Chapter Ten
Gia
I loved the timbre of Connor’s voice—deep, resonant, and easily heard over the rumble of other locker room noise. It made people listen to him. And it made me shiver with delight. The Bobcats were getting together a couple of hours before the first game in a series against the Cleveland Indians. The guys had come in restless, and it was Connor’s job to get them focused on the task at hand. It was my job to stand in the shadows and watch him work.
Connor’s magic was never in what he said. I could lift his words and compare them to thousands of pre-game pep talks. The words would be nearly identical. It was in his voice and his stance. It was the way he looked at everyone on the team—all the way deep into the bench—and made sure every player was on board. Every man quieted to listen to him. And when he was done, they were a unified group with a singular focus. They came in as individuals. Connor made them a team.
Impressive. Sexy as hell. And guaranteed to make me even wetter than I was now.
It had been two weeks since our hot night. Or as I called it, my Night of 1000 Orgasms. We had done it every way I could think of and a few I’d never even imagined. I’d maybe gotten an hour of sleep that night, but it had been well worth it.
I didn’t mind when I didn’t hear from him that next day. We both needed rest. But then he didn’t call that night. Or the next. Yes, I knew that we’d both said one night only, but I was hoping that, since the night had been so spectacular, he would want another. I certainly did.
No such luck. Sure, I caught him staring at me all the time. Mostly because I was staring at him. But he never acted on it. And though he sat down for the interview I needed, nothing ever went beyond professionalism. And I was nearly screaming from the frustration that caused.
I wanted to be with him. I wanted to jump him. And I wanted both in the worst possible way. If he’d given me the sign, I would have joined him in the bathroom before the game. But, of course, he didn’t. He’d said as much that night, and he was a man of his word.
So I headed back to my office and the complicated task of goosing our media coverage before the game. I’d just launched an awesome pizza promotion based on Connor’s hitting this game—discounts for a base hit, dollars off for a home run. I was running through my Twitter feed when I rounded the corner to my office. The light was on and the door open. It was pretty rare for someone to visit me before a game, so I hurried over, then stopped dead when I saw who it was.
Sophia Hart stood beside my desk, seeming to inspect the Bobcat poster on the wall. But I didn’t trust it…or her. She looked too casual there, and too studied in the way she turned as if caught by surprise.
“Gia,” she said with a tight-lipped smile.
“Sophia,” I answered in my most chipper tone. “What a surprise to see you here.” She was Connor’s sister, and so I was prepared to give her a chance to be nice.
She arched a perfectly trimmed brow in my direction. “It’s a Bobcat game, and my brother is the catcher.”
I nodded. “Of course—”
“Where else would I be?”
The salon? NY Fashion Week? A myriad of possibilities stomped through my brain, but I didn’t say them. Instead, I stepped firmly around her, doing my best to dislodge her from the tiny space behind my desk. “How can I help you?”
“I wanted you to explain the publicity you have lined up for Connor.”
Really? She’d never been interested before. Still, I’d be a fool not to cooperate with her. I could use her help in adding some pull to whatever publicity I generated. Fortunately, I had something already written up that I’d sent to Connor’s agent just that morning. A couple taps on the keyboard and my printer spat out the full scope of what I’d arranged. It was pretty impressive, even if I did say so myself.
I handed her the sheet as I explained what I had done. My first article on Connor had landed on a dozen blogs and been mentioned on both TV and radio. With the Bobcats’ number of wins, every local media outlet was hungry for news.
“My article has been really well received,” I said. “But my national exposure isn’t what I’d like. Do you have any pull with—?”
Her voice suddenly raised as she interrupted me. “This all looks lovely. I’m pleased with how well you’ve implemented everything.”
I blinked. “Um, thank you. I tried to contact your assistant, but he said he doesn’t work for you anymore.”
She stood up and headed for my door. “Yes. Stupid man. Couldn’t get anything right.”
“If I could get your new assistant’s—?”
“Joe! I’m over here!” she called.
