Strike Zone (19 page)

“What are you doing?” Eve demanded as he struggled to get his T-shirt over his head without streaking his hair blue like some punk rocker.

“I’m stripping down so you can get to my skin.”

He kicked off his boots and socks, then unbuttoned and dropped his jeans, down to his boxer briefs.

Eve looked horrified as she checked out his body: blue pecs and abs; even his navel sported color. Paint globbed his briefs. His thighs and calves were darkly smudged. Paint even creased his toes.

What a mess. He held out his arms and broadened his stance. “Cleanup on aisle five.”

Eve didn’t find him funny. “Paint thinner could irritate your skin.”

“What’s a few red blotches when I’m blue?”

Her hands shook as she wet the cloth to clean her own fingers. Her whole body trembled as she began wiping him down. A crease marred her forehead. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Her jawline was rasped red.

She’d marked him with blue paint.

And he’d given her whisker burn.

Sloan’s temper cooled. He’d been a damn poor loser. Eve had won fair and square. He’d been so into her, he hadn’t noticed when her passion died and her pleasure turned to a desire to gun him down.

Somewhere between the paintball field and the shower room, she’d lost her fighting spirit. She’d become quiet and reserved. He wanted the fighter back.

“I played to win, Eve.” He broke the silence. “I get mad at myself when I lose. I don’t hit walls or women. So don’t be scared of me.”

“I don’t fear you,” she returned. “Not when you’re covered with paint thinner and I have a cigarette lighter in my pocket.”

He eyed her jumpsuit. No bulges. She’d turned him into a Smurf. A human torch held even less appeal.

He let her work silently. She concentrated on his shoulders, then drew the cloth down over his pecs. She dabbed at his blue nipple—and Sloan’s testicles tightened.

He clenched his back teeth to stop a moan.

Damn if his dick didn’t spring to life. It stuck straight up, trying to peek over the waistband of his underwear, painfully hard, and very, very blue.

Eve Hannah caught the stirring in Sloan’s briefs. Her hand stilled on his six-pack. She wasn’t sure if it was Sloan or the paint thinner that made her light-headed. Whichever one, she found his body thick, toned, and cut. She enjoyed cleaning him more than she’d ever admit.

Sloan’s enjoyment didn’t match her own. He’d shifted his stance a dozen times, seeming antsy and belligerent, wanting her to wrap it up.

She hurried. She scrubbed across his belly, a little harder, and a lot faster. . . .

Until he gripped her hand and pushed her away.

“I can take it from here,” he gritted out as he turned his back on her.

He then snagged a towel and the sweats and headed for the shower.

Eve moved to the sink to splash cold water on her very hot face. She looked into the mirror and didn’t recognize her own reflection. The bill on her baseball cap had flipped to the back, and her hair had escaped its braid. Her eyes were bright and a little wild. Her face was flushed. Her lips pouted, full and well kissed. Sloan’s stubble had sandpapered her cheeks. Her jumpsuit remained unzipped to her navel.

She could still feel his big hands on her breasts. She vividly recalled the touch of his fingers inside her panties.

Her color deepened, and heat stole into her belly. She’d liked the way he kissed, had liked how he’d turned her on. She wished she’d gone a little farther with him. She hadn’t touched him nearly enough. If she had it to do over, she’d have taken him out with her single-pop pistol, not fired the tommy gun.

The kick of the gun had been a kick to his balls. She knew Sloan was hurting.

Twenty minutes later, he approached her with blue shadows beneath his chin. His grim expression let her know much of his anatomy remained blue hued.

Without a word, he collected his discarded clothing and stuffed it in the garbage bag, along with the jumpsuit.

He then glanced at her. “You can return your jumpsuit to Gus. It can be cleaned and live to play another day.”

Eve peeled the jumpsuit down her body. It caught on the heel of her tennis shoe, and she did a little hop before kicking it free.

Looking up, she caught Sloan’s eyes on her breasts, narrowed and staring. He’d eyed her chest the same way during the Bunny Hop. Her breasts weren’t overly large, but she filled a demi-B.

He knew her size. He’d felt her up less than forty minutes ago. He’d left her high on adrenaline, aroused and wanting more. More action. More man.

“I felt like Taylor today,” she slowly confessed. “Silly, but true. I’ve never been chased, except by a duck, and that ended poorly.”

Sloan looked surprised. “You had fun? With me?”

