Strike Zone
Kate Angell
Strike Zone
LOVE SPELL 
NEW YORK CITY
To Chris J. Matarese,
Strike Zone
’s
for you.
To fans of Little League to Major League,
there’s
no better game in town.
She’d known the moment Stryke looked her way, she was in deep-ass trouble. She should have left the locker room the moment she’d entered, but the possibility of seeing him up close swayed her heart to stay.
Stryke was a total
man-bite
, so delectable a woman could nibble on him all night long. Years ago, she’d nibbled, nuzzled, sucked… and fallen in love.
Love was not in the air now.
“Remove the costume.” His deep, rough tone sliced through her thoughts and resonated low in her belly. His dark look indicated that if she didn’t move fast, he’d rip the costume off her body.
So be it. If the man could stand before her in his boxers, she might as well strip down to her sports bra and panties.…
Contents
Welcome to James River Stadium
WELCOME TO JAMES RIVER STADIUM
HOME OF THE RICHMOND ROGUES
Starting Lineup
La Grave, France
Skill.
Speed and stamina.
Guts.
Freedom.
Taylor Hannah delivered the skiing experience of a lifetime. Three extreme skiers had hit the slopes at dawn, following the region’s biggest snowstorm. In the lead, she guided them down a mountain that ate people alive.
A major adrenaline high kept her body aerodynamic as she blistered steep faces at warp speed. Only those who’d carved the slopes since birth dared La Grave. The majority of the adventure addicts and adrenaline junkies on the the mountain were male.
As the sun’s glare burned off the crackled glacier walls, the group traversed crevasses and rappelled into rocky couloirs piled with fresh powder. Off piste, there was no ski patrol or avalanche control. No boundaries. At their backs, the mountain of La Meije loomed like the grim reaper, waiting for nature’s law to bring a man down.
Far below, the forest line flashed into view. Beyond that were the shadowed stone cottages of the twelfth-century French village.
Four hours had passed in the blink of an eye. Taylor sensed more than saw the weariness that overtook her group toward the end of the run. Even the strongest and most coordinated skier faced fatigue. Fatigue that would steal his focus.
The rush would soon wear off and their bodies would fold into chairs before the hotel fireplace. Mulled wine would warm their spirits. The Hotel L’Edelweiss would feed their hunger with a four-course spread that included fondue and tartiflette, a potato gratin with cheese, onion, and bacon.
Nearing the base, she shifted her skis perpendicular, snowplowing to a stop. Her pulse racing, her breath harsh puffs on the frosted air, she plunged her ski poles into the snow and pulled off her orange-lensed goggles. Her ski cap came next. She shook out her short blond hair.
Wind burned her sunscreened cheeks. Her lips were now chapped. Her body had grown overly warm beneath the layered ski gear. She pulled off a glove and unzipped her bright blue jacket, then released the bindings on her skis. The three men surrounding her did the same.
The skiers withdrew bottled water and PowerBars from their hydration packs. Taylor went with a handful of cherry jelly beans, her favorite snack.
“Total kamikaze.” Blake Carter, a world-class snowboarder who’d taken to his skis, slapped his buddies on the back. “Free riding all the way, man.”
Taylor grinned. The graduate students had challenged the elements and lived to tell about it.
“Freakin’ insane. My life flashed before my eyes when we sidestepped down that rock rib.” Matt Everett fought to catch his breath. “Lady, you’re amazing.”
She was her mother’s daughter. Liv Hannah, a onetime Olympic gold medalist in downhill, had put Taylor on skis within days of her first steps. Over the years, Taylor had skied the world.
Her father, an Ironman triathlete, had groomed her in warmer climates. An outdoorsman of reknowned perseverance and strength, Stephan had competed in countless competitions. From Florida to California to Hawaii, he’d swum, biked, and run to the finish line. He believed in winning. And he had always pushed himself hard.
Now, at thirty-three, Taylor, along with her younger sister, Eve, faced the challenge of running Thrill Seekers, following their parents’ untimely demise in a plane crash over the Amazon.
While Eve scheduled the tours from their Richmond office, Taylor guided daredevils and adventurers to off-map locales, just as her parents had done. She seldom returned to Virginia.
“Same time tomorrow?” Jason Cain nudged Taylor with his elbow. She blinked, returning to the moment. The young man’s anticipation surprised her. Jitters had claimed him when he’d stepped from the
téléphérique
—nerves that could affect even the most seasoned skiers.
La Meije had a vertical drop of seven thousand feet, one of the steepest terrains in Europe. Taylor hadn’t been certain whether Jason had the guts to make it downhill or if he’d return to the base on the aerial tramway.
