Bases Loaded (Mustangs Baseball) (12 page)

“Are you saying
all I want is a trophy to occupy a seat behind the dugout so the commentators
will have a reason to mention my name?”

She nodded. “Yes.
That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“That’s absurd,
and how shallow would it make me if it were true?”

“I’ve been around
professional baseball all my life.” She waved off his objection. “Players’
wives are gorgeous.”

“There you go,
selling yourself short again. I’d love to see you sitting in my seats, and even
if you weren’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, which you are, it wouldn’t
matter one bit. As long as I think you’re beautiful, what does it matter what
anyone else thinks?”

“Tell that to your
publicist.”

“I don’t give a
good goddamned what my publicist thinks. If I did, I would have married one of
the matchstick models she’s paired me with for the last few years.” He let out
an exasperated sigh and sat on the end of the bed. “I want you, and only you. I
don’t want to share you with anyone, least of all my perverted friends.”

“You think
I’m
perverted because I want to run the bases?”

“No, I don’t.
Maybe perverted isn’t the right word for the guys in the club. I didn’t think
of myself that way when I participated, so it isn’t fair to label them that
way. Look, Clare…I think you have the wrong idea about the guys…or what motivates
them. Men…well, it doesn’t take much to excite us.”

She tapped her
foot. “Oh?”

“Would you quit
that?”

“Quit what?”

“Jumping to
conclusions. I’m not talking about my reaction to you, that’s different. I’m
talking about men in general and the guys in the club in particular. You’re
under the impression only a beautiful woman will excite these guys to the point
of running the bases, but let me tell you, most of them have never seen an
unattractive woman in their lives. Pick any woman off the street, big, little,
round or flat as a board, have her strip naked in front of them, and they’d be
off and running—so to speak. So even if you ran the bases, you wouldn’t
necessarily be getting the…what was it, again?”

“Validation,” she
repeated.

“The validation
you’re looking for.”

“So, let me
see…You admit, since you’re a member of the club, you’ll fuck any woman who
sheds her clothes for you. I took off my clothes, therefore, I might conclude
you couldn’t help yourself. You fucked me.
Nice.”

“Damn it. You’re
doing it again, putting words in my mouth. I did not say that.”

“What part did I
get wrong?”

He scrubbed a hand
across his face. “If I remember correctly, and believe me, I’ll never forget
that day in your office, you had your clothes on. Mostly.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Let’s get back to
the subject. You want an invite to Bases Loaded, and I’m not going to give you
one. Subject closed. Now, can we get back to enjoying our weekend?”

“No. Not until you
agree to think about the invitation. I mean, really think about it. I understand
where you’re coming from on this, but you have to see my side of it, too. I
need to do this. I need to prove something to myself. I’m not saying it will
change the way I feel about my body, but it will put me on equal footing with
the kind of women I wish I could be. And, if I earn the charm, you could get
out of the club. It’s a win for both of us.”

He shook his head.
“Leave me out of this. I can remain on the membership roster until I quit
playing ball. There aren’t any participation requirements. This is about you.
You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met, bar none. You’re talking about
outward beauty, Clare.” He held up a hand to stay her protest. “I’ve already
told you how beautiful I think you are, so let’s talk about inner beauty. You have
all those women beat in that category. You’ll never be on equal footing with
them. They’ll always be beneath you. I don’t know why you can’t see it. ”

Chapter
Thirteen

Fish. Fucking
fish.

Tony was so angry,
every time he closed his eyes he saw fishing lures with tiny gold charms
hanging from them. What was supposed to have been a weekend-long private orgy
turned into a fucking fishing trip, and he had the slimy carcasses to prove it.
He lifted the borrowed cooler into the trunk of the limo waiting for them at
the airport.

“Do you like
fish?” he asked the driver.

“Sure.”

“I’ll give you a
hundred bucks to take that—” He pointed to the cooler. “—off my hands.” He
pulled out his wallet, selected a bill, and pressed it into the driver’s hand.

“What about the
cooler?”

“Keep it.” He’d
spring for a new one. If he never smelled another fish, it would be too soon.

After their spat
on the first morning aboard the yacht, Clare hadn’t spoken a word to him or let
him touch her. Purely out of spite, he’d asked the cabin steward if there was
any fishing equipment, and once it was located, set to fishing as if he loved
the sport. Clare spent the day sunbathing nearby, all that exposed skin driving
him slowly insane.

He slid into the
backseat. The love of his life was scrunched in the opposite corner, as far
from him as possible, literally and figuratively, and he had no idea how to
reach her.

“Clare.”

She gazed out the
side window. Any one of those damned fish in the cooler would have been more
welcoming. Tony settled on his side of the seat and mirrored her posture.
Somehow, in the two days they’d been gone, the Dallas landscape had grown as
bleak as the prospects of a veteran Minor League player, and suited his mood to
a T. As the miles ticked by, he thought about his predicament. He was in love
with the most impossible woman in the world, and she wasn’t speaking to him.

It didn’t matter
what she thought running the bases would do for her, and no matter how many
nights he lay awake imagining her naked in the arms of three men, he would not
give in. To either fantasy.

