“What brought you to Richmond?” He’d drawn a line between them, and she was trespassing in his town.
She had the perfect excuse. “Addie’s birthday. My grandmother turns eighty next weekend. Eve and I are throwing her a party.”
“After the party?”
“Desert hiking across the Sahara.”
“Pack sunscreen.”
She’d be less exposed then than she was now. “Any chance I could borrow a pair of your sweats?” she asked. “I hadn’t planned to get caught, nor to face you. I was going to wear the costume home, not strip down to my underwear in the mascot lounge.”
Brek Stryker ran one hand down his face. He and Taylor stood in an uncomfortable and compromising position. Even though the door was locked, the trainers and maintenance men had keys. Someone could walk in at any time. He was an engaged man. Being caught nearly naked with a previous fiancée would trigger gossip he didn’t need. He wanted Taylor gone.
He took in her tousled blond bangs, sea green eyes, and kissable lips. Years ago, he’d never missed an opportunity to make love to her mouth.
He wondered if she still tasted like the cherry jelly beans she’d always carried in her pocket.
Shaking off the thought, he said, “I’ll see what I have in my locker.”
Tension hummed through his body and echoed in his ears as he left the lounge. His muscles remained so tight, he felt like the Tin Man.
He found the locker room empty, his teammates long gone. He had fifty minutes to cut Taylor from his life and connect with his fiancée.
Hilary Louise had been on his mind when Psycho snapped his towel and nodded toward Rally. She was a soft-spoken woman, sweet and unassuming, and always available when he called.
Employed by her uncle, Hilary dealt in stocks and bonds and investment portfolios. Outside of work, she gardened and dabbled in pastels. She’d never once proved a distraction to him.
That he valued most. She made no demands on his life. Hilary didn’t follow baseball, yet she understood his need to succeed. This was the year he could surpass several major-league records held by his father, Derek, who’d once pitched professionally for the Ottawa Raptors.
Sportscasters were eating up the father-son statistics. With each start, they pulled out the record book, ready to write his name one line above his old man’s.
Stryke needed every ounce of concentration.
It was time to best his father. And Derek would be cheering him on loudest of anyone in the stands.
Facing Taylor had resurrected old times and bad memories. His first glimpse of her had hit so fast, he hadn’t had time to brace himself. She’d gutted him once again.
He hated the fact that her thrill seeking affected him so strongly. He’d be counting down the days to her North African departure. Lifting a white T-shirt and pair of gray sweatpants from his locker, he returned to the mascot lounge. He tossed her his clothes.
“Shower and dress,” he said flatly.
“And you’ll show me the door?”
He nodded. “I’ll be in the locker room when you’ve finished.”
“Maybe then we can talk.”
Talk? No way in hell. “I’ve nothing to say to you, Taylor.”
“I owe you an explanation.”
“You’re three years too late.”
She looked as if she were about to argue the point, but instead remained silent—for which he was grateful. There wasn’t a reason she could give that would set things right between them. Not after all this time.
His life with her was over.
From the corner of his eye, he watched her walk to the mascot shower. Her banged-up body surprised him. He’d caught the bruises and ACE bandage on her knee. He’d tamped down his concern. She could take care of herself.
Taylor shut the door, and his breath rushed out. It took little imagination on his part to visualize her movements. He’d watched her undress countless times when they’d lived together. At that very moment, she’d be unfastening her bra. She had a slow, sexy way of slipping the straps off her shoulders that allowed her breasts to fall freely from the cups. She’d raise her arms over her head and stretch out her spine until it cracked, then draw down her boy shorts.
In the stillness, he was certain he’d heard her panties drop.
He felt his dick harden in memory of her sleek and sinewy body. Taylor Hannah was as kick-ass as she was feminine. She’d always embraced shower sex with eucalyptus gel, steam, and pink-skinned slickness. She’d remained hot even after the water ran cold.
His curse colored the air. Disgusted with himself, Stryke left her to the warm spray and walked stiff-legged to his locker. He needed time and whatever distance he could manufacture between them to clear his head.
Time was not on his side. Taylor came to him quickly. She scuffed across the locker room in the mascot’s too-large sneakers, her body lost in his clothes. His XXL T-shirt hung to her knees. She’d cuffed his sweatpants three times over her calves.
As if time had stood still and she belonged in his life, she dropped down on the bench and watched him dress.
Ignoring his glare, she focused on his groin. “I always loved your tat.”
His tattoo from his rookie year, small, yet representative of his pitching career. Taylor had modeled for the drawing. Beneath a miniskirt, a pair of shapely legs spread over home plate, a baseball thrown and centered between her thighs. Strike Zone was scripted between her red stilettos.
His tattoo had lasted longer than their relationship.
He nodded toward the double doors. “Feel free to leave.” She’d left him once; she could do so again. He didn’t need an audience while he dressed.
“Yeah . . . I could.” But she didn’t move.
He tugged on a pair of black cargo pants, then reached for a cream-colored polo. Then he slipped on leather loafers, without socks.
Still, she sat, her gaze on him. He noticed the wariness in her eyes and the weariness etched on her features. She suddenly looked tired.
He’d never seen her less than supercharged.
“Point me to a phone and I’ll call another cab,” she finally requested. “My ride’s long gone. I’ll need a loan to get me home.” She patted her thighs. “I didn’t bring a purse to the park. I’ll pay you back when I return your T-shirt and sweats.”
“Keep the clothes.” Their reunion was over. “There’s no need to repay me. I’d prefer our paths didn’t cross a second time.”