The Change Up (17 page)

“You know what really bothers me?” she asked, surprising him. “For as close as my father and I are, we aren't. I mean, we're business partners, and I can tell you what he will do in a boardroom before he even does it. He could tell you the same thing about me, but …” She balanced the glass on her pulled-up knee. “We don't share anything outside of work. I've always suspected he has that sort of relationship with my sister. Helen Anne was always allowed to be the daughter. I needed to be the son.”

“Have you ever tried to be just his daughter?”

Creases lined her forehead. “I don't think I know how to do that.” She lifted the glass to her lips but paused. “And I'm out of time, now.”

“No. You're not.” He knew what if felt like to really and truly be out of time. “I'm the one who's out of time. My mother is dead, and there's not a damn thing I can do to make up for the things I regret.”

“What do you regret?” she asked hesitantly.

“Not coming home to say goodbye. I wasn't here when she died, and I should've been. I should've jumped the minute she asked me to. Now, it's literally too late. Your dad is here, Rachel. He might not remember everything, but you still have time left. Do something with it. If anyone can, you can. The woman I'm looking at is unstoppable.”

Finally, she smiled. “Why are you so nice to me? I broke your brother's heart.”

“You were eighteen, and he's recovered.”

“They all do.”

“Heartbreaker.” He grinned.

“Me? How about you? Former professional athlete turned perpetually tanned-and-buffed landscaper. There has to be a line of women hoping to make an honest man out of you.”

“Nope. Too much pressure. My mom always wanted to see me married with kids. Somehow, I figured I would fuck that up, too. Single is easier. Less responsibility.”

“More fun,” she said saucily.

“It can be.”

She set the glass on the ponderosa pine table beside her and dropped her feet to the floor. “Sam, I was serious when I said you should try out for the team.”

He pressed back in his chair and chuckled. “You are ruthless.”

“Determined.”

“Crazy.” Their eyes locked, and he thought,
But apparently I am, too, because I can't stop thinking about it.

A slow, confident smile brightened her face, which was bathed in an ethereal glow from the fire. “Come here,” she said. “I'll show you something really crazy.”

He slipped off the chair and onto his knees, grabbing her by the hands and pulling her toward him. She went easily, kneeling in front of him, the blanket hugging her shoulders. He tucked her still damp hair behind her ears and soaked in every plane and curve on her beautiful face, and then he slanted his mouth over hers with a hunger he could no longer contain.

She met him more than halfway, heading straight for the button on his pants. But before she could find the leverage to release it, he had her arms raised and her blouse sliding overhead. Soft and warm. He brushed his lips against her throat, fit his hands to her waist, and breathed in the scent of roses on a summer day. “You overwhelm me.”

Her hands tangled in his hair, guiding his head lower to the fleshy mounds that overflowed her lace bra. He licked the cavern between them.

“Sam.” It was a breathless plea that went straight to his groin.

But then she reached back to release her bra, thrusting perfection in his face, and he was the one who was breathless. Breathless and aching. Hot from the fire to his back and the woman to his front. Hard from the throaty sounds she made when he took her breasts in his hands. Heavy and full. Tight at the tip. Wanting him.

He swirled his tongue around one nipple while he brushed the other with this thumb, loving the way her back arched, urging him to take more. He opened wider while he pushed her silky dress pants to her knees.

A thin scrap of triangular fabric was all that stood between him and sweet release, but she had other ideas. She stood briefly, shedding her pants with an elegant kick, giving him a praying man's view of an angel. He growled in appreciation, and she was back on her knees, brushing her breasts against his chest, nuzzling his jaw, his ear, guiding his T-shirt over his stomach, grazing her fingernails over his lats.

He sucked in a breath as she rid him of his shirt and boldly admired him. Tracing the path of his muscles from his shoulders, to his pecs, to his abs.

“Let's try this again,” she said, smiling. And this time she made short work of the button on his jeans. “Better,” she whispered against his lips as she reached inside his boxer briefs and wrapped a warm hand around his pulsing erection.

He held the back of her head, drove his tongue into her mouth, and guided her to the floor beneath him.

“I want to be on top,” she said. It wasn't a request.

Sam wrapped her in his arms and rolled them until Rachel was straddling him, nothing but that flimsy thong in his way. Bypassing the lace with his fingers, he slipped one between her folds, sliding it back and forth over the hardened nub.

She closed her eyes and moved against his hand, giving him a show to beat all shows. And right when he thought he had her ready to explode, she stretched out to reach her purse.

“Condom,” she rasped.

For some reason, that made him laugh. “I have some, too.”

“We only need one.”

He might have argued with her if she weren't already stroking the sense right out of him.

“Are you going to take this off?” he asked, hooking his finger around the elastic of her panties, drawing it down over her hips.

Then she was on all fours above him, wriggling out of them, while she planted saucy kisses on his lips. “How's that?” She slid along his erection, and he nearly lost control right there.

“Condom,” he said through gritted teeth, but he should've known she would want control of that, too.

Rachel sat back across his thighs and took her good old time rolling the protection into place. He grinned and bared it, knowing he was about to watch her become unglued.

He caressed her hips, her sides, her breasts, his mouth watering. And then he was inside her, filling her completely, closing his eyes and letting the pleasure carry him away.

While she rode him expertly, he stroked her core, toyed with her breasts, and feasted on her mouth when she offered it. Her body tightened and her rhythm painfully slowed as his fingers continued their slide.

“I can't wait for you,” she said, raspy and ready for release.

“Good,” he ground out, and then he thrust deeper, lifting them both while he maintained the pressure on the swollen folds between her legs.

“Sam!” She tossed her head back and screamed while glorious spasms milked his erection from the inside.

Fucking incredible.
Watching her was almost more than he could take.

