Triple Score (13 page)

“You’re telling me.” She struggled to put her top on then squirmed into her panties. He moved in to seal the deal with a fast, hard kiss then started the car.

It was only about half an hour later when they pulled up in front of Spaulding.

“Seriously?” She ran a hand through her windblown hair. “We were thirty minutes away and you couldn’t wait until we got here to have sex?”

“What can I say? You inspire me.” He hopped out of the convertible Steve McQueen style, vaulting over the closed door, and went around to the passenger side to help her out. He might not have had a mother growing up, but his father had taught him how to treat a lady. And Noelle Nelson was a lady from the blondest of the blond hairs on the top of her head to the tips of her battlescarred dancer’s toes.

“What about the car? It’s a loaner, right? Don’t you have to return it?”

“Someone’s coming to pick it up in the morning.” He opened the passenger door and held out a hand.

She took it, letting him pull her from the car. “Door-to-door service?”

“One of the perks of fame.”

“Ah, yes,” she said as they walked toward the main entrance, still holding hands like an old married couple. “But are they worth the price?”

Good question. His mother would say yes. So would most of the women he’d been with since joining the Storm. Ballpark bunnies, the guys called them, in it for the lavish lifestyle that came with dating—or, even better, marrying—a major leaguer.

But Noelle was cut from a different cloth. She had fame in her own right, and she’d seen the seedy side of living in the public eye. She wouldn’t drop him like a bad habit when his career was over.

Wait. Whoa.
Where did that thought come from? Number one, nobody was dropping anybody because, in Noelle’s words, they were not “an item.” And number two, his career was far from over.

As they neared the entrance, Noelle’s steps slowed and she released his hand, leaving him strangely empty and uncertain, two emotions he wasn’t used to dealing with when it came to women.

Snap out of it, Monroe.

“What’s wrong?” He measured his pace to match hers.

“We can’t walk in together.” She stopped, and he drew up alongside her.

“Why not?”

Her eyes darted to the glass door leading to the lobby, a silhouette clearly visible behind the reception desk. She pulled him into the shadow of the building where no one could see them. “It’s late. People will talk.”

“What people?”

“The night shift. Insomniacs.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. It had been a long night, and he was hoping it would be a lot longer. But in her bed, not standing outside hiding like a couple of guilty teenagers. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’ll go first. You follow in, say, five minutes.” She moved out of the shadows toward the entrance but stopped after a few steps and turned back to him. “Make it ten. It’s like Grand Central Station at reception all of a sudden.”

“What am I supposed to do out here for ten minutes?”

Her gaze drifted downward, lingering for a second on his zipper before shooting back to his face. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Don’t even go there. The next time I whip my pants down, it’s going to be in the privacy of your room.”

“Go where?” Her voice had the innocence of an angel, but her eyes flashed with devilish amusement. “I was talking about counting the stars. Or catching fireflies.”

“Sure you were.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist, tugging her back into the murky darkness. Then he kissed her, quick and demanding, with just a hint of tongue to keep her guessing. “Ten minutes, Duchess. Be waiting. And be naked.”

11

“
I
WIN
.” J
ACE
PUMPED
a fist in the air as he reached what Noelle had come to think of as “their” bench, which he had designated as the finish line. “Again.”

“It was hardly a fair fight.” She lagged behind him, panting. “You’ve got two good legs. I’ve only got one.”

He ignored the comparison, running in circles around her as she finally crossed the imaginary wire. “How about another lap? I’ll take it easy on you this time. Maybe even let you win.”

“Give me a few minutes to recover.” She sank onto the bench and stretched out her bum leg, rubbing the knee through her brace. Ever since Sara had told her it was okay to start running again, she and Jace had been doing laps around the building in the early evenings, when the sun had started to dip below the horizon and the heat became somewhat bearable. But today he’d decided to kick things up a notch and turn their casual jog into a no-holds-barred competition.

It was a challenge she couldn’t back down from, even though she was certain to lose.

“Hydrate,” he ordered, sitting next to her and detaching his water bottle from the strap around his waist.

