High Heat (Hard Hitters #1) (14 page)

Finding out that she was dating Tom Cord would certainly dash those dreams.

“I don’t think it’s going to come as a shock to that many people that we’re together,” Tom said. “People have seen us together. Rumors got started after I told Reedy to let you on the bus.”

“It’s one thing for people to suspect, but it’s another to give the confirmation. We don’t want to do that.”

For the first time, his eyes dropped.

“What?” The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. “Is something going on that I should know about?”

“Coco Jackson knows.”

“Knows what?” He gave her a look, and she blinked hard. “He knows we’re sleeping together? How does he know that?”

“I don’t know.” He waved a hand. “Like I said, people saw us together. Rumors get started.”

“He confronted you about it?”

“I don’t know if ‘confronted’ is the right word, but he said something, yeah.” He picked up his water and took a long drink.

“So you denied it, of course.” He stared hard at his bottle, and her mouth fell open. “You didn’t deny it?”

“There didn’t seem to be much point in lying. He already knew.”

“He couldn’t have already known! He just suspected. Gah! Why did you have to go and tell him?” She paced from one side of the kitchen to another, mind racing.

“Coco’s cool. He won’t tell anyone.”

“If he was cool, he would have kept his suspicions to himself and not said anything! You know how he is. Athletes are bigger gossips than hair stylists.” Damn. What if he blabbed to her dad?

“He wanted to give me a warning. I’m telling you, he’s cool.”

“A warning?” She stopped in her tracks. “Did he threaten you?”

“Hell, no, he didn’t threaten me. I think he wanted to warn me that us getting involved could hurt you. He knows your dad won’t like it.”

“Oh.” Her anxiety eased a fraction. That did not sound like a man who would intentionally out her to her dad. Still, she didn’t like the idea that someone out there knew for sure that she and Tom were involved. “Okay, well, you can’t unring a bell, but if anyone else asks, deny everything. I will too. Maybe we’d better let a few days go by without seeing each other.” She stood in front of the kitchen sink and looked out the window. The weather had been dry and the grass was browning. She watched a honeybee buzzing among the gladiolus. “Paul asked me too, but I wouldn’t answer him for sure.”

“Paul knows?”

“No, Paul suspects. I told him it was none of his business, though.”
Like you should have done with Coco.

“True, but it seems like nobody in this town minds their own business.”

“Now you’re starting to know Plainview.” She rubbed a tense spot between her eyebrows. “So far my dad doesn’t suspect anything, but if rumors are flying, he will soon. Maybe it’s better if I meet with him and get it over with.”

“Get what over with?”

“The denial, of course.” She bit her lip. “I’m a terrible liar. He’s always been able to see right through me. Still, if he has no evidence, he can’t do anything.”

“If your dad fires you for such a stupid reason, who cares? This isn’t the only baseball job in the world. Hell, a lot of teams would let you have more of an operations role than he has.”

She turned and faced him. He didn’t get it. “This team is everything to me, and my family. It’s been the Dudley legacy for three generations. I can’t work anywhere else. It would be a betrayal. Would George Steinbrenner’s kid go work for the Mets? No, he’s a Yankee through and through!” Why couldn’t he understand that? “Besides, my dad would never actually fire me.”

“Then why deny anything? Tell him we’re seeing each other.”

“What?” He stepped closer and she turned once again to look out the window, her breath coming swiftly. “Are you crazy?”

He moved behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and brushing her hair to one side. “Why deny anything? If your dad isn’t going to fire you, who cares? You’re an adult.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know my father. If I prove I can’t be trusted around the players—” She caught her breath as his lips brushed a particularly sensitive spot on the side of her neck.

“How long have you been working for the team?”

“Since I graduated college. I—I started out at an entry-level marketing job and worked my way up.” He certainly made it hard for a girl to carry on a conversation when he did that with his tongue.

“That’s what, four, five years?”

She closed her eyes and thought hard, trying to tune out the delicious sensations he’d stirred to life. “Five as of last month.”

“And how many players have you dated in that time?” He pressed his pelvis against her behind, pinning her to the counter next to the sink. Her fingers curled, tightening on the edge of the counter.

“One.”

One of his big hands crept up to cup her breast, a thumb toying with the nipple through her bra. “One including me, or one before me?”

“Only you,” she gasped, eyes drifting shut.

“I see. So this isn’t something you make a habit of.” Was she crazy, or did he sound satisfied at her answer?

“No,” she said after a long moment of trying to remember how to speak.

“He has no reason to think you would do it again anytime soon, right?”

