Curveball (15 page)

Keely also rose. Jacy surprised her at the door with a white dessert box for the road. Kindness
radiated from Jacy’s smile. “Always good to have snacks on hand in case of unexpected company.”

Keely had never had someone drop by unexpectedly.

Once inside her apartment, she flipped on the lights, looked around her place. It was small, cozy, and suddenly very lonely. No barking dogs, no Psycho shouting for the remote, only silence. It was the kind of silence that made her heart feel heavy.

Placing the dessert box on the counter in her kitchen, she decided a bath would soothe both body and spirit. She lit a single candle perched on the edge of the bathroom sink and poured a stream of pear-magnolia body oil into her bathwater. She stripped off her clothes and sank into the tub. Closed her eyes…

There was a sudden impatient pounding on her front door. Startled, Keely sloshed water over the edges of the tub. Her hair stringy and uncombed, her body slick with oil, she rose, grabbed her worn terry cloth robe, and tore to the living room.

All buttoned up, her sash tied, she cracked the door.

“I was in the neighborhood…” Psycho stood in the hallway, dressed all in black and looking dangerous. His baseball cap was turned backward. There was a scowl on his face.

In the neighborhood.
She lived an hour from his home.

“I was just taking a bath.”

“I showered earlier.”

Something she already knew. He’d stood before her, naked and aroused, and pushing her out the door.

“I have treats.” A silly statement, but all that came to mind.

“Sounds good.”

He straightened from the wall, followed her inside. He trailed her to the tiny kitchen, leaned against the sink, his eyes jet-black, his expression unreadable.

Standing on tiptoe, she searched the cupboard for a plate without a crack. Flipping open the white box, she stared at its contents. “Rice Krispies treats.”

“My favorite.” Psycho reached around her, his body brushing hers as he chose the biggest one.

Keely blew out a breath. Jacy Kincaid had anticipated Psycho’s late-night visit.

“Milk?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve been living at your house. My refrigerator’s empty.”

“You need food.” He took her in, his gaze catching on her protruding collarbone and bony knees. “You’re too damn skinny.”

“I ate three scones at the coffee shop.”

“Eat more.” He shoved a Rice Krispies treat into her hand.

Their fingers generated a quick, explosive heat that sparked up her arm and shot down to her toes. She felt flushed and tingly. She took a quick bite of the treat to steady her nerves.

“Boris and Bosephus miss you.”

She’d been gone three hours. His admission made her smile. “Remember to give them each a Milk-Bone at bedtime.”

“You spoil the boys.”

“I’m better with dogs than I am with people,” she softly admitted. “I’ve never owned a television. Never watched a baseball game. I don’t know how to stroke your ego.”

“It’s not my ego in need of stroking.”

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe as Psycho set down his plate and moved in closer. He was twice her size, lean, strong, and unpredictable. Heat pulsed between them.

She caught the gold flecks in his dark brown eyes; the banked need in his uneven breathing. She sensed that his control was slipping fast. She should be afraid, very afraid. Strangely enough, she didn’t fear him.

“I’m going to count to three.” His whisper played against her ear. “Duck under my arm or be taken against the wall.”

Keely shuddered, dropped her Rice Krispies treat. The man didn’t play fair. His closeness confused her. She couldn’t think with the rasp of his whiskers against her cheek, the tickle of his warm breath on her chin.

“One…two…you’ve been warned.”

So much for three. Sensation burned with the touch of his lips. He caught her hair in his hands and kissed her hard. There was nothing slow or sensual in his move. Psycho McMillan was all over her, all at once.

His body stamped hers, and his hands were everywhere as he worked to get her naked. Within seconds, her robe hit the floor and he was kissing the hollow where her neck and shoulder met. He nipped the sensitive skin above her right breast, then swirled his tongue over what would surely be a bruise.

His mouth covered her nipples, first one, then the other, tugging lightly with his teeth. The sensation shot straight to her belly, then lower. Her legs trembled, barely able to keep her upright in the face of his onslaught.

Through it all, Keely’s heart slammed and her body burned. She curled her fingers in the front of his T-shirt and held on tight as the floor shifted beneath her. She was aware of every aroused atom in his body. Passion pounded in her bones, her heart, and deep between her thighs.

She was never certain which was harder, the man before her or the wall at her back. Adrenaline surged through him and electrified her. His kisses grew deeper, his mouth more demanding.

There was a lot to be said for nudity. Psycho had an incredible body. His shirt and pants had been kicked aside, and now her pale hands clung to his tanned arms. The sculpted solidness of his hair-roughened chest crushed her small, round breasts. The roped muscles of his thighs spread her slender legs.