She followed suit, taking a long gulp from her own bottle, and studied the tattoos running from his shoulder to his wrist. He hadn’t put his brace on this morning—with or without Sara’s blessing Noelle wasn’t sure and didn’t want to know—and they were clearly visible in his tank top. Plus she’d had plenty of time to study them at night, too. His tats didn’t stop with his arm. They covered his right pec and even extended down his back to the bottom of his shoulder blade.

“Take a picture.” With a wink, he clipped his water bottle back onto his belt. “It lasts longer.”

He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his forehead, giving her a glimpse of the intricate pattern on his chest. Predictably, her heart rate, which was just starting to slow from the race, kicked into high gear.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He lowered his shirt and smiled. “You just did.”

“Another one.”

“Shoot.” He held his hands out, palms up. “I’m an open book.”

“Why all the tattoos?”

He tilted his head and gave her a self-satisfied smirk. “Too wrong-side-of-the-tracks for you?”

“I’ve got nothing against tattoos. My sister-in-law is covered with them. I just wondered if yours had any special significance.”

“They’re a mix of tribal patterns, mostly Aztec and Samoan, some Mayan. I got the first one the last time I tore this baby, and it sort of mushroomed from there.”

“Do you think you’ll get any more?”

“Maybe. If I feel the need.” He stretched, stood and held out a hand to her. “Come on. One more time around before you get too comfortable.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms. “What if I said I’d changed my mind?”

“Then I’d say you don’t get your reward.”

“Reward?” She perked up. Knowing Jace, it probably involved chocolate body paint, whipped cream and fur-lined handcuffs, things she wouldn’t have found appetizing in the bedroom a few weeks ago but that held infinite possibilities now. Sex with him was like nothing she’d known before, sometimes intense, sometimes playful. She never knew what to expect, except that they’d both wind up sweaty, sated and smiling. “Like what?”

“You’ll have to do one more lap to find out.”

“Fine.” She tightened her ponytail and rose, stubbornly refusing to take his hand. “Slave driver.”

They set off again at an only slightly slower clip than before. They had barely rounded the front of the building when a huge pickup truck pulling a shiny, silver Airstream trailer rumbled into view up the drive, “La Cucaracha” sounding from its horn.

She slowed to a stop, hands on her hips. “Please tell me that’s not my reward.”

The pickup pulled up to the curb and a light brown head poked out of the driver’s window.

“More like my punishment,” Jace muttered.

“Nice work, man.” The cab door swung open and the driver jumped down. A little shorter and a lot leaner than Jace, but no less attractive, he strode over to them with the confidence of a man completely comfortable in his own skin. “Should have known you’d wind up with the hottest chick in the place.”

“Friend of yours?” Noelle asked.

Jace nodded. “Unfortunately.”

“Cooper Morgan, Sacramento Storm second baseman.” He flung an arm around Jace. “I’m the one who makes this guy look good on the field.”

“No, that’d be me.” A second, darker-haired man came around from the passenger side of the pickup. As he got closer, Noelle could see an angry scar on one cheek. Rather than detracting from his rugged good looks, it added a dangerous edge to his appeal. “Reid Montgomery. First base.”

Jace frowned. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but shouldn’t you be in Atlanta getting ready for the All-Star game?”

Reid gave a half-hearted shrug. “I’m on the fifteen-day DL.”

“DL?” Noelle wrinkled her nose. It was like they were speaking a foreign language.

“Disabled list,” Cooper explained. “Our boy fouled a ball off his right leg and bruised the bone.”

She grimaced. “I feel your pain.”
Literally.

“Tough break,” Jace agreed. “How’d you manage to keep it out of the press?”

“It happened in our last game in DC. They just put me on the list last night. My guess is it’ll hit any time now.”

Reid pulled his cell phone from his back pocket, swiped the screen and started tapping away. Noelle assumed he was checking the net to see if news of his injury had leaked out. It was a feeling she remembered well, that looming sense of dread, waiting for the media vultures to swoop in.

Ballerina Injured In On-Stage Accident At Lincoln Center.

Injured Noelle Nelson Withdraws From NYCB’s
Don Quixote
.

Torn ACL Sidelines NYCB Principal Noelle Nelson For Rest of Season, Return In Doubt.

