Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel (9 page)

When she was little, she’d been awed by the big, smiling baseball players who paraded through her life like friendly giants. Then, at a certain age, she’d seen baseball as the enemy, the thief of her father’s time. Now it felt different. For the first time in her life she was
working
in baseball. Working with her father. Baseball wasn’t the enemy, it was like a sexy, fascinating new friend she was just getting to know.

She hurried down to the dugout. As she reached the door, she heard raised voices, but didn’t pay much attention. Ballplayers—probably arguing about who got the highest score in Grand Theft Auto or something. The smell of wet grass greeted her as she stepped inside
the weather-beaten structure. Sprinklers were generating misty clouds of condensation in the outfield. A low wooden bench stretched the length of the dugout, whose walls were painted a baby blue, like a kitchen appliance from the sixties.

Some kind of quarrel was unfolding in front of her. Dwight sat on the bench, bent over a magazine, shielding it from view with his elbows. Shizuko was peering over his shoulder, his black hair flopping over his forehead. Trevor was trying to snatch the magazine away from Dwight.

“It’s none of our fucking business who she was married to,” he snarled at the other two. “Hand that shit over before I kick your ass.”

“Two against one, T,” teased Dwight. “You know I’m a Nessa fan, so step off.”

“Everything’s easy with Nessa Brindisi.” Shizuko sang the show’s theme song, adding his own twist.

“Our Paige is a nice-looking chick, but just look at that rack.” Dwight whistled, holding the tabloid farther away from his face, as if to view the entire landscape of Nessa’s chest.

“Say one more word . . .” Trevor growled, ice and murder in his voice.

“Relax, T. We’re not the ones who cheated on her in front of a whole foreign country.”

Shizuko was trying to read the article. “Hudson got signed by the Golden State Warriors. Nice. The upgrade must have helped his career.”

Trevor made an inarticulate sound and ripped the tabloid out of Dwight’s grip.

Paige couldn’t take another second, couldn’t stand to see Trevor looking at pictures of her ex-husband and Nessa Brindisi. Just when she’d stopped picking at the scab of her divorce, the ballplayers’ words ripped it off
all over again. She tiptoed backward, stomach clenching, humiliation washing over her. No matter how far away from Italy she went, she’d never escape this story. The entire world, forevermore, would be talking about the cooking show star and the basketball player.

In her confusion, she didn’t notice the rack of bats in the corner until she bumped into it. It teetered precariously; she put a hand out to steady it, but then one bat rolled free and bonked her on the forearm. She snatched her hand back as a cascade of falling timber crashed around her like thunder. Crouching down, she shielded her head with her arms, tears flowing into her fingers.

And then she was being whisked up and away by a force so strong it felt like a tornado.

T
REVOR WAS CARRYING
her out of the dugout, through the corridors of the stadium. His scent filled her awareness. Leather and spice, spiked with grass and something else, like the nose-prickling ozone smell that indicates an oncoming rainstorm. He was hauling her through the tunnel like a sack of potatoes. He kicked open the door of a room filled with exercise balls and other medical items and set her on an exam table covered with a white cloth. He kept both hands on her, his warmth penetrating through her clothes. For a player known for his icy control, he sure put out a lot of body heat.

“Do you hurt anywhere? Did any of those bats hit you?”

She tried to answer no, but it came out as a hiccup. Great, now she was making weird sounds on top of everything else. Mortified, she covered her face with both hands. Of all moments to revert to her awkward, gangly worst.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” murmured Trevor. “Those guys would be flipping out if they were in a magazine. They have no fucking feelings, that’s their problem. Now do you have any bruises? If
you don’t answer, I’m going to have to put my hands all over you, and I know how you feel about the ‘pact of denial.’”

“Give me a minute,” she finally managed. The “putting my hands all over you” part sounded pretty appealing, but that would be big trouble, and they both knew it. Trevor stepped back, allowing her a little space. When he returned to her field of vision, he stuck a box of Kleenex under her nose. Gratefully, she took a handful of tissues and blotted the tears off her cheeks. “I’m fine.”

“Take a few breaths. You’re in the head trainer’s room, in case you’re wondering. I can go find Terry, if you want. She’s a little scary, but she might be nice to you since your father signs her paycheck.”

“No, don’t leave. I’m okay. I don’t think the bats hit me, they just surprised me.” She didn’t want to talk about the rest of it. The Nessa part.

“I apologize for those guys. I tried to get that tabloid trash away, but Dwight was being a dick. He’s probably going to want to buy you a Mercedes or something to make up for it.”

She sighed. So much for not talking about the article.

“Dwight didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a magazine, it’s meant to be read. Obviously Nessa and Hudson posed for it. They want people to see it.” Her gaze dropped to the tabloid stuffed haphazardly into the front pocket of his jeans. “Let me look at it.”

“No.” Trevor stepped back, but she snagged it right out of his pocket before he got too far. “Why do you want to look at that crap? It made you cry.”