“Mm-hmm.” She met his gaze. “I’d play again.”

He crossed to her, openly curious. “What part of the game did you like best? Charging through the maze? Crawling on your belly? Getting caught? Kissing me?”

“Firing the tommy gun.”

He looked pained. “You can’t be serious.”

“The blast was wicked, but I felt like a winner.”

“I’m the loser with the blue balls.”

“Still blue, huh?”

“And too bruised to scrub.”

“I’m sorry, Sloan.”

“Sorry enough to go on a third date with me?”

A third and final date. “What did you have in mind?”

“Adult go-karts.”

“Sounds loud and low to the ground.”

“It’s not NASCAR, but it’s fun and fast and makes your heart race.”

The date sounded daring. “You’re on.”

“We’ll go next week,” he told her. “On Monday, my day off.”

He then gathered up the garbage bag and motioned toward the door. “Time to get Addie and company.”

Gus was locking up when they returned to the main entrance. Sloan sauntered over to the Black Ops Shop and bought her a souvenir: a small silver trophy with
WINNER
engraved on the stand.

She’d never won anything in her life.

She grinned. She felt strong and self-assured and a little kick-ass.

Back at the mall, Addie and her friends waited for Sloan and Eve just outside the entrance. The air was warm, the sky clear, and the stars helped light the parking lot.

Eve noted that Addie and Edwin were holding hands, a sweet gesture that had Eve believing love could come at any age.

Sloan drove them home safely. He took the time to walk everyone to the door—a rather slow walk, but the seniors weren’t in any hurry.

“I’m on the road for a week,” Eve overheard him tell Addie. “Out to San Diego, then to Chicago. Next week, the Rogues play at home, a four-game series with Louisville. I’ll call you when I return.”

“No hurry, son.” She patted his arm. “Edwin and I will find plenty to do.”

Addie offered her friends a cup of tea, and everyone followed her inside her condo. Everyone but Eve. Addie flipped on the porch light, and from just inside the door, Edwin shook Sloan’s hand and Zeta kissed him on the cheek.

In less than a minute, Eve and Sloan were left alone outside.

“Thanks for the paintball,” she began.

“You played hard.”

“I’m not your usual date, am I?”

“No, you’re definitely not,” he said. “My first dates are flirty; my second heat the sheets.”

Sex with Sloan McCaffrey. In the excitement of Master Blasters, they’d fooled around in the fort. She’d let herself go. Sloan wouldn’t have stopped had she not tommy-gunned him down. They’d have done it in Black Ops.

Beneath the porch light, she looked at him,
really
looked at him, from his slicked-back hair to his dark gray eyes to the cut of his cheekbones. He had a mouth women wanted to kiss, and an athletic body that would perform to the max.

He was a Rogue, single, available, and never lacking for female companionship. Women came on to him every day of his life. They wanted his autograph and his body.

His arrogance grated on Eve’s nerves. He acted grownup around Addie and her friends, yet the boy inside the man came out in paintball.

Eve had watched Taylor and Stryke through their good times and bad. They were alike in so many ways; somehow they always matched.

Eve and Sloan had nothing in common.

They were oil and vinegar. Apples and oranges.

“You’re looking serious,” Sloan noted.

Eve forced a smile. “Just thinking.”

“About me?”

“That’s self-centered.”

“I like when you look at me like you can’t figure me out. You’re considering getting to know me, but you’re not sure I’m worth your time.”

“Three dates will be enough,” she assured him.

“So you tell yourself now.”

Sloan McCaffrey slid one hand into her hair and eased her to him. His gaze lowered to her mouth, to those full, pink lips that now parted in surprise.

He went with one good-night kiss, deep and French to make her restless. Then he stepped back and left her breathless.

Her eyes were slow to open. When she looked at him again, her pupils were wide and dilated.

He’d teased her, and would leave her wanting more.

But his tease had backfired. With a touch of her lips, his heart had slammed and he’d gone spike hard. He was the one who’d been left aching.

“See you next week,” he managed as he turned and carefully took the first of three steps to the sidewalk.

“Rat-a-tat-tat,” Eve said to his back.

“Quack,” he shot back at her.

Seven days streaked by. The Rogues lost the series to the Padres, but came back and kicked the Cubs’ ass. Sloan had withstood a week of
blue
jokes. He was no longer sore, and his groin felt good to go, even though his butt, bat, and balls were still blue hued.

