Читать книгу Triple Score - Regina Kyle - Страница 12

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“IN BASEBALL, THE STORM trounced St. Louis 11–3 behind the red-hot bat of rookie phenom Dean Hafler. Hafler’s been on fire since taking over for injured starting shortstop Jace Monroe, hitting .327 with runners in scoring position. He’s settled down in the field, too, playing error-free defense in his last six games.”

“Effing Sportscenter.” Jace jabbed a finger at the power button on the remote, but the commentator droned on.

“Monroe reinjured his UCL in last month’s series against Philadelphia, and it’s uncertain when—or if—he’ll return. Sources close to the team say even with Monroe healthy, Hafler’s stats may put him in the running for the starting job next season.”

“Sources, my ass.” No doubt Hafler’s barracuda of an agent had floated that rumor, trying to up his client’s ante in the free-agent market in the off season. Jace threw the remote down, stalked over to the television and turned it off. “The only way that little pissant’s gonna steal my job is over my dead body.”

Jace snatched his cell off the nightstand. He needed some air and to have a good, long talk with his own worthless agent. He had a few questions that needed answering—like why the hell was he hearing this shit on ESPN and not from the guy he paid to protect his career.

He pulled open the door, already hitting his agent’s speed dial, and almost plowed into Noelle.

“Bad time?” She stood with her fist raised to knock on the door he’d flung open. He found himself hoping she’d drop her palm on his chest, let its heat scorch through the well-worn cotton of his favorite T-shirt, right over the word guy in I’m the Guy Your Mother Warned You About. Instead, it fell to her side, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “Again? I thought the third time was supposed to be the charm.”

He pressed the end-call button, stuck the phone in his back pocket and leaned against the door frame. “No PT. No sex toys. Just me, about to go for a walk.”

“Can I join you?” The way she moistened her lips told him she was nervous, although it didn’t shed any light on why. But that didn’t stop his dick from twitching as her tongue darted out again. “I’m not exactly up to warp speed, but the doctors say I need to start moving around more now that I’ve lost the crutches.”

He stuffed a hand in the pocket of his jeans, hoping to hide what was sure to be a monster erection if he didn’t get the damn thing under control, and fast. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be good company.”

“Bad company’s better than no company. And everybody else in this place is either still going through puberty or over sixty.”

“Meaning?” His eyes narrowed.

“Meaning I’m going stir-crazy, and I need someone to share these with.” She produced a tin from behind her back.

“What’s in there?”

She jiggled the tin and the contents rattled. “Contraband.”

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Drugs? Laundered money? An AK-47?”

“Better.” She cracked the lid and held the tin under his nose. He smelled almonds and something he thought was coconut. “My mom’s homemade macaroons. Strictly off-limits under the rehab diet. I was hoping they’d convince you to give me another shot at apologizing.”

“Apology accepted.” He pushed off the door frame, closing the door behind him. His agent could wait. He wasn’t about to turn down a beautiful blonde, especially one bearing baked goods. “Come on. I know the perfect spot to enjoy them undetected.”

She snapped the lid of the tin shut and followed him down the hall toward the reception area. He slowed, shortening his steps so she could keep up with him.

“Hold it right there.” The nurse manning the main desk abandoned her post and jumped in front of them, one hand outstretched like a traffic cop or a member of the Supremes. “Where do you two think you’re going?”

“Easy, Nurse Ratched.” Jace softened the jab with his never-fail-to-charm-their-pants-off smile—if you didn’t count Noelle—and snaked an arm around the ballerina’s waist. “We’re only going for a walk.”

Noelle not-so-subtly elbowed him in the ribs.

“It’s okay, Connie. Now that I’m off crutches, the doctors want me to work the kinks out of this thing.” She tapped the brace covering her knee. “I promise we won’t go far.”

“Stay on the grounds.” Connie let them pass.

“Thanks, doll,” Jace called over his shoulder as he steered Noelle to the exit. “Don’t wait up.”

“Nice try,” Connie hollered back. “But if you’re not back by curfew, I’m calling in the search dogs.”

“Great. I love dogs.” The automatic doors slid open, blasting Jace with a burst of Arizona air, still hot even with the sun low on the horizon.

“Where’s this so-called perfect spot?” Noelle asked after they’d walked a few feet.

“Don’t knock it until you see it.” He guided her onto a concrete path that ran alongside a man-made pond before disappearing down a hill into a strand of acacia. “And it’s just past those trees.”

At least it was two years ago.

“You weren’t very nice to Connie,” Noelle scolded.

“Connie’s okay.” His voice cracked on the last syllable. Damned if Noelle’s schoolmarm tone didn’t get him hotter than center field at Wrigley in July. He cleared his throat and started again. “We go way back. She’d be disappointed if I didn’t mess with her.”

