Don’t miss this super sexy anthology featuring three reader-favorite stories that celebrate the heroes of the all-American sport of baseball—and the women who throw them the ultimate curveball…

Sliding Home by New York Times bestselling author Leslie Kelly Plain Janie Nolan’s been sitting on the bench so long, she doesn’t even realize she’s still in the game. That is, until a sexy pitcher tempts her to come up to the plate and take a swing…

The Sweet Spot by USA TODAY bestselling author Kimberly Raye Babe Bannister discovers that striking out with a sexy shortstop isn’t so bad—especially when it leads to hitting a home run with a delicious coach…

Fever Pitch by New York Times bestselling author Julie Elizabeth Leto Callie Andrews has been dying to have one last chance at bat…with her ex-husband!

Boys of Summer
Sliding Home
Leslie Kelly
Fever Pitch
Julie Elizabeth Leto
The Sweet Spot
Kimberly Raye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Sliding Home

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Epilogue

Fever Pitch

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

The Sweet Spot

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

Epilogue

Copyright

Sliding Home

Leslie Kelly

To Julie and Kim—it’s been great “playing” with you. And to the real “boys of summer”— thanks for keeping the summer months extra hot!

1

Early March, three weeks before Opening Day

WHAT JANIE NOLAN knew about baseball could be summed up in three words: zip, zero and zilch. She’d never liked sports of any kind, being far too focused on what her family called her “causes” to much care if some guy hit a ball with a stick farther than some other guy hit a ball with a stick.

So the fact that she’d ended up running a sports memorabilia shop called Round The Bases, which was primarily focused on Louisville’s Major League Baseball team, the Slammers, made as much sense as if she’d decided to become a stripper. And even with her very early-in-the-alphabet cup size, she’d probably still have had a better shot at a pole-dancing career than of preventing her brother’s store from going under while he served in the military.

Aside from Janie’s blood, sweat and tears, there was only one thing keeping the shop afloat, and that was the elderly man sitting across from her on the lawn of Bluegrass Retirement Village. Her personal walking baseball encyclopedia.

“You oughta be able to get six hundred for that,” Edgar Smith said, rubbing his jaw as he eyed the framed, autographed game picture in his hand. “’86 Mets, game seven over the Red Sox. With the certificate of authenticity, six minimum, maybe seven.”

Nodding, Janie jotted a note in her small, spiral notebook, which was already filled with information the man had provided. He’d been an absolute godsend. Without Mr. Smith’s input, she would probably have sold her brother’s 2004 autographed Red Sox ball for ten bucks to some kid on a Little League team.

“You’re my guardian angel,” she said, squeezing Mr. Smith’s age-spotted hand before putting the picture in her bag.

“Hands off, girlie, he’s mine. Wouldn’t want to have to arm wrestle m’own granddaughter for a man.”

Grinning, Janie eyed her grandmother, Anne Nolan, who sat beside Edgar on the blanket. Tart and spry at seventy-eight, Grandma Anne was her closest ally, and her only family other than her brother. Even if Janie didn’t love the depth of character she’d always found in the elderly, she would have spent every minute she could here just to enjoy her grandmother’s company.

“I’m not a man stealer,” Janie replied, lifting her brow.

Man “repeller” would be more accurate, given her romantic track record. Three words would sum that up, too: zip, zero and zilch. The last time she’d dated anyone seriously was before she’d taken over the store, so she was going on a three-year-long dry spell when it came to sexual experiences. Unless vibrators, rich chocolate ice cream from her friend Babe’s shop or the number of times she’d watched the Brad Pitt bare butt scene in Troy counted.

“Unlike Mary Moseby. She is a man stealer,” Grandma said. “I think she hid my uppers so I couldn’t go to the races last week.”

Janie didn’t ask why Mrs. Moseby was swiping another elderly woman’s dentures. And why her grandmother—who’d moved into the retirement community after a heart attack two years ago—was attending horse races. Sometimes she was better off not knowing.

“I should be going,” Janie murmured, glancing at her watch.

She wished she didn’t have to leave. The three of them were enjoying their Sunday afternoon picnic on this lovely early spring day, talking about family and the latest scandal among the amorous elderly. And baseball. Always baseball.

All around them, families visited with their loved ones, kids darting around catching butterflies or playing tag while the adults chatted. It was a ritual, and Janie loved it. If life hadn’t interfered, she would have been working at this place full-time rather than just volunteering on Sundays. But life, in the form of her ex-sister-in-law Beth, had interfered. When she’d walked out on Janie’s brother Tom, Beth had done more than break Tom’s heart. She’d thrown Janie’s life a curve, too. Literally.

Grandma Anne frowned. “You sure you have to go, honey?”

“Yes. Tomorrow’s the start of another long work week.”

“You’re a good sister, Janie, to do this for your brother. Giving up three years of your life…there’s not many who’d do it.” Grandma’s tone was hard. She hadn’t gotten over Tom’s boneheaded decision to enlist in the National Guard to nurse his broken heart any better than Janie had. “That boy didn’t have the sense God gave a mule when it came to his trashy wife.”

Janie remained silent, not daring to agree for fear Grandma would go off on a tangent about her grandson’s poor judgment. Though agree she did. Tom’s reaction to his wife’s abandonment had landed him in the Middle East. Not even the fact that he’d finally attained his dream of opening his own sports memorabilia shop could keep him from enlisting. He’d left not giving a damn about anything, and Janie and Grandma had lived in terror ever since.

Grandma Anne hid her terror behind anger. Janie hid hers behind the store. Keeping Round The Bases up and running was the only way Janie could feel as if she were doing something for her brother. As long as he had something to come home to…well, he’d come home. She refused to think of the alternative.

She’d work at the store for as long as it took. Her degree in geriatric social work would still be there in the future. As she often reminded herself, everybody got old eventually so it wasn’t as if she was going to miss out on all the business.

Edgar tapped her arm. “Are you gonna bring me the jersey that fella says is a gen-u-ine Cal Ripken?”

“Next weekend.”

“It’s a date!”

Janie smiled at the pleasure on Edgar’s face. The man lived for baseball and loved helping her. Grandma liked the arrangement, too, because Edgar was a catch among the geriatric crowd. Janie’s need for help gave her grandmother a leg up on the other widows, who outnumbered the men two to one around here.

“Before you go, honey, would you mind dashing to my room and getting me the book on my beside table?” her grandmother said. “I think we’ll sit out here and read aloud for a spell.”

Rising, Janie brushed any stray grass off the back of her baggy jeans. “Of course,” she said before heading inside.

Once in Grandma Anne’s room, she spotted the book right away. Then she read the title: Sexual Positions For The Ages.

Janie gulped. Either her grandmother was playing a joke on her, or she was reading sex manuals aloud to her elderly boyfriend. Janie preferred to think it was a joke. Still, knowing Grandma Anne…well, anything was possible.

Determined to hand her grandmother the book and leave before any specifics were discussed—like which position was best on an eighty-year-old man’s knees—eww—she headed outside. Striding toward the shady spot where she’d left the amorous octogenarians, Janie wondered whether she’d inherited any of her grandmother’s sexual longevity. It was a serious concern, given her track record. Which was, er, uninspiring to say the least.

Yes, she’d started out with a bang, her first sexual affair being with a fellow college student—a musician—who’d introduced her to every naughty little thing a mouth could be used for. And she’d discovered she liked those things. Really liked them. Janie had, in fact, pretty much sixty-nined her way through senior year.

But when they weren’t making it in her narrow dorm room bed, they’d had almost nothing to talk about. Eventually, even the sex hadn’t been enough to make her put up with his laziness.

Since then, she’d been darn near celibate. Considering she was short, relatively flat-chested, always kept her long, boring brown hair in a ponytail and wore glasses—she liked to sleep late, and wearing glasses allowed her to spend an extra five minutes in bed every morning instead of putting in contact lenses—maybe that wasn’t so surprising. A femme fatale she was not, even if she did like sex more than she liked to breathe. Now that she worked in a store where ninety percent of her customers were jocks who liked cheerleader types, the thought that she might meet someone who would see the sex-addicted female beneath the bookish exterior seemed to have flown right out into left field.

Oooh, a baseball analogy. Maybe she was getting good at this sports thing. “Or is it football?” she mused aloud.

Deep in thought trying to remember the basics of team sports, she barely noticed that her grandmother and Mr. Smith were no longer alone. She was just a few feet away, coming over the top of a small hill that hid them from view, when she saw they had company. And what company.

Janie froze. Because when she saw the man in the dark glasses sitting on the blanket she’d vacated five minutes before, she thought she was part of some undercover video show. A camera crew had to be nearby. They’d be ready to catch the moment when the skinny volunteer came face-to-face with a man who looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of some women’s fantasy magazine.

Yeah. Good TV. The unsuspecting victim goes to retrieve a naughty book and comes back to find a sex god’s perfect butt occupying her spot. Sounded like a great setup since it was so far from reality. Because guys like this—perfect, mouthwatering, to-die-for gorgeous guys—did not stumble across the paths of the Janie Nolans of the world. And they certainly didn’t place their rock-hard tushes and firm thighs on their blankets.

No. The nonglamorous Janies of the world only met horny college students who’d be loyal to even plain girls if they sucked them off on occasion. Or beefy jocks who didn’t notice them. Or nice teachers. Or store clerks whose clothes never fit right because they waited to purchase them at the deepest discount…like one man she’d dated. Guys who had never once been overpowered by uncontrollable lust, and certainly not by anything resembling love. Not where Janie was concerned.

She simply wasn’t capable of inspiring that kind of emotion in a man. She doubted she ever would be.

And she most certainly would not with a strong, powerful specimen like this one, with his thick, sandy brown hair blowing loosely in the breeze, his stubbled, lean cheeks, and a sexy pair of lips that were curled in a playful grin. His long legs were stretched out in front of him as he leaned back, bracing his weight on his elbows. The position emphasized the thick muscles striping his shoulders and chest. More devastating was the way it tugged his khaki slacks tightly across his impressive lap.

Very tightly…and very impressive.

Gulping, she reminded herself to breathe. Not stare. And lap leering is out.

The man was laughing at something Edgar said, a low sound that warmed her from a few feet away. His amusement brought out two deep dimples in his cheeks. Recognizable dimples. Suddenly shaken out of her lap-induced dementia, Janie realized whom she was staring at. “Oh God.”

It was Riley Kelleher, aka Riley the Rocket, aka the sexy, studly star pitcher who played for the Louisville Slammers and owned the heart of the city. Not just the women’s hearts, either—all the fans adored him. The man was often called the soul of the team, with everyone taking pride in his prowess and his love of the game.

