“And Joe’s on board, too,” she pressed. “It’s good for the team to see how hard you’re working. And it will increase interest in the team too, as you all work toward winning the pennant.”
I blew out a breath. Young players needed constant reminders that talent only got them so far. Next came discipline and sweat.
“And your sister insists that women love a man who’s not afraid to work. So, in a way, you’ll pull in more female viewers.”
And there it was—the trifecta. Do it for my contract, my team, and for all those female fans. But what if I couldn’t do it? What if all I did was fail?
“Talk to me, Connor. What is holding you back?”
Nothing. Just the memory of how spectacularly I’d let down my younger sister. And how that had thrown everything in my life into a different light. Instead of thinking about publicity for me, I was focused on finding private time with her. To support her, however she needed it. But that was the last thing I wanted anyone to know, so I gave in.
“Fine. Set it up. The batting, not the bachelor thing.”
“Excellent,” she said in her most obnoxiously perky tone. “We’ll start this afternoon. I’ll get a reporter to watch you at batting practice, then there’ll be a half-hour interview afterward. Rinse and repeat daily over the next six weeks.”
“Fine.” Then I pushed up from her chair and stomped out of her office. Or rather, I started to. One step outside, and I stopped. Then I backed up enough that I could slug the cut-out figure of myself, straight in my “gotcha” face. Because, damn it, I was well and fully caught.
Now I had to improve my batting average by an impossible .100—because everyone from my agent, my boss, and my fans were expecting me to do it. God, I hated publicity.
Chapter Four
Gia
Why were grumpy men so attractive? It made no sense to me, and yet every scowl from Connor made me smile inside. I worked hard not to let the laughter show on my face, but really, he kept trying to intimidate me. And that wasn’t going to happen. He made me smile. And he made me ache. Because as much as the man drove me crazy, he also had me hot and bothered.
Sadly, we were considered coworkers, and office hanky-panky was frowned on. Except for that one spectacular New Year’s Eve kiss before I was officially employed, we were off-limits to each other. Which, naturally, made my perverse nature want to tease him even more. It was way more fun to harass a coworker when I knew nothing could come of my elaborate fantasies about the man. And if I got to ogle his very sweet ass while I did it, well that just made it more fun.
Which meant I had a whole lot of fun that afternoon watching him at batting practice. I’d already talked to the coaches, telling them what was going on. Unfortunately, the journalist I’d lined up, just in case, had had a family emergency, which left me scrambling to find a substitution. Connor wasn’t going to like my solution to the problem, but it was the only option available on such short notice. I was going to write the articles myself.
I spoke with the batting coach who outlined the specifics of what he and Connor were working on. Uber-planner Conner had already created a very detailed strategy. That would allow the articles to practically write themselves. We could do a weekly feature on what he was practicing, followed by how it paid off during the games. All that was left was to get pictures of the hottest grumpy man I knew. I was going to enjoy this…
So there I was in the bleachers. I’d stripped off my jacket because it was so hot, which left me in a linen dress and sandals as I climbed or leaned or crawled to get the right shot. I’d pulled my hair into a ponytail, but it was still hot, sweaty work while Connor kept shooting me dagger-like glares.
Clearly, he hated what I was doing. I knew that as a catcher, he had to be aware of everything that was going on in the field during a game. But I wasn’t on the field. Still, he kept scowling my way, and I kept grinning in return.
Finally, I figured I had enough pictures. Hell, I had ten times the photos I needed. It was time to go back into my office and get back to my real work.
Only I didn’t. I decided to watch the rest of batting practice, treating myself to the sight of Connor squatting down in batting position, his tush tight and his shoulders broad. I watched the flex of his bulging biceps, the taut line of his back, andwham,all that explosive power as he slammed the ball to the outfield.
Consistent raw power—pure male in my thoughts. Every time he crouched in preparation, I imagined him doing that naked. I thought of his muscular behind as he gripped not the bat, but my legs. Of the way he’d pull my thighs open as he readied himself to rock my world.
I watched the coil of his swing. Sometimes, he twirled the bat in his hands, the thick end making sweet circles in the air. I imagined him doing that on my nipples or deep inside me. Then there was this tension that thickened the air. It was the wait, wait, wait for the pitch. I wasn’t at an angle to see his face, but I knew what he looked like. I knew the furrow of his brow, the intense focus of his eyes, and most especially, the clench of his jaw.
He was intent, his whole body tight with preparation. And every single damn time he paused like that, my toes curled hard against my sandals and my teeth pulled at my lower lip.
But not yet. Not until…
Crack!
His swing was so fast, I could never fully catch it—that perfect moment when every part of him uncoiled with a snap. It sent a very physical pop through my body. My thighs would pulse. My breath caught every single time. And I found myself rubbing my chest with my forearms. No one was looking at me, right? No one else could see how hot Connor made me, just from hitting a ball.
And then there was the follow-through. The release of power as the bat swung around. I barely ever noticed where the ball went. I was more interested in him as he twisted. It was always on the follow-through that the magic happened. He’d shift on his feet, the bat would swing wide and loose, and his eyes would find me.
Piercing gray eyes.
I couldn’t tell if he was looking at my face, my breasts, or my throbbing clit, not that that was exposed to view. But every time his swing ended, his gaze landed on me. Sure, it was just his normal follow-through, but that’s where I was sitting, and that’s where he looked.
Except every time his gaze landed on me, I felt like he was stroking me from top to bottom, inside and out. I felt him from the swell of my breasts to the clench of my sex. It was insanely wonderful, and I couldn’t force myself to leave. Not while I was close to climaxing, just from watching him. Because this was fantasy at its most potent, and I would not deny myself this pleasure.
