CHAPTER THREE
A few days after receiving Annabelle’s assignment by default, Micki took a late Sunday morning flight to Tampa. Before leaving, she’d spent time with both of her sisters and felt better about Annie and her unborn baby’s health. She had also fit in a Saturday lunch with Lola, but the other woman had refused to discuss Yank, just as he always avoided talking about her. Micki doubted there were two more frustrating people on this earth, but there was nothing she could do to change the status quo.
Micki checked in to the hotel after dinnertime and headed for the bar where the team had decided to hang out after their late-day win. With the autism fundraiser scheduled tomorrow, an off day, the guys could afford to relax and let loose. Micki decided to join them for a quick bite to eat instead of sitting in her room alone. She had every intention of turning in early so she’d be up and functioning tomorrow morning.
Within seconds of stepping into the outdoor bar, the typical Florida humidity wafted around her and destroyed whatever soft waves she’d managed to create in her hair.
She pulled up a chair and joined a group of players sitting at a rectangular table. “Hey, guys.”
“Micki,” they all chimed in at once.
She smiled at their welcome. “At least you’re not disappointed you got me instead of Annabelle.”
“We’ll miss her,” Ricky Carter said raising his glass, tipping it her way, “but I hear you’re single.”
Micki didn’t take his cocky attitude or his interest seriously, but he earned an A for sheer arrogance alone. She pierced him with a scowl. “Doesn’t mean you’re getting any action, hotshot.”
He just smiled and took a slug of his beer.
“With Annabelle married to Vaughn, he would kick our asses if he caught us drinking and hanging out like this with his wife,” said Joe Caruso, the third baseman.
“He might kick your ass for giving his sister-in-law a hard time,” Micki replied.
“Micki, Micki, that’s what I love about you. Your sense of humor.” Roper grinned, his gaze zeroing in on her made-up face.
She had no doubt he’d also noticed she was wearing a dress, a definite change from her normal black-and-white uniform. At least he hadn’t said anything aloud. Uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, she was glad Damian wasn’t here to make her discomfort even worse.
“I live to amuse,” she said wryly. “Someone want to buy me a drink, or at least call the waitress over?”
Roper gestured for the nearest waitress.
She walked over, tray in hand. “What can I get for you?” she asked.
“An iced tea would be great, thanks.” Micki wasn’t much of a drinker. College had taught her she didn’t hold her liquor well, and the hangover the next day, even from one glass of alcohol, wasn’t worth whatever fun she might have while intoxicated.
“Lightweight,” Roper said, but she heard the joking affection in his voice.
She glanced at his highball glass with the cherry floating in it and rolled her eyes. “You’re hardly one to talk. What’s that you’re drinking, a Shirley Temple?”
He leaned back and laughed, then smoothed his neatly cut blond hair. “It’s a mai tai.”
“Anything for anyone else?” the waitress asked.
The rest of the guys called out their orders and the waitress left to fill them. A minute later, Ricky Carter excused himself and sidled up to the waitress, obviously flirting as the woman worked.
Micki ignored him and made small talk with the players who took turns coming by and getting to know the publicist for the Renegades. By the time the waitress returned with their drinks, almost all of the team was present and accounted for—except for Damian.
Her uncle had let her know about his wrist injury and extended stay on the DL, asking Micki to keep an eye on him while she was in Florida. Uncle Yank worried about Damian’s frame of mind and Micki understood. His absence told her he’d either wanted time alone or he’d found comfort elsewhere. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know with whom and she knew better than to ask and call attention to any interest she had in Damian Fuller.
Instead she focused on food. The waitress arrived a second time carrying buffalo wings and nachos with jalapeño peppers. Since Micki hadn’t eaten anything except airline food all day, she indulged immediately.
Next to the jalapeño nachos, the wings were the spiciest things she’d ever eaten and she burned her tongue badly. Her mouth was on fire and before she knew it, she’d finished her whole large iced tea in an effort to cool it off. Nothing worked and eventually her tongue grew numb.
“Hey, Roper—” As she looked around the table for her friend, who she thought was sitting next to her, the guys appeared blurry and a sudden rush of dizziness assaulted her. She blinked and put a hand on the nearest arm.
“What’s wrong?” John asked.
“Oh, you are sitting there.”
“Have been all night. What’s wrong?” he asked again, narrowing his gaze. “You don’t look so hot.”
“What a rude thing to say to the woman paid to make you look good.” Was it her imagination or was her speech slurred? She tried to move her lips, but they felt rubbery. “Actually, I’m not feeling like myself.” If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was drunk.