Jace, apparently sensing the need for a change of topic, gestured toward the Airstream. “Nice wheels. Which one of you is taking up the RV lifestyle?”

“Neither,” the shorter one—Cooper—answered. “It’s Bucky’s.”

“Our manager,” Jace cut in, acting as interpreter for her again.

“Bought it this year so his wife could follow him from stadium to stadium,” Cooper continued. “It was either that, retire or divorce, according to him. They flew to Punta Cana for a couple of days of sun and surf. He asked us—well, me, before this joker decided to tag along—to drive it back to Sacramento for him. We’ve got a seven-game home stand coming off the break.”

“Sweet.” Jace whistled. “But you can’t park it there.”

“Who said anything about parking?” Cooper elbowed Jace in the ribs. “We’re here to kidnap you.”

“Kidnap?”

“How’s two days of fishing at Lake Mead sound?”

Jace’s eyes darted to Noelle.

“Your lady can come along if she wants,” Reid said, stowing his phone in his pocket.

Her stomach did a little flip-flop. Jace’s “lady.” Was that what she was? What she wanted to be?

She mentally smacked herself upside the head. No good could come thinking along those lines. What was it Holly had said? Don’t worry about Mr. Right, focus on Mr. Right Now. “We’re just friends.”

Cooper and Reid exchanged a skeptical glance, which Jace either missed or chose to ignore.

“I’m sure Noelle has better things to do than sit around watching us fish and fart.” He ran a hand lightly down her arm, even that small gesture sending her mind skipping back down Mr. Right Lane.

Stupid mind.

“Sounds delightful, but I wouldn’t dream of crashing your boys-only outing.”

“It’s almost dinnertime. Why don’t we go into town for some grub?” Jace suggested. “There’s a roadhouse on Route 20 that has decent food and a pretty good selection of beers on tap. We can head to the lake first thing in the morning.”

“Count me in.” Reid rubbed his hands together. “I’m starving.”

“Sounds good to me,” Cooper agreed. “But I thought you said we couldn’t park the trailer here.”

“Drive it around back. There’s a lot you can leave it in.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Noelle gave Jace a pointed look. “Sara.”

“Who’s Sara?” Reid asked with a leer. “You got another girl stashed someplace around here?”

“Our PT.” Jace’s lip curled in a twisted grimace. “She’s a real taskmaster.”

“Only because you never follow directions.” The corners of Noelle’s mouth lifted, too, but in amusement. “She’s a peach to me.”

“I sprung you for a few hours, didn’t I? I can handle Sara.” With a hand at the small of her back that caused a ripple effect of arousal, Jace steered Noelle toward the clinic, not giving her a chance to voice any more objections. “We’ll meet you out back. Just give us a few minutes to shower and change.”

“Together?” Reid’s voice dripped with sexual sarcasm.

Noelle’s stomach did a barrel roll, but Jace lobbed off the insinuation, tossing it over his shoulder like it was a soft ball. “You heard the lady. We’re just friends. If we were more than that, you’d be waiting a hell of a lot longer than a few minutes.”

Just friends.
Why did her words feel like a knife to her heart when Jace said them? It was her idea to keep what they were doing on the down-low. He was trying to respect her wishes, not shove her to the side like Yannick, who’d never wanted her to meet his family or any of his friends outside the ballet company.

Another red flag she’d ignored.

“Then it’s a damn good thing you’re not more than that,” Reid called after them. “I don’t think I’d last that long. I’m dying of hunger here. Seriously. Dying.”

She thought she heard Jace mutter “drama queen” as the clinic doors whooshed open and they passed through.

* * *

T
HE
PARKING
LOT
of Two Dollar Bill’s was jam-packed when they pulled in about an hour later. Or, if you went by the neon sign on the roof, which was missing a couple of letters, Two Doll Bill’s.

“Nice place.” Reid’s eyes flicked from the sputtering sign to the peeling paint to the muddy pickups parked in messy rows, gun racks proudly displayed in the rear windows. “If you like living dangerously.”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s starving,” Jace reminded his friend from the backseat. “But if you insist, we could drive another twenty miles to the next place. Which is pretty much the same as this one, except with more camouflage, backward baseball caps and chewing tobacco.”