Jennifer Seasons - Throwing Heat

“For not having the balls to tell you that when I fell for you four years ago. I took one look at you—the first one—and it was over for me. A part of me knew it then, but I was just so scared.” He smiled slightly. “Shit. I’m still scared.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “I need to finish this. Talking about what’s in here”—he pointed to his chest—“is fucking hard for me.”

With trembling fingers, she caressed his chest and smiled gently. “Go on.”

“That night we were together in Miami I tanked because I felt it. I felt what you meant to me deep down in my gut and I freaked. And the stupid bet was just a way to have you without being honest with myself or you about the reasons why.”

He scanned the crowd of avid onlookers. “I hate performing in public. I really do. But I’ll play here every single night for the rest of my life if it’s what you want. If it will help you achieve your dream. Because all I care about, all I want is you. I’m not good enough and I don’t deserve you, but I love you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My baseball career is over. I’m having eye surgery next week, but my vision will never be completely normal. I don’t know where my life is going. And I don’t care, as long as it’s with you.”

Her heart flung wide open and filled up with love, so very much love, for the man standing before her. She loved him so much it was pathetic. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

Both of them. Complete messes.

Peter leaned in and whispered into her ear. “That’s why we’re good together, princess.”

She could see it, all the ways that they were good for each other. They were both strong-willed, independent people who were afraid to trust. But they were also good-hearted people, who went to bat for the ones they loved. “Would you really play at the club every single night?” she asked, her heart soaring.

He nodded. “I would. I mean, I will if that’s what you want. If you still want me.” His eyes stared into hers, searching. “If you still love me.”

For so long she’d kept herself at arm’s reach, never getting too close to anyone. And for what? It had earned her nothing.

It really was time to turn over a new leaf. For both of them. She didn’t know where it was going to lead, but she wanted to be right there with him every step of the way. “I love you, Peter.”

“Are you sure?”

Suddenly she felt like laughing. The worried look on his face was priceless. “Yes, I’m sure. Even though you’re nothing but trouble, I love you. I always will.”

Peter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Girl, ‘trouble’ is your middle name.”

Leslie slid her arms around the back of his neck, enjoying the way his eyes went warm and sweet. It was a new look for him. She very definitely approved. “That’s why we’re perfect for each other.”

Peter grinned. “That’s the truth, princess.” Then he kissed her, softly, sweetly.

And they turned over that new leaf.

7 months later

“HURRY UP, PETER. I don’t want to be late.” Leslie pushed through the hospital doors that led to the maternity wing and took a sharp left.

“What’s there to be late about?” he drawled right behind her. “Half the damn team is already there waiting.”

As soon as they entered the waiting room area she saw he was right. “Hey, y’all. Sorry we’re late.” She cast a quick glance over at Peter and smoothed her hair. “Mad traffic.”

Drake snorted and cuffed Peter on the shoulder. “Bad traffic always gives me bedhead too.”

Just then a pretty, young nurse came through carrying a clipboard. She wasn’t looking where she was going, she was so busy reading the chart, and she ran smack into Paulson. “Oomph!” The petite woman would have gone down hard—she’d ricocheted of his barrel chest like a ping pong ball—but Drake reached out with surprising speed and caught her.

“Whoa there, teeny thing. You okay?” He looked down at the petite redhead in his arms.

The nurse blushed so hard her face matched her hair. “I’m fine, thanks. Excuse me.” She stepped out of his embrace and glanced around the room quickly and left. Paulson’s gaze lingered on her retreating form.

Peter slapped him on the back. “Happens to us all, man.”

Drake muttered distractedly, “Yeah, what’s that, Walskie?”

“The fall.”

His eyes lit up. “You know, I’ve been thinking about taking a break from my breather. You know, get back in the swing of things.” He slapped Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll be back.” Then he stepped through the archway and disappeared out of sight.

“Hey, coach.”