His involvement in
the club had been non-existent for months now, and he wanted to keep it that
way. In a few years, most of the active members would have moved on and the new
ones wouldn’t ever know about his membership. It wasn’t like they called roll.

Besides, he only
had a few good seasons left in him anyway, and his membership would terminate
naturally when he retired from baseball. He didn’t need Clare to get him out of
a commitment he never should have made in the first place.

“This is
ridiculous. How long are you going to keep up the silent treatment?” he asked.

“How long is it
going to take for you to give me what I want?”

“I’m not going to
change my mind.”

“Then we have
nothing to talk about.”

That’s what you
think, babe.

* * *

Clare slumped into
her desk chair. She hadn’t heard from Antonio in five days, not since the limo
dropped her at her apartment following their weekend trip to Galveston. After
the way he’d reacted to the two blowjobs she’d given him, she’d thought for
sure he would change his mind and invite her to run the bases. But no.

She closed her
eyes and let the memory take form. She licked her lips, remembering his unique
taste, the feel of his cock in her mouth. It hadn’t taken long to figure out
where and how to stroke with her tongue to make his thighs tremble. Oh, what
fun that had been!

He might be big,
strong, tough Tony Ramirez on the field, but she’d reduced him to a helpless,
quivering weakling with her mouth. She could still hear the strangled moans
coming from his throat when he came. Her fingers curled, remembering how
impossibly hard he’d became just before the internal spasms began.

Her sense of power
had grown with each hot spurt of semen down her throat. Antonio was a strong
man, but when she took his cock in her mouth, she dominated him. He might have
thought he was in control, but she knew better. He had been completely at her
mercy, and he had loved every minute of it. She was sure of it. So why was he
being so stubborn about the invitation?

Because you’re
not pretty enough.

Because you’re
ordinary. There’s not a glamorous bone in your body.

Five days. If she
needed proof she wasn’t the kind of woman a man like Antonio wanted long-term,
she had it. He’d protested her analysis of the situation, but the silence of
her telephone proved her theory. She’d given herself to him for a weekend,
well, half a weekend, and he was through with her. The next time she saw him he
would be with another model or actress, she was sure of it.

Athletes were
predictable, and Antonio fit the mold perfectly. They’d take good sex anywhere
they could get it, as long as it was behind closed doors. But in public, they
kept up appearances. It didn’t matter how skilled she was, he couldn’t ask his
friends to fuck an ugly duckling even if it would get him out of the club he
claimed to despise.

She sighed and
reached for the next test in the never-ending pile yet to be graded. Antonio
Ramirez could go to hell.

The phone rang an
hour later, startling her.

“Cripes.” She
tossed her pen down, glared at the streak of red across the paper she’d been
grading, and reached for the handset. “Clare Kincaid.”

“I hope I’m not
disturbing you.”

She eyed the stack
of yet ungraded tests. She’d made a serious dent in it. “Not at all, Uncle
Doyle. I needed a break.” She rubbed her eyes. “What’s up?”

“Cathy has the
flu.”

“Oh no!” If Doyle
was her favorite uncle, his wife, Cathy, was her favorite aunt. “What can I do
to help? Do you need me to stay with her? Or I could make some chicken soup.”

“No, but thanks.
I’ve got that covered. But I need a date for the Press Association dinner
tomorrow night. Cathy can’t go, and I don’t want to go alone. Those things are
boring enough without having a pretty woman beside me.”

She smiled at the
compliment. “Pouring it on a little thick, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” he
protested. “Say you’ll go. Please. Maybe you could develop a headache right
after dessert, and I’d be obliged to take you home.”

Clare propped her
elbows on the desk, held the receiver to her ear with one hand, and pinched the
bridge of her nose with the other. The annual P.A. dinner. It didn’t get more
stuffed shirt than that.

“I haven’t got a
thing to wear, Uncle Doyle.”

“Buy something.
Hell, go to one of those spa places tomorrow and have the works. On me. Stop by
the house and pick up my credit card this evening. It’s the least I can do for
the favor you’d be doing me.”

She fingered the
ungraded tests. She had at least another hour of grading. Not exactly the most
exciting way to spend a Friday night.

“Come on, Clare,”
he pleaded. “You work too hard. Enjoy life a little. Come get my credit card,
pamper yourself then I’ll take you out for a free meal and free booze.”

She laughed. “You
forgot the free boring conversation, and free boring speeches.”

“Did I mention
free booze?”

She smiled at his
playful tone. “You did.” Her shoulders drooped. “Okay. I’ll go, but I wouldn’t
do this for anyone but you.”

“Thank you!” His
relief came through the phone line loud and clear. “I’m serious about the
headache thing. Say the word, and we’re out of there.”

She could feel one
coming on already. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

When she stopped
by to pick up the credit card, Doyle answered the door. He handed over the
plastic. “That’s Cathy’s. She said no one would question you if her name was on
it, but they might if mine was. Oh, and one second.” He reached for something
on the hall table. “Cathy said to give you this.”

She took the
business card he held out. “She has appointments tomorrow for her hair and
nails. She said you might as well use them since you’re going in her place.
They’re expecting you, and it’s all paid for.”

