Maxie (Triple X) (28 page)

“I’m not talking about work here,” he said bluntly. “And I think you know that.”

Her lips parted. “But work is all we…” Frustration colored her cheeks. She lifted her hands and pressed her fingers against her temples. “Argg. You’re doing it again, confusing me and twisting everything up. I couldn’t sleep last night after you did what you…and firing me…and, and cleavage…”

He could look at her cleavage all he wanted right now, but things were suddenly getting interesting. “You couldn’t sleep because you were thinking about me?”

She rocked her foot back onto its heel, and he instinctively positioned himself closer so she couldn’t kick him. The move put his body a hairsbreadth away from hers. She was warm from all that dancing. Her skin glistened with perspiration, leaving it damp and kissable. Lickable.

She flattened her hands against his chest again, but this time he didn’t budge. It flustered her. She shifted against the jukebox, but he wasn’t letting her get away now—not when he finally had her talking to him.

Her lips pressed into a straight line. “I wasn’t thinking about you, I was thinking about my proposition…purpose…my
proposal
.”

Interesting choice of words.

But the alcohol she’d consumed had her on a roll. “You made me late today. I kept wondering what you were going to do. What were you going to think? How were you going to smell?”

“I smell?”

“Not you. It’s just…” Her cheeks went red. “Your aftershave smells nice.”

Her words died away, but all thoughts of taking her home to Daddy left Cam. Taking her home, though, wasn’t such a bad idea. His body felt hard and hot. He’d been stressed all day, but the tension gripping him now was another sort entirely. “What do you think of me, Lexie? Really?”

Her gaze locked with his, and he saw something new in the dark depths. Something that made his heart rate slow down, and the thick pumps sound loudly in his ears.

“You make me uncomfortable,” she said, her voice low.

“Uncomfortable, how?”

She bit into her bottom lip, and her gaze skittered away. “Just…uncomfortable.”

The awareness he’d felt on the elevator came back, heavy and deep. It was the first indication he’d had that she saw him not as a threat, but as a man.

He wanted another.

But he didn’t know when he’d ever get it.

She was skittish around him. Guarded. The closest he could get to her was in meetings. Stuffy, mind-numbing meetings. Right now, her defenses were down. He couldn’t. He
shouldn’t
, but he wanted to know…

He reached for her.

Ever so gently, he ran his fingertips down her bare arm, all the way from shoulder to elbow. As he watched, goose bumps popped up on the warm flesh. She shivered and her breath caught. When she looked at him, her gaze was a little wild.

“You make me uncomfortable too,” he said gruffly.

They stared at each other, the music throbbing and the air hazy around them.

“Really uncomfortable,” he muttered.

Closing the distance, he sank into her. He watched her closely as their bodies pressed from chest to knee. The heat was intimate, the contact electric. For a moment, she was stunned still. Then all those emotions she’d kept tempered for so long rushed forward to meet him. Her anger. Her heat. Her sweetness. He felt it in the way her body melted. He heard it in the catch in the back of her throat.

“Lexie.” He kissed her. Firmly, fully, mouth locked on mouth. He sealed their lips tight, and the sensation was so good, it damn near made him groan aloud.

Her lips were soft,
velvety
and they clung. The kiss deepened, their mouths opening wider for more contact. For a woman who was as strapped in and lashed down as she was, she knew how to kiss.

And then some.

That hard-on he’d gotten when he’d seen her dancing atop the bar came roaring back to life. He kissed her harder, letting his tongue slide over hers. A sound left her throat, and her fingers bit into his shoulders. He did it again, loving her heat, loving the way she responded. She moved restlessly, her body grinding against his. Softness against hardness. Heat against heat.

Cam wanted to pick her up and carry her right out to his car. He could feel her nipples poking him and her hips rolling sexily. Her arousal was like every other emotion the alcohol had freed. Hot, immediate and right on the surface.

What had started as an exploratory kiss was quickly turning into a blistering-hot make-out session. They were hidden together in the corner. Music pounded around them and bodies shifted nearby. They were in public. Anyone could see them.

And he didn’t care.

He moved closer, rocking his hips into her. She let out a soft whimper as her hands glided from his shoulders to lock around his neck. Their bodies fit together like yin and yang. Her breasts pressed tighter against his chest, and he settled his growing erection right where it wanted to be, in the warm nook at the top of her legs.

He tangled his fingers in her hair as he nuzzled the feminine curve of her jawline.
God, her hair…
He clenched his fist in the dark curls. If the rest of her was this silky, he’d never last. Hungry for more, he sent his other hand down her side. His blood thundered hard when he found the not-so-professional slit in her oh-so-professional skirt.

“You want the truth?” he whispered into her ear. “The billboard wasn’t pretty enough.”

She’d be the perfect catch if he could take his eye off the ball.

Pitch Perfect

© 2013 Sierra Dean

Boys of Summer, Book 1

Emmy Kasper knows exactly how lucky she is. In a sport with few opportunities for women at the pro level, she’s just landed her dream job as head athletic trainer for the San Francisco Felons baseball team. Screwing up is not an option.

She’s lost in thought as she pedals to the spring training facility, her mind abuzz with excitement as she rounds a corner—and plows head-on into two runners. The end of her career dances before her eyes when she realizes she’s almost run over the star pitcher.

As Tucker Lloyd watches the flustered Emmy escape with his bandana tied around her skinned knee, the view is a pleasant change from worrying about his flagging fastball. At thirty-six, the tail end of his career is glimmering on the horizon. If he can’t pull something extraordinary out of his ball cap, the new crop of rookies could make this season his last.

The last thing either of them needs is a distraction.

The last thing either of them expects is love.