“I’d think not after consuming two Long Island iced teas in the span of ten minutes,” Carter said.
She shook her head. Big mistake, she realized immediately when the room began to swim. “Long Island iced teas? Impossible. I don’t drink alcohol.” To prove him wrong, she took a final sip from the second glass, but between the way she’d killed her taste buds with the hot food and the complete fuzziness wrapped around her brain, she couldn’t tell what she was drinking.
“I ordered a regular iced tea,” she insisted.
“I asked them to spice it up for you a bit. And I made sure you got another one when you finished the first, doll.” Carter wedged his lean body between her chair and Roper’s and placed an arm around her shoulder.
When Micki had begun her transformation, attracting a man like Carter had never been on her agenda. She shook him off, annoyed. “Watch what you call me or you’ll find my fist in your mouth,” she said, disliking the man even more than her initial impression had warranted.
“Anyone want to hit Lacie’s?” Joe Caruso asked.
Roper slid his chair back and rose from his seat. “Hell, yeah. I’m not gonna waste a night off.”
The rest of the guys were equally enthusiastic, ready to head off to their next stop.
“What’s Lacie’s?” Micki stood along with them and immediately grabbed the back of her chair in order to steady herself. “Whoa,” she said, laughing. Giggling, really, but she hated to admit that the alcohol had dulled her inhibitions that much.
“Easy,” Roper said.
“I got her.” Carter remained by her side, trying again to slip his arm around her waist. “I like my women feisty.”
“I’m not your woman.” She jabbed him in the side. “And I like my personal space.”
“You heard the lady. Back off,” a masculine voice said, coming to her defense.
Damian. Oh hell, Micki thought.
Carter scowled at his captain, but surprisingly he listened, keeping his mouth shut before he turned and walked away.
Micki glanced at Damian, who’d unexpectedly joined them. In faded jeans and a black silk T-shirt that clung to his gorgeous body and defined his muscles and physique, he looked sexy as hell.
On a good, sober day it would take all of Micki’s energy to hide her desire for the man. On a drunken night, she didn’t stand a chance. Better to get away fast.
She took one step and tripped, falling toward him. Roper caught her first. Embarrassed, she steadied herself, and as she did, she got her first look at the bimbo on Damian’s arm. Even in the Florida humidity, she sported silky smooth hair, perfect makeup and impossibly large boobs.
Micki tried to swallow, but thanks to the unrequested alcohol, her mouth had grown dry.
“So, where are you off to?” Damian asked.
“Lacie’s.” The word fell from Micki’s lips before she could stop it.
He let loose a loud laugh. The woman beside him stared at Micki with a pitying expression and chuckled as well. It wasn’t just a laugh at Micki’s expense, but one with a perfect lilt no man could resist.
“What’s so funny?” Micki asked, defensively.
“Someone needs to look after her,” the big-breasted woman said about Micki as if she were a child in need of a babysitter.
“Quiet,” Damian said when he took in Micki’s glassy eyes and heard her slurred speech. He would never have pegged her for a drinker, but separated from her uncle and sisters, who knew?
Still, Lacie’s? He’d bet his entire savings that Micki was clueless about their destination.
“You didn’t tell her?” he asked his teammates.
“Tell me what?”
His companion squeezed his arm. “Excuse me, sweetie, but I need the little girls’ room,” she said, obviously bored by Micki and a conversation that didn’t revolve around her.
To Damian’s relief, Carole, the legal secretary he called whenever he was in town, excused herself.
He’d seen her on and off during spring training and again over a month ago. By then his interest had already died out. She’d been distracted as well, as if she’d already mentally moved on. He hadn’t intended to call her again, but between his injury and Carter’s mouth on the flight over, Damian had needed a diversion and had picked up the phone. Now he wished he hadn’t. With Micki here, he was definitely sorry he hadn’t just joined up with the team instead.
From the moment he’d seen Micki’s reaction to Carole, the flicker of surprise followed by dismay in her expressive face, he’d felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt and self-loathing. Micki managed to work his emotions as well as his sisters did, which merely pissed him off and reminded him of all the reasons Micki wasn’t good for him when he needed to focus on his career plan.
A plan he’d been working on successfully for years. He’d party with the team tonight, and when he still showed up first for the camp stint tomorrow, he’d prove to everyone that not even an injury could get him down. End result, nobody would wonder whether age was catching up with Damian Fuller, nor would they worry too much about whether this injury would sideline him from the postseason and the playoffs. They would merely speculate on how soon he’d manage to return.