She’d seen his picture in the paper—especially a few years ago when he was going through a divorce that had shocked even the most jaded sports fan—but he was so much better-looking in person that she simply hadn’t recognized him. But there was no doubt that one of the most sought-after bachelors—and talked-about playboys—in baseball was chatting up her elderly grandma.

“Janie! Here you are,” Mr. Smith said as he spotted her.

Wishing she’d turned around and walked away, Janie trudged closer to the old man who said, “Isn’t this a nice surprise? My grandson’s come to visit. I’ve been wanting you two to meet.”

Grandson. Janie’s breath escaped her lungs in one giant gush. Good grief, no wonder Mr. Smith knew so much about baseball—his grandson was one of the stars of the sport.

Though Janie’s dislike of baseball—and playboy baseball players, no matter how gorgeous—was matched only by her dislike of going to the dentist, she managed a weak smile. “Hi.”

The pitcher, whose reputation as a stud off the field was as well known as his abilities on it, slowly tilted his head back and looked up at her. Janie shifted from foot to foot and clenched her hands together like a starstruck teenager in front of a member of some boy band. Which was so not her, considering she didn’t hold sports figures up as heroes.

But being honest, it wasn’t his status that had twisted her tongue into an incoherent knot in her mouth. It was his looks.

“So you’re little Janie.”

She stiffened. At five foot four, she’d heard her share of petite/little/diminutive comments. “I’m just Janie,” she snapped.

He rose slowly, his muscular body moving with innate grace. When standing, he was only a head taller than she, probably of average height. Not too tall for her. Perfect, in fact.

Forget about it, he’s perfectly out of the question!

He extended his hand. “Gramps has told me a lot about you, Just Janie.”

“Funny, he never mentioned your name at all.”

“Well, Riley likes to keep a low profile,” Mr. Smith said.

The low-profile sex god was still standing there with his hand out, so Janie lifted hers, forgetting the book.

If fate had been kind, the manual wouldn’t have fallen to the ground. If it had been at least decent, Sex For The Ages wouldn’t have landed faceup at Riley Kelleher’s feet. And if it had any heart at all, the man wouldn’t have been able to read.

But fate screwed her again. Because as Riley bent over to pick up the book she’d dropped, he began to chuckle.

Oh, God, just let me die now.

She didn’t know which was worse: him thinking she was the one reading the sex manual, or finding out her grandmother was.

“Uh, yours, I believe?” he said, his voice not disguising his laughter. He held the book out to her. “Interesting reading for a Sunday afternoon at the old folks’ home.”

Oh, great, now he’d done it. Before Janie could warn him of the fire he’d brought down on his head, Grandma Anne was on him. “Who’re you calling old folks?” she asked as she struggled to her feet and grabbed the book. She wobbled on her pale, skinny legs, revealed by a pair of pink shorts that hung to her knobby knees.

“You pushed one of her hot buttons,” Janie murmured, almost feeling sorry for the ballplayer, who suddenly looked sheepish.

“My apologies, ma’am. I mean, the retirement home.”

“Community for the enlightened years,” she snapped.

To give him credit, Riley didn’t laugh at Grandma’s haughty tone. Instead, he replied, “That’s a perfect description.”

Grandma Anne jerked her thumb toward her own frail chest and poked herself with it. “I came up with it myself.” The power of her own thrust almost knocked her off her feet. Fortunately, Mr. Smith had slowly followed her up and was there to support her.

Not that a strong breeze wouldn’t have blown him over, too.

Janie couldn’t help it. She started to giggle, lifting her hand to cover her mouth so Grandma Anne wouldn’t see.

“I think I’ll take Annie to her room now,” Mr. Smith said, frowning at his grandson. “She’s had enough of an upset.”

Saying goodbye to her grandmother and kissing her smooth, delicate cheek, Janie watched as Mr. Superstar suffered under his grandfather’s glare. When the older couple had gone, he said, “Has she got a problem with being old, or what?”

“Or what,” Janie said dryly. “She has no problem being old. She has a problem with anyone telling her she’s old.”

“Like it doesn’t exist if nobody says it aloud?”

“Kind of.”

“Sounds superstitious. Bet she’s a baseball fan.”

“Are they superstitious?”

“Not as much as the players,” he said with a lopsided grin.

His grandfather hadn’t introduced him as a famous baseball player, but Riley obviously expected her to recognize him. She didn’t try to pretend otherwise. “Including you, Mr. Kelleher?”

He nodded. “I’ve been known to wear the same socks for ten games when I’m on a streak.”

Janie wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

Laughing, he crossed his arms. “I have a washing machine.”

With a challenging lift of her brow, Janie retorted, “Even when you’re on the road?”

“There’s always somebody to wash the uniforms on the road.”

Her smile faded. Though she knew he almost certainly meant the Slammers had staff to care for the uniforms, she couldn’t help thinking of all the other people dying to help the players on the road. Help them into the nearest bed, most likely. That was supposedly what had caused his nasty divorce.

She fell silent, wondering why he was still standing here talking to her when she was so not his type. He said nothing, either, watching her watch him, so Janie took a moment to notice the little things. Like the tiny curls of gold-tipped hair at the nape of his neck. The small lines beside his mouth that said he smiled a lot. And, oh, the way he smelled.

She loved man smell. Not heavy cologne, but that strong, musky scent that seemed to emanate from a hard, masculine body. Especially when it was aroused. Wow, would she like to smell this man when he was aroused.

Keep your nose to yourself, girl. Swallowing hard, Janie took a step back. This guy was completely out of her league. He had groupies, actresses and beauties after him all the time and would most assuredly not appreciate a social worker who was not in the least seductive sniffing him up.

He suddenly chuckled, as if remembering something. “She took it with her…so the spunky old lady was reading the sex book?”

“To your grandfather,” she replied with a smirk.

Some of the color fell out of the handsome face. Janie almost felt sorry for him, knowing what was going on in his head.

“I could have gone my whole life without knowing that.”

“Me, too,” she said, watching the way his lips pursed a little when he winced. Great lips. Incredible mouth. Lord, it had been a long time since she’d kissed a man.

It had apparently been a long time since she’d learned how to hide her thoughts, too. Because suddenly Kelleher was pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head, looking at her closely as if he’d caught her staring. “So do you volunteer here often?”

Tearing her stupid fan-girl gaze off his mouth, she focused instead on his eyes. And was lost. Spring-green and heavily lashed, Riley’s eyes twinkled with humor and self-confidence. Not to mention knowledge. He knew how he was affecting her.

Her face grew hot. “Not as much as I’d like to.”

“That’s great of you. Not a lot of young people would give up their Sundays to make a bunch of strangers happy. I wasn’t kidding. My grandfather has mentioned you dozens of times.”

So, he didn’t know Janie was also visiting her own grandmother. She didn’t volunteer the information, not certain why she didn’t want him to know. “Your grandfather’s a nice man.”

“He’s a shark,” he said with a laugh, his admiring tone saying he meant it as a compliment. “Old school all the way.”

“Old school?”

“Tough, proud, honorable and honest.”

Qualities Janie liked in a man. Qualities she wondered if Edgar’s grandson shared. The tabloids hadn’t made him sound like he’d lived up to the honorable and honest parts during his marriage. But in recent years he’d supposedly put his wild reputation behind him, and now took his game very seriously. Since he was a Kentucky boy who lived in Louisville year-round—unlike some members of the team—the local papers were always singing the man’s praises.

“Anyway, sweetheart, I appreciate it. You’re an angel.”

Janie was a modern woman and a strange man calling her sweetheart and angel would normally have set her off. But Riley’s soft, lightly Southern accent and nod of genuine appreciation made the words seem like harmless endearments. Which was why she melted inside again, going soft and weak, wanting to giggle like a kid, scuff her toes on the ground and simper.

Who was this man and how was he turning her into a mutant?

Whoever he was, she needed to get away from him. So without another word, she tore her gaze off his handsome face and broad shoulders. Still shaken, Janie swung around and bent down to pick up her blanket. It was only after she’d doubled over that she realized she was practically wagging her butt at the guy. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed he’d noticed. He’d definitely noticed, and was staring. That sparkle was still in his eyes, and he made no effort to hide his amusement. And maybe…just maybe…a hint of appreciation.

She shoved the pleasure that thought gave her into the recesses of her mind. She’d take it out and play with it later, when she was alone. Not now, when Louisville’s favorite son was probably thinking she was some sex-starved groupie like the ones who threw themselves at him every day. She’d probably imagined the appreciation, anyway, because no way should her tiny self in baggy jeans have inspired a reaction from a hunky superstar.

Quickly dropping to her knees, she rolled the blanket into a sloppy, lumpy ball that she clutched to her chest. Yanking her satchel, which contained this week’s newly priced sports items, she rose to her feet and offered him what she hoped was an impersonal smile. “Nice meeting you. I’ve got to go.”

He just stared, saying nothing. A long silence stretched out, during which Janie could have whirled around and marched to her car, confident that she’d just made a fool of herself in front of the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

But her feet wouldn’t move. The longer he stared—so intent, so silent—the heavier her limbs felt. The laughter of the children faded into the distance, until she heard only the buzz of a passing bee…and the sound of her own breath. Finally, unable to stand the tension, she whispered, “What?”

“I’m trying to figure something out,” he murmured, still focused entirely on her face.

“What’s that?”

With an unapologetic shrug he admitted, “Which I want to see more—your pretty brown eyes without those awful glasses? Or your magnificent ass in something other than those hideous jeans.”

Janie’s jaw dropped open and she sputtered something. Her heart pounding in her chest, she tried to fathom it—he was flirting with her. Riley the Rocket flirting with her?

Before she could say anything, the man with the magic hands on the field reached out and tilted her mouth closed. His touch was warm, the scrape of his fingers on her skin electric.

“Don’t worry, darlin’.” His voice sounded thick, less flirtatious, as if he didn’t like what he had to say. “I may have a reputation, but I don’t go after innocent little coeds like you.” With a shrug that looked mournful, he muttered, “Damn, I know I’m gonna regret this. Someone musta shined my halo today.”

And turning on his heel, he walked away, striding toward the building without a single look back.

2

Five weeks later, mid-April

RILEY KELLEHER had known from the age of seven that there was nothing he wanted more in the world than to play baseball. Well, in the fall of 1981, he might have wanted the brand new Pac-Man game for his family’s Atari system more, but in terms of what he wanted to be when he grew up, there’d been no other career for him since that day. October 21. Yankee Stadium. Game Two of the World Series, Yankees vs. the Dodgers.

He’d walked in a typical kid who sighed whenever his talkative grandfather started reminiscing about his days in the minor leagues. He’d walked out a complete baseball junkie.

Before the first pitch, going to a World Series game hadn’t seemed as exciting as getting out of school for a couple of days to take an impromptu trip to New York City with Gramps. The man had scored a pair of tickets in some magazine contest, and no one had been more surprised than Riley when he, the youngest grandson, had been the one chosen to fill the second seat.

