Two weeks of road trips sent the team to San Diego, then on to Montreal. Returning home, the Rogues faced the Mets.
A passing look at the crowd as Stryke took the mound revealed the blonde and her friends once again seated behind the dugout. They were a row of stunning women, their interest held as much by the players themselves as by the sport. Several wore jerseys in support of their favorite Rogue.
The blonde had on another of her slogan T-shirts. He squinted to read the message: Baseball Is All Wrong. A Man with Four Balls Cannot Walk.
He smiled.
And she smiled back.
At the end of the game, he once again sent the batboy to find the blonde and give her his cell phone number.
Six days passed, and she didn’t call. Neither did she show up at the park for three weeks. When she did, she was alone.
She sat higher in the stands. Yet she stood out in a red T-shirt, her light blond hair pulled into a ponytail beneath a Rogues baseball cap.
The Rogues lost to the Red Sox, four to five.
Stryke had pitched. And he felt like shit. He needed to be alone.
Avoiding the autograph hounds, he’d taken a side exit and crossed the players’ parking lot to his McLaren. The silver Mercedes sports car would make for a fast escape.
His footsteps had slowed when he’d caught the blonde standing in the evening shadows. He’d thought her hot from a distance. Up close, she zapped him like a stun gun.
She was gorgeous.
When she was seated high in the stands, he’d been unable to read the inscription on her latest T-shirt. Closing in on her, he’d been able to make it out: You’re the Baseball Player My Mother Warned Me About. Baseball Player My Mother Warned Me
“I’m not all bad,” he’d told her.
“I’m not all good,” she’d returned.
He’d liked her on the spot.
“Brek Stryker,” he’d introduced himself.
“Taylor,” she’d replied.
“No last name?”
“Not until I know you better.”
He’d jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, cocking his head. “Why tonight?”
“The Rogues lost to the Red Sox.”
“You’re here to cheer me up?”
“You could say that.”
Her cheering came in the form of dinner at a mom-and-pop diner that served homemade meat loaf and chicken casserole. Sensuality shimmered off her tight little body, hitting him with an eroticism that made his dick twitch.
He’d been hard from his second bite of meat loaf. He was so stiff by the time he’d finished a thick slice of apple pie à la mode and two cups of coffee, he’d sworn he couldn’t slide from the booth—the pain was that great.
The night had been one to remember. It brought a vibrant, free-spirited woman into his life. A woman who’d proved a handful, with her spur-of-the-moment decisions and love of adventure.
It had taken two weeks for her to give him her last name—a name he’d recognized. He’d met her parents through sports clubs and athletic affiliations. Liv and Stephan Hannah were adrenaline junkies. Thrill seeking was their ultimate passion.
Taylor followed in their footsteps.
She skydived, snowboarded, and raced the rugged terrain of the Baja 1000. She ran full throttle, requiring little sleep.
She excited him, both in and out of bed.
After just one day apart, they would come together, wild and hungry and orgasmically explosive. Her flexibility amazed him. He found her scars sexy.
Her independence scared the hell out of him.
Taylor liked living on her own. Adjusting to being a couple had been difficult for her. The closer they’d grown, the deeper was his concern for her welfare. His protectiveness had provoked long arguments and the occasional full-blown fight.
Her parents’ untimely deaths had grounded her for all of a month. She’d walked around like a zombie, yet refused to lean on him.
He’d never seen her cry. She’d never released the sadness that claimed her heart. In the end, she’d taken over the family business, guiding thrill seekers to the most dangerous and remotest places on the planet.
Stryke had held his breath from the second she boarded a plane until she returned. She was often gone for weeks at a time. He’d hoped asking her to marry him would keep her in Richmond.
It had not. She’d planned their wedding between white-water rafting with crocodiles on the Zambezi River and cliff diving in Acapulco. He’d known there was a risk she might be a runaway bride. He hadn’t, however, believed she’d choose paragliding in New South Wales over attending their wedding.
He’d never fully shaken his anger and hurt.
Now, years later, as he sat slouched in the car seat, Stryke hated the fact that Taylor’s memory could still invade his mind.
She’d never looked back.
He’d never wanted to move forward without her.
Until Hilary Talbott. Hilary would never pack an athletic bag in the dark of night and be gone by first light. Nor would she run with the bulls at Pamplona or challenge African game.
Hilary was safe and sane, and would make a good mother.
Stryke wanted a family. And peace in his life.
While Taylor played in his mind, she’d never again have his heart. He wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t allow it.
Starting his SUV, he pulled into the steady stream of late-evening traffic. He could live without the turkey sandwich. Just as he could live without Taylor Hannah.
He left her memory at the curb.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Memories, huh?” Eve Hannah stared down Sloan McCaffrey with a practiced eye. “Are you looking for a week’s worth of thrills or merely a few days to hit on my sister?”
The eight p.m. closing time had already come and gone when the prospective client had walked through the door, looking for Taylor. He’d introduced himself, then appeared put out to learn Taylor wasn’t available. Despite his disappointment, he’d gone ahead and engaged Eve in a long and in-depth discussion of extreme sports.
It was now eight thirty. McCaffrey was slow to leave. “Well?” she pressed.
“I want both thrills and Taylor.” The man with the shaggy black hair, cut features, and dimple in his chin grinned. An aura of tangible sin surrounded him; the crackle in the air was bold and electric and raised the hair on Eve’s arms. “I want an adventure that will make me look good in Taylor’s eyes.”
Another male infatuated with her sister. Eve refrained from rolling her eyes. Taylor had been and always would be in love with Brek Stryker. She’d made a major mistake in leaving him at the altar. A mistake she’d lived to regret.