Always Right (10 page)

Amanda woke before her alarm went off. She lay in bed, telling herself she couldn’t move a muscle, demanding that she not wake the man lying next to her.

Because this was the first time in her life she’d let a man spend the night.

Sure, she’d slept with guys before. But she’d always made sure they understood the rules before she took off her clothes. She was doing something she wanted to do, allowing her body to react in predictable physical ways, responding to specific stimuli as expected.

No simple physiological response required a man to stick around for breakfast.

But Amanda hadn’t sent Kyle packing last night. It would have been easy enough—when they were both lying on the floor next to the couch, when the room had stopped spinning, when she finally had the energy to open her eyes and the strength to speak. She knew the drill—a business-like kiss on the cheek, hunting up strewn clothes, telling a guy she’d had a really great time, but she had to be up early in the morning.

Wham, bam, thank you sir.

But last night was different. Different in so many ways—the depth of her body’s response, to start with. Her utter surprise at how excited he’d made her when he tied her hands, when he kept her from controlling everything that happened, everything he did, she did, they did together.

The sex was different, but there was more than that. She’d been shocked when she slapped him, ashamed even while her fingers still stung. She’d never done anything like that before, to anyone, no matter what the provocation.

Kyle Norton scrambled her emotions. Her life was supposed to be logical. Predictable. Orderly and controlled. But everything about that man knocked her off-center. She’d let herself be pulled into his crazy superstitions. She’d let herself be seduced by his honeyed voice when he was thousands of miles away; she gave up her much-needed sleep and she forfeited hours that could have been invested in work. And she’d broken the law—three times now—demanding his money, blackmailing him because she couldn’t figure out a better solution to her financial disaster of a so-called career.

And despite that—
because of that
—she’d let him tie her up.

Oh, she understood the truth. She could have gotten her wrists free any time she wanted. She could have bitten at the bonds. Hell, she could have demanded that he stop, then and there, that he let her go, and she knew he would have complied.

But she’d let him take control. She’d let him be in charge. And the gentle ache in her thighs, the soft soreness in her arms, in her abs, they all reminded her just how much that surrendering had turned her on. Just how much she’d needed to give in.

That was why when she’d finally been able to move from her sprawl on the living room floor, she’d taken him by the hand and led him into her bedroom. She’d pulled back her striped navy-and-cream comforter, and she’d invited him to join her in her bed. She’d pulled his arm around her, tracing the hard lines of his fingers against her belly.

And now that it was morning, she had no intention of sending him packing. Instead, she took a quick mental inventory of her kitchen. She had packaged oatmeal. Shredded wheat. There were three bananas on the counter, if he didn’t mind them over-ripe.

She didn’t want to break the spell. But she had to shower, to dress in a suit, in practical pumps. She had to head into the office for the meeting with opposing counsel that she’d postponed the day before.

She pictured the grid of a giant calendar and started to fill in the details. Briefs were blue. Responses to her opponent’s arguments were green. Exhibit preparation was red. She blocked out long stretches of time for producing charts and graphs, clear explanations of the complex science and math at the heart of her case.

“Easy, sweetheart.” The two words were so soft she barely heard them. She hadn’t realized she’d shoved iron rods down her spine as she calculated the calendar. She hadn’t recognized the tension that warped her shoulders.

Kyle slipped his fingers beneath her hair, finding a knot at the top of her spine. His touch was lazy and slow, and she arched against him as he kneaded away the stress she hadn’t known she carried. He worked down her back, patiently, methodically, spreading golden heat through her body.

By the time she rolled over to face him, she couldn’t have left the bed if the apartment had been on fire. Her shower could wait. Her suit could wait.