Screw it, talking was too hard. She shook her head.

“There you go, then. No big deal. Tell him the truth and let him deal with it.” Before she could answer, he slid his hand down, massaging the softness between her legs through her yoga pants.

“Oh, God.” She went boneless, but he caught her, pinning her lower body with his pelvis and cradling her upper body in his arms.

What were they talking about? Something important, but reason kept slipping from her, driven away by the relentless rhythm of his fingers. Against the curve of her rear, his hardness flared. She reached behind her in a halfhearted grab for him, but he swatted her arm away.

“Don’t stop doing that,” she whispered.

“I won’t,” he whispered in her ear. He paused for a minute, but before she could complain, he slipped his hand inside her underwear, moving his fingers to the sweet secret at the apex of her thighs. His fingers moved easily through the dampness there, making her hands claw the counter’s edge until her knuckles whitened.

“Tom, oh, Tom. God. That feels so—” her voice wavered into nothingness as she hung on, savoring her body’s climb to pleasure.

“I’ve got you. Just let go. Let it go.” As he spoke, he slipped two fingers inside her, detonating a hard climax. Waves of pleasure pulsed through her, and she didn’t try to silence her response. He took one earlobe between his teeth, nipping her as she settled back into his embrace with a sigh.

After a few moments of hanging limp and loose, a ridiculous smile on her face, she felt the tension in every muscle of his frame. She reached back to cup him through his shorts, but he pulled away. Her eyes widened, but he only pulled his shorts down and donned a condom, and then pulled her yoga pants and underwear down with a jerk.

Sliding a hand under her shirt, he moved his hand along her spine, tipping her forward slightly as he entered her from behind. The alignment was tricky, but after a couple of false starts, he slid deep inside, wresting a sigh from her.

“Do you know your neighbors here?” He started a steady rhythm of thrusting that stirred the embers of desire to life deep inside her.

“What?” Surely that question had a point, but she couldn’t think of it right now.

“Your neighbors. Any nice little old ladies who would be shocked if they looked over right now through your kitchen window?”

“Umm, probably. Mrs. Petersend lives next door. Oh, God.” He took some new angle that startled an exclamation out of her.

“What would you do if Mrs. Petersend looked over here, as she was watering her roses, and saw me here with you? Me, hotshot athlete, ruining the town’s good girl?”

“She doesn’t have roses,” she muttered, knowing she was missing Tom’s point but not caring. She didn’t think Mrs. Petersend would look over here, but even if she did, she had long since ceased to care. He’d pleasured her so thoroughly moments ago, but all she could think about was getting there again, feeling the hypnotic release that only he seemed to know how to unleash in her.

“Whatever. She’s got something, and she’ll be out there, puttering around in her garden, probably wondering what that nice Sarah Dudley is doing on her evening off.” His voice, taut and breathless, hummed low in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “She’ll look over, maybe wondering if you’re grilling out, or on the patio, having a glass of wine, and she’ll see
this
.” He punctuated that last word with a particularly wicked shove, and she let out a cry, bracing one hand against the nearest cabinet.

“What would you do if you knew she was watching?” His thrusts slowed, nearly stopping. She stirred her hips, turning her head restively, trying to get him to resume, but he only chuckled and tightened his arms around her. “Would you tell me to stop?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

“All you have to do is say so. I’ll go back to my side of the apartment and no one will ever know. I don’t have to come back if you don’t want me to. Nobody will tell your dad. You won’t have to worry. Is that what you want?”

“No,” she said immediately. She barely knew her own name at the moment, but she knew she didn’t want him to stop. Ever. The prospect of Tom leaving her body and leaving her apartment made her feel unbearably empty. “I don’t want you to go. I want you here.”

There. Let him take that as he wanted. Here in her body. Here in her apartment. Here in Plainview. Any of those things would be true.

He made a low sound and took up a steady rhythm. Before long, he had her on the cusp of ecstasy again. He slid his hands around to splay across the soft skin at the base of her belly, and she tumbled over the edge with a cry. He followed moments later with a groan.

His harsh breath rasped in the silence of the room. She let her head slump against his shoulder, waiting for her body to cool and her heart to stop pounding. Lassitude crept through her veins, fine and mellow. They stood like that for some time, his arms loosely around her hips, in the deepening dark of twilight.

He pushed the heavy fall of her hair to the side and lowered his lips to her ear. “I want to take you on a date.”

“A date?” The languor seeping through her body didn’t allow for logic.