“Old flame?” Noelle eyed him suspiciously.

“Not even close.” They rounded a corner at the bottom of the hill and he led her to a wooden bench on the other side of the trees. Just as he’d remembered it, down to the sun-faded, weather-worn slats still needing a fresh coat of paint. “She was here the last time I was in.”

He sat, patting the spot next to him. She followed suit, stretching her bad leg out in front of her. “The last time?”

He nodded, lifted his elbow, then let it fall. “This is my second stint with this thing. Tore it two years ago and got away without going under the knife. Not so lucky this time.”

Her eyes filled with a pity he didn’t deserve and sure as hell didn’t want, especially from her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He scuffed the ground in front of him with the toe of his Vans. “Odds are it’ll be stronger than ever.”

“Good.”

He liked that she didn’t ask questions or spout any of the bullshit he’d heard every day since his injury: “It could be worse,” or “You’ll be back out there sooner than you know it.” And his favorite, “A million guys would kill to have the career you’ve had.”

Assholes. Like he didn’t know how lucky he’d been. Like he was a greedy bastard for wanting more.

“So how about those cookies?” He gestured toward the tin. She popped the lid and they each took a macaroon. He bit through the crisp shell and was instantly rewarded with a burst of moist, coconutty goodness.

“Damn, your mom can bake,” he mumbled through a mouthful of cookie.

“She’s Italian,” Noelle said, as if that explained everything. And, in a way, it did. His mom’s idea of preparing a meal had involved a takeout menu and a cell phone. At least he hadn’t missed her cooking when she’d ditched him and his dad for greener pastures.

He reached for another and they ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sound their chewing, interrupted periodically by his moans of pleasure.

“Ballet did this, huh?” He nodded at her knee, extended in front of her.

She put the tin down on the bench between them. “We’re not going there again, are we?”

“I never went there in the first place.” He grabbed another cookie and stuffed it into his mouth. “I’m an athlete. But you—I watched you. You’re an athlete and an artist.”

“You...watched me?”

“You can find just about anything on YouTube these days.”

She winced. “Then I suppose you saw the video of my accident. It’s got over a million hits. Seems people enjoy watching the suffering of others. The Germans even have a word for it. Schadenfreude.”

“I don’t know about the Germans, but I don’t get my jollies by seeing folks in pain.” He tapped his brace. “I tore this in front of 40,000 people at Citizens Bank Park. Had to be escorted off the field.”

“Ouch.”

“You said it.”

“And I thought twenty-five hundred witnesses at Lincoln Center was bad. That calls for another cookie.”

She held up a macaroon, but instead of taking it from her he leaned forward and bit into it, his lips brushing her fingertips. The contact sent a buzz of lust through him, and he jerked back.

“No good?” she asked, her voice husky. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and his cock swelled.

“To the contrary.” His voice matched hers. “A little too good.”

“The cookie? Or...?” Her hand still hung midair, clutching the remains of the macaroon.

“Or.” He took hold of her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. “If you don’t want me to eat that damn cookie right out of your pretty little fingers then suck them into my mouth one by one, licking off every last crumb, stop me now.”

Her eyes darkened to the navy blue of the Yankees logo. “And if I do?”

He nipped her fingertips. “Then sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.”

* * *

RELAX? HE WANTED her to relax? Who was he kidding?

If pressing against him as he’d helped her up in the gym had been trapeze-without-a-net stupid, then this was Russian-roulette reckless. But Holly’s words echoed in her head.

Let loose. Live a little. Who says he has to be Mr. Right? What’s wrong with Mr. Right Now?

Her lips parted and she had trouble focusing her gaze. Her palms itched with the need to grab his asinine I’m the Guy Your Mother Warned You About T-shirt and pull him to her, forcing his actions to speak louder than his deliciously dirty words. The world had narrowed to three things: his mouth, her fingers and the half a cookie between them.

“I’m going to count to three.” His breath mingled with hers. “Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“One.”

She swallowed hard.

“Two.”

She closed her eyes.

“Three.”

In a heartbeat, the cookie vanished from her hand and her index finger was drawn into the warm, wet vortex of his mouth. He worked his way down to her pinkie, tormenting each finger in turn with his lips, teeth and tongue until they were sucked clean.

“There.” With one last lick, Jace released her hand, and it flopped into her lap like a newborn kitten. “All gone.”

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah.

Noelle wasn’t promiscuous, but she wasn’t a sexual novice, either. How had she gone so long without experiencing...that? She shivered, picked up the tin of cookies and snapped the lid back on.