But where Micki was concerned, Damian was torn. As much as he resented Micki’s emotional pull, he also desired to let things play out between them. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. Man, he thought, if he ever let himself get tangled up with Micki Jordan, she’d tie him up in knots so tight he’d never get them undone.
For all his mixed emotions about this attraction, Damian knew he had no choice but to follow his cardinal rule: There’d be no screwing around with Micki no matter how much he desired her, and the best way to keep that vow was to distance himself.
“Lacie’s is a strip club,” he said to Micki. “And I can’t see you hanging out at a place like that.” He figured she’d blush and make a quick getaway.
Instead she stepped around Roper and faced Damian head-on, treating him to a shocking sight he hadn’t noticed before. Micki wasn’t Micki, at least not in appearance. Instead of her buttoned-up shirt and dark pants, she was dressed in a bright pink strapless sundress, exposing bronzed skin and sexy, thin tan lines that made a man want to devour her. Starting at her shoulders, he imagined licking her soft flesh, heading downward until he discovered just where those tan lines led. With a groan, Damian shifted to accommodate the growing ache in his pants.
“Are you saying I don’t belong in that club?” Indignant, Micki perched her hands on her hips, thrusting her breasts out. “That I can’t compete with the other women there? Is that what’s making you laugh at the thought of my going to a strip club?” she asked.
He blinked, sensing there was a wealth of information in that statement. Obviously, he’d touched a nerve. Knowing women as he did, he also realized anything he said now could get him into trouble.
In this case, trouble was a good thing if it kept her away from him. “Micki, I’m sure you can hold your own anywhere you go,” he said in a deliberately placating tone he often used to tick off his sisters.
“Even among naked women?” Micki blushed red, but to her credit she didn’t run away.
He figured he had the alcohol to thank for her lack of inhibition and muttered a curse. Meanwhile, his teammates looked on in amusement at their exchange.
“Hey, if you can handle yourself with these guys, you can handle yourself anywhere,” he said as if he didn’t believe his own words.
“Because I’m one of them? Good old Micki, one of the guys,” she spat, the disdain in her voice clear.
Now, where had that come from? He hardly viewed her as one of the team, but he wasn’t about to alter the impression she believed he had of her when it suited his purpose of creating distance.
“If you say so,” he muttered instead.
She nailed him with a vicious glare. “Come on, let’s get going,” she said to the rest of the men.
Damian shot Roper a warning look. Do not take her to a strip club.
Before Roper or Damian could react, the rest of the guys seemed to take her up on her suggestion and, with Micki in tow, headed toward the exit.
“Oh, hell.” He started after them, pulling Carter aside on his way.
He and the rookie had an obvious hate-thing going, but as the captain, Damian had done his best only to pick on the kid for real mistakes, and there’d been plenty.
Now Damian needed Carter’s help. As long as Carole was on his arm, Micki wouldn’t listen to a word Damian had to say. He needed to rid himself of Carole, and he had to do it fast because he didn’t trust anyone else to watch out for a drunken Micki except himself.
“How ’bout a peace gesture,” Damian offered the rookie.
Carter shrugged. “Sorry, man, but I don’t really give a crap whether or not we get along.” His cocky demeanor and smirk told Damian he meant what he said.
Okay, so he wasn’t going to do this the easy way. “Well, I’m going to do you a favor despite your sorry-ass attitude. Instead of the strip club, how about you take my date out?”
“You serious?” The young kid’s eyes narrowed in thought, probably at the idea of Carole’s huge, surgery-induced breasts.
“Deadly serious.”
The difference between Carole and Micki—beyond the obvious—was that Carole knew the score. Yeah, she’d be pissed at Damian for pawning her off on Carter, but she’d get over it. It wasn’t like they were exclusive; she dated other guys when Damian was out of town, which was most of the time. Not to mention that he’d had to coax her to go out with him tonight. He’d wondered if she was waiting for someone else to call.
Damian wouldn’t hear from her after this stunt, nor would he call her next time he was in town. No loss for either of them, really. Moving on was long overdue. Yeah, Damian wanted to look out for her feelings, but she could handle being passed off to Carter. Weighing who needed him more, Carole or Micki, there was no contest. Besides, Carole would probably enjoy Carter, who’d give her the kind of good time she was looking for.
Damian dug into his pocket and peeled off a couple of hundreds. “I’ll even pay for your dinner and drinks.”
From the corner of his eye, Damian saw Carole looking around for him in the bar while the guys were loading into cabs. “Well?”