“Everyone else is going to see it. Why not me?” She spread it open on her knees, smoothing out the wrinkles. Nessa, with her voluptuous dark beauty, and Hudson, with his height and sculpted muscles, looked
stunning together posed at the TV show’s fake countertop. Hudson held a cupcake in one giant palm, while Nessa put a cherry on top, Betty Boop style, ass sticking out, one hand covering her mouth. She was looking at the camera, while Hudson gazed only at her.
Love is easy with Nessa Brindisi,
read the caption.

“Hudson doesn’t even like cherries,” she said wistfully. “Cherry anything. He’s really hard to buy cough medicine for, but I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Trevor shifted uncomfortably. “I had no idea you were married to an NBA player.”

“I wasn’t. I married a shy guy from college who got signed by an Italian league.” She scanned the article, even though it felt like needles stabbing into her eyes. It included a quote from the owner of the Golden State Warriors, saying how happy he was that Hudson Notswego was going to be anchoring their defense. Nessa Brindisi, his fiancée, planned to move to California with him to explore her options in the entertainment industry.

Resentment washed over her. Everything was working out perfectly for Hudson and Nessa. No one seemed bothered by the fact that Hudson had a wife when he met Nessa.

“It looks like that ‘upgrade’ worked out well for him.”

“Shizuko didn’t mean that. He’s an ass. He doesn’t even speak English all that well.”

“Save it, Stark. It’s okay. She’s a celebrity cooking show host, and I’m a college dropout.”

“So? I’d take a thousand Paige Taylors over one egomaniacal Nessa Brindisi.”

Her breath caught. Crazy thoughts cartwheeled through her head. That maybe Trevor liked her. Wanted
her. Appreciated her. Afraid to show him how much his statement affected her, she kept her gaze on the tabloid. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better.”

“I told you, I’m not that nice a guy. I mean it. Nessa is all about Nessa, it’s written all over her face.”

The garish photo spread blurred. “You were actually looking at her face? Dwight and Shizuko were pretty focused on other parts.”

“Paige, listen to me.” Trevor cupped her chin in his hand and forced her gaze away from the tabloid. “I’ve been with . . . let’s just say, I’ve seen many women in my time. Bodies are bodies. I’m not knocking them, I appreciate a beautiful woman. Nessa’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. But you have something else, something she doesn’t have.”

He’d called her beautiful. Her blood sang in her ears. Trevor Stark thought she was beautiful. Then he ruined everything with the next word out of his mouth.

“Kindness.”

Kindness.
The word might as well have been a wrecking ball demolishing her confidence like a house of cards. “That’s my selling point? Kindness? No wonder he wanted Nessa instead.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s got his head up his ass. If I had the choice, I’d rather have a girl who’d drive to the rescue of a total stranger, who cares about people, who wants to help people. Why were you at the Boys and Girls Club?”

She didn’t answer.
Kindness.
That’s what Trevor saw in her. Kindness wasn’t sexy. Kindness wasn’t fascinating. Kindness could never compare to Nessa’s allure.

Trevor was still talking. “You were there to help out, right? To volunteer, see how you could contribute?”

She jumped off the massage table, making him take a step back in surprise.

“You’re so full of shit, Trevor. When you see a hot girl at the bar, do you ask her about her volunteer work? No, you check out her boobs or her ass or how willing she is to sleep with you. All those . . . groupies who want your number. Do you make sure they’re ‘kind’ before you screw them?”

“No, but that’s just sex. I’m talking about—”

“What, Trevor? Talking about what?”

She must have stumped him, because he just stared at her with a confused frown.

“
Since
you brought up sex, Hudson and I never had a problem in that area until the last year. We had plenty of sex, and it seemed okay to me. But maybe I was wrong and there’s a lot more to it, and Nessa has some magic sex formula I just can’t compete with, and if she does, I really think as a public service she should share it on her show. Like a recipe. Nessa’s recipe for outstanding sex that will keep your man from ever leaving you. She could make millions from that. I’d buy it. But I wouldn’t waste it on Hudson, because screw him anyway. We were friends before we got married, and you don’t treat a . . . a friend like—” The words stuck in her throat like a chicken bone. She tried, but nothing came out, just a sob. Then another one.

Was it just last night that she’d announced to Crush that she’d marry Hudson again,
double
? She was an idiot, clueless, naïve. She shouldn’t be allowed near men. Crush
should
have locked her in the basement for the past twenty-four years.

Trevor’s arms came around her, surrounding her with his rock solid weight. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

“No. I . . . I thought I was okay . . . but I just realized . . .” Trembling, she pushed the words out between sobs. “I lost my friend. We . . . we . . . probably should
have stayed friends instead of getting married. Now we’ll never be friends again. Sorry, my emotions are just all over the place, I guess.”

Her grief engulfed her like a tidal wave, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Anchored to Trevor’s strong frame, she let it flow over her, around her, through her. With one big hand gently cradling her head and the other stroking her back, he murmured an occasional “It’s okay,” or “Go ahead and cry,” but other than that said nothing.

As her tears slowed, and the emotion passed, a new feeling came over her. It felt as if the core of her body had been replaced with a well of fresh honey. Warmth and sweetness spread through her veins, until her entire body felt boneless.

