Delilah

A half a dozen games later, I sat in a quiet hotel room running statistics for the game we’d lost tonight. The team was better—the analytics I’d run before had proven it—but it didn’t make the loss any less crushing. A few of the guys on the team were spending time in the hotel VIP bar drinking off their loss and preparing to face the same team tomorrow. The Timberwolves could do it. I knew they could. There was so much talent on this team, but we had to get the strategy straight, and that took a lot of time and a lot of analyzing, which was why I was plopped here in pajamas working at nearly midnight.

Cash and I hadn’t spoken much since he’d come to my place with takeout, a move that had shocked the hell out of me, but made me feel good just the same. If anything, it was nice to have a friend, even if getting involved with him wasn’t on my radar. I’d done my best all week to avoid his eyes, focusing instead on the game, and working hours and hours into the night just for the distraction.

The instant I shut my eyes, I found Cash lurking in my head, begging me to try just a taste. I didn’t want a taste, dammit, and if anything, this job was proving why I didn’t have time for it. I knew I could be an asset to this team, helping Coach make decisions based on the numbers we ran of all the teams in the Major League. I just had to stay focused. This was a big contract, and anything less than a stellar job would be a dent in the reputation of my company. I’d finally started making enough to hire a few statistics majors fresh out of college, and they were now stationed at a few clubs around the country. We were making a good name for ourselves, as long as we continued our hot streak.

I had a feeling the Timberwolves could win the pennant this year, and if I analyzed their performances right, maybe even the World Series.

I stood up to pour another glass of cheap wine from the mini-bar when a soft knock came from the door. My eyes shot up, wondering who on earth would be knocking at this hour. Probably one of the drunk team members. Coach had told them to go light tonight, but losing a game hurt, and a lot of them liked to drown their frustration in booze.

I cracked the door, ever cautious because being on the wrong side of a drunk ball player was never my idea of a good time, when I saw Cash’s dark eyes peering back at me.

“What’s wrong?” I swung the door wide, and he stepped in.

He shook his head, only gazing at me. I could see the disappointment lacing his features. He was more upset at the loss than the rest of the guys. His dedication and complete disappointment over this loss were a testament to just how much he loved this game, and how much he expected of himself. I had no doubt he gave two hundred percent every game, but sometimes even that wasn’t enough. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Cash…” I sighed, closing the door behind him and heading back to the mini-bar. “Bad games happen, that’s all. Road games are never easy.”

I turned when he didn’t answer and saw his eyes burning up the space between us with something I couldn't quite place.

“Really fucking glad you’re here, Delilah.” He moved toward me, his hands at my jawline before his lips were pressed to mine. I opened up, and our tongues tangled together as fire burned its way up from my toes and down through my torso to land in a delicious wave of arousal between my thighs.

I pushed my hands into his hair as his palms cupped my ass cheeks, then he hoisted me in his strong arms and pushed us both against the wall. His body between my thighs was rock solid and heated with all the emotion pulsing through his system. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing to me.”

I didn’t answer, only attacking his lips with more fevered thrusts, my hips rocking against him as I sought any kind of friction to relieve the ache he’d created. One of his palms trailed up under the silk of my cami, his fingers dancing across my skin and leaving a white-hot blaze in their path.

I knew he’d tried to express respect for me this past week by steering clear. Apparently he’d recognized that I needed it, but if anything, the separation had only fueled the obsession.

We kissed for long minutes, hands and breath washing across skin and sending my system into lust-filled overload.

“I think you were put here to drive me insane.” He hummed, his tongue tracing up the line of my neck as his hands pushed at the straps of my cami.

“We’re all wrong for each other.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I can’t stand you,” I gasped when his hand slid between my thighs and pressed at my damp pussy through the fabric of my shorts. “But I can’t stand to be away from you, either.”

He groaned. “Christ, me neither, beautiful. I’ve been waiting for those words.”

“Cash…” I moaned as his thumb swirled, pressing and massaging at the hardened bud that would send me into a state of bliss.

“Fuck, I need you.” His thumb sped up, and my thighs began to tighten and quiver around his hips. “It kills me to see you walking around in those fuck-me heels, that tight skirt that shows off every curve you have. All I can think about is getting under it, tasting your sweet cunt until you scream.” His lips caressed my ear. “I don’t like other people seeing what’s mine, Delilah.”

My breathing picked up, and my head fell back against the wall, and just when his touch felt like too much, like I might explode from the inside out, waves of frantic pleasure careened through my body. Moans fell past my lips before I tried to clamp down on my teeth to suppress them.

