From Enemies to Expecting(37)

Eyeing the green dress and sandals she wore, he crossed his arms. “Really? Like all of it?”

“Sure.” She uncrossed his arms for him without his permission and guided him to the long leather couch on the front row of the seating in the box. “We have time, right?”

He settled onto the cushion next to her, but only because he’d just realized the benefits of having this suite to themselves with no danger of her undergarments going missing.

The protective one-way film on the glass suddenly seemed like genius on the part of the stadium planners. No one could see in. No one could enter the suite without the lock code, and all the people who were privy to it wouldn’t arrive for quite some time.

He had a temporary pass to have real sex with his fake girlfriend. That was the only thing he should—could—focus on right now. It was all they had between them that was real. All he could allow to be real.

Things had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.





Seven

“We have a couple of hours,” Logan told her and picked up Trinity’s hand to raise it to his lips, nibbling on her fingertips because he wanted to and he could. “What do you want to know about baseball?”

“I want to know everything.”

Her voice had dropped into that register that somehow plugged straight into his groin, lighting it up. She pulled her hand from his grasp deliberately, with a little tsk. Without taking her eyes off him, she hiked up her skirt to flash him a very quick peek at her naked sex and levered one gorgeous leg over his lap, settling herself astride him.

Oh, God, yes.

Her heat ravaged his instant erection, burning him thoroughly even through his clothes. She leaned forward, rolling her hips to increase the contact between their bodies, and nuzzled his ear as she murmured, “Tell me what baseball means to you.”

His pulse went into a free fall.

“Baseball is like breathing,” he said hoarsely as her fingers went to work on his buttons.

He should stop her for...some reason. Because she was taking control. That was a bad thing. But he couldn’t find any fault in the way she worked her hips against his length, and he groaned as she laved at his exposed collarbone.

“Breathing?” she prompted, tonguing her way up his throat.

He liked her out of control, when he was the one calling the shots. But his head tipped back easily as she cupped his jaw to move him into a position she liked better, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to stop her. “I don’t have to remind myself how much I enjoy the way my lungs function. They just do. I step on the mound and my body automatically cues up into the right stance to throw.”

“What else?” She opened his shirt, her clever hands sliding down his torso to explore every inch of it, and her touch enflamed him. His thoughts fragmented as he fell into a sensuous haze, and words just spilled out from somewhere inside.

“My mind turns the ball over and over, examining it, hearing the way it sounds in the air. In my peripheral vision, I’m checking out first base to see if the guy has a little too much of a leadoff. The sun is usually high in the sky and I have to adjust my cap. But that guy at bat? He’s not getting a piece of my arm.”

“Logan, that’s beautiful,” she murmured and cupped his face with her hot hands, laying a kiss on his lips that he felt deep inside. When she pulled back, her eyes glowed with something he couldn’t name, an appreciation, maybe, for what he’d shared without really meaning to. “You’re a pitcher.”

It wasn’t a question, but he nodded as his throat worked, and he couldn’t swallow all at once. None of that should have come so automatically, and she’d clued in that it was significant. Somehow. He’d never told her that he’d played professionally. That it still killed him on a regular basis that he wasn’t down on the field at this moment warming up.

Sometimes being in the dugout with the team let him pretend for a few moments that he would actually don a uniform. Up here in a box? No way to maintain that illusion.

So here he was perpetuating another one. With Trinity.

When had he become so dependent on fantasy?

And how had she figured that out about him?

Before he could gather his scattered wits, she kissed him again, but this time, it had far more intent. Her mouth slanted against his, growing more heated and deliberate. Her tongue wound against his, seeking more, going deeper, and he helplessly fell into her, because he didn’t care if it was supposed to be fake.

He wanted this woman as bare to him as he’d just been to her.

The tangle of their bodies pressed intimately together and her hips circled harder, faster against him. He reacted instantly, his insides turning molten until he couldn’t feel his bones any longer. Closer. He needed her, ached to be inside her, and put his hands on her waist to hold her in place as he ground into her core, his shaft so hard between them it was a wonder he didn’t bruise her tender flesh.