Now, of course, he understood. Gramps had seen it in him long before Riley had recognized it in himself: he’d been born with the gene. The game was in his blood in a way some people would never understand.

His grandfather had been thrilled. He’d told him so as they’d left the stadium, wide-eyed and full of excitement about the Yankees victory. Gramps had discovered the baseball gene in himself at the age of seven, too, when he’d watched Lou Gehrig oust Babe Ruth as the Yankees’ power hitter by nailing four home runs in one game.

Riley’s relationship with his grandfather had changed right then and there. Even now, twenty-five years later, he could still close his eyes and recapture the sounds, the smells. He could also remember the sudden rush of a surprisingly adult realization about just how much the Second World War—and a Nazi bullet—had cost Edgar Smith. Not simply some of his mobility, but also, most likely, a place in the majors. A spot in history.

Which was one of the many reasons Riley so loved his job. He was living the dream for both of them.

“Now don’t you forget to ice that shoulder down,” his grandfather said as the two of them walked toward the entrance of the retirement home one Sunday in mid-April. Edgar had, as usual, attended that day’s Slammers home game, sitting in the private skybox reserved for players’ families.

“I’m fine. That shoulder stretch during the bottom of the eighth was strictly to psyche out Rodriguez.”

The old man’s eyes gleamed his approval. “We’re on again for Tuesday?”

Riley nodded, already back in his routine for this season, which included his grandfather in the stands during every home game. His parents and brothers had flown in from Texas for Opening Day a couple of weeks ago—and would probably do so a few more times this summer, but Gramps never missed a home game.

Riley didn’t want to think about what would happen if the team moved.

Signing with the Slammers and moving back to Louisville from Houston—where he and his family had moved when Riley was in high school—had been the perfect way to take care of the old man, who’d refused to move with them. Riley had never regretted making that choice, though he missed his parents and brothers. Still, being a successful ballplayer had a few perks…not the least of which was the money to buy a lot of airplane tickets for a lot of loud, boisterous family vacations.

A sharp spasm shot through his shoulder, which did, indeed, desperately need some work. Riley flinched a little, then surreptitiously rotated it, planning to head back to the Slammers complex as soon as he left here. If he’d gone for a rub down immediately after the game, his grandfather would have insisted on taking a cab back home, something Riley would never allow.

Gramps obviously noticed. “‘Psyche out’ or not, you take care of that arm, boy,”

“I’m fine,” Riley insisted

“You’re no twenty-year-old, anymore.” Gramps’s blue eyes twinkled, so Riley knew he was trying to get a rise out of him.

Keeping the laughter out of his voice, he gave it right back. “And you’re no eighty-year-old, anymore.”

His recently-turned-eighty-one-year-old grandfather gave a phlegmy chuckle. “Like they say, there may be snow on the roof, but there’s still a fire in the hearth.”

Riley didn’t point out the obvious: the “roof” was almost completely bald.

“Ah, look who’s here,” Gramps said, sounding pleased.

Riley followed his stare to see an elderly woman standing at the door, a smile of greeting on her face. He recognized her instantly…Gramps’s girlfriend. The one who read him sex books.

Closing his mind against that image, he couldn’t help looking around, thinking of the pretty volunteer he’d met here a little more than a month ago. He had no idea why a petite, twentyish young woman would so occupy his thoughts, but she had. Every time he’d come to visit, he’d kept an eye out for her.

He’d never asked Gramps about her. As if Edgar knew Riley was interested, he’d been closemouthed about his young friend. Gramps had never completely abandoned the idea that Riley was an off-the-field playboy. He’d likely have panicked at the thought of his grandson targeting an innocent young volunteer.

Riley wasn’t targeting her. He just wouldn’t mind seeing her again, without the glasses. And in a much tighter pair of jeans.

Strange that he couldn’t stop thinking about Just Janie. He’d certainly seen more beautiful women. God, in his line of work, he had females throwing themselves at him all the time, and a piece of ass was never more than a wink away for any player who wanted one.

Riley had gone through a phase of being one of those players. Briefly. It’d been right after his very ugly, very public divorce, when he hadn’t given a shit about anyone or anything. Except his family, and the game.

Not anymore, though. He’d gotten it out of his system. Especially once he’d realized he’d turned into the kind of person his ex-wife had been. He, at least, had waited until after their divorce. She hadn’t waited much beyond their honeymoon.

From betrayed husband to playboy to…well, loner. That’s the way his life had gone. So maybe that was why the image of sweet, sassy Janie had popped into his head on more than one occasion in recent days. Maybe it was the smile, the laugh. The big heart. Hell, maybe it was even the blush. He couldn’t recall having met a woman who blushed since he’d gone pro.

“Annie and I are going to our poker game now,” Gramps said, smiling at his lady friend. “Can you take this to my room for me?”

Without waiting for an answer, Gramps shoved his Slammers pennant, noisemaker and a big plastic tub used for holding unshelled peanuts into Riley’s hands. The tub came with free refills. No matter how many times Riley offered to have a caterer bring a full spread into the skybox, his grandfather never wanted anything more than his peanuts and exactly two ice-cold beers. Riley paid the stadium staff to clean up the shells, since, after all, there was no point eating peanuts at a ballpark if you couldn’t toss the shells to the ground. Since they all knew and loved the old guy, nobody seemed to mind.

“Have fun you two,” he said. “Don’t fleece anyone.”

“What fun’s that?” his girlfriend asked with a wink.

Laughing, Riley watched them walk away, then headed to Gramps’s room. This upscale place offered its residents as much independence as they could manage, but had medical care at the push of a button if they needed it. The doors to the suites of rooms were usually kept unlocked for such care. So Riley didn’t even pause when he reached Gramps’s, he simply pushed on in.

And was greeted by the sight of a female, on all fours, sticking out from underneath his grandfather’s bed. Presenting him with a very nice—very familiar—view.

Oh, boy. He definitely recognized that feminine backside, and couldn’t prevent a low groan of appreciation. Yeah, definite appreciation. Which could mean trouble all around.

Knowing she hadn’t heard him enter, he murmured, “Hi.”

Janie, the very woman he’d been thinking of just moments before, jerked so hard that she struck her head on the underside of the bed. The thunk told him it had been hard. Her string of muttered curses told him it had hurt.

So much for the “sweet little thing” image. Somehow, he liked the idea that she had a naughty side. “You okay?”

She wriggled out from under the bed, backward—Lord, have mercy—then swung her head around to look at him over her shoulder. When she recognized him, she jerked again, lost her balance and started to tumble sideways onto the tile floor.

Riley dropped the items in his hand. Lunging forward, he instinctively slid in as if Mike Piazza were above him, reaching for the catch from the third baseman during a bases-loaded forced run. He was on the floor beside her before her hip, or any other body part, could painfully land on anything harder than his lap.

Which was exactly where she ended up.

“You,” she muttered, staring at him owlishly from behind those same thick glasses.

He grinned. “Me. You’re not real graceful, huh?”

Her brow pulled down. “And you’re not terribly polite.”

He shook his head. “Well, here I thought I just saved you from takin’ a painful tumble.”

She looked down, obviously just acknowledging the fact that he’d dived to the floor and she was now pretty much lying on him. Fitting very nicely against him, truth be told, with her soft hip and thigh cradled between his legs and her curvy little ass doing tantalizingly wicked things against his groin.

“I’m sorry. You did. I just meant, you startled me, bursting in like that,” she mumbled as she slid away.

Bursting? If she didn’t get off him, that could be what his jeans would soon be doing.

Shaking off his increasingly heated thoughts, he rose to his feet, knowing Gramps would never forgive him if he seduced—then drove off—one of his favorite new people. So hands off. He could almost hear the old man barking the order in his head.

He obeyed, though he did offer her one hand, to help her up. She was so slight, one pull brought her up with an oomph.

She appeared embarrassed as she glanced down and brushed away some dust from her loose clothes. A strand of her hair had worked its way out of her ponytail and it fell forward, curtaining her eyes. Riley couldn’t resist reaching out to brush it back. The moment his fingers touched her cheek, she gasped. But she didn’t move away. She simply stared at him, as if silently asking what the hell he was doing.

He didn’t know. Couldn’t have explained it if he tried. So he merely dropped his hand. “Speaking of being startled,” he said, “what were you doing under there, anyway?” A disturbing thought made his mouth pull tight. “Please tell me you weren’t tracking down any more, uh, self-help books.”

A soft trill of laughter escaped her curved lips. When she laughed, dimples appeared in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled behind the glasses. Another sizzling flash of heat shot through him. It was accompanied by a further tightening of his jeans. Even the image of his grandfather’s frown wasn’t enough to relax the muscles in the southern half of his body.

“What if I were?” she asked, sounding flirtatious. “Are you looking for something like that to read?”

A sex manual? Uh, no. Considering the way he was feeling about this particular female, he probably could have written one himself. Stepping closer, he murmured, “Do you think I need one?”

He thought she’d step back, back down. She didn’t. Instead, her lips pursed, almost warning him that she was taking the challenge and upping the ante. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on whether you shined up that halo again today. Did you?”

He would have laughed if he could have forced the sound out of his tight throat. Halo? Man, the way he was reacting to her right now, he might as well have a pitchfork behind his back.

Cool it, a voice in his head said. She’s not your type. This time, he recognized the voice as his own, not Gramps’s.

Knowing he needed to stop this before he did something stupid like kiss the laughter right out of Janie’s pretty mouth, he glanced around for a distraction. The items he’d dropped when diving to cushion her fall were good enough. Bending over to pick them up, he gave himself a few seconds to get a grip.

“Thanks for, you know, trying to make sure I didn’t get hurt,” she said softly, obviously realizing he really had been trying to protect her a few minutes ago.

He shrugged, depositing the peanut container and other items on a table beside the bed. “No problem. So, you never answered my question. What were you looking for?”

“You’re probably not going to like hearing this,” she said, suddenly sounding amused, “but I’m looking for a pearl earring which might have been lost, uh…here.”

He stopped her, throwing one hand up, palm out. “That’s far enough. I don’t want to hear another word. What, do they serve raw oyster gruel in this place?”

One of her fine brows arched up over an eye. “Gruel? Reading Charles Dickens lately?”

“Sorry. I guess this is a bit upscale to be the workhouse.”

A wicked glint appeared in her eyes. “Nice to know you can read more than the sports page.”

He caught the insult and couldn’t help grinning. She did have a wicked streak. He liked it. A lot. “I think can even manage to count to a hundred.”

“Because that’s your batting average?”

Clutching his chest, he let out an exaggerated groan. “Now that hurt. My grandfather didn’t tell me that mouth of yours was a lethal weapon.”