“Yeah, you know. A date. Pick you up at eight. Don’t be late. That kind of thing. Where do the local guys take their girls in Plainview?”

Their girls? Was she his girl? Her heart pulsed. “I don’t think we want to go to the movies and Village Pizza afterward.”

“Why not? Sounds like fun.”

“I don’t think we’d get a lot of privacy.” She felt the tension creep back into his body.

“I thought we were done being secretive.” He pulled free, and she felt the loss of his heat like an injury.

“I don’t mean I want to be secretive, but this is a small town, and you’re the biggest thing in it in a long time. If you show up at the local movie theater with you on my arm, we’ll be stared at like freaks in the carnival.”

“We went to the All-Star party together.”

“That was different. Everyone there was team personnel.”

“So?”

“So, they knew us, and they knew we weren’t a couple. Trust me, if we go out in Plainview together, we’ll be a curiosity.”

“Ah, I see.” He relaxed against her back. His hands rubbed her shoulders in a motion that made her want to melt into him completely. “What could we do? Something public, but not too much in the spotlight.”

She should say no. They were doing fine, meeting after dark in her half of the duplex, texting each other in stolen moments. She couldn’t deny it felt sordid at times, though, and not in a sexy-secret kind of a way.

After a moment, she nodded. “Let me think about it. I can come up with something.”

His arms tightened around her. “That’s the right answer,” he whispered.

She clasped her hands over his. She hoped so.

Leaning into the mirror with her eyes wide, Sarah put on another coat of mascara. Her eyes flickered to the clock on the bathroom wall. Tom should be here any minute. She’d made the plans, not telling him a thing other than to dress casually.

“Like what, shorts and a T-shirt?” They were in bed one night, sleepy and satisfied, her head cushioned on the swell of his hard pec.

“Well, maybe, but like nice shorts and a nice shirt. Not something you wear to go jogging.”

“Nice shorts? What are those?”

God, men were so hopeless sometimes. “Like the kind with a zipper, not the kind with elastic.”

“Oh. I can do that.”

Good thing he was hot. She snuggled closer into his side.

“The shirt shouldn’t have any dirty sayings on it. Preferably no sayings, actually.”

“Give me enough credit for that at least.” He’d rolled over on top of her then, and she’d quit thinking about how clueless guys could be sometimes.

She dusted some loose powder over her nose. Tracy had sewed her a lovely floral sundress from materials she’d bought at the local craft store. Once again, her assistant had refused any money for the work. “It’s what friends do for each other,” she’d said.

Sarah, never a hugger, hadn’t been able to help herself. She’d embraced Tracy, happy as she was to finally have a girlfriend.

The doorbell rang and she dropped her brush into the sink with a clatter. “Dammit.” Why should she be nervous? They’d already been together as a couple for a week or so.

But they were crossing a line, heading into a frontier that was new for them. There was every chance they’d be spotted by someone who knew her. And heck, everybody with access to ESPN knew Tom.

Odds were good it would get back to her dad. She took a deep breath. She’d agreed to this. No backing down. She couldn’t live in fear of her dad’s opinion for the rest of her life.

The sight on the front porch took her breath away. Tom wore a fitted black button-up, crisp and dark, with charcoal shorts that showed off his tanned legs. He leaned in for a kiss, and she met him halfway, letting her lips linger until she got a crick in the back of her neck. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi.”

He shot a quick glance over her shoulder, biting one lip in a sensuous gesture that made her pulse pound. “We could always stay in, you know.”

Oh, he was tempting.

She shook her head. “Better not. This was your idea, and I’ve already made all the arrangements.”

“Fine.” He feigned a scowl, but she wasn’t fooled. This meant something to him: going out together in public, acknowledging that there was something between them, even if it was transient. He didn’t like being a dirty little secret.

“I’ll get my stuff.” She disappeared, and came back with her purse and a large picnic basket, locking the door behind her.

“Where are we going?” They got into his car.

“Go through town out to the bypass and head north. I’ll tell you from there.”

“A secret, huh?” But he complied and headed off without argument.

“More of a surprise than a secret.”

She gave him directions from there until they arrived at their destination, Riverbend Winery. She directed him to the parking lot and they headed for the sprawling log building that held the tasting room, him toting the basket. “I hope you like wine.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Whatever. I’m good.”

“I booked us for a tasting picnic. We’ll try different wines in the tasting room, and then purchase our selections and go for a picnic.”

In the tasting room, a buzz went up as soon as they entered, but no one approached them directly. This winery catered to an upscale crowd from around the Midwest, and no one was likely to pester them too overtly. She didn’t think so, at least.