His
Stands on Command
tattoo was a testament to his readiness to take her.

She wasn’t ready for him…

Psycho’s body spiked white-hot. His breathing was rough and rapid. It took him several minutes to realize Keely’s kisses didn’t have the same frantic intensity as his own. Her kisses were softer, slower; she wanted to make love, not hump off excess energy.

He growled, threw his head back, his muscles bunched and burning for sport sex. He silently swore, then figuratively kicked himself. Keely wasn’t one of those women he took so fast and furiously he forgot her name.

He’d started his evening at Peek-A-Boobs. But he’d tipped the exotic dancer to get
off
his lap. He hadn’t wanted just any woman’s touch. He’d only wanted Keely’s.

The feel of her hands on his lower back made him moan. She rubbed his spine a long time. Her fingers kneaded and massaged and slowed him down. His knotted muscles loosened and he no longer felt flaming hot.

She held him until the tension left his body. Until his male animal retreated and the wildness stilled.

He pushed himself back, bent, and pulled a condom from the pocket of his jeans. Taking her hand, he led her to the red vinyl sofa. A sofa with too many tears and very little padding. It was as hard as a wood frame.

He settled himself first, then positioned her straddling his thighs. His erection rose flat against his stomach, awaiting further command.

“Let’s celebrate your win.” Her whisper-soft kiss requested gentleness.

Psycho didn’t have a tender bone in his body. He could, however, practice patience. Even if it killed him. He let Keely do the kissing. And the touching. Let her learn his body. All over.

Her eyes dilated.

The pulse at her throat was visible.

When she bit his jaw, he bit her back.

It took every ounce of his control not to flip her over on the vinyl and finish what she’d started.

No woman had ever tried so hard to please him. She gauged his reaction to her every touch. Which stroke made him groan. What had him sucking in air. What tightened his abdomen. What caused his dick to twitch.

Lengthy foreplay left them both breathing heavily, their bodies tight and needy. When Psycho finally sheathed himself and slid inside her, he nearly came.

He fought back his own need and pleasured her fully. From her teacup breasts to the soft, sensitive skin at her belly, his fingers grazed and tortured, bringing exquisite pleasure.

She rode him, the strength in her slender thighs setting the pace for mutual satisfaction. He cupped her bottom, as small and compact as the rest of her body.

A strange burning filled his chest. An enveloping heat that was more emotional than sexual.

“Don’t hold back,” Psycho pushed her. “Come hard, like we’re going to die tomorrow.”

She shattered in his arms, slick and sweet and
explosive. If that was the last orgasm of her life, she’d be buried with a smile on her face.

Psycho spun out with such force, he swore he’d lost his sanity. If he’d ever been sane, which was highly debatable. Satisfied to his soul, he held Keely against his chest until their breathing slowed.

He left her only to rid himself of his condom. Returning, he found her still naked and staring up at him. She looked small and vulnerable, her cheeks pink, her lips kissed red. Her deep blue eyes were as soft as her sigh. “Some celebration.”

“It feels good to win.” Win the game, win the girl.

Settling back on the sofa, he let her snuggle. Snuggling was new to him. With other women, he had sex, then split. With Keely Douglas, it felt right to hold her. At least for a little while.

Within a very short time, her body went slack and he knew she slept. He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He’d stay for a few more minutes…

He awakened six hours later, disoriented by the soft light above the stove in the tiny kitchen. Keely’s apartment. The memory of what had happened hit as hard as his morning erection. He’d slept sitting up, and his ass was now half numb, his shoulders cramped against the wood frame.

Keely was still pressed against his side. One of her arms was wrapped around his chest; one of her legs curved against his thigh. In the coolness of the living room, she stole his heat.

The heat he didn’t mind. He was hot-blooded. Stealing his heart was another matter. He’d enjoyed Keely beyond the sex. Which had been phenomenal. He’d taken her twice more, just to be sure he hadn’t imagined how good they were together. Each time only got better.

A part of him refused to get too comfortable with her. He wasn’t ready for the emotion he’d seen in her eyes when they’d made love. She’d been open and honest and vulnerable. Psycho didn’t do vulnerable. For any woman. Ever.

The idea of letting go and letting her into his life set his teeth on edge. Somewhere deep inside, he was certain he’d inherited his father’s leave-and-never-return gene. The gene that closed the door on relationships.

Women came and went in Psycho’s life. He just didn’t do long-term. But he didn’t want to hurt Keely.

Once his house was restored, she’d be gone.

There would be no reason for her to stay.

But somehow, the idea of her leaving didn’t feel right to him.