Warning: Contains a down-on-his-luck pitcher, a good-girl athletic therapist, chemistry that’s out of the park and sexy times that’ll make them round all the bases.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Pitch Perfect:

What was she doing?

Tucker’s fingers caressed the sensitive skin along her jaw and followed the upward curve of her face until he was holding the back of her head, his hand buried in her hair.

He’d told her she could say stop whenever she wanted, but she didn’t want him to stop. She never wanted him to stop, and finally she could let him follow through without the guilt.

Tucker kissed her cheek softly, and she let out a little sigh. He paused for a moment, but when she made no other sound aside from the exhalation, he continued the task at hand.

His delicate kisses moved with practiced slowness from her cheek to the dip where her jaw met her neck, and there he gently licked her skin. The shocking warmth of his tongue on her made a thrill shoot through her, piercing her groin and taking her from mildly aroused to downright horny.

Emmy no longer wondered what she was doing. She wondered instead how she had gone this long without doing it.

She raised her palms to the front of his shirt and clasped two handfuls of the cotton into her fists, tugging him closer. Since he couldn’t physically come nearer to her with her legs in the way, she parted them and made room for his body between her thighs.

The heat of his skin was evident even through their two layers of clothes, and once his body was flush against hers, his kiss moved from her neck to her lips. He seized her mouth in such a way she momentarily questioned if he really was the nice guy he seemed, because no nice man should kiss with the owning, demanding power Tucker was using. The way his lips parted hers and his fingers clawed at her hair was needy and insistent, full of something far more primal than she’d expected from her mild-mannered pitcher.

She was intoxicated by it. Wanting
her
had made him this crazy, and she wanted to know how wild he could be.

Her mouth yielded to his kiss, lips opening so his tongue could meet hers, teasing, playfully nipping with his teeth, deepening the kiss each time she hesitated until she was sure she might melt into a puddle on his floor. He had a robust taste of dark coffee and something else that was masculine and entirely Tucker. She’d kissed him before, but never so much and so deeply. It was as though this embrace were an abyss and he was willing her to fall into it with him.

Releasing her hair, he braced one hand on either side of her against the counter and leaned into her so she was forced to bend backwards, the countertop meeting the small of her back.

“Tucker,” she mumbled when he pulled away briefly. She had no other intention, nothing specific to say, she just wanted to hear how his name sounded now that she had the taste of him all over her lips. Delicious. It all sounded delicious.

This time she closed the gap. Her hands still fisted in his shirt, she dragged him back down to her, reclaiming his mouth and returning the fevered passion with which he’d kissed her. He pushed closer, his crotch seated against hers and the rigid presence of his cock unmistakable along her inner thigh.

Emmy wanted to say his name again, as an invitation or a call to arms, but her tongue was too tied up with his to make time for words. He growled into her mouth when she arched her hips towards him, and in response she let a moan rumble in her throat.

She wasn’t going to say no, and if he was waiting for her to stop this, he had another thing coming. It had been months since she’d last had sex—yet another sign things with her and Simon had shifted gears into the platonic—and she’d been denying herself Tucker all that time.

To let him know what she was thinking, she pulled back abruptly from the kiss and looked him in the eyes. His cheeks were flushed, and the skin around his mouth was red from their rough kisses. She was willing to bet his morning stubble had done a number on her skin, but she didn’t care. None of it mattered except for getting him out of his stupid pajama pants and getting them both back into those beautiful cotton sheets.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, trying to remember the last time a kiss had made her dizzy with need. To drive home her words, she let go of his shirt and grabbed his ass with both hands, tugging him so close they both gasped. “
Yes
.” This time there was a growl to the word.

“Okay.” He stepped back and pulled her to her feet so quickly she stumbled. But he was there, strong and sure, holding her to him. He smelled fabulous for someone who’d just woken up. Maybe they were a good pheromone match, but to Emmy he smelled like fresh pepper and cotton, and it was a glorious combination. He made her head swim with desire, and her usually too-busy brain was, for once, quiet and focused.

Tucker explored her body, running his hands over her T-shirt until he found the hem, then the first shock of real skin-to-skin contact sent Emmy reeling. His big hands were warm, and though his fingertips were rough and calloused from years of pitching, his touch was light and sensitive. Everywhere his fingers traveled a spark of electricity followed, igniting a desire within in her that had long lain dormant. When he lifted her shirt, she didn’t protest, although she’d never been disrobed in a kitchen before.

When her top was off, she didn’t feel any of the painful awareness of her body she had with other lovers. She’d often felt like she was being assessed and catalogued by other men.
Great body, decent boobs.
Or,
short legs, too much ass.

With Tucker it was different. The way he gazed at her with her top off was so worshipful and adoring she didn’t think he was comparing her to anyone else. He was seeing her for who she was.

In that moment, any thoughts of
might
disappeared, and Emmy knew she loved him. She’d known, really, since the trip to Chicago. But seeing him look at her in the harsh morning light—with no makeup and terrible hair—and still be impressed…well, he must be crazy about her.

He touched her again, tentative at first, then greedy, exploring her exposed skin with his palms fanned wide. He tucked his fingertips into the waistband of her jeans, grazing the top of her ass and making her shudder with unrestrained excitement. With each new area he traversed, Emmy’s brain became cloudier, wondering how she’d resisted him for so long and how
stupid
she’d been to live without this in her life.

Withdrawing, he shifted his attention to her breasts, cupping each mound with a hand so large even her C cups looked small being held by them. He rubbed her peaked nipples through the sheer lace fabric of her bra, sending another shock wave directly to her core. No one had ever managed to get her so wet, so quickly, with most of her clothes still on. It was as if Tucker’s every ministration was attuned to her, and he knew the wants of her body better than she did.