All eyes came to rest on Taylor.
The mayor and manager nodded.
The mayor and manager The brunette frowned.
Stryker’s stare went from narrowed to hungry in six seconds flat. Hungry for steak, birthday cake . . . or Taylor Hannah?
For a solid minute Taylor and Brek openly stared, their gazes locked as tightly as any two bodies during sex.
Singed by their sexual vibe, Sloan patted down his clothes, checking for fire.
What the hell? No one had told him that Stryke and Taylor knew each other. Yet it was obvious they packed a hot and heavy history.
A silence settled over the party.
The mood went from cheerful and loud to a funereal hush as gazes darted between the thrill seeker and the starting pitcher. It was obvious that everyone but Sloan knew about their past. Closemouthed Eve must have been laughing her ass off behind his back as he came on to Taylor, a woman who’d turned white as a sheet.
Gone was the daredevil with spirit and energy to burn. In her place stood a vulnerable woman barely holding her own.
Taylor’s hands visibly shook as she measured coffee from a canister into the fifty-cup urn. Grounds spilled onto the shelf behind the bar. It took her two tries to plug in the coffeemaker. She then brought out the after-dinner liqueurs, offering the guests their choice of absinthe, Kahlua or crème de cacao.
Observant to the point of annoying people by what he saw, Sloan took it all in.
Only a man could make Taylor so edgy. That man had to be Brek Stryker. There was some major drama going down.
Amid it all, Sloan’s steak called to him, thick and juicy and pink in the middle. He sliced off a big bite, chewing thoughtfully. He liked a party with a lot of action.
“Beck’s,” he requested of Taylor. When she didn’t immediately respond, he threw a cashew at her. The nut bounced off her bare shoulder and got her attention. “Beer,” he reiterated.
She poured him a Bud.
The lady was definitely distracted.
He set down his fork, reached across the bar, and laced his fingers with hers. “Want to touch my tattoo?” he teased to ease her tension.
A small smile curved her lips, and she managed to exhale. “Eve told me about your three.”
Eve. Sloan groaned.
“Behave yourself, McCaffrey. You’re her date for the party. No two-timing her.”
“She told me to flirt with you.”
“But did she mean it?”
Of course she meant it. Eve had no interest in him. None whatsoever. He looked across the tables to where she was chatting with Addie, her horseshoe partner, and five other guests. Eve had them leaning toward her as she related a story that held everyone’s interest.
Taylor caught him looking at her sister. “Go join them. I’m fine behind the bar.”
“The bar can’t protect you like I can.”
“Protect me from what?”
“Whatever or whomever broke your heart.” He glanced toward the sliding patio doors and saw Hilary Talbott leave her group and wind her way toward the bar. Brek Stryker was right behind her. “Put your game face on, Fearless,” Sloan warned. “We’re about to play hardball.”
CHAPTER SIX
Taylor’s chest squeezed so tightly she thought her heart would burst. She’d known Mayor Talbott would make an appearance at Addie’s party; she hadn’t, however, expected Brek and Hilary to show as well. Yet there Brek stood, tall and handsome, his supportive palm high on Hilary’s spine. A man protecting his woman.
Hilary . . . the woman who owned his heart. She looked stylish in her red blazer and gray skirt, complementing Brek’s more casual appearance in a white button-down and navy trousers.
Unable to escape, Taylor returned Brek’s stare. His expression was fixed, unreadable—a man who gave nothing away.
Her ears buzzed and her body hummed as Stryke and Hilary crossed to the bar, and Sloan McCaffrey closed in on her.
Sloan . . . For all his jock ego and cockiness, he was doing her an enormous favor. He was hanging out at the bar, paying her the attention of six men. The man could charm.
Had Taylor been several years younger, she might have taken Sloan for a test drive. He’d proven today that he could be her friend. But because she’d already had Brek Stryker, she wanted no other man. Stryke was her once-in-a-lifetime love. She’d never forget him, even after he’d married.
“How do you know Stryke?” Sloan lowered his voice discreetly.
“We were close once.”
“Close as in sharing a cup of coffee or doing the dirty?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m sizing up the competition,” he told her. “Are you only into starters or will you date a reliever?”
“I’d date the closer if I liked him.”
He cut into his steak and offered Taylor a bite. “Pretend the steak melts in your mouth. Moan a little.”
She ate off his fork, a friendly yet intimate gesture. However tasty the food, she couldn’t bring herself to moan.
“Want to round my horn?” Sloan used the baseball term as a sexual invite just as Hilary and Stryke reached the bar.
Taylor barely managed to swallow.
“McCaffrey,” Stryke acknowledged before he looked at Taylor, a flatness in both his tone and expression.
Hilary, on the other hand, studied Taylor with shy interest. “I’m Hilary Talbott.” The soft-spoken brunette introduced herself with the polite formality of a politician’s daughter. She looked from Sloan to Taylor. “I believe you know my fiancé, Brek.”
Taylor had once known him inside out and buck naked—a man of strength and pride, who was engagingly open to love.
That man was long gone. His cool detachment told her she was a dead memory.
“I’m Taylor Hannah, Addie’s granddaughter.” She fought to keep her voice steady, did her best to be cordial.
“Sloan McCaffrey, party crasher,” Sloan introduced himself.
Hilary recognized him. “You climb onto that little hill and throw pitches after Brek.” It was obvious she didn’t know a lot about baseball.
“I’m the reliever,” Sloan explained. “I take over where Brek leaves off.” Both on and off the field.
The words unsaid were heard the loudest—a most daring comment on Sloan’s part. Taylor noticed the hard set of Brek’s jaw. Only Hilary looked blank and out of the loop.