LivingfortheMoment_F (13 page)

Oh Lord, Rena! My Internet tablet, digital recorder, and notebook were back at the ballpark. How could you have left your tote there? 

I sank back in my seat, closing my eyes briefly. Even though the interview had originally been scheduled for the sports section of the blog, once I’d agreed to do it, Harry had agreed to allow me to post it to my weekly column. That gave me a day or so before I had to sit down and pick out actual quotes and background to integrate into the outline I’ve already written.

I resisted the urge to call my brother Greg. As a sportswriter, he spent a lot of time down at the sports complex that included the ballpark. He worked twenty minutes away and would probably know how best to expedite getting my tote back.

Both my brothers were supportive and I knew he would gladly step in and take care of getting my tote back. But calling him would be an admission that I didn’t have my big-girl thong on. And I wasn’t about to allow some strange man I hoped never to see again make me feel insecure again.

Once I discarded the idea of calling Greg, I should have started the car and immediately gone back to the ballpark. However, the thought of running into him again was more than I could face. I took my cellphone from my shoulder bag and called the ballpark’s press office.

I felt a wave of panic when told the blasted man hadn’t turned in my tote. What the hell was his problem? Hadn’t he caused me enough grief for one day?

Ok, Rena. Get a grip. What use could he possibly have for your tote? My father and brothers were over six feet tall and well-built. They wore custom-made suits—just as the man from the ballpark did. The only thing of any possible interest in my tote was my Internet tablet. Given what his suit and shoes must cost, he could afford to buy his own gadgets.

Of course he’ll turn in your tote. When you call tomorrow, it’ll be in the press office ready to pick up.

Anderson

What the hell! The lousy day I’d been having got much worse as I watched the woman who’d just knocked me on my ass flee as if she thought I had some nasty STD. “Hey! Wait a minute!” I grabbed my briefcase from the floor and ran down the corridor after her.

But the damned elevator doors opened and she rushed inside and jabbed at the control panel while I was still a foot away. Before the doors slid shut, I saw what looked like a hurt expression in her eyes.

I hit a fist against the closed doors. What the hell was her problem? Clearly, I’d done or said something to annoy or offend her. But what? Recalling my automatic reaction to her rubbing against my cock, I inhaled slowly. What the fuck did she expect to happen when she ground herself against a man like that?

More importantly, what was her name? Damn! I turned and walked back towards the locker room. That’s when I saw the bag lying on the floor in front of the doors. I picked it up and unzipped it. When I saw the Internet tablet, I smiled. If she were like most people, she hadn’t bothered to password protect it and had been foolish enough to enter enough of her private information to make identifying and tracking her down all too easy.

I glanced at my watch. First I’d have to call my date for the night and give her the option of going out later or canceling the date altogether. Then I’d be free to decide if it was worth my time to even try to discover the identity of my mystery woman.

Narena

Still annoyed that I’d allowed that chance encounter at the ballpark to upset me so deeply, I picked up my shoulder bag and slipped out of my SUV. Taking a deep breath, I went inside the building and up to my apartment. Some days it just didn’t pay to get out of bed, I thought as I kicked off my two-inch heels and sank down onto the chair by my bedroom window.

I sat with my head back and my eyes closed, trying to give myself time to relax. It didn’t work. Fifteen minutes later, I slipped my tense body into a tub of very warm water filled with my favorite bath oil.

As I laid waiting for the water and oil to soothe me I tried not to think about that afternoon. But with my eyes closed, I kept seeing those perfectly formed male lips mocking me and feeling those big hands cupping my rear.

Unequal to the task of vanquishing him from my thoughts, I gave up and allowed my fantasies free range. I hadn’t had sex in over two months so I was feeling more than a little horny, which probably accounted for my inability to stop thinking about the sexy hunk from the ballpark.

I ran the tip of my tongue along my lips and wished I’d had the opportunity to grind my hips down against his until he was fully aroused. When he was, it would have been nice to roll to the side enough to slip a hand between our bodies to cup his cock. It felt like forever since I’d had the pleasure of touching an erect shaft.