Thoughts of the day crowded him now. He needed to return to the Colonial, see to the Newfoundlands, and get himself psyched for afternoon play.

Today, the Rogues again faced the Yankees in game two of the three-game series. When they won, he’d celebrate with Keely. This time, with birthday gifts.

He brushed her bangs off her forehead, dropped
a light kiss between her brows. He then eased off the sofa. Still asleep, she stretched out on her own. He went in search of a pillow and a blanket. Found neither. Snagging a twin sheet from the hallway closet, he went to cover her. She definitely needed new bedding.

His clothes lay atop her robe on the kitchen floor. Memories of stripping her naked, his sense of urgency, and her need to slow him down drifted over him. Only with Keely had he ever taken his time. With her, slow felt better than hit-and-run.

He dressed quietly, then jotted a note on a sheet of paper towel:
Your couch is uncomfortable—my bed tonight. I’ve got presents.

He crossed the room and hit the day at dawn.

He was already contemplating Keely’s gifts. And how she’d open them with smiles and enthusiasm—totally naked.

“
Give me the remote,”
Keely ordered Boris. The big dog held it between his teeth, tightening his jaw whenever she tried to pull it free.

“I promised to watch the game this afternoon,” she explained to the Newfie. “I can’t let Psycho down.”

Not after last night. Psycho had made sure their time together was unforgettable. He’d cupped her bottom, controlled her ride. Drawn out her pleasure. They’d moved together until her climax and total satisfaction were echoed by his growl and slow smile.

She’d felt completely taken.

But even though he’d given her his body, he’d closed off his heart. She’d felt his moment of weakness, when the sex had been so good neither one could believe it. She’d allowed her feelings to show in the hope he’d respond in kind. But his emotional response was fleeting. No more than a second, and he’d shut down. He’d kept his gaze
down and his jaw locked when he’d disposed of his condom.

She’d expected him to leave after sex. Surprisingly, he’d stayed. He’d allowed her to snuggle. But deep inside, she knew that Psycho McMillan would let her only so close before he pulled away.

“Sit.” Keely attempted another training tactic with Boris. She’d been working the command into the dogs’ daily routine, but they’d yet to master it. To her surprise, Boris did as he was told.

He sat and looked up at her, awaiting her response. “Good boy,” Keely praised lavishly. She reached for a tug toy near one leg of the coffee table. “Switch,” she said, offering the toy for the remote.

Boris remained undecided, until Bosephus bounded into the living room and took Keely up on her offer to play. Bosephus grabbed one end of the toy and nearly pulled her off her feet. Wanting to get in on the action, Boris dropped the remote, which Keely immediately scooped up. The Newfies continued their tug of war.

The living room stood empty except for the couch and the coffee table. After several tugs, the dogs lay down for a nap. A nap Keely wouldn’t mind taking herself.

She’d expended a lot of energy last night. Three rounds with Psycho had left her sore. The man had worked muscles she’d never known she had.

She made popcorn, grabbed a soda, and headed for Psycho’s domain. Settling on the black leather couch in the family room, she faced his
home theater television. Remote in hand, she pressed
ON.
Not a flicker, not a sound. She shook the remote, tried again. Nothing. Running her hands over the buttons, she noticed deep teeth marks over the battery pack. In his playfulness, Boris had destroyed the remote.

Full-fledged panic slammed her chest.

She had to watch the game.

She charged the TV, searched for the manual
ON
button. She punched it hard. Still no picture, no sound. Lying on the floor, she noticed a separation of cord and plug. One of the Newfoundlands had gnawed through the wiring.

She’d scold the pups later. Right now she needed the nearest sports bar. She left the house with uncombed hair and mismatched flip-flops.

Wally’s was a ten-minute drive away. When she arrived, Keely knew she was in the right place. All the cars in the parking lot had either Rogues bumper stickers or red, white, and blue pennants waving from their radio antennae.

Inside, Keely found the bar packed. Lots of smoke, lots of leather, little room to squeeze through the crowd. She searched for a place to sit or even stand. A far corner of the bar caught her eye. She avoided a dart game, a beer-chugging contest, and finally reached the empty spot.

“I’m Wally,” the bartender shouted over the noise. “First beer’s on the house.” He nodded toward an empty keg. “Twenty bucks gets you in the pool.”

It turned out that people were betting on the
number of hits by any one Rogue player. The keg was already half filled with money. Those participating in the pool wrote down their name, along with their favorite athlete and the number of singles, doubles, triples, and home runs the player would score.

