can
handle that?”

No. Not at all
.
She was absolutely dying to see every naked inch of Antonio, and if truth be
told, she had spent considerable time in the last few days imagining ways to
accomplish it without him knowing. If the rumors were true, he had a certain
tattoo somewhere on his body, and today’s massage was most likely the only
opportunity she would ever have to see it—if it really existed.

“How will you know
if I sneak a peek?” As soon as the question left her lips, she recognized it
for the admission it was.

His fingers dug
into her hips, and a sound resembling a growl rumbled in his chest. “I’ll know,
Clare. Trust me, I’m aware of every move you make.”

She didn’t know
what to say to that statement, so she kept quiet.

“Is it a deal?” he
asked.

“I won’t peek,”
she said.
Liar.

He wrapped an arm
around her waist, pulled her to his side, and ushered her toward the doors of
doom.

Since this was a
couples session, and the staff assumed she and Antonio were a couple in the
most intimate sense of the word—why else would they have booked such a session?
She eyed the cozy suite that would be theirs for the next hour and a half. A
fire flickered in the gas fireplace, casting a golden glow over the dimly lit
room. If she hadn’t driven to the spa herself, she might have thought she’d
been spirited away to an opulent mountain retreat. Two massage tables, draped
in snow-white linens, occupied half the room. The other half held a plush
seating group, inviting the room’s occupants to linger. A bottle of champagne
chilling in a crystal ice bucket flanked by gold-rimmed flutes sat on the
coffee table.

“You’ll find
everything you need over there,” the spa attendant said, gesturing toward the
massage tables. “Feel free to use the terrycloth robes. Or not. It’s up to you.
When you’re ready, ring the bell—” She indicated a call button within reach of
one of the tables. “—and your attendants will join you.”

Antonio thanked
the woman, shutting the door behind her. He turned to Clare. “What do you
think?”

“It’s even more
beautiful than I imagined.”

He wrapped his
arms around her from behind, nestling her snug against his hard body. His chin
rested against her temple. The intimacy of the gesture warmed her. For a
split-second, she allowed herself to imagine he wanted her the way she wanted
him.

“I’m glad you like
it,” he said.

“I’ve never had a
massage,” she confessed.

“Then you’re in
for a treat, though I have to admit I’m already jealous of whoever gets to put
their hands on you.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, sending a tingle
all the way to her toes. “I wish it was going to be me.”

God, she wished it
was, too, but it wasn’t going to happen. She cringed inside, imagining his
disappointment if he ever saw her naked. He might claim to like curves, but one
look at her body and he’d be shopping for two-by-four’s again. What did it
matter if he had the tattoo? It wasn’t like he would ever…with
her
.

She gave herself a
mental shake and tried to get the conversation back on track. “So, what do we
do now?”

Extricating
herself from his embrace, she sat on the plush couch and ran her hand over the
luxurious upholstery.

“Champagne?” he
said. “Then I’ll let you go first in the changing room. You can get situated
while I get out of my clothes. How does that sound?”

“Fine.”

As he handed the
glass to her, their fingers brushed. The instant heat transfer shot through her
body like a flash fire. She brought the flute to her lips and sipped. The
crisp, cold liquid on her tongue was a shock to her system.

She took another
fortifying sip. Cold courage. Straight from a bottle. Resisting the urge to
drain her glass, she placed it carefully on the table.

“Something wrong?”

“No. I’m not used
to drinking in the middle of the day, that’s all.”

“Me either, but if
ever there was an event that called for champagne, this is it.”

The alcohol
already fuzzed her brain. She knit her brows in confusion.

Antonio smiled
over the rim of his glass. “You. Me. Naked together. That’s cause for
celebration in my book.”

Her entire body
heated with a blush. Before the liquid courage wore off, she stood. “I’ll get
changed now.” She edged past him to the dressing room door. “Remember your
promise.”

He saluted her
with his flute. “No peeking. I promise.” The twinkle in his eyes and the tilt
of his lips told her it was a hollow promise, though she had no intention of
allowing him a chance to break it.

With an extra tug
at the knotted belt on her terrycloth robe, Clare stepped out of the changing
room. Antonio stood. Wide-eyed, his gaze raked her from head to toe, stopping
at the triangle of exposed skin on her chest. He licked his lips, and his
nostrils flared like a predator scenting its prey. Instinctively, she grabbed
the lapels of her robe and clutched them tight, but it was too late. The fire
blazing in his eyes sparked an answering inferno low in her belly, and for a
brief moment, she forgot her physical shortcomings. She felt beautiful.
Desired.

