One
Who'd been sleeping in Kason Rhodes's bed?
The left fielder for the Richmond Rogues had returned from six weeks of spring training in Florida to find someone had moved into his mobile home.
That person was presently in his shower. The bathroom door stood cracked open and steam curled into the hallway. The peach-scented shower gel suggested the intruder was female.
Kason took a moment and looked around his bedroom. Unmade bed, tossed brown comforter, rumpled beige cotton sheets, the imprint of her head on his pillow.
Lady was an uninvited sleepover.
A vintage Guns N' Roses T-shirt, a pair of stonewashed jeans, a pale blue bra, and panties lay across the foot of his bed. Black Converses were on the floor.
Kason's jaw locked. Damn, he hated intruders. He valued his privacy. No one came onto his land without his permission. He had No Trespassing signs posted throughout his thousand acres, yet this woman ignored his warning.
Whether con or prankster, reporter or baseball bunny, Kason wanted her gone. None of his team members knew where he lived. He used a post office box for his mail. Most people thought he lived in the woods with wolves.
He hated the fact she'd tracked him down. But he was about to send her packing.
Within seconds he heard the shower shut off and the plastic curtain being drawn back. The medicine cabinet creaked as it was opened, then closed; silence followed as she stepped into the hallway.
Wanting to see her before she saw him, Kason backed toward the corner and faded into the late-afternoon shadows. The woman wouldn't immediately spot him when she entered his bedroom.
He'd positioned his eight-month-old Doberman by the front door. Cimarron was well trained and wouldn't allow an escape.
The lady had acute senses. Wrapped in a white towel, she stopped by the dresser, cocked her head, and listened. She knew she wasn't alone. Casual yet cautious, she looked into the mirror. She spotted him in two heartbeats.
Their eyes locked.
His narrowed, and hers went wide.
Amazingly, she didn't scream.
She turned around slowly, and in the blink of an eye, went apeshit on him. Nothing surprised or shocked Kason. He'd lived life hard. Yet unease settled bone deep when she scooped her hairbrush, bottle of perfume, can of soda, paperback novel, box of Kleenex, porn-star vibrator, and gooseneck lamp off the top of his nightstand and fired them at him. He barely had time to duck.
She had the arm of a tomboy. The items came fast and furious, forcing him back against the wall. She hit him five out of seven times. The perfume squirted on impact, and he instantly smelled fruity. The base of the lamp bruised his shoulder. The vibrator smacked his thigh and the switch turned on, and it emitted a low, slow buzz. Son of a bitch.
“You're trespassing,” she shouted at him. “Get out or I'll call the police.”
Call the cops on me? No way in hell.
“This is my trailer!” He grunted, barely managing to intercept an alarm clock aimed at his groin.
“No, it's mine,” she shot back. “I found it abandoned.”
Abandoned? The woman was crazy.
She showed no fear, only irritation, as she grabbed a tire iron off the floor. The tomboy was prepared for a burglary or home invasion. She was all threat and focus as she slapped the tool against her palm, her message clear: his head was about to roll.
Kason pushed off the wall and put on his game face. Mean and intimidating was second nature. He crossed to the bed, faced off across his mattress with the woman. He held up his hand. “Put the tire iron down before someone gets hurt. Let's talk this out.”
The hard swing of the iron was her only response. She had power. The whish blew by his ear, standing his hair on end.
She gripped the tool low. Each swing loosened the knot on her towel above her right breast. The cotton fabric shimmied down her C cups.
A fourth flick, and the towel hung on her nipples. Pink nipples, puckered and pointed right at him. Kason nearly got his brains knocked out for staring.
The woman pulled a face, then took her eyes off him for less than a second as she tugged up the towel.
The distraction was all he needed to make his move. He lunged low across the bed and tackled her. She twisted, and the tire iron went flying. A flip of her body and Kason had her pinned.
The lady was all slick skin, spread-eagled, and spitting mad. Wild brown hair and watercolor blue eyes registered as her shriek deafened his left ear. He blocked the jerk of her knee, but couldn't stop her bite to his shoulder.
He groaned, and swore she would draw blood through his gray pullover. She'd scored him with her teeth.
She was strong for a woman, yet he didn't want to hurt her. It took several attempts to secure both her hands with one of his own. Tomorrow was tattooed on her right wrist and a man's waterproof watch wrapped her left. The black leather band looked old and well worn.
She squirmed and bucked as he straddled her fully, then gnashed her teeth. Damned if she didn't prove slippery. Kason tightened his thighs against her hips, squeezed until she exhaled.
“Get off me.” She fisted her hands above her head, probably wanting to blacken his eye.
He tightened his hold. He enjoyed fiery women, but the one beneath him would as soon unman him as draw her next breath. The tomboy was aggressive.
He might have considered her cute had she stopped screwing up her face. Her cheekbones were as sharp as her chin. A tiny crescent scar curved at one corner of her mouth. Her lips were flattened against her teeth. She was all snap and snarl, and flashed a lot of bare skin.
Her towel had parted, exposing her full breasts, a gold-studded navel, and one pale hipbone. She dug in her heels and pushed up, struggling against his weight.
Kason was a big man. At six foot three, he tipped the scale at 220. He had three percent body fat, the remainder solid muscle. The lady would fight, but she'd soon tire. She wasn't going anywhere. Not until she explained her takeover of his trailer.
He leaned low, until their noses nearly touched. “Who are you?” he growled.
“I could ask the same of you.” She tried to head butt him. “Breaking and entering is a felony.”
A felony? It was his trailer.
He shifted his right leg, countered the slam of her heel to his calf. “How long have you lived here?”
Her muscles flexed, hinting at more fight to come. “Six weeks, if it's any of your business.”
It concerned him greatly. She'd settled in right around the time he'd left for spring training. “My mobile home, my business,” he told her. “You can't take over property without investigating ownership.”