In the end, she made it to the office with fifteen minutes to spare before her meeting. She regretted having given up that quarter hour she could have better spent in bed.

~~~

Kyle sent the checks by messenger. Six slips of paper, totaling fifty thousand dollars.

He wanted to know why Amanda needed the money. He wanted to understand what was happening in her life.

But he knew better than to push her. It was one thing to play at control, to tie her wrists together, to touch her and tease her until she came hot and hard beneath him.
She’d
been in charge of that. She could have stopped him with a word, with a look, and she damn well knew it.

The money was different, though. He could read the shame in her eyes, something hungry that was dirty and small and secret.

For one crazy afternoon, he considered calling a press conference. He could tell the world about Spring Valley, let everyone know he was an addict, that he’d juiced.

The thought terrified him. His teammates would hate him. Fans too. They’d call him a liar, a coward, a cheat. They’d say he didn’t deserve his place on his college team. He never should have gotten to the minors, to the Rockets.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say the words out loud—even if they’d take away the power Amanda had over him. It was a hell of a lot easier to give her money. Paying her was like keeping it right with Uncle Sam. She was charging him a tax. Making him pay for being such a goddamn stupid kid.

So he tried to forget about Spring Valley as he slipped back into his routine. Two weeks at home—three separate series, with a couple of days off. He got to the park by noon, ate lunch with the guys, met with coaches and trainers. He worked on batting drills, on catching drills, any deficit highlighted by the game the night before. He played poker, a lot of it, shooting the shit with the other guys who hung out in the clubhouse.

At batting practice, he shagged balls in the outfield, focusing on whatever Skip said he needed to do. He looked up in the stands, wishing he needed sunglasses, wishing he was playing day games.

Because Amanda Carter had gotten under his skin, like no girl he’d ever met before. She was sharp, prickly, immediately suspicious about everything he said, most things he didn’t say. She had a wall around her a mile high, and he watched her add a row of bricks every time he mentioned family, every time he talked about his past, every time he asked about her own.

He wasn’t trying to drive her nuts. He’d just never met someone with such tight control over what she said, what she did. He’d never known anyone who could put up a shield like something on a spaceship in a movie, a barrier where anything he asked just bounced off, disappearing into the night.

Because most of the talking they did was at night. His games ended at nine thirty, ten o’clock. If they won, he spent half an hour bullshitting with the guys, going over the great hits, replaying the amazing catches. If they lost, he hit the showers straight away. Either way, he was driving out of the parking lot well before midnight.

The first few nights, he’d texted her, figuring he wouldn’t wake her if she’d already gone to sleep. She was waiting for him, though, every time. And so he stopped texting, and he started just driving over to her crappy little apartment.

He wanted to take her home to his place. He wanted to show her the night view of Raleigh, to stand at the picture window on the top floor of the Bellevue, his cock pressed against the soft skin at the small of her back. He wanted to hear her breath catch in her throat as he laid her out on the pillows his designer had made him get for his king-size bed. He wanted to shower with her, surrounded by Italian marble and four matched jets, with more hot water than even his imagination could use up.

But she’d freaked out the one time he’d suggested she could meet him at his place. He’d watched that screen go up, an instant wall of distrust. It wasn’t like she didn’t believe him. She didn’t think
he
was a threat. It was like she didn’t trust herself. Like she’d crumble if she let things get too easy, if she let herself get too soft.

It was too soon to make her change. Too soon to insist that she leave the cage of her own apartment.

And so he showed up at midnight. And he let her open the door. And he figured out new ways to stroke her, to claim her, to tear down the rigid barriers she’d put up all around her. And when she was spread out beside him, hot and wet and exhausted, he called himself a lucky man.

Amanda would be there in the stands for him on Saturday, on Sunday, for all the day games this home stand. She’d promised, even if she’d laughed at him. She’d started in again about
science
, about how his superstitions were only hurting him, only weakening his game. But he’d cut off all her arguments with calculated kisses. He’d convinced her she was wrong, spelling out his own justification in the red traces the rough hair of his beard left on her thighs.

His hitting streak continued. The team stayed in contention. And he had the hottest woman in Raleigh waiting for him, night after night after night.