What? There was only one Joe here, and his name was Joe DeLuce, the team owner. Damn it, how had she known? I pushed up from my seat in time to hear Joe’s heavy tread coming down the hall toward us.
“Hello, Joe!” Sophia said as she embraced the man and gave him a flirty kiss right on the mouth. He took her attention the way many older men do—with a grin and a salacious eyebrow wiggle.
“Always a pleasure, Sophia,” Joe said, his gaze dropping to her ample cleavage. I might have blamed him, but Sophia seemed to be able to do something to make her breasts bounce. Hell, I was looking, and I didn’t have the Y chromosome.
“I was just going over the publicity plans for Connor. I have to say I’m pleasantly surprised by the way your girl here has implemented my ideas.”
It took me a moment to process what she’d said. It had been buried in the compliment, and Joe was already grinning at me in his paternal way. “Yes, yes,” he was saying. “We love Gia. She’s always on the go for us.”
But my mind was still reeling about what Sophia had said—that the ideas were hers. “Thank you, Joe. And of course I value Ms. Hart’s input, but the ideas—”
“It doesn’t matter whose ideas they were, darling.” She tsked at me and patted Joe’s arm. “The young are always so hungry, aren’t they? Desperate for recognition. Well, Gia, as I said, you have done an amazing job following through on the things we discussed.”
“But we didn’t discuss…” My voice trailed away. Well, of course we had discussed them. Or, at least, I’d kept her apprised of what I was doing for Connor because she was his publicist. That was professional courtesy. “I mean, these were my ideas. And I wrote the article—”
“Goodness, dear, such pettiness is not becoming. Joe, I hear that you had my favorite dessert ordered into the box for me. You are so sweet.”
I knew for a fact that Joe didn’t handle the catering in the owner’s box, but that didn’t stop him from patting her hand. “Those mini pecan pies are my favorite.”
“Mine, too. Let’s go check them out before they’re gone. And on the way, we can talk about how I can boost your social media numbers. Really get the younger generation talking about the Bobcats like never before. I’m plugged in like you can’t imagine…”
Off they went, with Sophia being charming, and Joe chuckling as if he was her fond uncle. And all the while, I stood there, shocked that I’d just let her get away with claiming all my publicity ideas as her own. I mean, I’d stood up for myself. But she’d just rolled right over me, and Joe had been looking at her chest, so who knew if he’d been listening to either one of us.
But what the hell? Damn it, I wanted to stomp after them and scream that she was taking credit for my ideas. But that would be inappropriate. The last thing I needed was to suddenly become shrewish over every little thing.
Except this wasn’t little. Not to me. And clearly not to Sophia… Because she’d just freaking stolen my grand success.
I stepped after them, trailing behind like a lost puppy. I was close enough to hear her pitch her own publicity company, then add that everyone had a copy of Connor’s calendar—even me. That told me she’d been poking through my desk drawers, the bitch, but I couldn’t interrupt to say it. Then they were through the doors and into the stadium, moving toward the owner’s box where I wasn’t invited.
It didn’t matter. I had plenty of work to handle, anyway. Reporters always tried to get extra information from me before a game, any secret insight into the team’s mood. I used the conversations to make sure we got in our talking points. It was the dance of publicity, and I wasn’t doing it standing here and fuming.
Except I was.
That was how Connor found me. I heard his voice say my name a split second before he touched my arm. My name, “Gia,” spoken in that deep rumble of his, made all my emotions surge to the fore.
Hunger for him, need for comfort, and fury at his bitch of a sister, not to mention the injustice of having Joe listen to her…it all crashed over me so that when he touched my arm, I started to crumple. Tears welled in my eyes, and my fists pulled tight to my mouth so I wouldn’t start sobbing. I turned away from him, toward the wall, but he slipped around me to look at my face.
“Gia! What happened?” The alarm in his voice was both gratifying and soothing. At least he cared enough to be upset.