“Locked and loaded.”

He’d like to see her mouth locked and loaded. Locked on his. Loaded with his tongue. Or other parts of his anatomy.

Her face grew pink, which was when Riley realized she’d had the same flash of mental imagery he’d had. She was blushing.

Damn it, that sweetly embarrassed look was such a turn-on when contrasted with the saucy, sexy comebacks this girl was capable of throwing around. It was also a double-edged sword. The color in her cheeks was attractive as hell, but also served as a reminder that this was no experienced groupie he was messing with. She was young and fresh, and Gramps’s second-favorite female. He needed to keep his horny thoughts—and hands—off her.

Which was why, as difficult as it was, he managed to say, “Well, it was nice to see you again. Thanks for everything.”

She opened her mouth, her lips quivering a bit, as if she had something to say. Something she wasn’t sure how to say.

Riley wasn’t ready to hear it. If she said one more even flirtatious thing, he was gonna be tempted to push her against the wall and taste that mouth, sample that sweet, sassy tongue.

“Bye, Just Janie,” he said, giving her the same friendly, flirtatious smile he gave every female fan from eight to eighty.

Then he strode out of the room. He only hoped she didn’t correctly interpret his quick footsteps down the corridor and realize he was practically running away.

3

Five weeks later, late May

“OKAY, MISSY, it was your idea to go after our fantasy men, so don’t you think it’s time to get down to business?”

Janie didn’t even turn around at the sound of Callie Andrews’s voice as her good friend invaded the stockroom of Round The Bases. Instead, she brushed the dust off a shoebox full of trading cards. An old woman had brought them in earlier, asking fifty dollars for the lot to get them out of her late husband’s closet. Judging by the dust, they’d been there a long time. Janie had no idea if she’d paid too much or too little, but she’d figured they had to be old and therefore worth something.

Besides, the woman had looked as if she needed the money, and, as her family always reminded her, Janie was a pushover. Hadn’t she been the one who’d taken every blanket in their house and given them to the needy during her junior year of high school? Her father had muttered under his breath all that winter about the cold he couldn’t shake, while also beaming over his daughter’s kindness.

And she’d never forget his expression the time she’d volunteered the whole family—and their turkey—to a homeless shelter the year before her parents had died. Somehow, the memory of their good-natured grumbles but secretly proud smiles made the memory of that last Thanksgiving even more special than all those that had preceded it.

“Did you hear me?” Callie asked, her smooth tone holding amusement, as if she knew Janie had been avoiding her.

“I heard you,” Janie said. She didn’t turn around, not wanting to see Callie’s disappointment that she hadn’t gone through with the plan to seduce someone connected with the Slammers.

Seduction—wild sex, heat and eroticism—had been filling her mind since the March day when Janie had first met Riley Kelleher. The man had filled her nighttime dreams and her daytime fantasies. She’d never been as instantly affected by a man, never. And his being a baseball star had absolutely nothing to do with it, Janie had no doubt of that. His smile, his laugh, his incredible eyes and amazing body—well, Riley could have worked selling peanuts at the stadium and she’d still have wanted him every bit as much.

“It’s been over two months since we sat in your stockroom and you came up with the idea to seduce our fantasy guys. To have one wild fling, even if we had to act like groupies to get it. You’ve done nothing about it,” Callie said, not giving up.

Janie hadn’t expected her to. Callie was nothing if not determined, probably one reason all their businesses—Callie’s four-star restaurant, this store and Babe Bannister’s ice-cream shop—were thriving. Callie was a great businesswoman and kept a steady stream of customers coming to this sports-themed complex, despite the lingering fears that the Slammers might leave town.

The team had been winning throughout the month of May, and the fans were standing by the Ross family, especially since opening day when team owner Donovan Ross had revealed the reason he’d used the Slammers as collateral on a risky loan. Still, there was that uncertainty, especially since the team had lost their last few games.

“Stop pretending you’re fascinated by that dusty old box of cards when I know you have no idea who any of the players on them are. Let’s make a plan for you to seduce your fantasy guy.”

Janie sighed. Seducing her fantasy guy had sounded all well and good back in March after that first time she’d met Riley Kelleher. When he’d flirted with her, admitted he was attracted to her. That he liked her eyes. Not to mention her backside.

She’d ridden that high—even while being annoyed that he’d pegged her as a college-age kid—for days. She’d thought about him almost nonstop, wondering what might have happened if she’d told him she wasn’t some coed, but a fully adult twenty-five-year-old. One who really enjoyed very adult activities.

She’d also been wishing she’d been wearing something sexier or even some makeup. On the day she’d met Riley, she probably hadn’t touched so much as a tube of lipstick in ages. So if he’d been interested when she was looking her worst, what might happen if she made a real effort to attract him?

That was what she’d been thinking the night her two best friends, Callie and Babe, had barreled in to talk about the possibility of the team leaving Louisville. That rumor had really gotten her emotions in a tangle. Between fretting over Tom losing his store, and her guilt over the flash of happiness she’d felt at maybe being free—plus the Riley incident—she’d been a mess.

The wine hadn’t helped. Instead, it had made her open her big dumb mouth to her two closest friends to admit what she’d been thinking: What would it be like to seduce a fantasy man from the team before the team left? To be, just once, the flavor of the month for a dreamy stud who probably wouldn’t even remember their affair, but who might give her a lifetime of hot memories?

She’d said the words without truly planning to, but she certainly hadn’t shocked them. She, Callie and Babe had shared many late-night bitching sessions about men, and had poured their hearts out to each other about all the anxieties in their lives. Callie’s long-buried, troubled past. Babe’s uncertainty of her place in the world given her father’s passion for baseball…and desperation for a son. And Janie’s worries about Tom and her never-far-away sadness over the loss of her parents. So admitting she’d been having lusty thoughts about an unnamed member of the Slammers organization hadn’t exactly been breaking news.

Her friends—obviously as romantically unlucky as Janie—had thought it was a great idea. Unlike Janie, however, they’d actually had the guts to do it. And look where it had gotten them. Both of them were blissfully happy, Callie back with Ross Donovan, her ex-husband, who owned the team. And Babe cozying up to the manager.

But Janie…well, Janie had chickened out.

Because while part of her suspected Riley had been interested, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t turn her down. Even going into it with eyes wide-open, knowing it would be about nothing more than a wild, never-to-be-forgotten one-night stand, her pride could still be savaged by a casual rejection.

The second time she’d run into Riley Kelleher—a month later in Mr. Smith’s room—had convinced her to forget the whole thing. Because, that day, she’d flirted, dropped some sexy hints and laid down some serious innuendo. And the man had practically run away in terror. How totally depressing.

She was a flavor all right. Vanilla. Strictly plain, boring and unseductive. Just Janie. Just vanilla.

“I should’ve gone for a bat boy,” she muttered as she put the lid on the box, resecured it with a crusty rubber band and shoved it on a crowded shelf.

“What?” Callie asked from behind.

Janie swept a strand of her brown hair back into its ponytail. Then, knowing she couldn’t explain her reluctance to someone as strong as Callie, turned around. “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I want to know why you backed down.”

She backpedaled. “Attendance is great, the team will bounce back again. It may have been a big scare for nothing. If Donovan pays back the loan to that Vegas slimeball in time, the Slammers won’t go.”

“Which means you’ll still be here painting fantasies in your head five years from now when you should have leapt on them.”

She couldn’t deny it. Because Callie was absolutely right.

“Who is he, anyway, your dream guy? Tell me that much, and I’ll help you figure out how to get him.”

Ha. Callie, with her perfect face, great figure and sexy red hair wouldn’t have to do more than wave. Janie, on the other hand…well, it would take some real effort, if not a complete makeover. “I don’t really want to say.”

“I’m here, armed with three spoons and some Riley Ripple.”

Janie couldn’t help flinching as Babe Bannister entered, carrying sinfully delicious ice cream, vanilla swirled with ripples of chocolate fudge and raspberry. This flavor, named after the Slammers star pitcher, was her new favorite.

Sometimes, she had to admit, vanilla could be very, very good. Especially when it was…rippled.

The thought made her go soft in warm contemplation. But remembering she wasn’t alone, she forced herself to straighten up. She knew she’d been unsuccessful in disguising her reaction because a second later, Callie let out a loud “Aha!”

Oh, rats.

“It’s Riley Kelleher,” Callie exclaimed.

“No, I said it’s Riley Ripple,” Babe clarified.

“Her fantasy,” Callie said over her shoulder.

“You fantasize about my ice cream? That’s great.”

Janie could only grunt.

“Her dream man,” Callie said, laughter in her eyes. “Riley Kelleher is Janie’s seduction target and I now understand why you haven’t done anything about it. Goodness, Janie, when you decide on a conquest, you do aim high. The star of the team?”

“I know, I know. He’d never even consider…”

Callie put her fingers over Janie’s mouth. “Don’t you even think that. You’re lovely and he’d be damn lucky to get you.”

Babe’s nod set her blond curls bouncing and made her curvy figure jiggle in a way that her new boyfriend probably loved.

Janie didn’t wiggle. Ever. Not if she jumped up and down. Not even if she stood on her head. Or in a wind tunnel.

She grabbed the ice cream. “Forget it,” she said as she dug in, the chocolate and raspberry creating a cacophony of sinful excitement on her tongue. Much like Riley would, she imagined.

Not happening.

“I won’t forget it,” Callie said, looking her over. “You know what? I like this idea. You might be just what Riley needs.”

“A skinny fan-girl?”

Callie pinched her. Actually grabbed her arm and pinched her with her strong fingers. “That’s enough of that.”

Rubbing her arm, Janie began to laugh. “Okay, Mama.”

“If I were your mama, you’d stop trying to hide your looks.”

Babe, digging out a big spoonful of ice cream, nodded her agreement. “She’s right, you know. You’re exactly Riley’s type.”

Janie cast a doubtful look down at her unimpressive curves. “Uh-huh.” Then she licked her spoon, unable to stop thinking of Riley. And ripples. All those yummy, muscular ripples.

“I mean it,” Babe said. “He needs a nice, normal woman with class. Brodie says Riley’s a good guy, despite his reputation and his bad press from a few years ago.”

Callie backed her up. “I’ve known him since Donovan first bought the team. Riley went through a total dog phase after his divorce. But since then, he’s just been a great guy who ignores the skanks who follow him around.”

Well, she wasn’t a skank. There was that. But she was not at all convinced the man wasn’t a player. She’d seen Riley’s magnetism up close and personal. No way could he be that good with women if he didn’t get a lot of practice with them.

“What does it matter whether I’m his type or not?” she muttered. “All I wanted from the man was a one-night stand. Hot sex. Because there’s no way on God’s green earth I’d ever let myself actually fall for someone like him.”