Keely stared at the paper for a long time. So long, the bartender raised his brow. “Rookie,” he nicknamed her on the spot, “need some help?”

She scratched her head. “I want to bet on Psycho McMillan.”

“You and half the bar.” A woman in her late twenties squeezed in beside Keely. She wore a Rogues T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and a sassy smile. “Psycho’s my man.”

“Mona, Rookie.” Wally introduced the two women.

“My man too,” a redhead called from a table behind Keely. “Love them bad boys.”

“That’s DeDe,” Mona pointed out. “Give her a little tequila and some home runs and her clothes come off.”

Keely’s eyes widened. Should prove an interesting game.

Talk of the Rogues swirled around her. It didn’t take long for Keely to realize that it was not just Psycho who belonged to the bar. The patrons claimed the entire team as kin.

When she handed her paper to Wally, he cut her a look. “Pretty damn hopeful, aren’t you, Rookie? I’ve seen Psycho hit two home runs in a game, but never three.” He pointed to the keg.
“Well, if he scores big, you’ll be taking home a load of cash.”

After the preliminary singing of the National Anthem and the introduction of the players, the game got under way. Keely stood, her back to the bar, and took in the game. She followed most of the lingo, although a few phrases flew over her head.

Her heart jumped when the camera swung to Psycho. He followed Romeo, batting sixth. Two bats in hand, he raised them over his head and took several practice swings.

“He’s got his game face on!” DeDe hopped up and clapped her hands. Her breasts nearly spilled from her halter. “Check out those hips. Baby’s nice and loose.”

“The man’s had sex.” Mona smiled knowingly. “His practice swing says he screwed his brains out.”

Laughter lifted from the surrounding tables.

Heat rose in Keely’s cheeks as she turned to Mona. “How do you know he’s had sex?” She kept her voice as low as possible.

Mona ordered two fingers of Wild Turkey and tossed the whiskey back in one swallow. “A player’s hips never lie,” she stated. “His swing reflects his life. If he’s all tight in the shoulders, his wife’s bitchy or he’s between girlfriends. When there’s swivel in his hips, a man’s gotten lucky. Looks like Psycho got lucky more than once last night.”

Three times actually—information Keely kept to herself. She stared at the screen, seeing, yet not
really knowing the man who now stood in the batter’s box.

Not just stood…but
owned
home plate.

Psycho’s game face scared the hell out of Keely.

His baseball helmet fit low on his brow.

His dark brown eyes looked black with purpose and intensity.

The set of his mouth was severe.

She could feel the hum of his body through the television screen as he dug in, took his first pitch.

The bar crowd bemoaned his strike.

“Come on, baby,” Mona shouted. “Mama needs a double.”

“A triple,” another customer shouted.

All around the bar, voices rose as to what each person needed to win the pool.

“Home run.” Keely crossed her fingers, then kissed the tips.

A foul ball into the lower deck drew the redhead’s scream. “Straighten it out, Psycho!”

Straighten it out he did. He connected with a fastball. A ball he hit so hard, Keely swore it would be caught in Norfolk.

The bar exploded. Beers were shaken, the foam spewing like champagne. Bowls of peanuts were thrown in the air like confetti. The fans jumped up and down, hugged each other, and shrieked.

Keely watched it all from her corner of the bar. She’d never seen anything like it. The excitement and enthusiasm rolled over her, making her giddy.

“Some woman needs to take a bow,” Mona yelled.

“That woman needs to ride him again tonight,” DeDe shouted in agreement. “Keep his hips loose.”

Keely’s face couldn’t get any hotter.

The game progressed, with solid Rogue hits and countless Yankee errors.

“Chaser’s been greased,” Mona noted. “Catcher’s got swivel.”

More than one Rogue had had sex last night. Risk Kincaid hit two doubles and a triple; apparently his wife, Jacy, had warmed him up for today’s game.

“Romeo’s not on his game,” DeDe commented. “He’s usually the loosest of the Bat Pack. Today he’s one tight muscle. Man can’t pay for a hit.”

Psycho made up for Romeo’s hitless streak. He captured the day with two home runs. At the bottom of the eighth, the score was 6-4, with the Rogues holding off the Yankees. The bar went collectively silent with Psycho’s last at bat. Keely held her breath, hoping for that third home run.

After two balls and one strike, Psycho delivered.

Keely was so stunned, she couldn’t move.

Jostled by hugs and deaf from screams, she found herself lifted off her feet and swung around by a biker named Mad Dog. DeDe danced topless between tables. Customers patted each other on the back as if they’d been the one to score.