But then I had a problem. I couldn’t tell him how much I despised his sister. The man was stupidly protective of his family. So I swallowed my tears and tried to smooth my makeup. It didn’t work. My fingers came away dark with mascara—the cheap stuff didn’t work for shit. I probably looked like a raccoon.
And there was Connor, his eyes growing more alarmed by the second.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “Something stupid.” I took a breath and started walking back to my office. He came with me, his hand cupping my elbow, and I was too weak to push him away. I liked his steady presence, even though this was absolutely not something he should do before a game.
We made it my office, and I grabbed a tissue from my desk while he shut the door. I made quick work of cleaning up my face. It wasn’t perfect, but I wasn’t doing any on-camera work today. Then I steeled my spine and turned to face Connor.
I had a tiny speech in my brain—about how this wasn’t important, that he had to focus on his job and I’d do mine, etc., etc. But then I saw him standing there, his back to the door. His arms were folded across his chest and his muscular biceps were bulging beneath his uniform. Hot, hot, hot. But even better was the firm jut of his chin and the flat, determined expression on his face.
He wanted to know what had happened, and his entire stance told me he wasn’t leaving until he knew every detail. That concern touched me deeply. He hadn’t even said a word, but Connor rarely did. He just let his entire body speak for him. And what his body said was that he cared that I’d been hurt.
So I smiled. “I’m okay, Connor. It’s just work shit. I’ll figure it out.”
Connor stiffened. “Did a reporter hurt you? Did someone touch you?” His jaw was tightening as he spoke, and I could feel his anger vibrate in the air. “Tell me who did it. I can fix it.” Lord, he sounded like he was ready to beat up anyone who gave me a cross word.
And again, I felt a rush of warmth for him. Only a few people in my life had ever protected me, even after I was adopted. My cousins would happily tell me when I stepped out of line, but I doubted they’d beat up anyone who made me cry.
“It wasn’t like that,” I said, rushing to tell him before he could storm the press corps. “Someone took credit for my work to Joe. I tried to clear it up, but…” I shrugged. “I don’t know that Joe heard me. It’s just frustrating, but I can handle it.”
“Someone here did that? That’s ridiculous! You’ve been working your ass off—”
Well, it was nice that he noticed. “It was credit for the ideas themselves. Half of publicity is figuring out what to do. It’s—”
“Who did it, Gia?”
I bit my lip and shook my head. “I can handle it, Connor. You don’t need to be my white knight.” Though, God, I wanted him to be. I desperately wanted someone like him in my corner.
He came forward and touched my cheek, lifting my chin up until we were close enough to kiss, but he didn’t do it. He just looked at my smeared mascara and faded lipstick.
“Let me do this for you, Gia. Let me do something.”
“Because we had a glorious night and now you’ve dumped me?” I swallowed, wondering what had possessed me to broach on this topic. But once embarked, I couldn’t turn back. “Those were the rules when we started. Look, I’ll admit it—I want more from you. But it’s okay if you don’t agree. Still, I’m not going to have you rushing to my rescue out of guilt because you don’t feel the same for me. That’s not how I roll.”
I watched a muscle in his jaw twitch. He was thinking hard about something, but God only knew what it was. And since he wasn’t going to talk, I took a deep breath and stepped back from him. “Things are good. You’re letting me do the publicity. Our working relationship is going great. I’m not going to mess that up because I’ve gone all girly over you.” I squared my shoulders. “I’m not.”
“And what if I’ve gone all guy-like over you?”
I couldn’t stop the jolt of hope that crashed through me. Did he feel a fraction of what I felt for him? “Don’t toy with me, Connor. It’s cr—” I meant to say cruel, but I never got the word out. His mouth was on mine before the word finished.
I melted right into him. No thought, just a complete dissolution of any willpower. He was touching me, his hands on my hips pulling me hard against his hot groin. And his mouth was on mine, his tongue thrusting inside while my blood started singing, yes, yes, yes! I didn’t want to want him this much, but since I did, I wasn’t going to stop him when he backed me up against my desk. Papers scattered as I planted my bottom on the hard surface and wrapped my legs around him.