Carter shrugged. “Why not? She looks like a good time, and the little publicist turned out to be a prude even after I plied her with alcohol.”
Damian clenched his jaw. He had no time now to deal with Carter and what he’d done to Micki, but he definitely would later.
An eager Carter snatched the bills and swaggered toward Carole while Damian caught the last cab with his teammates. Damian didn’t miss the irony. He was headed for Lacie’s Lounge, a strip joint he used to frequent in his younger days, so he could watch out for a woman destined to be his downfall in his declining years.
Once at the club, Damian thought things would get worse, but he was wrong. Micki sat quietly by Roper, taking in the women gyrating around the poles on stage. She hadn’t ordered a drink, which Damian took as a good sign, and he relaxed in his seat.
For the first time, he noticed the tight bond between Micki and Roper. Was there a thing between them he didn’t know about? Damian’s gut twisted in uncomfortable knots.
Suddenly the music shifted. The beat picked up. The women on stage altered their movements to the more sensual and seductive rhythm. Micki rose from her seat, mesmerized.
Damian started to stand, too, but Roper put a hand on his arm. “Let her go.”
Damian glanced at the other man.
“She needs this,” his teammate explained.
The words were cryptic, yet sincere. Damian lowered himself back into his seat, wary and uncomfortable.
As if aware he was staring, Micki turned and met his gaze. Their eyes held. The music pulsed around them in an erotic beat, increasing the awareness simmering between them that he still didn’t understand. She was the opposite of everything he normally desired and yet…
She broke the connection as she slowly gravitated toward the stage, seemingly fascinated by the women and their moves. Or maybe it was their skimpy clothing she wanted a better look at. Either way, she made her way forward, staggering a little as she walked.
Damian clenched his fists but forced himself to trust Roper’s judgment. Since Micki had been subdued since they’d entered Lacie’s, Damian didn’t see any harm in letting her watch from up close.
* * *
One minute Micki had been watching the women spinning onstage and the next she was up and striding closer. She knew she was drunk. She also knew that something about these uninhibited women fascinated her. What made them so bold? So daring? What caused the other women to strut and flaunt their assets while Micki withdrew into herself?
The rhythmic sounds of the music drew her and, wanting a closer view, she stepped toward the stage, looking for…what? Answers to her own insecurity, perhaps?
The tempo changed and Micki swayed her hips in time to the music, which she realized had picked up. The girls on stage were shimmying their breasts at the men in the front row.
Things in front of Micki blurred as she wondered what it would feel like to dance as if she were a woman every man wanted to look at and touch. To call his own. God, she thought, she really must be drunk.
One of the dancers held out a hand. Micki knew she wasn’t beckoning to her and yet she reacted as if she’d been lured onto the stage. This was her chance to find out what it would be like to be anyone other than every guy’s pal.
* * *
Damian bolted for Micki, but she’d already joined a dancer on the stage. Her hips swayed and she shimmied to the beat of the music in an exact imitation of the other woman’s expert moves. Damian’s mouth grew parched.
“We have to get her out of there,” Roper said from behind him.
“No shit.”
Damian placed a hand on the stage, intending to haul himself up, but Micki’s next movement stopped him. Eyes closed, she pulled down the top of her sundress, revealing a sexy, lace, strapless bra, one transparent enough that her full breasts were exposed for the world to see.
“Oh, shit.” Damian jumped up to pull her off the stage but another patron was already there.
The big bull of a guy obviously knew it was hands off when it came to the women who were performing, but had decided the house rules didn’t apply to a regular customer like Micki. The guy didn’t bother tucking cash into Micki’s strapless lace bra, he just groped her breast instead.
Without warning, possessive anger and fury surged through Damian, along with one thought: No one touches her but me.
Micki’s expression reflected delayed horror as she suddenly realized what was going on. She screamed and slapped the guy groping her, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. Damian intervened, grabbing the drunk by his collar and hauling him away from Micki. While his teammates held the man down, Damian lifted Micki into his arms, doing his best to protect his wrist, and headed for the door.
Straight into the glaring lights of the paparazzi.
* * *
Safe and secure in the cab, Damian finally caught his breath. Looking back, he realized Micki hadn’t fought his rescue attempt. On the contrary, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and let him whisk her away. She’d even appeared oblivious to the flashbulbs that followed them to the taxi door.
Damian didn’t know how the press had been privy to where the team would be. He’d done his best to get Micki out of there quickly and anonymously. He could only hope the photographers hadn’t caught anything more than a shot of the back of a woman’s head, but Micki had been squirming, so who knew?