Her body hummed,
and her toes curled in the plush carpet in a classic fight or flight response.
The fight would be epic if she ever found the nerve to let him get close
enough.

“Your turn,” she
said, forcing her feet to move toward the massage tables. Every step felt as if
she fought an invisible force field, pulling her back into his space. Only her
knowledge that having sex with her one time would be enough for him kept her
going.

“I’ll be right
back,” he said.

Anchored by
nerves, she remained still, following his movements with her hearing alone.
There was the distinct click of crystal on wood then the hard jolt of the
changing room door cutting off a muffled curse. She looked over her shoulder to
make sure he was gone before loosening the tie at her waist and wrapping a
folded sheet around her body.

She felt awkward
lying on the massage table like a beached whale, but it was too late to turn
back. She’d swam into these waters, and she would to see it through—no matter
what. Behind her, a door opened. Tiny pinpricks of heat traveled from the soles
of her feet to the top of her head. She held herself perfectly still, hardly
daring to breathe as Antonio crossed the room.

He did his best to
entice her to peek—wiggling and flopping around, cursing as he did so. He was
known on the baseball field for pushing the limits, so she should have expected
this type of behavior. She bit her lip to keep from smiling and kept her face
buried in the oval cutout in the table. Patience would win this game. If she
pretended disinterest, he would eventually drop his guard, allowing her the
chance to check out portions of his body without him knowing. It was a shame
the rumors didn’t specify where exactly the tattoo would be—if it existed at
all.

He summoned the
attendants who arrived on quiet feet and set to work.

Antonio groaned
and moaned and talked. All. The. Freaking. Time.

“Ahh, that feels
good.”

“Yeah, right
there. Oh, man.”

“What kind of oil
is that? It smells good.” When his masseuse named the product, Antonio said,
“Clare, honey, we’ve got to get some of this stuff.” Then he groaned again.

Why couldn’t he
just drift off to sleep or something, so she could look all she wanted?

After a while, she
tuned him out and concentrated on the hands gliding across her skin. The
attendants had introduced themselves when they came in. The woman, Serena, was
there for Antonio. Clare’s attendant was a guy named Raul, who, it turned out,
had the hands of a god. At first, she’d been self-conscious about having a
strange man touch her, but between Antonio’s incessant noise and the way Raul
systematically reduced her muscles to putty, she quickly forgot all about being
naked in a room with three other people.

Two of those
people were professionals and had been paid handsomely to keep their opinions
to themselves. Antonio, however, couldn’t and wouldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Feeling good,
Clare?” he asked right after Raul coaxed a soft moan out of her by working some
kind of magic on the small of her back.

“Mmm….”

“It sounds like
you are.”

“Go away,
Antonio.”

His laugh sounded
like he was short on air. “That good, huh?”

“Shh. Raul has
magic hands.”

The sound that
came from the other table wasn’t laughter. It sounded more like Serena was
strangling Antonio with a towel. A flash of lightning shot through Clare.
Antonio didn’t like hearing about her massage. Maybe he was jealous.

“Do that again,
Raul.” She tested her theory, purring the words. “It feels
so
good.”

Another strangled
sound came from the other table, along with a lot of shifting around.

She actually
enjoyed herself. Teasing Antonio was fun.

Raul pulled the
sheet up to her armpits and asked her to roll onto her back. Who knew it took
so many muscle groups just to turn over? She moaned.

Antonio growled.

Raul went to work
on her arms, stretching them above her head, pulling and kneading until she
couldn’t have lifted a slip of paper if her life depended on it. Then he moved
to her legs, rolling her calf muscles, moving up slowly to her thighs. It was
Heaven.

He tugged on her
right thigh, and she realized he needed better access to the inside of her
legs. “Open for me,” he said.

It happened fast.
One second, Raul’s talented fingers were liquefying her leg muscles, and the
next—they were not. Her eyes flew open.

Serena gasped and
backed into a rolling cart. Bottles and pots of cream crashed to the floor.
Clare sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts.

Across the room,
Antonio pinned Raul to the wall with one hand at his neck while his other hand
held a sheet at his waist. The white fabric hung between the two men,
presumably covering Antonio’s junk, but left his oiled back and ass exposed.

And there it was.
A neatly penned baseball diamond graced his left buttock. Each base was filled
with a different color, and below home plate were the words “Bases Loaded.”
Just exactly like the tiny charm Jessica had worn on her clit
.

Bases Loaded is
real.
The club wasn’t an urban legend, after all.