~~~

Amanda sat in a white leather seat, staring at white marble tiles, waiting for the white-frosted glass door to open so she could enter the boardroom. A litigation bag rested by her feet, the oversize briefcase stuffed full of file folders. She’d gone over her notes a thousand times, rehearsed the questions she was going to ask the professor of pharmacology waiting in that room.

He wasn’t Antoine Phillips. He couldn’t help her case as much as Dr. Phillips could. But Dr. Phillips had been dodging her messages for weeks, and she was giving up hope of ever reaching the premier expert witness. She’d decided to protect herself, to get the testimony of a lesser academic. The situation wasn’t perfect, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

Her phone buzzed as she waited for opposing counsel to escort her into the lion’s den. Immediately, she thought of her partners back in the office. What if they wanted to review strategy on the fourth claim one more time? What if they’d re-thought her plan for dealing with the Patent Office irregularities, with the pages that were missing from the official record through no fault of her client?

Her heart in her throat, she brushed her fingertips across the phone’s smooth glass surface. And she almost choked when she saw the image waiting for her.

Her phone was a useful tool for her job. She could snap a picture of a pharmaceutical display in a store and send a quick image to her client asking if they wanted her to challenge inappropriate use of a trademark. She could collect pictures to send to the company that made her trial exhibits, showing three-dimensional molecular structures, modeling the metabolism of a drug over a twenty-four-hour period. In a pinch, she could take photos of a scientific article, recording the title, the authors’ names, everything the library would need to retrieve a full copy for her to read at leisure.

She knew people used their phones for different things, for less practical things, all the time.

She just hadn’t expected
Kyle
to use his phone for different things. Not when he was supposed to be on his way to the airport, heading to Denver for the first leg of a trip that promised to keep him busy, day
and
night.

But not too busy to pose for her.

He was naked, yeah. And missing her already. Of course she saw that. The picture actually made her grin, even as she took a deep breath to cool the blush that was hot enough to short-circuit the phone in her palm. She tilted the screen toward her chest, even though there wasn’t anyone close enough to see, even though the snippy little receptionist behind that massive white desk couldn’t have the first idea what she was staring at.

Kyle was nude. But he was also staring directly into the camera. His eyes seemed to carry a more important message than anything he was revealing with his body. He was asking her questions. He was telling her answers. He was telling her he wanted to be with her, he wanted both of them to be huddled beneath the covers on her bed, feeding each other the penne with olive oil she’d cooked up as a midnight snack the night before, listening to whatever she chose to tell him after the lights were out, after they were sticky and spent and slipping in and out of sleep.

Her fingers hovered over the glass screen, and she tried to think of something to type, something she could say that would answer all the things Kyle was saying, all the things he shared, even though he probably thought he was just making a silly little joke.

All right. Not a
little
joke.

“Ms. Carter?” A young man stood by the receptionist’s desk. “Dr. Howell is ready now.” Amanda slipped her phone into the litigation bag and headed down the hall to the deposition that might make or break her career.

~~~

He hadn’t expected her to respond. Not with anything as dangerous as a picture, not with anything that could be used against her in whatever perilous future she seemed to fear. So he wasn’t disappointed when Amanda didn’t send back a photo.

That didn’t keep him from sending her more of his own. Or from calling her, late at night. No matter the time, it never sounded like he woke her. She always answered on the first ring, sounding crisp and bright, like the crunch of the first fall apple.

Talking to her was like sinking into tall grass at the end of a long hike. She was comfortable. She understood him. Even when she told him he was being absurd, she
listened
to him.

Baseball and patent law—they had nothing in common.

But he and Amanda did. They both plotted out the game of their profession. They studied their opponents, looking for weaknesses. They practiced their own skills, upping their ability. They worked day and night, because they both understood that time was against them, that they had to succeed now, had to win today because whatever happened down the road might be too late. It might not matter.