Now, inside the taxi, instead of sitting on her own side of the cab, Micki draped herself across Damian. Hard as he tried to ignore her, he couldn’t avoid noticing how nicely her soft body and lush curves curled against him. Her full breasts pressed enticingly against his chest, making him painfully aware that she was every inch a woman he desired.
“What do you say you move over?” he suggested.
Her warm breath fanned his neck and tickled his ear and she curled her fingertips into his shirt collar. “I’m comfortable here.”
“But it’s safer over there.” He tipped his head to the side.
“Since when do you play it safe?” she asked in a husky purr.
He told himself it was the alcohol talking, but she’d kissed him that last time and she’d been perfectly sober. He shook his head to clear those thoughts. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her now.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Micki tipped her head back and looked at him.
In her eyes he saw a mixture of innocence and seductiveness in one tempting package.
“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, unable to think or focus on anything except the woman in his arms.
She shook her head and her curls fell around her face. “Wouldn’t you rather I have your tongue?” she said, and then, without giving him a chance to answer, she leaned close and sealed her lips over his.
He wanted to do the right thing, the chivalrous thing, and stop her before things got out of control. But the minute her mouth touched his, he was lost, unable to do anything except succumb to her will, and she had plenty. Her mouth pressed hard on his and her tongue slipped between his parted lips. She teased with her eager tongue and nipped with her teeth, proving exactly how much she desired him.
As she worked magic with her mouth, her body reacted, too. Her nipples tightened and pressed against his chest, the flimsy bra he’d seen earlier doing nothing to protect him against the hot sensations she’d aroused.
Yet somehow he kept his hands on her small waist. Somehow he resisted the urge to cup her breasts in his palms. And somehow he refused to allow his hands to explore the rest of her soft flesh and supple curves.
But over time his body tightened, overloaded by sensations that had him teetering on the brink of losing control. Unable to restrain himself anymore, he threaded his hands into her hair, slanted her head and kissed her back, hard and hot, holding nothing back. His mouth fit perfectly with hers and her warm heat settled over his cock, showing him a prelude of what could be, if only he gave in to desire.
Without warning, the taxi hit a bump in the road, jarring Damian back to unwelcome reality. The woman in his lap needed rescuing, not ravishing.
He wasn’t happy but he broke the kiss, letting them both come up for air. Though it was dark in the cab, he could see her tangled hair and moist lips and the sight made him want to start kissing her all over again. Resisting was the most difficult thing he’d ever done. Because he’d just learned that Micki was the one thing he feared: the hot number he just couldn’t resist.
She sighed and leaned her cheek against his, a soft, sweet gesture that hit him like a punch in the gut. Damn, he wished they’d get to the hotel soon. He smoothed the back of her hair and she slowly slipped downward until her head lay in his lap and her eyelids drifted shut.
“Fuck.” No doubt about it, she was put on this earth to test him, Damian thought.
He leaned his head against the old seats and gritted his teeth, trying not to imagine her head in his lap for other reasons – her mouth around his cock, making him come. A futile effort since the images still came—her curly hair brushing his stomach and bare thighs, and her warm, moist, lush mouth closing over his aching dick. He exhaled a slow, loud groan, not caring if the cabdriver heard.
From her place in his lap, Micki muttered something he couldn’t make out, nor did he care. He couldn’t focus on anything except the vibration of the car beneath him and Micki’s lips an inch away from his cock. With the next pothole and bump in the road, Damian decided chivalry was way overrated. He wasn’t a guy used to denying himself basic needs. Hell, he’d never had a reason.
But he did now, he reminded himself. Because no way did he plan on doing anything more. He’d bring Micki safely upstairs and watch over her until the stupor passed.
They finally reached the hotel. He carried her from the cab up to her room, not an easy feat with both late-night guests and bellmen staring at the sight.
Once in the room, he focused on the necessities. With jaw clenched, he changed her clothes, managing to do no more than skim her curves with his hands, and look through half-shut eyes as he pulled off the dress and replaced it with a shirt he found in her drawer. Micki was so exhausted, she didn’t attempt another seduction, and he was grateful. He was even more pleased when he finally laid her beneath the covers for the night.
By the time Damian poured himself a glass of whiskey from the minibar and eased into a club chair next to the bed, he was exhausted. The chair wouldn’t be comfortable, but he settled in for a long night.
He knew better than to crawl into that bed. Lying beside Micki on the small mattress would provide too much temptation for a saint. And despite his restraint tonight, Damian had never claimed to be one of those.