Keely was doused with National Bohemian. Her shirt was so damp she looked like she’d entered a wet T-shirt contest. Her hair hung limply
about her face. She smelled of beer. And the biker’s cologne.

At the top of the ninth, the first three Yankee batters fell to a series of strikes. The Rogues had won. The celebration at Wally’s turned wild.

When her name was called for winning the pool, two men lifted her up on the bar to claim her victory money. The bartender introduced her as Rookie, and the name stuck for the next hour as she bought several rounds for the house.

Time got away from Keely. Ten minutes turned into two hours. Wally lent her his leather vest to cover her wet T-shirt, then stuffed her winnings in a bank bag. After plying her with souvenirs, he escorted her safely to her station wagon.

She drove to the Colonial, flying high, her heart happy. She’d not only seen Psycho play ball, but she’d won the pool. Her little eighteen-inch TV had just been replaced by a state-of-the-art television. Next season Psycho would fill her apartment on a wide screen.

“
Where the hell have you been?”

Psycho stormed down the staircase to corner her by the fireplace. His eyes were dangerously dark, his lips flattened against his teeth. Keely pressed her hands behind her back to hide her souvenirs.

“I walked in the house and you weren’t here,” Psycho growled. “I found Boris with his face in a popcorn bowl and Bosephus licking spilled Pepsi off the coffee table in the family room. You didn’t leave a note.”

She heard the concern beneath his anger. Despite his scowl, the fact he cared was very sweet. “I left in a hurry,” she explained.

“Reason for the great escape?” His hard gaze lit on the man’s leather vest that hung nearly to her knees. He flicked one edge with his finger, exposing the see-through cotton beneath. “A wet T-shirt contest?”

She drew one hand from behind her back and poked him in the nose. Twice. “I got caught in a Rogues celebration.”

He snagged her wrist to stop her poking. “Where did you get the foam finger?”

“At Wally’s.”

A muscle jumped along his jaw. “
Wild
Wally’s?”

She pursed her lips. “The crowd shook and sprayed beer with every Rogue hit. I met Mona and DeDe and got hugged by Mad Dog. The bartender called me Rookie. I won the pool.”

He waited for her to run out of breath before he plucked peanuts from her hair. “Why Wally’s when you have a home theater right here?”

“Blame Boris.” She stifled a yawn as exhaustion caught up with her. “He chewed both the remote and the cord on the television.”

“Which sent you to a sports bar to watch the game.”

“I promised to watch you play.”

“You kept your word.” He drew her to him, holding her loosely. “Next game, you’ll sit in reserved seating at the stadium. Chaser, Romeo,
and I hold a section of baseline seats for family and friends.”

Keely reminded herself she was his designer, not family. “I’m fine watching TV right here once the set’s rewired.”

His knuckles bumped the bank bag still held behind her back. “How much did you win?”

“Four thousand dollars.” She grinned. “I bet you’d hit three home runs.”

“You bet high.”

“Not according to your hips.”

“My
hips
?”

“The ladies in the bar said hips don’t lie. Yours were loose from sex.”

He rocked against her. “Nice and loose.”

“I wanted to slide under the bar when they said that.”

“If the customers had known you’d gotten me loose, you’d have drunk free for the remainder of the season.”

“I’m not a drinker, nor do I broadcast my sex life.”

“When most women do a jock, they go out and rent a billboard.”

“I prefer to remain anonymous.”

“Embarrassed to be having sex with me?”

“That’s not why I blush.”

Psycho slid the foam finger from her hand. He then ran the tip along her cheek, her collarbone, between her damp breasts, and down the zipper on her jeans. He pressed the foam finger between her thighs. “This would make a great shower mitt.”

She sniffed; the scent of stale beer was heavy on her skin. “I could use a shower.”

“I’m available to soap your back.”

“More than my back needs soaping.”

Psycho soaped Keely to two major orgasms. Later that night, she came to him wrapped only in a red boa. One of his gifts to her. Tickly feathers and a soft woman greased Psycho’s hips all night long. He was hyped to play ball the next day.

The Rogues continued to play hard. As did every other team in the league. They climbed to third in the National League East standings in June, then slipped to fourth in July. By August they were holding fast at second.

Through it all, Psycho never tired of the grueling schedule. Nor did he tire of Keely Douglas. She’d refused his offer of sideline seats and had taken to watching his games at Wally’s. She went to the bar strictly as a fan, not as the woman who warmed his bed.

Only the bartender knew Keely’s true identity. Psycho had made an after-hours visit to the bar and pointedly spoken to Wally. He didn’t want Keely to be hit on by other men or crushed in the exuberant crowd. Wally had promised to keep one eye on the designer at all times.