He grabbed her hips and rocked slowly, savoring the pulsing of her body until she crashed back to earth—to him—with her hands on the floor beside his head and her breasts teasing his mouth. Faster and faster they moved.

Then, with a groan ripped from his chest, he tumbled over the edge, too.

• • •

Sex with Sam had been just what Rachel needed. She was already starting to feel like her old self again. Calm and clear. Challenges be damned.

While he was cleaning up in the bathroom, she dressed, then finished her bourbon by the fire, reveling in the warmth both inside and out. There was nothing like an orgasm to banish emotional fog from the brain. Thank God that oppressive, dark cloud had finally lifted.

Sam reappeared, and he was underdressed. His unbuttoned and unzipped jeans hung loosely around his waist, giving her a peek of the navy-blue band of his boxer briefs, flat against his happy trail. She stared. Blatantly. Letting her gaze roll over his corded stomach to his chest.

“Are you rethinking that crack about only needing one condom?” he asked.

Yes. But what would it prove?
That she was needy? Nope. She set the empty glass on the hearth and stood. “As great as that was, it probably won't happen again.”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, riding his pants a little lower, eyeing her up suspiciously. “
Probably
leaves room for persuasion. I can be very persuasive.”

“I'm sure you can be,” she said, smiling. “But I'll be leaving soon, so odds aren't really in our favor. From here on out, I need to focus my energy and limit my risks.”

“Sounds romantic,” he said in a sarcastic tone that managed to still sound sexy.

“I'm not interested in romance, Sam. I'm only interested in—”

“The bottom line,” he said while he tilted his head for a better look at her ass. “Me, too.”

She chuckled. “You think you have me figured out, but how did you know I wasn't going to say something like, I don't know, orgasms?”

He grinned. “If that's what you're interested in, I can definitely help with that.”

She felt every inch of her body soften as she looked at him. “You've helped with a lot of things tonight, Sam, and I'm very grateful.”

“I'm glad.”

Rachel was glad, too. She felt refreshed and renewed. Sam had been a lifesaver—literally, with her father—an escape from the turmoil, and a sympathetic ear. He'd also been a surprising source of wisdom. He was right: Her father was here. She still had time. If baseball was one of her father's few sources of enjoyment these days, then while she was in Arlington, she was going to involve him with the team as much as possible. And maybe in the process she would find a way to be the daughter she'd always wanted to be.

Whoever said a man's home was his castle wasn't a businessman.

Rachel watched her father stake his claim on the stadium office she'd been using since she first arrived in Arlington. Yes, the office being positioned at the end of the hall allowed for a brilliant view of the uncut trees beyond the original parking lot
and
the emerald-green baseball diamond, but it wasn't the biggest office. She tried to point that out, while holding back the fact that he wasn't actually going to be working here for long, so what did it matter? It was almost April. Tryouts were in a few weeks, and Opening Day was a little more than a month after that. Once they reached that point, the team would be self-sufficient, running on Mark Oleans's orders, and Rachel would be back in Philadelphia, entertaining potential buyers from afar. Who else but her would be willing to put up with her father underfoot?

“Dad.”

“I need to face the door,” he said. “Grab the other side.”

Oh, what the hell. Rachel did as he asked. She'd brought him here. Her idea. Well, Sam's idea actually.
You still have some time left. Do something with it.

She repositioned the chair behind the desk. “How's that?”

Her father sat, nodded, and smiled. “Perfect. What time's our first meeting?”

“No meetings, today. Paper products are being delivered. I'll oversee that and the stocking of the concession stands around noon. Then a photographer is coming to take pictures for the … portfolio.” She was purposefully vague. Some days he acted like she was the devil, trying to sell his team out from underneath him. On those days, reasoning with him, telling him it had been his idea in the first place, didn't work. She didn't want today to be that kind of day.

Rachel walked to the widow and admired Sam's work. “The field looks great.”

“I played on a field like that once.” In the silence that ensued, her father came to stand beside her.

Surprise mixed with hope that this could be something personal for them to share. “As a boy?” she asked, wanting to keep the conversation flowing.

“Boys don't play on fields like that. I played in college.”

“For UPenn?” She'd followed in her father's footsteps to the Wharton School of Business, much to Luke Sutter's chagrin. He'd wanted her to go to Penn State, where he was set to major in agricultural sciences. The thought of being married to a farmer bothered her only slightly less than the thought of disappointing her father. She had no regrets.

For some reason, that made her think of Sam.

“No,” her father said. “I played in a summer wooden-bat league in Cape Cod.”

“I never knew.”

He shrugged. “You never asked.”

Very true. Very sad. But she was asking now, because it wasn't too late, especially for conversation like this. Her father's long-term memory was blessedly still intact. “Why didn't you play for UPenn?”

“I was there to study, not mess around. My father wouldn't have had it any other way. Baseball was the fallback for boys without brains. I had a brain.” He frowned.

Was he thinking about the Alzheimer's now?

“What time's our first meeting?” he asked, and this time, she frowned.

“No meetings today, Dad.”

He threw up his hands. “How can we get this team ready for Opening Day if we aren't having meetings? Where's the … ?” His brows knitted together at the top of his nose in a sort of startled confusion. “I want to talk to … Who's in charge?”

“You are? I am?” She wasn't sure what he was asking.

“No! You're not a goddamn coach.”

She bristled at the disappointment in his voice. “We hired a general manager, but not a coach.”

“What kind of baseball team doesn't have a coach?”

“We will. We're close to hiring. Candidates are being contacted.”

He walked back to the desk and sat. “Tell Monica to bring me some coffee.”

Rachel sighed. When he was agitated like this, there was no reason to tell him Monica wasn't here. “Okay.” Instead, Rachel stepped out into the hall and texted Liv, who was down in ticket sales, helping the new hires get a handle on the software.