Sarah gave her name to the hostess, who showed them to a sommelier in the corner behind an open-air bar. Behind the bar were wine racks with dozens of bottles. The friendly blonde shook each of their hands and greeted them with a wide smile. “Welcome to Riverbend. My name is Amber. I see you’re booked for a tasting. What kind of wines do you both like?”

“I like whites,” Sarah said, shooting a look at Tom, who shrugged.

“Surprise me.”

The sommelier placed two small tasting-sized glasses on the bar and pulled out two different bottles of wine. She poured the white for Sarah. “This is a Riesling.” Sarah took a whiff and then drank it down. “Hmmm, that’s good.” She’d never mastered the art of BSing about wine, saying, “Ooh, tobacco-like, with a hint of Red Bull!” or some such nonsense.

Amber poured a glass of rosé for Tom, smiling and flushing the whole time, going into a considerably more elaborate description than she’d given Sarah. “This is our award-winning Chambourcin Rosé, with notes of raspberry and a soupçon of strawberry.”

When she pronounced the French word, her lips looked as if she’d just sucked on one of the lemon wedges they put in the iced tea at the Ladybird Café. “The limestone soils and hot, humid summers here are ideal for this variety.” She smiled, her lip gloss rosy against her perfect, tanned skin and white teeth. Sarah’s inner jealous wretch kicked in, but even she could see nothing objectionable in Tom’s response. He treated the sommelier with politeness, friendliness even, but with nothing like a leer at her obvious interest.

He took a healthy swallow.

“Do you like it?” Amber bowed her head flirtatiously. Sarah drummed her nails on the bar. She was far above a catty display of jealousy over a man. She
was
. Far. Above.

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“Do you get the hint of chocolate and the fruity notes?”

Great, she was trying to turn Tom into a wine snob.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Tastes like wine to me.” Sarah smothered a laugh and the sommelier’s smile dimmed a fraction, but only for a second. In moments, her beam was restored to full power.

“Anything else I can try?” Tom asked.

“Of course,” said Amber, clearly not ready to give up. “We have a Pinot Grigio you might like.” She fetched him another small glass and poured a sample.

He drank it and wrinkled his nose. “That tastes like wine too.”

The sommelier’s perky smile was taking on a cast-iron look.

Sarah bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Tom was no fool, but he enjoyed playing the dumb jock from time to time. She wondered how often he got away with it; how often his victims were truly convinced he was actually a moron.

Once, she might have been one of those people, but no longer.

He nodded at Sarah’s glass. “Can I taste yours?”

“Sure.” He took her glass, sipping from the same side she had.

“Hmmm, that tastes like wine too. Do you have anything that tastes different?”

Amber’s brows lowered. “Different? You mean not like wine?”

“Exactly.” He beamed at her. Her smile turned downright frosty.

“No. This is a winery. They all taste like wine.” She worked the cork back into the bottle of Pinot with determination, finally slapping it in with a whack of her palm.

Sarah looked hard at the tip of her shoe to keep from exploding in laughter. “We’ll take a bottle of the Riesling, thanks,” she finally managed.

The sommelier fetched a fresh bottle and handed it to them with an insincere smile. “Pay at the cashier, please.”

They kept their silence while they paid for the bottle, but outside, her laughter escaped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Sorry. I can’t handle that pretentious crap.”

“Maybe this was a bad choice for a date.”

“As long as I’m with you, hon, I don’t mind.” He captured her hand in his and swung them loosely between their bodies. “Where can we have a picnic? I hope you brought something to eat. I’m starved.”

“I did. Come on, let’s head out to the vineyard.” They crossed the lush, landscaped gardens and passed a fountain with a statue of the god Bacchus frolicking with some naked nymphs.

“Maybe this is my kind of place after all,” Tom said, and Sarah laughed.

“Naked art and alcohol. What’s not to like, from your perspective?”

“And my woman. Don’t forget that.” He met her eyes and lifted their interlocked hands to kiss hers, making her heart tumble over in her chest.

Calling her his “woman” might not be a commitment of undying devotion, but it had to be a start, right?

Maybe this whatever-you-called-it they had going on would work after all. She could take it easy. She didn’t have to have a commitment. Yet.

It was that “yet” that always made her fret.

They found a path that led up a slope to the vineyards, crested, and then eased back down again to the small river that gave the winery its name. “I think I saw a picnic table down that way,” Sarah said.

“Let’s sit here,” Tom answered. “The grass is dry, and this way, I can get under your skirt while we eat. Thanks for being so accommodating, by the way.” He twitched her flowing skirt with their clasped hands.