I tugged at his uniform shirt, untucking it so that I could run my hands up his chest. Oh God, he felt better than I remembered—hot flesh, bulging muscles, and the coarse rub of hair against my palms. I was in a skirt without panty hose, which made it incredibly easy to squeeze his hips between my thighs and pull myself up on him.
It was insane. I was crawling all over him, but he wasn’t running away. In fact, he was helping as he pulled up my skirt and palmed my bottom. Then I felt my thong give way, ripped off my body. I was thrilled.
He left my mouth to kiss down my neck. I fell back enough that when he started nuzzling into the V of my blouse, I quickly stripped it away. Thank God for tiny buttons. Then his hands went to my back, unhooking my bra with ease. My hands were at his waistband, trying to unbutton his pants, sliding my hands down his hips to push them down until his glorious penis sprang free.
He groaned as I fondled him, but no more than me when his hands began shaping my breasts for his mouth. He sucked hard on my nipples, one after the other, while I stroked the wet tip of his erection.
Some part of me screamed that this was crazy. We were in my office before a game. We couldn’t do this. But the bulk of my thoughts were on getting a condom from my purse so that we absolutely could.
I pushed back from him and reached over my desk, trying to pull my purse out of a drawer. I had no idea if he knew what I was doing, but it didn’t matter. As I stretched backward, he spread my legs and dove straight down between them.
His tongue swept over me in strokes that had my whole body singing with hunger. His hands were strong where they gripped my thighs, and his shoulders were broad as he pushed between them.
There was no elegance in what he did, certainly not compared to the night we’d had a week ago, but I didn’t care. This wild assault kept my thoughts at bay and buried me in sensation. I bucked in his hands, then pressed my fist into my mouth to keep from screaming. And I exploded on his tongue in a wild eruption of pleasure.
Then I heard him rip open a foil packet. I managed to open my eyes in time to see him putting on a condom. But how? I hadn’t given him one. Which meant he’d had to have been carrying it himself.
A flush of pleasure spiked through me. He’d been carrying a condom when he came to see me. He’d been thinking about this, too.
Then there were no more thoughts as he positioned himself against me. Our eyes met for a split second. There seemed to be a question in his, and I almost laughed. Did he think I was going to refuse him?
“Yes,” I said. “Yes!” And then because he still didn’t thrust, I pushed up on my elbows and spoke plainly. “Fuck me hard, Connor. Right. Now.”
He slammed inside me. The sudden invasion shot lightning through every nerve ending. I fell back again on the desk while he pounded inside me.
I imagined myself at that moment, what I looked like, sprawled open with him jack-hammering between my legs. I pictured the clench of his buttocks, I saw his pectorals bunch and his arms thicken as he gripped my hips. He was pounding inside me, and I wanted it harder, deeper, longer.
“Touch yourself,” he grunted.
I hardly needed the extra stimulation, but his eyes were on me, burning hot on my breasts.
I plumped them for him to see. I wrapped my legs around his back while I pinched my nipples and shivered at the sensation.
His tempo was impossibly fast, and his jaw was clenched tight. And then it hit.
Orgasm. It ricocheted wildly inside me as I arched and bucked on the desk.
He rode me still, holding me with his large hands while he pounded.
Over and over. Again and again.
Then he came.
I felt the rigid eruption inside me. His body tightened, his eyes slammed shut, and his head dropped back in bliss while he seemed to screw himself deeper inside me.
I had no control over my own body, which was still pulsing. Pulling. Milking him.
He gripped me tight, while inside, his orgasm continued.
Finally, it eased, and I could draw breath.
Slowly, he pulled back. His eyes were dark when he opened them, and his gaze landed on my glistening sex where I was still spread open for him.
“One last time,” he whispered.
What?
Then he dropped down and kissed my clit. I whimpered because it was all I had the strength for. Then I felt a swipe of his tongue, a nip from his teeth. Fingers pushed deep inside me, stroking me from the inside.
And another wave overcame me.
Bliss.