“Let them hear you, sweetheart. I want every goddamn man in this hotel to know you’re off limits. You are mine, only mine, from now until forever. I want you in the worst way, your scent, your touch, your smile, your everything. I want your face to be the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see in the morning. I want to mark you, and I want you to mark me. This is it, Delilah. This is our forever. ”

“But Cash…”

“I want you, Delilah, I want everything you have to give, and I’ll get it.”

“No, but—”

“Shhh,” he hissed before plunging his tongue past my lips, tasting me like he was starved for every last drop. Both of his hands circled my neck, his thumbs caressing the sensitive skin beneath my ears as he kissed me. God, I loved how he held my head when we kissed. I hated that I loved every minute of it. Hated that it was him who turned me on. Hated that I was falling for a ball player. But falling for Cash Greenwood was what I was doing. I was falling fast and hard, and in my heart I knew there was nothing I could do about it. It was a hunger that was insatiable and a passion that burned hotter than fire.

But deep down that little girl was too scared, too weak to take a chance. My parents broke me somehow, and as much as I wanted Cash, as much as I was falling for him, that little girl was screaming for me to stop.

“Cash?” I finally whispered when I’d taken a breath, our lungs gasping for air we didn't have. He pressed his forehead to mine, his heart thrumming frantically against mine as we paused in the darkened room and soaked up the passion-fueled mess we’d found ourselves in. “We can’t do this.”

Cash didn’t reply, his fingertips hovering across my skin before he finally placed his lips to mine in one last kiss. His hands dropped from my skin, and he took two steps back, lowering my feet to the floor.

He pushed a hand through his tousled hair, his eyes squeezed shut while he scrubbed a palm over his face. He was fucked up, not from booze, not even from me, from this game.

“I’m sorry,” I offered lamely, thinking this hadn’t been the right time, but his tongue down my throat hadn’t exactly been foreseen either.

“Why? Why fight this? I know you feel it, Grey. I know that every fiber of your being wants me as much as I want you. We are perfect for each other, and I have a hard time believing that the first woman I want isn’t the one.”

My eyes widened at his words, my heart kicking into high gear. His eyes were on me now, waiting for my reply.

“Because…I…” I had no words. Cash left me at a loss for words, and suddenly the ones I’d been saying in my head seemed all wrong. “My past, it’s just…I have triggers.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s bullshit. We all have triggers. My whole life, something was missing. Thirty damn years and something was off. I thought it was my rocky childhood, my single-minded love of the game, but it wasn’t. It was you, Delilah. My whole damn life I was searching for you. I know you want me. I can see it in your eyes, the way your gaze follows me across the room.”

“I never meant to send mixed signals…” I trailed off, knowing my words were zero consolation. I was a girl with a ton of emotional triggers—well-founded, if you asked me—but that didn’t mean I could just shake them off in favor of giving him what he wanted. In fact, that was the last thing that was going to happen. “I also have a job today. Getting involved with one of you—”

“I’m not just one of those guys. I’m not a fucking manwhore that sleeps with everything. I’ve never slept with a woman, Delilah. I’m a goddamn virgin.” His anger was rising, his cheeks reddening as he became more animated.

“Don’t bullshit me, Cash. A thirty-year-old star pitcher, hitter, and virgin? I don’t buy it.”

His eyes cast down, his lip caught between his teeth, and he turned, waltzing straight out of my room, not sparing me a single glance back. With one resounding bang of the heavy door, he was gone and I was alone, wondering what in the hell I’d done to find myself here.

I touched my lips, still tingling from his kiss, feeling bruised from his lips pressed to mine. Sweet God, that kiss had been otherworldly. And how could I ever kiss anyone else again? No one could live up to Cash.

My situation felt impossible, so I turned back to the bar, poured my glass of wine, then went back to the bed and my laptop. I took a sip and thought about returning to the numbers tonight, but my focus wasn’t there. Cash had shattered it. Cash’s lips had shattered me.

I sighed, slamming my laptop closed and reclining back in the bed. I flicked on ESPN to get the latest game highlights, but pitifully, the only topic of conversation was the Timberwolves and their uncharacteristic and blatantly bad loss. I nearly flicked off when one announcer spoke up, pausing on a clip of Rodriguez stumbling the first time he went up to bat. They were speculating he was drunk and perhaps that contributed to the lost game. He’d had a few strikeouts and had missed more than a few catches that he should have caught.

My heart fell between my feet.

Fucking Rodriguez.