When his buddies had called him “Snow Bunny,” she’d stepped between the men. Goading Jason would serve no purpose. Fear was his enemy. The man would have to be in sync with the mountain to survive.
After several deep breaths and a long moment of silence, Jason had crossed himself twice, then pushed off with the rest of them.
He’d immediately hit cookies—clusters of rocks poking out of the snow—and managed to keep his legs. After the initial rough spot, he’d held his own. He’d hucked—thrown himself off cliffs—and caught big air along with Carter and Everett. He’d also produced the biggest bomb hole when he’d landed. hole when
At the end of the day, there were no cuts, bruises, or blisters. No broken bones. Soreness came with the sport. All in all, it had been a good run.
“Grab dinner, a steam, and a massage,” she instructed the men. “Get a solid eight hours’ sleep. I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby at seven sharp.”
“See you, Fearless.” Jason Cain winked, then trudged off with his buddies.
Fearless . . .
The nickname stopped her heart. Another man, in another lifetime, had called her Fearless. No one had since. Sentiment and sadness claimed her so suddenly she massaged her chest, the memory of Brek Stryker a deep, dull ache.
“Mademoiselle Hannah.” A man from the hotel staff approached her. He handed her a Federal Express mailer. “This just came for you. Urgent.”
Taylor took the envelope and smiled her appreciation. L’Edelweiss valued the business Thrill Seekers brought to the hotel. The staff showed her every consideration. The return address was her sister’s.
She propped her skis against a long bench where visitors could sit and view the dangerous, yet picturesque La Meije. Then quickly she ripped open the mailer.
Inside, she found a photocopy of an engagement announcement torn from the
Virginia Banner.
With each word, ice infused her bones beneath her layered ski gear. She shivered uncontrollably.
Hilary Louise Talbott and Brek Stryker are pleased
to announce their engagement. The bride-to-be is the
daughter of Mayor Wayne and Alice Talbott and a
graduate of Brown University in Providence, Rhode
Island. Hilary is employed with the investment firm of
Talbott and Myers. Brek is the son of Derek and Jayne
Stryker and a graduate of the University of Virginia,
Charlottesville, Virginia, and is a professional baseball
player with the Richmond Rogues.
Taylor’s legs gave out and she dropped onto the bench.
Fearless.
She’d thought of Brek mere moments ago, and news of the man had followed right after.
News she’d rather not have read.
Stryke was getting married.
The man who had proposed to her three years ago was marrying someone else. Which he had every right to do. Taylor had left him at the altar.
She’d always thought she’d have time to go home and heal their shattered relationship. Brek had been the only man she’d ever loved, yet settling down had scared the hell out of her. He’d wanted marriage within months of the plane crash that took her parents’ lives. He’d gone all concerned and protective, telling her to lean on him.
Taylor never leaned—on anyone at any time. She’d been taught by her parents to be strong. Independent. She’d needed her own space. Had needed time to grieve in her own way.
Everything that went into planning their wedding constricted her. Whether choosing the size of the church or going for the alterations on her satin and lace gown, she felt her life was no longer her own.
Without meaning to, Stryke had smothered her. Stable and sane, he’d nearly killed her with his understanding and his need to make everything better.
Thrill Seekers had kept her alive.
She took up where her parents had left off. Throughout the engagement, she continued to guide adrenaline junkies on the most dangerous adventures imaginable. She pushed the envelope, seeking out the remote and undiscovered.
On her wedding day, she’d done the unthinkable. The church had been booked and decorated for a one-o’clock ceremony. At high noon, Taylor had hopped a plane for the World Paragliding Championships in New South Wales.
She’d never forgiven herself for leaving Brek at the altar. She should have handled things differently.
She was long overdue in offering an apology.
Perhaps the time was now.
Before he married another woman.
“Rally Ball’s checking you out, Stryke.” Right fielder Psycho McMillan snapped his towel toward the corner of the locker room, where the Richmond Rogues’ mascot peered over the low partition separating them from the trainers’ tables. “Charlie Bradley wants you bad,” Psycho teased, referring to the man who performed as Rally.
Brek Stryker slowly turned. Psycho’s comments were as crazy as the man himself. Yet there was no hiding for the giant fuzz ball, nor any discreet peeking. The costume stuck out among the players, a big white baseball with red stitching. Leg- and armholes showcased long red-and-blue-striped sleeves and matching tights. The team mascot dipped and bobbed, drawing attention to itself.
Showered and shaved, relief pitcher Sloan McCaffrey toweled off his chest. “Charlie’s not himself today.”
