It did him in, and he shifted, kissing his way to the very corner of her mouth. “Admit it, Sam. You want me.”
She admitted exactly nothing, but dug her fingers into the small of his back.
“I want you,” he confessed, and nipped her jaw. “Bad enough to be getting rug burns already.”
“Then stop.”
He could. He should. But her breathing had accelerated, and beneath his hand, her abs quivered, softening for him now in a way she never did.
And he got it. “This in the dark thing, it’s right up your alley.”
“What’s all that alcohol in your brain talking about?”
He kissed her jaw, loving how she arched her neck to give him more room, and that her breathing had become the loudest thing in the room. “You like this because it’s anonymous.” He kissed her. “Nothing too deep.”
Another shaky breath escaped her and her hands finally came up to cup his face. “You’re one to talk.”
“Admit it. You want me as bad as I want you.” His mouth was so close to hers that his lips lightly brushed hers, barely touching until, with a hungry little sound, she tightened her grip, gliding her fingers into his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers.
The kiss went from sweet to wild in less than two seconds, egged on by her frustration and his own inexplicable loneliness and the way she held on to him, letting out the sexiest little murmur, as if there was nothing, absolutely nothing better than his mouth on hers.
But he had a point, and he was trying to make it. Sure the alcohol had slowed him down some, as well as the utter sexiness wrapped around him now, which went by the name of Samantha McNead-but he managed to get it together and slowly pull back.
Her mouth tried to follow his, and he groaned, his thumbs stroking over her jaw. “Just admit you’re into this little game, Princess. And then we can have our fun.”
“There is no game. This is just our job, what we both as consenting adults agreed to do.” She sat up, nearly bumping heads with him in the dark. “But I didn’t agree to this. I’m sorry, Wade, but it ends here. It has to. Our last fun took me a year to get over.” And with that shockingly revealing statement, she rose, and then he heard her flop onto the bed.
“You lose,” she muttered, and tossed him a blanket, which hit him in the face.
He sighed as he fell back onto the couch. Hard as a rock.
And all alone.
Chapter 8
The tradition of professional baseball always has been agreeably free of chivalry. The rule is, “Do anything you can get away with.”
– Heywood Hale Broun
Sam woke up to the sound of rustling and squinted at the clock. One in the morning. The rustling was Wade. She could see his tall, built outline walking to the door. “What are you doing?”
“I’m hungry.”
Of course he was.
“I ordered a pizza and I hear the guy coming.”
Sure enough, a soft knock came at the door. The room service waiter handed Wade a box of pizza and Wade handed him some cash.
Sam sat up, nose wriggling at the scent of melted cheese and sauce, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, pepperoni. Her stomach rumbled. “Smells good.”
Wade switched the light on in the bathroom, which bathed the room with a soft glow. His broad shadow gleamed in the pale light, his hair rumpled from sleep. In nothing but dark blue knit boxers, he slouched on the couch, opened the box, and sank his teeth into a big piece. Moaning, he closed his eyes. “Oh, yeah.”
Sam’s mouth watered.
He took another bite and she couldn’t take it. “Um, hi.”
He looked up and took in her cream spaghetti-strapped silk nightie. His eyes darkened. “Hi.”
“You going to share?”
“If you are.”
She weighed the danger of letting him into the bed with the promise of the mouth-watering pizza. She wasn’t afraid Wade would push himself on her. Rather she was afraid she’d push herself on him. But then her stomach told her brain to shut up, and she scooted over. With a grin, he joined her, fluffing the pillows against the headboard to make them both comfortable before offering the box with an innocent smile that didn’t fool her one little bit. “You were going to share before I made room for you,” she said.
“Maybe.” He made sure that they were skin to skin as he polished off his first piece and looked at her. “Hope you haven’t forgotten that you owe me.”
“For…?”
“Coaching you at the game.”
“Let me guess,” she said dryly. “Monkey sex?”
He arched a brow. “Is that on the table?”
His boxers had slid disturbingly low on his hips. His body was perfection, hard and deliciously warm, and she wanted it on hers, pushing her down into the mattress, sinking into her… “No.”
“Something else then.”
“What?” she asked warily.
“Truth or dare.”
A game? “Truth,” she said, thinking she’d gotten off easy.
“Atlanta. The elevator. Just an alcohol-induced fuck, or more?”
She set down her pizza. Okay, maybe not so easy. Wade nudged her with his arm and she met his gaze. “Truth,” he reminded her softly.
“More,” she said, just as softly. “But I really wanted it to be just an alcohol-induced fuck.”
He absorbed that. “Did it really take you all year to get over it?”
“That’s two questions.” She reached for her slice again, licking cheese off her finger. “My turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” he said, eyes locked on her mouth.
“Why did you ask me that?”
He paused and met her gaze. “I don’t know.”
She gave him a long look, but decided he wasn’t being evasive, he either honestly didn’t know or couldn’t put words to his need to know.
“Truth or dare?” he asked.
“Truth.”
“You could have any guy you crooked your little finger at, but you hold yourself back. Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said, giving him a taste of his own medicine.
He wasn’t as accepting as she’d been. “Maybe you’re afraid.”
“Of what?”
“You tell me. You grew up stifled by alpha males. I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”
She paused at that shockingly accurate and insightful statement. “Maybe I’m happy to be my own woman. Maybe I don’t want to lose myself again.” She broke off, a little unnerved at what had come out of her mouth. “Okay, that sounded-”
“Honest.” He took her hand and pressed his mouth to her palm. “One of the most honest things I’ve ever heard you say.”
Pulling her hand free, she took another bite of pizza and chewed on it.
“The right man won’t hold you back, Sam.”
“Truth or dare?” she asked, needing a subject change.
“Truth.”
“Your most embarrassing moment.”
He winced and she laughed. “That bad?”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment as he inhaled another piece of pizza. “Would you buy the I-don’t-know excuse again?”
“No.”
He sighed.
“It can’t be that bad.”
He met her gaze. “It’s you thinking I slept with Tia.”
She gaped at him, shocked to her core that he would even give this a second thought. It was nearly as revealing about him as what she’d admitted only a moment before about never wanting to lose herself in another man again.
“You’ve slept with half the women in Santa Barbara county, why would that bother you?”
“Because I haven’t slept with anyone in months.” He paused. “And months.”
She gave him a get-real look. “There were pictures of you with Tia, Wade.”
“Last month we had a three-day break in the middle of spring training. I flew home from Arizona and spent the first day sleeping on my beach. My private beach. The only thing I can figure is that she found me there, dead to the world, and posed next to me, taking the shots herself.” He hesitated. “I haven’t slept with anyone since you, Sam. Truth or dare.”