I sighed, thinking how unwelcome that would have been—for him.

Although the tall, big men in my family were all either married to or dating thick or plus size women, I knew many men preferred slender, petite trophy women. Mr. Tall, handsome, and easily aroused from the ballpark probably had a bevy of such small women to warm his bed. His state of arousal had probably been purely automatic and not indicative of any attraction for me on his part.

But that’s enough fantasizing about him, girl. You’re going to take off some weight for your own reasons—not in the hopes of attracting a man like him. He’s not worth any more of your time. So get over it and call Rick or Jim to see which one of them can spend the night and take the edge off your sexual tension.

Taking a deep breath, I got out of the cooling water. After I dried off, I walked into the bedroom and stood naked in front of my bedroom mirror. I was 5’9” and what Dad lovingly called “charmingly plump.” While I wasn’t exactly fat, I was much thicker than my friends.

I’d always been on the thick side but comfortable in my skin with no desire to be pole-thin, but taking off some of the weight wouldn’t hurt and might actually hasten my meeting and landing Mr. Right. I dismissed the part of my mind that rebelled and insisted I wanted the man I married to accept me just as I was.

Finally, I pulled my hair back from my face into a ponytail and put on a pair of loose cotton pants and one of the oversized sports jersey I loved to lounge around in when home alone. Slipping on a pair of open toed sandals, I turned my attention to dinner.

I decided on a large, tossed salad with broiled veggies and a piece of Alaskan Cod cooked in a little water, butter substitute and garlic. Then I’d think about actually getting my ass in gear and riding the exercise bike that been gathering dust in the corner of my bedroom for several months.

I was halfway to the kitchen when my apartment buzzer sounded. I continued into the kitchen and picked up the cordless phone from the base mounted on the wall by the door. “Yes?”

“Ms. Devon?”

I didn’t recognize the male voice. “Yes.”

“This is Anderson Prescott.”

I felt a smile tug at my lips because he said his name as if I should have known who he was. “Yes?” I said again. “What can I do for you, Mr. Prescott?”

“I have the bag you left at the ballpark today.”

Thank God! “I’m in 2C. Please come up,” I said, as I pressed the buzzer to release the lobby door lock. I left the kitchen and walked into the tiny foyer of my apartment. When the bell outside my door rang and I opened the door, I found myself staring at the handsome man I’d fallen on earlier at the ballpark.

We stared at each other without speaking for what seemed an eternity. I couldn’t decide what expression I saw in his gaze but I was as physically aware of him and attracted to him as I’d been earlier.

Realizing I was staring, maybe even gawking at him, I held my hand out for the tote he held in his right hand. “Thanks.”

He made no effort to hand over my tote. “I’d like to apologize for this afternoon, though I think you misunderstood something I said or did.”

Recalling his cock hardening between our bodies, it took all my willpower to continue to meet his gaze. I hadn’t misunderstood a single damned thing. “May I have my tote?”

“Of course.” He handed me the tote, his dark gaze locked on my face.

I inhaled slowly, painfully aware that he wasn’t seeing me at my best without makeup and my hair in a careless ponytail. “Thank you for returning this,” I said in a cool voice. “But your remark was very clear.” I would have shut the door in his handsome face, but he put out a hand to stop me.

“And that’s it? Snatch your bag and slam the door in my face?”

“What more do you want? I said thank you.”

“I went out of my way to bring your bag. I think that entitles me to a little consideration and a few damned moments of your time.”

I hated how rude and ill mannered he made me feel. “I’m listening.”

“Our encounter this afternoon was very brief. I hardly said more than a few words to you. Which one of them offended you?”

“Does the term freight train refresh your memory?”

He frowned. “Freight…” he shook his head. “Can we discuss this inside?”

I arched a brow. He insulted me and then expected to be entertained? “I’m grateful to you for returning my tote but there’s really nothing to discuss.”

“I disagree.”

