A kiss that never came. "I want my baseball, Jacy," he breathed against her mouth. "The game ball of the World Series."
She scrunched her nose. "What makes you think I have it?"
He leaned back slightly. Looked her in the eye. "I know you do. Replay on the television monitor caught you taunting me, then scrambling for my slam."
"A lot of people scrambled."
"You're scrappy, babe. You'd have pulled hair and bitten ankles for that ball."
She rubbed her lower back. "I was kidney punched. And"—she held up her hand, her knuckles bruised—"a three-hundred-pound man stomped on my hand."
"Poor baby." He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed it all better. "How did you like my prediction? My point to left field?" he asked.
"You bragged your balls off."
"It's not bragging if you deliver." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I hit the home run for you."
"You hit it at me."
"Couldn't miss you in the crowd, Pink."
She hooked her arms about his neck. "You'll get your ball."
"When?" he wanted to know.
"When I'm ready to give it back." She stroked his dark hair, which was in need of a haircut. Then the stubbled jaw in need of a shave. "Can we forget the baseball and concentrate on me?"
His gaze narrowed. "Are you seeing anyone?"
Jacy knew he wouldn't touch her if she was involved with another man. "I'm still reeling from Mel Colburn," she white lied. "I haven't dated since your last lecture on my poor taste in men."
A crooked smile cut a dimple in his cheek. "Horny, babe?"
"I have ten minutes to be a woman before I turn back into the owner of a coffee shop."
Risk made her feel every inch a woman. Sliding his hands inside her equestrian jacket, he skimmed her belly, her sides, locking his fingers at her spine. Man against woman, the delicious cut of his muscles, along with the thick ridge of his sex, left her wet. And wanting him madly.
Judging from the size of his erection, the most valuable player of the World Series wanted her as badly as any home run.
Rising on tiptoe, she kissed him with the hunger of having missed his big, bad body. He responded, mating with her mouth with the force of ravishment. His lips were warm. His tongue hot. His French kisses deep and devouring.
His hands rose, worked the equestrian jacket off her shoulders. He pushed up her tube top. The soft, creamy swells of her breasts spilled onto his palms. Her nipples rose as red and puckered as raspberries. Kneading and squeezing, he drew a low moan from her.
Jacy touched him in turn, her fingers working their own erotic magic. Shoving up his gray knit shirt, she traced his pecs and abs, scraped her nails down his sides. Then went for his button fly.
While she worked the buttons, he loosened the drawstring on her slacks. He shoved the coral cotton over her hips and down her thighs with the force of his need. Her red v-string followed. A single touch of his finger, and she was slick for him.
Having unbuttoned his jeans, Jacy tugged both denim and navy briefs low enough to free his sex. His arousal was hard and huge like his body. Jutting and oh-so glad to see her.
His sex twitched when she skimmed a fingernail down his happy trail, the line between his navel and the base of his shaft. In bold black across his groin ran his Bad to the Bone tattoo.
Jacy traced the tattoo, remembering his recent photo shoot with Playgirl. "Did you flash Bone during your layout?"
"Unzipped for the tattoo, but nothing lower."
"Female fans will be disappointed."
"There were ten 'Men of the Outfield' photographed." He flicked his tongue against her lips. "Nine dropped their drawers."
Jacy was relieved he'd unzipped, yet kept his pants on. A part of her wanted to keep his package private. The tattoo was a turn-on. A totally naked Risk would cause a nationwide riot. He was that impressive. Jacy didn't want to share him.
She sighed when he slid his tongue into her mouth, then slowly pulled it out. "There's a condom in my wallet."
The man had impressive muscles in his butt, Jacy thought admiringly as she felt around in his back pocket until her fingers touched leather. Removing the condom, she tore it open and sheathed him quickly. "Ribbed?" She stroked him.
"High sensation, babe." Splaying his hands beneath her bare bottom, he grunted when he lifted her. "One too many sugar cookies?"
She squeezed his hips with her thighs. "It's the combat boots."
"Real feminine, Jacy."
"I felt kick-ass today."
He probed her with his erection, and she parted for him. He penetrated her with a push of his groin and a growl low in his throat.
The shelves of the cooler pressed against her spine. A container of strawberries tipped, as Risk Kincaid rocked forward, ground deep inside her. Their kisses were as wild as their pounding hearts and pumping hips.
She came with six strokes of his sex.
He climaxed seconds thereafter.
"Hot and fast and feeling eighteen." His words stroked a chord deep within Jacy.
They had first made love at eighteen. A memory that had grown up with them, as she'd become a woman and he'd become a man.
A sexually competent man who always satisfied.
She kissed his neck, his shoulder, and left nipple before sliding off his body. She then tugged down the tube top that was wrapped around her neck. She panted. "The elastic nearly choked me."
Risk gave her breast a final squeeze. "Here I thought I left you breathless."
Clothed or naked, the man stole the breath from her lungs. He always had, always would. He was the only constant in her life. After drawing up her slacks, she straightened her equestrian jacket and fluffed out her hair. "I need to get back to work before I'm missed."
Risk buttoned his fly. "I'm still short one caramel roll."
"Would you settle for an oat bran muffin?"
He made a face. "When I'm sixty."
"How about a blueberry scone?"
"Too English." He brushed a parting kiss over her lips as she eased around him. "I'll live with black coffee and a little of your sugar."
She pulled the deadbolt, then pushed the cooler door open. "Grab a screwdriver from the counter drawer when you return to the coffee shop."