Callie frowned, looking almost disapproving. “I just said he’s not a bad guy, despite his past.”

“Dogs and new tricks…ever heard of them?”

“Second chances, ever heard of them?”

“Okay, forget you being his type,” Babe said, cutting them both off. “You’re right, you said all along this would be a wild fling. Just because Callie and I batted out of the ballpark and found true love doesn’t mean you have to, or even want to.”

She did. She just wasn’t fool enough to think it would be with someone like Riley Kelleher.

Babe continued, “So, you can just have a couple of amazing booty calls with the pitcher, then go on with your life.”

Janie couldn’t help laughing. “Booty calls, huh?”

Callie rolled her eyes, but also smiled. “I still say you two are a great couple. But if booty’s all you’re after…”

“It is.” Janie wouldn’t even allow herself to consider going after more. Not a woman like her. Not with a man like Riley.

She was a plain Jane. And he was a superstud.

Uh-uh. It’ll never happen.

Sighing heavily, she admitted, “I’d be lucky to get a call for a beer, much less booty. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the gorgeous, seductive, booty type.”

Maybe once she had a man naked she was. Her few previous lovers had always seemed…pleasantly surprised by her enthusiasm. But getting a man into bed wasn’t her strong suit.

“You’re lovely,” Callie said as she reached for Janie’s ponytail holder and tugged it free, sending her long hair tumbling. She lifted it and started piling it on Janie’s head, leaving a few tendrils draping down over her shoulders. “As for seductive? Well, honey, I know all about making yourself that.”

Babe was tugging Janie’s glasses off her nose. “I know a little something about makeovers myself.” Then, without warning, they both dove for their handbags and grabbed bottles of makeup, tweezers and containers of eyeshadow. Janie could only sputter as they began to smear and spread, highlight and pluck.

Unable to do anything but sit still for fear one of her eyeballs would get poked out, she put up with it for a few minutes, then tried one more time to protest. “Guys, I can’t…”

“Yes, you can!” they both said as they each took an arm and spun her around. They were watching while she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror hanging over her desk.

And at that moment, spying the exotically made-up woman with the upswept hair, the shadowed eyes and the full, reddened lips, Janie began to wonder if they might be right after all.

4

A few days later

RILEY HADN’T thought much about the fact that he hadn’t been laid in ages until he noticed the brunette in red. The woman was sitting a few tables away at Diamond, his favorite restaurant. He’d watched her come in, her nicely curved body nicely displayed in the sparkly cocktail dress that revealed a mile of leg. Not to mention a mouthwatering hint of delicate cleavage.

Riley’s heart had skipped a beat when she’d entered the place. It’d skipped another when he heard the soft, lyrical sound of her voice talking to the hostess as she’d approached.

She was a beauty, but a quiet one. A classy, petite, perfectly formed feminine package, and she’d made every masculine cell in his body come to attention. Instantly.

For some reason, he’d felt a flash of recognition, as if he knew her. But he knew he didn’t. He’d definitely have remembered a woman as sultry as this one.

Sipping his beer, he’d ignored the voice in his head that tried to convince him his celibate streak ought to end, because she had to be meeting someone. But as the minutes had stretched on, no one had joined the woman. He couldn’t believe any man would stand her up, but it looked as if that’s what had happened.

Since she was seated facing him, he surreptitiously noted the slender neck and her high cheekbones. Her delicate face was almost heart-shaped, framed by a mass of rich brown hair. Highlighted with streaks of gold, her hair was pulled back except for a few long curls brushing her shoulders.

Then there were the eyes. Wide-set, big and brown, like dark chocolate. With her lush red lips the color of ripe raspberries, he couldn’t stop thinking of the ice cream the shop around the corner had named after him. And how much he wanted to lick her juicy lips and to taste that creamy vanilla skin.

“Enjoying your evening, Mr. Kelleher?” a smooth voice asked.

He shook off his study of the stranger and glanced up to see the owner of the place. Rumor had it she was about to remarry Donovan Ross. “Yes, thanks, everything’s wonderful, as usual.”

“I was glad to hear you’d be dining with us,” Callie Andrews said. “Though I do wonder why you never bring anyone with you.”

He hadn’t been tempted to bring anyone anywhere—into this restaurant, into his life—for a long time. So why he couldn’t stop focusing on the brunette, he had no idea. “Can’t get a better steak in Louisville,” he said, speaking to Callie, though his attention was glued to the female four tables down.

The female who suddenly looked up and caught him staring.

Riley almost looked away. His first instinct was to break the visual connection and let his attention casually roam over the other diners in the restaurant. Evade. Avoid. Walk away.

That had been his strategy for some time now. Evade emotional traps. Avoid potential complications. Walk away from anything that could be construed as genuine personal interaction.

Even sexual interaction was something he didn’t think about too much these days. Sure, in the first year after he and Bronwyn, his first wife, had split, he’d taken solace in the arms of any attractive woman he’d wanted. But it hadn’t helped. He’d quickly realized he was being stupid…as selfish and self-indulgent as his ex had been. So he’d gotten back on track, determined to remain private, unattached. Detached. Except for his family, he’d let no one come close. It just wasn’t worth the risk.

It had worked. Pretty much.

He and the stranger continued to watch one another. Riley noted the way her eyes flared and her mouth opened as she sucked in a quick breath. Her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and a slow flush of color rose from her neck up her cheeks. Not a flush of embarrassment…their staring hadn’t disconcerted her. But a warm rush of heat. As if she’d sensed he’d been undressing her in his mind, considering letting go of his rules and his self-imposed exile from anything resembling romance.

Then she smiled. A tiny smile…a welcoming smile. A come-here-and-buy-me-a-drink-and-I’ll-make-your-night-divine smile.

Oh, man, he was in trouble.

“So what have you been doing with yourself?” Callie asked.

“We’ve been on the road a lot.”

“Don’t I know it,” she mumbled.

Smiling, Riley lifted his beer mug. “Been missing Donovan?”

“Desperately.” She quickly glanced side to side, as if afraid she’d been overheard. Lowering her voice, she added, “But don’t tell the big jerk I said that. His head’ll swell too much to fit through the door.” The sparkle in her eyes told him Callie wouldn’t have her ex-husband any other way. That she adored him.

A sharp stab of want hit Riley in the gut. Damned if he was a jealous man, and he didn’t covet Donovan Ross’s fiancée. But maybe, deep down, he coveted that feeling Ross must have when he looked at the woman he loved and knew she loved him just as much.

He’d never had that.

Oh, he’d loved, but as for being genuinely loved in return? Well, he didn’t know if any guy in his position could ever be sure of that. Because most women they met were after a notch on their own player’s scorecard. Or a big fat alimony check, like the one he wrote out every month, which was the real cherry on the sundae since he’d been the wronged one in the marriage.

The judge hadn’t cared. And the media hadn’t bothered to question Bronwyn’s claims that Riley’s off-the-field playing was responsible for the breakup of baseball’s favorite sweethearts.

Those closest to him—his parents, brothers, good friends—knew the truth. To hell with the rest of them. He’d long ago realized people would believe what they wanted to believe.

Shaking off the memories, he glanced at the stranger again. She was sipping red wine, which left her lips ripe with color.

“She’s very attractive, isn’t she?”

He should’ve known the restaurant owner would pick up on his not-so-subtle interest. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Want an introduction?”

“You know her?”

“I might. Shall I…fix things up?”

“Got a second career as a matchmaker going?”

She shuddered visibly. “Donovan would never forgive me.”

“Then it’s just as well I’m not looking to be fixed up.”

“Suit yourself. If you like dining alone….” Walking away, she left him with nothing to do but look into the depths of his drink. Or at the woman across the room.

She was definitely a more interesting subject, and apparently she felt the same way about him. Because again, she caught him watching her and after a quick, nearly imperceptible shift of her eyes and quiver of her body, met his gaze boldly.

But that tiny flash of hesitation told him something. Right at that moment, Riley got it. This woman hadn’t been stood up. The tightness of her lips, the tremble in her hand, betrayed her nervousness and he finally figured out her game. She’d come here, dressed like that, to one purpose: to pick up a man. Any man. And he was the man she’d chosen.

He could almost visualize what would happen if he accepted the hot, unspoken invitation in the brunette’s eyes. He’d smile as he walked to her table. She’d invite him to join her. They’d share another drink and talk about nothing while whispering a million silent, erotic promises.

They might make it through dinner…or they might give up any pretense and walk out before their food arrived. Their hands would clasp, fingers entwining as they left the building, knowing what was about to happen. Her leg would brush against his, a delicate touch of near innocence that was utterly sinful.

They’d make it to the parking lot before they kissed. Riley’s hands would be buried in her soft hair while he roughly explored the depths of her mouth with his tongue. They’d share breaths, share heat, share an almost indescribable excitement.

Once inside his car, they’d pause for another intense, more private kiss. And if they were lucky, he’d have the strength to start the car and drive to his place—or hers—to finish what they’d started. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to wait, though, and his cramped car would do for some quick, hot, fabulous sex.

He’d played this scene before. Not recently—not for a few years. But it had happened in his early days with the Slammers.

You’re not that guy anymore.

No, he wasn’t. He’d long since realized meaningless sex was not the way to eradicate the memory of his failed marriage. And that, as strange as it seemed, he was being used, too, by women who never wanted Riley the person…just Riley the pitcher.

He didn’t hate them for it. Hadn’t his wife, the woman who’d pledged to love and honor him until death, wanted the sports star, too?

Not the man. Never the man he was inside.

So he’d changed. He wasn’t one of the players off the field anymore, despite the rumors. And he didn’t care. Life was good now without women. Which made it hard to understand why he couldn’t stop thinking about the brunette.

“You know what,” he murmured to his waitress as she came to deliver his dinner, “I’ve changed my mind. Can you box that up?”

The waitress jerked her head up and down, as obsequious to one of the star players in this town as most other people.

Like the lady in red?

That cinched it. He wasn’t certain the woman had recognized him, but it was possible. And he sure didn’t want any obsequious woman willing to do anything to say she’d made it with a sports star. He’d been there, done that. So as soon as the waitress came back with his food and check, he handed her some cash and stood to leave. His stride didn’t slow as he passed the stranger, though he was unable to resist giving her an appreciative nod, if only to thank her for the distraction she’d provided.

Once outside the main dining room, however, he realized he’d forgotten his dinner. “Damn,” he muttered. Because he was hungry. And because he’d look like a loser going back in there to get it after playing Mr. Cool and Confident while escaping.

“Problem?” the hostess asked.

He could ask her to retrieve his bagged dinner. Or he could walk out and hit a drive-through on the way home. In the end, however, he decided on a third option. “I just decided to go into Fever Pitch for a while,” he told the woman, smiling as he crossed the vestibule to the quiet bar, which served light food. Not his nice medium-rare steak, but it’d do.