His teammates had razzed him, calling him everything from Bluebell and Blue Moon to Little Boy Blue. Another week and a touch more paint thinner, and his blue days would be at an end.

It was a Monday afternoon, and Sloan McCaffrey had the remainder of the day free. He’d put in his community hours that morning at Hollywood Harts, a sanctuary for retired animal film stars located outside Richmond. Its owner, Sophie Hart, had opened her gates to the School for the Deaf.

Lack of hearing had not been an obstacle when it came to watching the animals perform. Fancy, the square-dancing pig, Mocha, the acrobatic monkey, and the Frisbee-retrieving Sky Dog had kept the kids entertained for over an hour.

Rogues pitcher Chris Collier, temporarily on the disabled list, had tossed baseballs with the young boys. Chris was dating Sophie, and it had been rumored that he’d gotten between Fancy and her trough at mealtime, and the pink pig had taken out his knee. Fancy was a big, hungry girl, and when it came to feeding, nothing got in her way.

Chris had had surgery during the off-season. After a lengthy rehabilitation, he was scheduled to return to the team by the end of June.

After the animals performed, Sophie allowed the children to pet or hold each one. ZZ Paws, the American Curl, had purred and snuggled against more than one chest. And Oscar, the new ferret, had crawled over every child’s shoulder and into their pockets. Oscar tickled, and made the kids laugh.

Ducks swam off in the distance in the man-made pond—a pond dug and cemented by the Bat Pack. Romeo, Psycho, and Chase supported Sophie and her sanctuary. They were active in keeping the acreage cleared and the animals well fed.

Sloan wondered if he could ever get Eve Hannah near the pond, or if one quack would send her running back to town.

On his return to Richmond, he dropped the kids off at their school, then drove the van to Addie’s to pick up Eve. He looked forward to seeing her.

She met him at the door wearing a white tailored blouse, pressed jeans, and a small smile. “You played well in Chicago,” she said in welcome.

“You watched the game?” Somehow that surprised him.

“At Richmond General. Taylor was in therapy. A television was mounted on the wall. She exercised to Brek’s pitches.”

“Not to mine?”

“You relieved Brek after six innings. Taylor was worn out by then. She’s not supposed to overdo, but with Brek out of town, she’s pushed herself.”

“Stryke’s back now. He’ll slow her down.” Of that Sloan was certain. “You ready to race?” he asked.

Eve’s chest rose and fell with two deep breaths. “How fast do the go-karts go?”

“Most Stratoses have a nine-horsepower Honda engine that runs at thirty-five miles per hour. Riding low to the ground, you feel like you’re doing seventy.”

He held out his hand, and she took it. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Eve.”

“I’d like to end our last date in one piece.”

Last date . . .
Sloan didn’t like the sound of that.

KartWorld proved a noisy arena of adults acting like kids. Three oval tracks lapped the indoor facility. One straightaway held time trials for men wanting to beat their best time.

Sloan introduced Eve to Track Mac, one of the mechanics. He was pushing sixty, and had built or run go-karts his entire life.

“Let’s get you geared up, little lady.” Track Mac gave Eve the once-over. “You’ll need a race suit, helmet, gloves, a neck collar, and a rib protector, if you want one.”

“Rib protector?” Eve’s eyes went wide.

Track Mac chuckled. “I’ve broken ribs and a knee racing. Blame it on brittle bones and questionable skills. I take too many chances for an old man.”

“Eve won’t be taking chances,” Sloan told Track Mac. “We’ll run a few laps, see how she likes it.”

Sloan picked out a navy race suit with a white stripe across the chest. Eve selected one in cherry red to match her go-kart.

“Do all your sports require jumpsuits?” she asked as she fought with the long zipper.

Sloan pushed her hands aside and zipped her up in one smooth slide. “Sex I prefer naked.”

She blushed.

And he grinned. He liked teasing Eve Hannah.

Fully geared, he helped her settle into her go-kart. She’d chosen number thirteen. Track Mac went over the rules. He requested that Eve go slow until she got the hang of the course, a one-mile racetrack Sloan rented on a regular basis.

Track Mac ducked into the mechanics’ shed, and within seconds he pushed out a go-kart on steroids. “I just installed the Yamaha engine you requested,” he said to Sloan. “Wicked fast. It’ll hit sixty-five easy, turbocharged and nimble.”