“Wait. You’ve got a few crumbs. Right—” he pointed to the corner of her mouth “—there.”

She lifted her hand to her lips, but he caught it, stopping her.

“What are you doing?” Every last one of her nerve endings hummed with anticipation.

“I’m still hungry.” He brought her hand down but didn’t relinquish it, instead stroking slow circles on the inside of her wrist with his thumb.

She glanced at the tin in her lap. “There are more cookies.”

“That’s not what I’m hungry for.” He plucked the tin off her lap and set it down on the bench behind him. “I think you know what I want.”

Yeah, she did. And she wanted it, too. Trouble was she knew exactly what path it was going to lead her down—and what would be waiting for her at the end.

Heartache.

Loneliness.

And, if she was really lucky, a big, steaming serving of humiliation.

Exactly what she’d been left with when Yannick called it quits. Unless she could somehow manage to engage her body without engaging her heart, something other women seemed to have mastered but she could never figure out how to accomplish.

Live a little, Holly’s voice echoed again. What’s wrong with Mr. Right Now?

“I repeat.” He raised his good hand and tangled his fingers in her hair. “If you don’t want this, stop me now.”

She couldn’t if she tried.

So she didn’t.

He pulled her in and he crushed his lips against hers. Not shy or tentative, this kiss was like the man himself—hot and hard, forcing the air from her lungs. It demanded a response that she gave willingly, opening her mouth so he could slide his tongue inside.

He tasted good. Like coconut and almond from the macaroons but somehow better, as if their sweetness was mixed with the spice of wild, hungry sex. Sex the likes of which she’d never experienced, that would leave her breathless and panting and begging for more.

Her tongue met his and she melted into him, wanting—needing—more. Her fingers clutched at the soft cotton of his shirt and she moaned into his mouth. She couldn’t recall ever feeling so wanton, so desperate. Whether it was due to the man or her six months of celibacy, she didn’t know.

Beneath her hand, the muscles of his chest tightened, making her breath hitch. Who was she kidding? She knew damn well. It was the man.

He broke off the kiss, leaving her momentarily bereft until he worked his lips over her chin, down her neck, to the hollow of her throat, leaving a warm, wet trail in his wake. She tilted her head, encouraging him to explore further, just in time to catch of glimpse of something moving in the trees past his shoulder.

“Wait.” She stiffened, listening, her eyes straining to see in the fading sunlight.

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now,” he groaned against her skin, his mouth pushing past the neckline of her peasant blouse to skim the top of her breast. “Just when it was getting good.”

She thought it was already pretty damn good, but there wasn’t time to argue. “There’s something—or someone—out there.”

“Probably an animal.” He moved to the other breast without missing a beat.

“You don’t understand.” The flutters in her stomach traveled lower even as she pushed him away. “What if it’s one of the nurses? Or another patient?”

He raised his head to pin her with a heavy-lidded stare. “Embarrassed to be seen with me, Duchess?”

“Ohmigod, what if it’s the paparazzi?” she asked in a whisper, ignoring his question. They’d had a field day with her and Yannick’s messy split, half of them painting her as a naive girl caught under the spell of her older, more experienced choreographer and the other half making it look like she was an opportunistic fame-seeker willing to screw anyone who could help her on her way up the ballet pyramid. And Yannick was a D-lister compared to Jace. If the press got wind of this...

A squirrel darted out from the trees, cocked its fuzzy little head at them and scampered off in the opposite direction from where Jace and Noelle had come.

“There’s your paparazzi.” Jace smirked. “Looks like your reputation is safe.”

“For now. That was too close for comfort.” She rose unsteadily and adjusted her blouse, struggling to tamp down the desire still thrumming through her veins. “We have to get out of here.”

“What’s the matter?” He joined her standing. “Never made out al fresco before?”

“Not usually, no.”

He made a show of bowing to her, bending low with a flourish of his good wrist. “Then I’m flattered to be the man who persuaded you to change that.”

“One kiss does not a habit break.” She pulled a hair tie out of the pocket of her jean shorts and tamed her lust-mussed locks into a ponytail. “It was a...”

“Don’t you dare say ‘mistake.’” His gaze slipped down to the obvious bulge under the zipper of his Lucky’s. “Whatever the hell that was, it was definitely not a mistake.”

“Fine.” She looked away from his erection, heat creeping up her cheeks, and ambled as fast as her bad leg would take her up the path to the relative safety and privacy of her room. Jace caught up to her after a few steps. “I won’t say it.”

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. The man was like her own personal Kryptonite. Powerful, dangerous, hypnotic. She’d have to try all the harder to stay away from him or be rendered completely and utterly helpless to resist his hard-bodied, tatted-up, bad-boy spell.