Anything would do, as long as it got his mind off the temptress he’d just walked away from.

* * *

“THIS WAS the stupidest idea on the face of the earth.”

Janie didn’t bother keeping the disgust out of her voice. There was no point. Callie had witnessed the entire humiliating scene that had just unfolded in the restaurant. There was no way the other woman, no matter how loyal, could deny the truth: Janie had given it her best shot. And had been completely shot down.

“He was interested.”

Snorting, Janie reached for her wineglass. “Right.”

“He could barely keep his eyes off you.”

“Sure managed to keep his hands off.”

As the owner of Diamond, Callie enjoyed a lot of privileges. Like being able to ignore the rest of her customers and sit at Janie’s table. “Janie, he was so into you. Maybe he was just unsure…needing you to make a more obvious first move.”

More obvious? Good grief, the only way she could possibly have been any more obvious was if she’d stripped off her dress and flung it at the man. “Riley and unsure are two words that do not belong in the same sentence.”

Callie frowned. “I can think of one: Riley wanted you badly but you are unsure of that fact.”

She didn’t give an inch. “Riley wanting me badly is, I am quite sure, fiction.”

“Why are you convinced you don’t have a shot with him?”

“Why are you so determined to think I do?”

Callie leaned closer, staring so hard at her that Janie wondered if she had a splash of wine on her cheek or something. “I am determined to think that,” she said, her voice low and no-nonsense, “because ever since you first mentioned who your mystery man was, I knew you two would be perfect together.”

Knew it? Janie barely knew whether she’d be able to get her newly cut, newly highlighted hair back up into this style again after tonight. Much less who her perfect man was.

But her friends really had tried to help her, and, despite what had just happened with Mr. Slammer Stud, Janie was feeling pretty good about herself. Maybe she wasn’t sexy enough to garner the attention of a sports superstar, but, for the first time in a long time, she felt capable of holding her own with a normal man.

Okay, probably not her customers, the jocks who wanted big-boobed blond bimbos, either. Still, she looked good and felt almost capable of trying to pick up a man for some much needed sexual release. A normal man. Teacher. Accountant. Salesman.

Yawn.

It was no use. There was only one man she wanted. But she wasn’t brave enough to go after him again, not in this lifetime.

“This can work. I know it.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” she murmured, giving Callie a weary smile. “Though I do appreciate everything you and Babe did.” Remembering one particular part of her makeover—a visit to a woman’s salon earlier today—her smile faded, dissolving into a shudder. “Except the, uh, painful waxing. I will get even some day for this afternoon’s experience.”

Callie bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back a grin. “Janie, honey, I didn’t suggest that thorough a wax job.”

“Yeah, well, I wish you had been a little more clear with that Brazilian woman before you let her drag me back into the torture chamber. She could give tips to the mob on making people talk.” Janie shifted in her seat, still not entirely accustomed to the feel of her, um, bareness. There wasn’t much left down there, other than what her torturer had referred to as a “landing strip.” It felt strange against the skimpy-to-the-point-of-nothingness panties she was wearing.

“I hear some women get off on just the process of having it done,” Callie said with a shrug.

Oh, right. How arousing…having her hair ripped out by the roots while being fingered pretty damned intimately by another woman. “Look, I don’t think Angelina Jolie could convince me to swing to the dark side sexually, so I’m quite sure a three-hundred-pound Brazilian woman named Consuela couldn’t.”

Callie snorted.

Finishing her wine, Janie pushed her chair back from the table. “Thanks again for everything. But I think I’ll go and turn back into my real self before I change into a pumpkin.”

No, it wasn’t midnight. But it didn’t matter. As much as Callie and Babe had played fairy godmothers, Janie hadn’t ended up with the handsome Prince Charming. She wasn’t Cinderella.

She was still Just Janie. And despite her best efforts, still very vanilla.

* * *

UNFORTUNATELY, his dinner in the bar did not do a damn thing to eradicate Riley’s hunger. Physical…or sexual. It didn’t change a thing. By the time he finished his burger, an hour after he’d left Diamond, he’d decided he was a total moron. He’d let his unexpected reaction to a woman drive him out of his favorite restaurant, away from a juicy steak that had most likely turned into a congealed, artery-hardening mess by now. “Asshole,” he muttered before he paid his tab and left.

It had been a long time since a woman had so disconcerted him…had left him questioning his decisions. Ever since his first sexual experience back in high school, he’d never questioned his choice to accept or decline an opportunity. So why couldn’t he stop thinking he’d made a mistake this time?

For half a second, while passing the entrance to the restaurant, he considered stepping inside to see if the brunette was the kind who liked to linger over a long dessert and coffee.

Chocolate and raspberries.

But he thrust the idea away. He’d look ten kinds of fool. Besides, she’d been pretty set on leaving with someone and he didn’t particularly want to see who she’d chosen in his place.

Having been invited by Callie Andrews to park in the alley out back to avoid some of the more persistent Slammers fans—or critics, given their recent six losses in a row—Riley headed down a quiet rear hallway. Digging his keys out of his pocket, he couldn’t help wondering how his night might have ended up if he hadn’t grown something of a sexual conscience.

He was so focused on the slew of delightful possibilities flashing through his brain that he almost didn’t notice the crash. But it was followed by a loud, feminine scream.

Hell, that shriek could startle a man out of contemplation of a Penthouse centerfold, so it certainly interrupted his own rather mild visualizations. “What now?” he mumbled, turning around. No one was in the hall behind him, but he had just passed a door marked Round The Bases: Deliveries. Pulling it open and sticking his head in, he said, “Hello? Everybody okay?”

No response.

Probably the noise had come from the restaurant, but just in case someone was hurt, he stepped inside what appeared to be a stockroom. Shelves laden with jerseys, Slammers caps, coozies, pennants and seat cushions surrounded him. And right in the middle of it, covering the floor, was a mountain of big yellow foam hands with index fingers sticking up.

He saw the hands, which proclaimed Slammers Are #1, during every game. But he’d never seen them moving by themselves, undulating on the floor like a big yellow serpent.

Suddenly a head popped out of the pile, and he realized it wasn’t the hands moving. It was the woman beneath them.

At least, he assumed it was a woman. Since he could only see the back of a thick head of dark hair, he couldn’t be sure. But given the shapely figure outlined by a tight pink T-shirt and jeans that worked its way out from beneath the yellow mountain, he figured he was right. That was confirmed when a feminine voice muttered a very foul word. He bit his lip to hold back a laugh.

“Slimy salesman. Oh, sure, we needed a thousand of these things,” she said as she sent a bunch of the hands flying in all directions. “I’ll tell you where you can shove your dumb…”

Clearing his throat and raising his voice, he said, “Hello?”

The woman immediately jerked her head around to stare at him. Which was the exact moment he recognized her.

“You,” he whispered, completely shocked. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it definitely had not been this. Because the cursing, dusty little jeans-wearing package was the same dark-eyed angel he’d seen an hour ago sitting four tables away.

Riley smiled. Things were suddenly looking up. Fate, aided by a box full of foam hands, had given him a second chance. And maybe now he would go ahead and act on his devil-red hunger for the woman who’d been wearing the devil-red dress.

5

SMILING, Riley watched the flustered woman analyze his presence. She, of course, recognized him, too. He hadn’t changed his entire persona in the hour since he’d left Diamond.

While they stared at one another, those big eyes of hers reached saucer diameter. “What…?”

“I heard a scream,” he explained, raising his hands, palms out, so she wouldn’t feel threatened. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m fine, thanks.” Frowning at the mess, she added, “My stock attacked me.”

“Kinda gives new perspective to the idea of roving hands.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve known guys who seemed to have more appendages than an octopus before, but this was a bit extreme.”

Lips twitching, he stepped closer. Though tempted to ask her if she needed a hand, he modified his offer. “Need some help?”

“Thanks for not asking me the obvious.”

“Busted,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “I almost did.”

“I probably would have slugged you if you had.”

Since the woman probably only stood about five foot four, he didn’t consider that much of a threat. But the fierce look on her face was so damned adorable, he didn’t dare laugh at her. He’d learned growing up with his petite mother—who could silence any of her six-foot-plus sons with one frown—not to question the power of an upset woman.

Hiding his amusement, he looked around, wondering why she’d been “attacked” only by the hands. Everything else was stacked just as haphazardly. She was lucky the shelf of replica trophies hadn’t landed on her head. “Got a little overstock here?”

Her succulent lower lip stuck out in a weary pout. “I think my inventory reproduces at night when I leave.”

“Which is why you’re here working so late? Trying to prevent any…procreation?” His voice softened on the last word, and he heard his own intensity as a whole litany of images returned to mind. The ones he’d been picturing when he’d considered taking her up on her sultry, unspoken invitation at dinner.

He couldn’t help eyeing the foam hands. That yellow mountain might be a mess to clean up, but he’d bet it was very soft.

The woman sucked in a deep, audible breath, and her lips parted as she licked nervously at them. She’d heard his hesitation and correctly interpreted it. Something deep and basic passed between them—an acknowledgement of the brief connection they’d shared earlier in the evening. The realization that they were both feeling the same heated awareness. Maybe even a silent admission that something was going to happen.

Something exciting. Something erotic. Something amazing.

He hesitated, wondering why he was feeling none of the reservations he’d felt before about indulging in one night of erotic sex with a seductive stranger. Because right now, he wanted more than anything to taste her lips and feel that slender body pressed against his own.

She rose, kicking a few #1 hands out of the way. He didn’t waste time watching her feet, however, not when her tight jeans were much more interesting. As was the shirt she wore, which highlighted the indentation of her waist and the softness of her arms. It also emphasized the delicate swell of her breasts.

Riley forced himself to lift his gaze, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, though she’d certainly been inviting stares at dinner. But since she was just as attractive all the way to the top of her head, he sank deeper into hot water.

She’d not only changed her clothes, she’d also brushed her hair out so it hung in a thick, loose curtain around her pretty face. She appeared younger than she had before, softer, though every bit as attractive. And he was reacting to her every bit as strongly as he had then.

There was still that tiny hint of recognition that told him he’d seen her before, but damned if Riley could place her. So he forced the thought away…no way would he have forgotten those lips. That face. That incredibly hot little body.

Finally, he couldn’t help confronting her on the obvious. “You look different than you did earlier.”

Her bottom lip quivered, but she said nothing. That quiver reminded him of the hint of uneasiness she’d displayed in the restaurant. It also reminded him that there was much more to the woman than a shapely figure highlighted in either a sexy dress or a sexier pair of jeans.

“I changed back into my work clothes.”

Which didn’t explain why she’d been dressed like a siren at the restaurant. As far as he knew, Diamond’s dress code was dress casual. Not dress sexy. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“More than you did, I think,” she said, tilting her head back with one brow arched in challenge.