Peter turned to JP and smiled, shaking his hand. “What’s up, my man?”

“Can you believe Cutter’s about to become a dad?”

He shook his head and grinned. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

JP nodded. “Yeah. Hey, what’d you bet on—boy or girl?”

“Boy. Eight pounds even.” He had a lucky feeling about it too.

“How are you liking the new position?” The shortstop asked.

The Rush management had offered him a permanent position as their pitching coach after he’d healed from his eye surgery. It was his first season with the team on this side of things and he’d been surprised at just how much he enjoyed it. It was great, actually.

“I’m liking it a lot. Keeps me around you knuckleheads. You know somebody’s got to keep an eye on you.”

Leslie sidled up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. His stomach flopped and his palms went damp. The woman still did that to him. You’d think he’d be used to it by now, but no. It was still damn disconcerting.

“I love you.” She whispered against his ear.

Though she said it daily, it gave him a thrill every single time. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. “You too, princess.”

Life was a funny thing. Just when a person thought it was only going to go from bad to worse, it went and threw a curveball. It became amazing.

Mark burst through the door to the waiting room, turning everyone’s attention. “It’s a boy! A perfect, incredible boy!” The look of wonder on his face had Peter smiling.

Before anyone could congratulate the catcher he disappeared again, leaving Peter to say to Leslie over his shoulder, “You know I want like, eight, right? Enough for a whole team.”

She pinched his butt. “Not going to happen, Kowalskin.”

He spun around and wiggled his brows, giving her a naughty grin. “That’s okay. The fun is in the trying.”

She tossed back her head and laughed. “In your dreams.”

Yeah, it had been in his dreams. But then he’d grown some balls. And now, now his reality was amazing.

Because it included Leslie.

When Lorelei Littleton steals Mark Cutter’s good luck charm, all the pro ballplayer can think is how good she looked . . . and how bad she’ll pay. Thrust into a test of wills, they’ll both discover that while revenge may be a dish best served cold, when it comes to passion, the hotter the better!

RAISING HIS GLASS, he smiled and said, “To the rodeo. May you ride your bronc well.”

Color singed Lorelei’s cheeks as they tapped their glasses. But her eyes remained on his while he took a long pull of smooth, aged whiskey.

Then she spoke, her voice low. “I’ll make your head spin, cowboy. That I promise.”

That surprised a laugh out of him, even as heat began to pool heavy in his groin. “I’ll drink to that.” And he did. He lifted the glass and drained it, suddenly anxious to get on to the next stage. A drop of liquid shimmered on her full bottom lip and it beckoned him. Reaching an arm out, Mark pulled her close and leaned down. With his eyes on hers, he slowly licked the drop off, his tongue teasing her pouty mouth until she released a soft moan.

Arousal coursed through him at the provocative sound. Pulling her more fully against him, Mark deepened the kiss. Her lush little body fit perfectly against him and her lips melted under the heat of his. He slid a hand up her back and fisted the dark, thick mass of her long hair. He loved the feel of the cool, silky strands against his skin.

He wanted more.

Tugging gently, Mark encouraged her mouth to open for him. When she did, his tongue slid inside and tasted, explored the exotic flavor of her. Hunger spiked inside him and he took the kiss deeper. Hotter. She whimpered into his mouth and dug her fingers into his hair, pulled. Her body began pushing against his, restless and searching.

Mark felt like he’d been tossed into an incinerator when he pushed a thigh between her long, shapely legs and discovered the heat there. He groaned and rubbed his thigh against her, feeling her tremble in response.

Suddenly she broke the kiss and pushed out of his arms. Her breathing was ragged, her lips red and swollen from his kiss. Confusion and desire mixed like a heady concoction in his blood, but before he could say anything she turned and began walking toward the hallway to his bedroom.

At the entrance she stopped and beckoned to him. “Come and get me, catcher.”

So she wanted to play did she? Hell yeah. Games were his life.