“I want you,” she whispered to Trevor.

His arms tightened around her. “Don’t say that. You’re upset. You just had a shock. We agreed. Pact of denial.”

“I know all that. It doesn’t change anything. I want you. You said you think I’m beautiful.” She lifted her head from his chest and tilted it to meet his gaze. His was blazing with heat.

“You are.”

“You said you’d take a thousand Paige Taylors. Well, there’s one standing right next to you.”

“You’re not playing fair. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Because I’m ‘kind’?”

His eyes narrowed, glittering at the scorn in her voice.

“Just a kiss, that’s all. Short. Brief. Right here.” She pointed to her lips, and watched his gaze follow her finger, then stall. Oh, the way he looked at her, like he wanted to plunge inside her and turn her inside out.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered. Her lower belly clenched, hard, with an electric jolt of lust.

He leaned down, those crystal eyes pure green flame. His lips brushed hers, just the barest, slightest touch, but enough to make everything stop.

Then, with his body tense as steel, his lips moved against hers. “You are a very dangerous girl, you know that?” It was more of a growl than a question.

“Why?” A breath more than a word.

“Because you make me forget things I shouldn’t forget.”

Tension arced between them. Everything vanished but this strong, enigmatic man meeting her lips so tenderly, so gently, as if she was something to treasure. As if he wanted her to
know
she was something to treasure. In that moment, she felt as if she saw into his soul, to the wounded, beautiful, caring man within.

With a visible effort, he straightened and snapped the connection. The loss made her shiver. She hugged her arms to her body, searching for her composure.

“Do you mean our pact of denial?” she asked.

“Among other things.” She could practically see him retreat from the intimate space they’d just shared. “Are you going to be okay?”

Was she going to be okay? She did a quick survey, inside and out. Physically, she noticed only one twinge in her elbow, where a falling bat must have bruised her. Emotionally . . . actually, she felt pretty good. As if a new part of her had been brought to life. She looked back at the photo spread, still open on the massage table. “It looks so staged, doesn’t it? Kind of embarrassing, really.”

“Absolutely. Just imagine the shit the Warriors are going to give him. Bet they’ll smear cupcake frosting all over his locker or something.”

“That shouldn’t make me feel better, but it kind of does.” She laughed up at him. His gaze dropped to her
lips. Desire surged between them again, hot and volatile.

“What the hell is going on in here?” The deep voice of her father made her spin around. Great, just what she needed, her father misunderstanding the situation and taking it out on Trevor.

“Nothing. Trevor was comforting me because of this.” She grabbed the tabloid off the table and waved it at him. “Did you know about it?”

Crush transferred his angry glare to Trevor. “Yes, and I was trying to keep you from ever having to see it.”

Trevor did his best Greek statue imitation, face like marble, arms crossed over his chest.

“It wasn’t Trevor’s fault. He didn’t write the article, he didn’t pose for those photos, and he didn’t cheat with Nessa. And actually, I’m glad I saw it. It makes it easier for me to move on.”

Crush still held Trevor in his sights. “She’s been crying. What’d you do?”

“Don’t blame Trevor for that, Dad. And I’m right here. Look at me.” She waited until he’d unlocked his gaze from Trevor’s. She kept it simple, stating each sentence with careful enunciation. “Trevor was being
nice
. Thanks to him, I feel better. He was comforting me. We now have to do this photo shoot. Okay?”

A muscle in Crush’s jaw jumped. “Fine. Just . . . take it easy with the ‘nice’ shit.”

N
o more touching Paige, anywhere, anytime. It wasn’t just that she was sexy and appealing and someone he could look at all day long and not get bored. It wasn’t just that he wanted her in his bed. The problem was that when she looked at him, something happened. He felt . . . seen. Appreciated for something other than good looks or baseball.

What she saw, he had no idea. But he couldn’t get enough of being with her, talking to her.

And that was bad, bad, very bad news. Could
not
happen again. Not because of Crush Taylor, of course. He couldn’t care less what Crush thought of him. Actually, he appreciated how protective the baseball legend was of his daughter. Someone had to be, after what Notswego had done.

After Paige left the room, he ripped the tabloid into little shreds and buried it in the trash. When he reached the dugout, Marcia had arrived and was arranging Dwight and Shizuko for the shot. The marketing head was in her element, though it was funny watching such a tiny woman prodding two big baseball players where she wanted them.

As the center fielder, Dwight took the middle spot, posing with both hands resting on a bat. Shizuko casually rested one arm on Dwight’s shoulder and held his glove to his heart. Marcia pointed Trevor to Dwight’s other side.

“Turn your body sideways, toward Dwight,” she directed. “Fold your arms across your chest and look at the camera.”

Just to get this crap over with so he could go murder some baseballs, Trevor did as he was told. He was in no mood to smile for the camera. He kept thinking about the article in the tabloid. The only mention of Paige had come when the reporter referred to Hudson’s first wife, the “daughter of sports legend Crush Taylor.” It didn’t even say her name. As if she’d been whitewashed out of the storybook basketball romance.