I bit back the urge to tell him I didn’t care if he disagreed or not. Why? I told myself it was because he had saved me a trip to the ballpark and he was sexy as hell. “Fine, come in for a moment—if you insist.”

“I’d rather you made it unnecessary for me to insist.”

I gave him a cool look and didn’t budge.

“Fine, I insist,” he said.

I stepped back from the door.

He followed me into the foyer, looked around, and arched a brow. “This is a charming foyer but don’t you find it a little on the small side for entertaining guests?”

Guests? Clearly delusion had set in big time but his point was well taken. I turned and walked in the living room.

And still the damned man wasn’t satisfied. He looked pointedly first at the sofa and then the small drinks cabinet against the far wall before meeting my gaze.

I felt my cheeks burn and then I laughed nervously. “I guess you want to sit down.”

“I’ve had a long day and I did drive forty minutes out of my way.”

He sure knew how to make a woman feel ungracious. I nodded towards the sofa and walked over to the cabinet. “Would you like a drink?” I asked, my hand hovering over the glasses on the cabinet top.

“I would but I never drink when I’m driving.”

Cute. I turned to face him. He sat on the sofa with his long legs stretched out in front of him, looking very comfortable while he stared at me. “Then what can I do for you, Mr. Prescott?”

“You can listen to and accept my apology. Once you have, perhaps you can enlighten me as to why I apologized.”

I leaned back against the cabinet. “You likened me to a freight train. I don’t know where you’re from but women in Philly don’t generally consider that a compliment.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I did no such thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You clearly mistook my remark about a freight train as a derogatory reference to your weight.”

“How else would you expect a full-sized woman to take such a remark?”

“Not the way you did.” He rose and walked across the room to look down into my eyes. “I only meant that you came out so quickly and so unexpectedly…and knocked me on my ass with all the power of a freight train.”

I shook my head. “Surely you don’t expect me to buy that? I know you meant that I was as large as a freight train,” I countered.

He inhaled slowly and walked back to the sofa where he’d left his briefcase.

I watched through narrowed gaze as he opened it.

On top of a manila folder lay a single red rose and what looked like a box of chocolates. Removing the rose and the box, he walked back across the carpet and offered them to me.

I’d had flowers from several male friends, but that beautiful, single red rose touched me far more than it should have. Meeting his dark gaze, I felt my emotional defenses crumbling. I accepted the rose, but not the box of chocolates. “The rose is beautiful.”

“So are you.”

I knew most men found me attractive but none had ever called me beautiful. Standing there without makeup, I believed him. I smiled. “Apology accepted. Thanks.”

“You don’t like chocolates?” he asked.

“Of course I do, but clearly I don’t need those. They’re decadent and probably have about a thousand calories in each piece.”

“A beautiful, confident woman of substance has no need to worry about a few calories.”

In the act of turning away, I paused and met his gaze.

He sighed. “Damn, please don’t tell me I’ve said something wrong again.”

“No.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

I shook my head. “My father calls my mom and me women of substance. He uses the term as a compliment.”

“That’s how I’m using it as well,” he said, pushing the expensive box of chocolates at me.

Meeting his gaze, I was lost and the rest of my emotional defenses crumbled. I accepted the chocolates and walked over to the sofa where I sat, trying not to stare at him.

He made that harder when he crossed the room to sit next to me on the sofa. 

I stared straight ahead, surprised at how tongue tied and unsure of myself I felt with him.

“Are you shy?” he asked.

I didn’t go around having one-night stands but I was no shrinking violet either. Still, there was something about him that attracted me so strongly all I could think about was sex. “Not particularly.”

He slid his arm along the backseat of the sofa so his fingertips brushed against the back of my neck.

I sat forward and turned to look at him. “Thanks for bringing my tote. I won’t keep you any longer.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Is that your charming way of telling me it’s time to take my ass elsewhere?”

“In a word? Yes.” Before I did something crazy—like straddle him and kiss the taste out of his mouth.

He laughed and remained seated. “What do your close friends call you?”

“Rena.”