“Touché.”

“Why did you rush out, leaving your food behind?”

He answered her challenging question with one of his own. “Why did you leave and come here—alone—when you so obviously wanted to spend the night in someone’s bed?”

She sucked in a quick gasp. “That’s very…”

“Rude?” Crossing his arms, Riley leaned a shoulder against a shelf laden with trading card albums.

“I was going to say personal. But rude works, too.”

“Maybe. But it’s true. So, honey, why don’t you tell me what you were up to tonight? I think I’d very much like to know.”

Riley didn’t know why he was enjoying baiting the brunette—maybe because he was so confused about who she really was. The sultry woman in red? Or the cute, flustered young woman facing him?

To be honest, he wasn’t sure which he wanted her to be. But he still had to know. Had she been trying to pick up the Slammers star pitcher? Or Riley Kelleher, the man?

He’d like to think it was possible she hadn’t recognized him, even though she worked in a sports shop. Maybe he was reaching—grasping for what he wanted to be true—but it was at least possible. God, he hoped it was possible.

“Tell me, what did you want?” he asked, his voice lowered to a near whisper. Then, stepping closer, he added, “And why did you leave without getting it?”

* * *

JANIE COULDN’T BELIEVE Riley was standing in the back room of her store, now, when she was at her absolute worst. All the primping, trimming, polishing and highlighting she’d done with Callie and Babe’s assistance had been for nothing. Her makeover hadn’t gotten her what she’d been seeking: Riley in her bed. No, it’d simply gotten her Riley in her stockroom.

Of all the bad luck—and lousy timing—why did the man she’d so glaringly failed to seduce have to be the one to find her looking like a brainless twit in a pile of banana-yellow foam hands?

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, his voice low and too intense for her peace of mind. As if he already knew the answer…that she’d been trying to entice him. The fact that she had failed so spectacularly kept her tongue behind her teeth.

“Maybe I’ll go first and answer a question for you,” he said when she didn’t reply. “If you’d come into Fever Pitch, I can practically guarantee you wouldn’t have gone home alone.”

She blew out a disbelieving breath. “Because there were a bunch of drunk, desperate guys in there?”

He straightened, his shoulders tensing as he eliminated the space between them in two long strides. “I meant because five minutes after I walked away from you, I was telling myself I’d made a huge mistake.”

Janie sucked in a breath, surprised by the heat—the raw honesty—in Riley’s voice. Not to mention the look in his eyes. That was attraction she saw there. The same attraction and interest he’d revealed briefly during dinner. Only now, it was magnified a million times over by his closeness. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, stepping even closer so his trousers brushed against her jeans.

Attraction? No. That wasn’t the right word. This was desire. There was no denying it, the man was looking at her through heavy-lidded eyes, his breathing slightly erratic.

It was heady, knowing he truly did want her. Had wanted her. And Janie didn’t quite know what to make of it. Considering her own body had gone completely molten the moment he’d come near, she couldn’t focus on anything but how good he smelled. How good the man would taste. How utterly amazing he would feel.

“Now tell me the truth. Why did you leave alone?”

Because you walked away from me.

The words were there, in her brain, but there was no way she was going to say them. Any more than she would admit that she’d started wearing her clothes a lot tighter, just on the off chance she’d run into him again now that she’d let Callie and Babe make her over into a baseball-star-attracting studette.

She didn’t need to say a word, because his eyes narrowed. “You weren’t going to settle for just anyone, is that it?” He lifted a hand and traced a fingertip across her jaw, then down her throat. His touch was simple yet potent, leaving her skin burning.

Stepping closer, until she could feel his breath on her face and the brush of his body against hers, he added, “Only me.”

She couldn’t deny it.

“You don’t seem like the easy type.” He sounded confused.

That got her vocal cords working again. “Definitely not.”

“But you were trying to pick me up. And when I left, you dropped it.”

Definitely right.

He stared intently at her eyes, then dropped his gaze, taking in the extra tight shirt and painted-on jeans that Callie had convinced her to buy. His jaw flexing, he murmured, “You know, you look familiar. I just can’t imagine you’re someone I would have forgotten meeting.”

Oh, if only he knew. How little the man must have truly looked at her the two times they’d met at the nursing home. It had only been six weeks since he’d last seen her. And she hadn’t changed that much. Just her clothes. Hairstyle. Contacts. Makeup.

Okay. Maybe she had changed a bit and could give him a break.

“Now, back to my question,” he said, a note of urgency—and, if it didn’t seem so crazy coming from a superstar, maybe even vulnerability—in his voice. “Tell me why you were after me.”

His words were a cross between a firm demand and a sweetly purred plea. And the genuine depth of interest in his tone reminded her of why she’d come up with the crazy seduction scheme to begin with. Because, whether she’d had the confidence to admit it, deep inside, she’d knew she’d been right all along. There was something between them. Heat. Awareness. Attraction.

He might not have acted on it. But that didn’t mean it did not exist. “We’re standing here like this and you really need to ask?” she said, leaning closer, falling deeper into the magnetic well of sensation between them.

His hand moved to the hollow of her throat and he traced the back of his fingers across her collarbone. Janie hissed, wanting more. Wanting to press into him and invite him to touch her much more thoroughly. Wanting his hands and his lips and his tongue and that mouthwatering ridge of arousal she could feel, hard and huge, against her hip.

She moaned as her nipples hardened against the cotton of her shirt. The sensual reaction wasn’t caused merely by his touch, his crazy-sexy whispers or the feel of his warm breath against her cheek. But also because of her certainty that everything she’d fantasized about was real.

Riley Kelleher wanted her. Badly.

Riley glanced down, obviously able to tell she wore nothing beneath her shirt. His jaw tightened and his breathing grew more labored. For a second, Janie thought he was going to give up the talk and proceed directly to action. But she wasn’t that lucky.

“I know why you want me now,” he admitted, his mouth so close his lips brushed her temple, hinting at a kiss she could almost taste.

God, she was so lost.

“I want to know why you wanted me then, from the minute you walked into Diamond tonight. If you weren’t out to pick up any guy who made you hot—only me—tell me why. I need to know.”

She was losing the fight to keep her sanity with every featherlight breath, each delicate caress on her skin. Losing thought and reason and discretion. Which was why she finally leaned up and said, “Would you please just shut up and kiss me?”

His eyes flared in surprise. Having him this close, and knowing she might never have the chance again, Janie wasn’t going to let him back away. Not without sampling, at least once, that incredible mouth. So she took a kiss. Stole it, seduced it from him, whatever it might be called. Twining her hands in his thick hair and curling her body against his, she pulled him down until their mouths met. Licking at the seam between his lips, she sighed as he parted them to meet her tongue in a wet exploration.

Riley had stiffened ever so slightly when she’d surprised him by making such a blatant first move. But he quickly relaxed, as if he could resist no more than she could. He dropped his arms to her waist, tugging her closer.

Lord, the man was so aroused. So big. The realization sent a flood of desire through her, making her weak. She moaned into his mouth as that thick ridge in his pants pressed against the juncture of her thighs. He responded by lifting one of her legs in his hand, tilting her hot, damp center directly against him. The pressure from her tight jeans and her swollen sex—smooth and vulnerable—made her arch harder.

He shifted a little, his lips moving away from hers for a second, as if he might end the kiss. She was in no way ready to let it end, knowing, deep down, that she might have only this moment. This one brief, delightful moment when she could believe she was about to have a wild, steamy affair with a man who literally took her breath away.

She just couldn’t let him stop kissing her, couldn’t let his brain reengage. “More,” she moaned. “Please, more.”

A throaty laugh told her he wasn’t nearly finished, either. His words confirmed it. “Much more.”

Riley returned his mouth to hers, this time taking control of their embrace. He slowed things down, capturing her frenzy and turning it into a lazy seduction of thrusts and licks, as if he found her utterly delicious and couldn’t get enough of her taste.

Janie honestly couldn’t remember an experience in her life as pleasurable as this one. With his broad chest pressed against hers, one hand dropping to cup her bottom with sexy familiarity and his glorious mouth kissing her as if he needed her tongue to go on living, she gave herself over to it. To this perfect, heady, purely sexual feeling, knowing there was nothing she wouldn’t do to make love with him, here and now. Even with the knowledge that come morning, he would think of her as just another groupie and would never want to see her again.

This was what she’d wanted all along, wasn’t it? To be the flavor of the month…of the night. Only she would not be vanilla. Tonight she’d be something much more tasty and decadent.

Tasty. Oh, God how she wanted to taste him. Before proceeding to stroking him, feeling him, riding him.

“You smell amazing,” she whispered against his lips, her head filling with his masculine scent. Her body was reacting, growing even wetter as she recognized the familiar—delicious—physical aromas of desire, sex and carnality.

He moved his mouth from hers and tasted his way across her jaw, licking, sucking, biting lightly. “You, too.”

He wasn’t pulling away. Wasn’t ending things. So she went a step further…taking more. Daring one more touch, wondering how far she could go before he remembered minor details such as the fact that she’d never answered his questions. That he didn’t know her full name. And that they’d met before.

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she kneaded the thick muscles of his strong arms. “You’re like a rock wall.”

He laughed softly, shifting so he could scrape the tips of his fingers across her belly. “You’re very…very…soft.”

His touch was electric. Sizzling.

Reaching for the top button of his shirt, she slid it free, then kept unbuttoning. Janie sampled every bit of slick, salty skin as it was revealed. Nibbling a path down the well-defined muscles, she detoured to suck lightly at his flat, male nipple. His muscles quivered with every touch of her lips.

“Have I told you I love man smell?” she asked with a wicked sigh as she breathed him in. “Yours, in particular?”

“I don’t believe so,” he said, sounding far away. Risking a quick peek up, Janie saw his head was back, his eyes closed, as if he wanted to savor everything she was doing to him.

Which, as far as she was concerned, was her cue to do more. So when she reached the bottom of his dress shirt, unbuttoning the last button and tugging the fine, silky material free of his trousers, she didn’t even hesitate. Instead she pulled her leg out of his strong grip and dropped to her knees.

Fortunately, those foam hands were nice and cushiony.

“Whoa…we can slow down.” His voice was throaty. Surprised.

Looking up at him, Janie licked her lips, letting him see her want. And her intentions. “You really going to stop me?”

One of his brows shot up. “Depends on what you want to do.”

What she wanted to do? Well, that was easy. She wanted to devour him, lick him up like a big, fat lollipop. Which was probably easier to say with actions than with words. So she reached for his belt buckle and slowly unfastened it.

He reached for her shoulder. “Darlin’, I mean it. We could go back a few steps.”

