There was no way he could coerce her into—what? Sex? A relationship? Because he’d lost his mojo.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” He stared at her with heart-melting gray eyes, his good looks sharper and more defined since high school. He’d filled out in the last six years, his body honed into a slugging machine. He had the upper body strength of a power hitter and rock-hard catcher’s thighs. Not that she was ogling him now, but she might have ogled a time or two on television.
In fact, there were probably an embarrassing number of interviews with him recorded on her DVR, although they were strictly used for the sake of the inspirational videos she put together for the youth baseball team she coached. Surreptitiously, she hid the remote control between the seat cushions.
“So you don’t care that you’re barking mad?” She reached to tuck a stray hair into her headband and realized her fingers felt a little trembly.
Heaven help her, Brody Davis was getting under her skin again and he’d been back in her life for all of ten minutes. And that ticked her off.
“When have I ever cared what anyone else thinks?” he asked in all seriousness, his chiseled features set in stark lines.
She spied a darkness in his gaze that he’d never revealed in any of his interviews.
“You’re serious.” It wasn’t until that moment that the full import of why he’d shown up really hit her.
He’d honestly come here to get back together with her.
Or maybe just to spend a night in her bed.
And he wasn’t here so she could be some notch on an already-impressive bedpost—her notch had been left a long time ago. He really thought sleeping with her would straighten out whatever problems were chasing around his head tonight.
“Like a heart attack.” His words whispered over her with deafening softness, uttered by a man she’d let get too close.
In more ways than one.
“No way—”
He flexed his fingers against her pj-clad knee, reminding her that he’d been touching her that whole time and she hadn’t done jack to stop him. That big, broad, powerful palm that halted hundred-mile-an-hour fastballs day in and day out, now touched her with infinite gentleness. Heat.
“Naomi.” The word was a plea. Or maybe a chastisement. She couldn’t tell because she was too caught up in the feel of his touch and the intoxication of having him this close.
She tried hard to call up the way it had felt when he’d broken up with her long distance and followed it up with a rambling e-mail at one in the morning to explain they’d both be “better off.”
A little of the anger came back—slowly. She let it build, knowing her righteous indignation was tempered by the subtle stroke of his thumb on the underside of her knee as the rain thundered against the windows, sealing them in this moment.
“You hurt me too much to deserve that opportunity,” she admitted finally, needing to say the words out loud so her hormones got the message.
“So you can hurt me in return,” he suggested, sliding forward on the coffee table so that his knees bracketed hers and his hand glided up her thigh three breath-stealing inches. “Tomorrow, you can kick me out and send me back to Boston a spurned man. But consider just this one night…”
She wanted to flip his hand off her leg—the touch was nervy for a man who hadn’t seen her in months. In fact, she wanted to flip him off, period. But no matter how much she tried to tell herself otherwise, she’d never fully excised Brody Davis from her heart. Besides, the dark, haunted look in his eyes gave her pause.
She could still read his moods like an old farmer read the weather. She’d known he’d tell off that ump tonight the second she’d seen his jaw clench. And she knew right now that he wasn’t spinning some lover-boy nonsense to get in her bed. He was as intense in a relationship as he was on the field. The man was far from shallow.
He had to be genuinely worried about losing his career because of his outbursts and he’d come to her for—what? To help keep him grounded? To level out one of his legendary moods?
“Sleeping with me won’t fix whatever you think has gone wrong for you.” Her gaze tracked over his face, searching for more clues to this confusing and complex man who’d charmed her from the moment he’d whispered an answer to her in Spanish class.
Not that she’d needed help, sitting in an accelerated program with kids one and two years ahead of her. But Brody had wanted to talk to her and found a way, even though the answer he’d given her had been wrong.
“If you’re right, then I’ll be the one who has to deal with it.” He didn’t appear overly concerned.
Of course, he’d had total confidence in his incorrect Spanish answer, too. Naomi had always admired his ability to ignore obstacles and plow ahead in life. Right or wrong, he’d achieved so much simply by brazening his way through the world.
“What if I had a boyfriend or a husband?”
He smiled for the first time since he’d stepped back into her life.
“I’ve been keeping tabs on you, too.” He reached to tuck that loose strand of hair into her headband, his other hand never leaving her thigh. “You’re still teaching and coaching youth softball. You’ve been dating, but there haven’t been any serious boyfriends besides the X-Games dude you told to take a hike a couple of weeks ago.”
She couldn’t believe he’d kept track, right down to her recent breakup. “The X-Games guy is actually an environmental engineer.” Her cheek tingled where he’d brushed away the stray strands.
“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “So he’s a hardcore granola eater. I watched his dirt bike routine one night to see what all the hype was about and I figured he’d break his neck by the time he’s thirty, then where would that leave you?”
He sounded protective, possessive and far too jealous for a guy whose dating life got press in newspapers, magazines and—for the really addicted sports fan—online. Nevertheless, she’d broken up with the X-Gamer for precisely the reasons he mentioned.
Of course, the X-Gamer hadn’t taken it so well. Ryan had quickly made it known that she hadn’t been breaking up with him because of what he did, but because he wasn’t Brody. Naomi had been furious. But she would have to find a way to get along with him eventually since he coached one of the other softball teams in her league. They had to see each other every weekend.
“Okay. I didn’t mean to suggest my private life was up for discussion. Clearly, you’ve got access to better research than I gave you credit for.” Someone from their hometown must be keeping him up-to-date on what she’d been doing. Naomi took small comfort in that since it meant she wasn’t the only one to seek out information on an ex.
Him.
Heaven knew, she’d never tried to find out what Ryan was doing in the short time since they’d split. Maybe that was because their relationship had run a more natural course, whereas she and Brody had broken up prematurely. Over the freaking telephone.
And what if there was a certain messed-up logic in Brody’s idea that they should have sex? Would it have helped cure her of Brody if things hadn’t ended so abruptly? If their relationship had died a more natural death?
“You’re free of emotional entanglements right now, and so am I.” He sat very still, not pressing his luck with the hand on her thigh, but not retreating, either. “Don’t you ever think about me? About what it would have been like if we’d stayed together?”
A lie sat on her tongue, all ready for automatic discharge. But just then, a flash of lightning brought a clap of thunder so loud the windowpanes rattled in the casements. She remembered the old childhood vow about “may I be struck dead” for lying and thought maybe she shouldn’t test the issue with lightning dancing all around the house.