Clare turned the
card over and read the appointment times listed. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me.
You’re doing me a big favor. I’d rather dig holes in solid rock with my
fingernails than go to this thing, but it’s part of the job. Having a pretty
woman with me makes it somewhat bearable.”

She fished her
wallet out of her purse, stowed the two cards, and tucked her wallet back in
place. “You can cut out the flattery. I already said I would go with you.”

“It’s not flattery
if it’s true,” he said. “Now scoot. The mall is still open. Go see how much you
can charge on that card before they close.”

She turned and
headed to her car. “Be careful what you ask for,” she said over her shoulder.

The dress she
picked out would have made her credit card weep, but Cathy’s didn’t even
whimper when the clerk rang up the sale. She hadn’t intended to purchase
anything so expensive, but when the salesperson asked about the occasion, she
insisted Clare would be out of place with anything less than a formal gown.

After a day of
pampering on Saturday, Clare stepped into the gown and eyed the finished
product. The midnight blue dress hugged her curves, and the tiny crystals
scattered across it winked liked stars. With the crystal-studded headband, the
faux diamond bracelet at her wrist, and the flecks of glitter in her nail
polish, she sparkled from head to toe. On the advice of the makeup artist at
the salon, she added a swipe of red to her lips. There. She’d never looked
better. Too bad it would be wasted on a date with her uncle.

* * *

Tony fidgeted in
his seat. Beside him, the woman his publicist had fixed him up with this time
looked more like a mannequin than a human being. Jeff Holder’s twin brother,
Jason, was receiving an award tonight, but Jeff and Megan’s baby had come down
with a fever. Jason had called, asking if he could fill in at the last minute
to round out their table. Tony had argued against it, but Jason reminded him
how important it was to make nice with the local press, and he’d caved. A call
to his publicist, who was ecstatic about the invitation, and here he sat next
to a plastic person and wished to hell the evening was over instead of just beginning.

It wouldn’t be so
bad if Clare had been beside him. He could endure just about anything as long
as he had her to talk to. He still hadn’t figured out a way to smooth things
over with her, or he would have nixed this arranged date and called her—not
that she would have answered his call.

Fucking caller
I.D.

Who ever thought
that was a good idea?

Well, it was what
it was. The booze was free, and he’d already had his photo taken several
times—something that would make his publicist swoon and maybe entice her to
pursue a few more endorsement contracts on his behalf.

Ignoring his date,
Tony turned to the man who had invited him and lifted his champagne glass. “To
the man of the hour.”

Jason raised his
glass in acknowledgement. “Thanks, but I owe you one. These dinners can make
you wish you were never born.”

Tony sipped from
his champagne flute and returned it to the table. He nodded at the two empty
seats across the round banquet table. “Who are the lucky no-shows?”

“Not lucky and not
no-shows.” Jason pointed toward the door. “Doyle and his date are here. His
wife has the flu. I almost envy Cathy.”

Tony’s gaze swept
in the direction of Jason’s pointing finger. A couple stood framed in the
entryway, scanning the room. His body snapped to attention. Blood rushed to his
groin, leaving him lightheaded and unable to breathe.

Clare.

Having spotted
their assigned table, the couple wove through the ballroom, stopping to speak
to acquaintances. Clare remained by Doyle’s side, smiling, shaking hands. Her
mouth moved.

Christ
almighty!
He couldn’t tell what she said, but his dick remembered those
lips and strained for an intimate meeting.

She’d done
something with her hair, tried to tame it, but a few tendrils had escaped the
up-do to frame her face like silk ribbons and tease the tops of her shoulders.
She’d wrapped her body in the night sky, complete with stars that winked on and
off when she moved. The dress left her arms and shoulders bare, long expanses
of sun-kissed ivory begged for a man to taste them. His mouth watered, ready to
oblige.

Doyle lingered,
and Clare moved on. A woman at a nearby table waved to her. She stopped, and
the bright smile she’d worn since her arrival dimmed to cool-white.

Tony tensed. The
woman looked pleasant enough, but he could tell by her body language it was all
she could do to maintain her polite façade. Doyle rejoined her, placed his hand
on her elbow. She said something then allowed Doyle to usher her to her seat.

What the hell just
happened? Every protective cell in his body screamed for him to find out who
the witch was who’d taken the joy out of her evening and make sure she never
spewed her poison in Clare’s direction again.

He stood as the
couple approached.

“Doyle,” he said.
His gaze shifted to the woman beside him. “Miss Kincaid.”

The older man
pulled out her chair before taking the seat beside her.

“Tony,” he said.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“Or I wouldn’t
have brought Clare,” was unspoken. Tony chose to ignore it as he had the
manager’s warning the night he met her.

“Jeff and Megan
had a change of plans,” Jason explained. “I conned Tony before he had a chance
to check it out. I knew no one else on the team would agree to fill in.”
Everyone laughed, with the exception of the woman he loved.

Head bent, she
unfolded her napkin and draped it over her lap. The smile that had lit her face
when she’d first arrived was nowhere in sight now. Tony wanted to kick
something or someone.