“Uh-uh.” No way she was going to slow down, to give him a chance to reconsider. To start talking again. Not before she’d tasted him, imprinted his hot, musky flavor in her brain and sucked on that powerful ridge straining against his zipper.

“Let me,” she whispered, wondering if he realized she was begging…not just trying to seduce him. “Please don’t stop me.”

“You’re joking, right?” he asked with a laugh that sounded more like a groan.

That was all the permission she needed. Janie didn’t look up anymore, completely focused on touching, tasting…taking.

Her hands didn’t even shake as she reached for his waistband, though she moaned when her fingers brushed against his huge erection. Or maybe he did. Maybe they both did.

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, watching wide-eyed with her heart pounding loud enough to drown out every sound except her own choppy breaths. Then slowly, carefully, she unbuttoned, then unzipped his pants, tugging them—and his black boxer briefs—down to his lean hips.

“Oh, God.” She gasped at the sight of his sex—long and erect—jutting mere inches from her face. Her lips. Her tongue.

“I’m dying here,” he groaned, twining his hands in her hair. But he didn’t tug her close, didn’t try to force her in any way.

Which made her want him even more.

Janie smiled, moving closer. “Don’t stop me,” she mumbled, meaning it. She wanted to take him all the way. Wanted to suck him until he exploded into the back of her throat, then arouse him all over again so he could screw her into mindless oblivion.

But right before she touched her lips and tongue to that smooth, vulnerable skin, he muttered, “Can I at least know the name of the woman who, I suspect, is about to make me feel really, really good?”

She didn’t look up, didn’t think, barely even paused. “It’s Janie,” she muttered. “Just Janie.”

Then she closed her mouth over the tip of his thick, delicious erection and sucked him into her mouth.

6

WITH A VELVETY smooth tongue and two petal-soft lips wrapped around his cock, Riley couldn’t concentrate on much of anything except the pleasure. The wetness. The suction and the licking. The sweet coos of delight she made, as if she were getting off on this every bit as much as he was.

Then her hands got involved, stroking him, lightly running her fingers over his balls, cupping his ass. And all the while taking him deeper and deeper into her mouth, as if she wanted to drink him down, swallow him dry.

He’d never experienced anything like this. Never. Not with his ex, not with past girlfriends, not with any woman he’d picked up for a mindless lay. He’d never felt completely savored like he did right now, with this sexy little woman who looked like an angel and sucked like a professional.

“This is amazing,” he whispered, closing his eyes and dropping his head back, his entire body nearly shuddering with delight. “You’re amazing, Janie.”

Janie. Janie?

Suddenly reality kicked him in the gut. Because everything came together.

Riley’s eyes flew open. Blinking a couple of times, he tried to focus until the ceiling tiles came into view. The little bit of blood not centered directly in his dick finally flowed into his brain and it shifted into gear.

“Hell,” he said, instantly stiffening everywhere else he wasn’t already hard as a rock.

Looking down, he realized what he should have known from the start. This woman on her knees giving him the best blow job he’d ever had was the sweet nursing home volunteer he’d met a couple of months ago. His grandfather’s darling. The one he’d figured for a twenty-year-old. “Stop,” he croaked.

She heard, but must have thought he was stopping her for another reason—because he was close to finishing. Any other woman he’d been intimate with would have stopped at that. With this one, it was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. She stroked faster, sucked harder, not letting him pull away, practically demanding that he let himself go.

He wasn’t a damn saint and the urge to come nearly overwhelmed him, especially because she seemed to want him to explode right in her mouth. But something was wrong here—this whole thing was not what it seemed.

So even though he felt certain his head was gonna blow off, Riley finally managed to get the message across by putting one firm hand on her shoulder and another on her cheek. And with great reluctance, he put an end to one of the most sinfully pleasurable interludes he’d ever experienced.

* * *

THOUGH FOR A SECOND Janie wondered if Riley Kelleher had stopped her so he could plunge into her and lose himself inside her aching body, one look at his face told her she was wrong.

With a groan that sounded as though it had been ripped from deep within him, he yanked up his trousers and stepped away from her. As if a few inches weren’t enough, he shuffled backward, putting a good two feet of space between them.

Staring at one another, they both heaved in a few deep breaths. Janie slowly rose to her feet, keeping herself from lunging back into his arms by digging her nails into her palms. Riley tilted his head back and thrust his hand through his thick hair, visibly trying to grab some control.

She didn’t want him controlled. She wanted him helpless with desire. Overwhelmed, just as he’d been a few moments before.

But it was too late. It was gone. The intensity, the need…it had left him.

She’d failed. Janie had enjoyed every second of what she’d just done to him, but he, apparently, had not. The most erotic foreplay she could think of hadn’t made him rip her clothes off with pure animal passion. So short of ripping her clothes off, herself, she wasn’t quite sure how to push him over the edge.

The knowledge that the most intense oral sex she’d ever attempted hadn’t been enough was deflating, to say the least. Especially because she’d liked it so much.

“I know you,” he eventually muttered. “My grandfather…”

“Yes.”

“You’re that girl.”

“That woman,” she clarified.

Finally meeting her eyes again, he looked her over, studying her intently. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“I know.”

His body stiffening almost imperceptibly, he said, “Was that the point? Me not recognizing you?”

Janie couldn’t deny it, not while her head was still spinning and her chest still heaving. “Yes. That was the point.”

Her honesty seemed to surprise him. His brow furrowing in confusion, he asked, “Why?”

“Maybe to make sure you realized I am not a girl.”

He nodded slowly. “I get the picture.” Then, his eyes narrowing, he added, “I obviously didn’t see you for who you really are, is that it?”

She merely nodded, willing him to see her now. See the woman who wanted him so desperately.

“So having made your point, are we done?”

Done? Good grief, she was nowhere near done with everything she wanted to do with this man. Not that she was ready to admit that out loud. One outrageously stolen intimacy had about used up her bravado for this evening.

“You paid me back for thinking you were a little innocent student or something. Now we’re even. Is that right?” His voice sounded tense, almost angry. Whether he’d wanted her or not five minutes ago, he most certainly did not now.

Janie didn’t under any circumstances want him leaving here thinking she’d been messing with his head. Neither, however, was she ready to yank her shirt off and ask him to lick her breasts like two scoops of ice cream.

Two scoops altogether…not each. Because she was definitely single scoop size on either side. Or maybe even less. Kid’s size.

Which gave her even less incentive to rip her shirt off, because all of a sudden she remembered who it was she was trying to tempt here. Mr. Baseball Star who could probably open his own silicone factory with all the stacked women who threw themselves at him on a daily basis.

Who the hell had she been kidding with this whole seduction thing? Even after the most intimate sex act she could perform while fully clothed, the man was looking at her as if he wanted to throw her off a building.

“Helloooo?”

Janie shook her head, hard. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Suddenly it seemed a whole lot worse for Riley to think she’d imagined herself able to seduce him than to have him think she’d been playing some kind of payback prank on him. So, while already mentally painting a big yellow “chicken” stripe up her back, she added, “I guess I just heard one too many ‘little Janie’ cracks and I decided to make sure the world—” you “—saw me as the woman I am.”

Riley stared into her face, as if assessing her honesty. It took every bit of strength Janie had to hold his gaze, not blush or blink or do that shirt-ripping-off thing.

Kid’s size. Sample cones.

She kept her shirt on.

Eventually, Riley sighed and gave her a short nod. “Well, consider the point made.” And without another word, he turned and walked out of the stockroom.

Leaving her with a bit of her pride intact, but the rest of her completely empty.

* * *

ON MONDAY MORNING, Riley left his newly purchased historic Victorian house in the Old Louisville district, planning to head straight for the airport. The trip was good timing. Like many other buildings in the area, his was undergoing renovations, and he really didn’t want to be around for the jackhammering.

He was already distracted enough, thanks.

The Slammers were playing a series out west this week, and he needed to get his head back on straight before stepping onto the field. He had no business dwelling on anything except his game. Winning his game. Which meant shaking off this string of bad luck that had kept him from having a decent play in weeks.

He knew he couldn’t blame every loss on bum luck. Riley had had some shitty streaks in the past that couldn’t be blamed on anything except a sore shoulder, a lapse in concentration or a stupid late night out. But this time felt…different. Because he had never felt better physically, and his life seemed pretty good right now.

So losing for no reason, well, this time, he feared, it just came down to chance. Like his teammate Beau Léglise liked to say in his thick Louisiana accent, “Sometimes the field, she is a flawless diamond, and sometimes she’s a damn white line in the dirt leading straight to hell.”

Exactly. Just bad luck that he’d been following that tricky white line in the wrong direction. It would require all his focus to get past the losses.

But his mind didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Because ever since Saturday night, a slim little brunette had been doing tap dances in his brain and he couldn’t shake himself loose of thoughts of her. The cute nursing home volunteer who’d turned into a sultry temptress, and then a tease.

Just Janie. The woman who right this minute was standing behind the counter of Round The Bases, looking utterly frustrated as she talked with a big, hairy guy in a cowboy hat.

“What are you doin’, jackass?” Riley asked, not sure if he was speaking to himself or the stranger paying such obvious attention to Janie inside the store.

He idled his car, which was double-parked right outside the shop. This was bad. He was watching through the front window like some kind of pathetic stalker.

Drive away.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. Because she looked so sweetly sexy, yet so…tense, somehow. He realized why when the big guy in the stupid hat, which looked as if it had come straight off of J.R.’s head, leaned far across the counter and got right in her face. Though he pointed to something behind her, the man looked down, as if trying to peek down Janie’s tight tank top, which scooped low to reveal the curves of her high, pert breasts.

Riley stiffened, his fingers clenching the steering wheel.

Janie wasn’t dressed in her loose, baggy, nice-young-volunteer getup. She wore a pair of tight-as-sin white pants with the tank top, and her hair was curled and soft around her face. No glasses, either. So he was obviously seeing the temptress from Saturday night, not the angel from the retirement home. And she was definitely getting attention from the man who leered as Janie turned around and bent over to grab something off the shelf behind the counter.

She’s a tease, not some virgin. Maybe she likes it.

But Riley knew better. Knew, deep down, that whatever had driven Janie to behave the way she had Saturday night, she was not the type of woman who sought out the attention of just any big, burly guy. Especially when she was alone with him.

Especially when he touched her.

Because when Janie rose and handed the customer whatever it was he’d asked for, the man didn’t let go of her hand. She tried to pull away, her body growing tense, but he didn’t release her.

A shocking rush of anger burst through Riley, so powerful and strong it made him shake. Jerking the steering wheel to the right, he crammed his small sports car into a parking space, nearly clipping the front fender of a sedan but not caring. He leapt out, thrusting his keys into his pocket, and ate up the sidewalk in three long strides. Yanking open the door to Round The Bases, he moved toward the checkout counter.

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