“I aim to please.”

They settled down and she opened the picnic basket, pulling out a box of crackers, some summer sausage, several types of cheese, and fresh strawberries with pound cake. “I give you the finest food the Plainview IGA store has to offer,” she pronounced with a flourish. “With a little help from an online gourmet grocery.”

He took a bite of the Muenster. “Mm, good.” He found the corkscrew and opened the bottle of Riesling with surprising ease. At her lifted brow, he shrugged. “I drink wine sometimes. I just don’t like all the BS that goes with it. Want some?”

“Of course.” She held out her glass and let him pour. As they ate, they talked about whatever came to mind: movies—Sarah loved old black-and-white movies, but Tom loved crime dramas; Coco Jackson, who’d lately taken to wearing neon-yellow fingernail polish during games to help pitchers see his finger signs better; the unseasonably cool summer they were having. Tom even relaxed and related an anecdote about his junior high years, when a coach had benched him and told him he’d never make the varsity squad in high school.

“Wow, did he have you pegged wrong.” Sarah sat on the grass, ankles crossed, leaning back to support herself on one hand while she sipped wine. Tom lay flat on the ground, his head in her lap, a reassuring weight at the center of her body.

“Probably not. I was a lazy ass then. Thing was, he told me I couldn’t do something, and that was the best thing he could have done for me. I was determined to prove him wrong.”

“You did.”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe? You pitched in a World Series. Game seven. You won the Cy Young Award for the best pitcher in baseball three times. I’m pretty sure you proved him wrong, sweetie.” The endearment slipped out without her intention, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I didn’t win a World Series, though.”

She rested her wineglass on the hard top of the picnic basket and let her fingers riffle through his silky, dark hair. He had such a nice jawline, strong and defined. She smoothed her fingertips down it, feeling the abrasion of an early-evening stubble. Such a beautiful man.

“I came so close, but close wasn’t good enough.” The bleakness in his voice jerked her back from her reverie.

“You couldn’t help that you got injured. It was bad luck and worse timing. The White Sox are having a good year, though. They’ll probably make the playoffs, and with you in their rotation, they have a good shot at going all the way.” She wasn’t flattering him. She meant it. He was damn good. Good enough to put a solid team like the Sox over the top.

“If I don’t go down with an injury again.”

She kept silent. She worried too much about the same thing to offer him false reassurance. His unorthodox throwing style put him at risk, but this was the wrong time to mention that. “You can’t control everything,” she said finally, settling for a response that was both tactful and true. “You just have to give it your best, and you always do. The rest depends on your team and a little bit of luck.”

He rubbed his forehead. “It’s
hard
getting to the World Series. Being damn good isn’t good enough. It’s not under your control. There are so many things that have to fall your way. Once you get there, you can’t let it slip away. I did. I had it in my hand, a lead, and it got away. Who knows if I’ll ever have another chance like that?” He sat up, his shoulders turning rigid. He gazed at the placid river, but she knew he wasn’t seeing it.

No, he wasn’t the uncomplicated party boy the tabloids would have you believe, but she’d known that for a while.

“You didn’t let anything slip away.” She pushed herself up and knelt to rub his shoulders. “It wasn’t your time, is all. Someday it will be.”

After a moment, he shook his head, working to control his emotions, the same way he did in a tense situation on the mound where he couldn’t let his nerves show. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. Getting stir-crazy in this little town, I guess. The waiting game sucks. I’ll get called up soon and I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t let him see the dart of pain his words caused. He’d be fine. Back to his old self, pursuing his dreams of glory. Chasing the wins that meant everything to him. Alone. Or, worse yet, with some other woman by his side.

“Here, lie down on your stomach. You’re always rubbing my shoulders or back. Time for you to have a turn.”

She complied, shaking her head. “If I never get a shoulder rub from you, it’s because you never stick to my shoulders. Somehow your hands always go wandering.” She crossed her arms and placed her cheek on them, glad he couldn’t see her face and read everything she had no doubt was written plainly there.

“Is that a complaint?”

“More of an observation.” Her voice faded as his strong hands dug deep into the muscles at the top of her shoulders.

“Enough about me. What about you? When will it be your time?”

“Hmmm?”

“Your time. You don’t want to be a marketing executive for the rest of your life. I know you don’t.”

She exhaled. “If you’re trying to relax me, you’re going about it the wrong way by bringing up my father.”

“Are you going to stay a marketing executive forever, even if you hate it?”