“She doesn’t have treatment on Saturday or Sunday. She can rest.”
“No.” I reach for my phone. “I’m telling her no.”
Crystal grabs my wrist. “Mark, you can’t do that.”
I cut her a look before I can stop myself. “Why the fuck not?” I demand.
“I know you’re worried. But she said she’s learned that life is short, and she’s been by your father’s side far too little. She doesn’t want to have regrets. You have to let her go.”
The words send a shock wave through me, and my hands are suddenly on Crystal’s shoulders. “Has she decided she’s dying?” I ask hoarsely. “Does she know something I don’t know? Do you?”
“No! It’s not that—I promise. This is good. She says she’s decided to live, and I admire that. It’s something I haven’t always done.”
I push to my feet and cross the room, knowing what my mother’s doing. This is about me shutting out baseball and a past that was once my future. This is about her trying to bring me back home in every sense of the word.
But Crystal is right. I can’t deny her, no matter how painful this is for me. My mother just guaranteed that denial is no longer in the cards.
“What time do we need to be there?”
“Pitching practice starts at six thirty. I talked to Kara and she arranged to have someone she trusts here for closing. She’s going to escort your parents to the campus. Jacob said he’d drive us and stay with us the rest of the evening.”
“Isn’t my father worried about the press at the campus?”
“He’s had that handled for weeks now. It’s not a problem.”
I study her a long moment. “You decided we were going before you told me about this.”
She rises and walks toward me, sliding her arms under my jacket and around my waist. I pull her closer. “You told me once your mother was the only person you couldn’t say no to,” she reminds me.
I cup her head and lower my mouth near hers. “Apparently now there are two of you.”
“Should I say I’m sorry?” she whispers.
“I’m not sure why you would be.” I kiss her, losing myself in the sweetness that promises something more than the bitterness of the past when this night ends. “Just know this.” The look that I give her leaves no doubt that I have plans for her. Dark, hot, intense plans. “I’m going to need more than a simple fuck when I finally get you alone.”
She smiles. “One thing I never expect from you, Mark Compton, is simple.”
“Good,” I say. “Because it’s about to get damn complicated.”
Sixteen
Crystal . . .
A half hour after I leave Mark’s office I’m sitting at my desk, trying to finish up some important paperwork before we leave for the practice. Not an easy task, when I’m still a mix of nerves and arousal over Mark’s promise of more than a “simple fuck” when we get home. Even more, though, I’m worried about the past he’s facing tonight—which clearly provoked that promise. I know that his mother knows what she’s doing, so all I can think is that she wants to force him to heal.
My cell rings, with Kara’s number on the screen. “This is Crystal.”
“It’s Kara. I’m at the Comptons’ place now. I wanted to arrive early and scope out the building. Unfortunately, since I’m here, she wants to leave early. Something about keeping her husband from missing some sort of drills.”
“Is her nurse going with you?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Put her on.”
Dana begins by saying, “I’m not letting Steven leave his practice to come here. And if I don’t surprise him and go early, he will.”
“But Mark and I would both feel better if you had us there to take care of you.”
“I’m fine. Kara is with me, and I’m just going to be sitting. Not climbing the Empire State Building.”
“You weren’t fine yesterday.”
“But today I am.”
“What about your nurse?”
“I don’t need her, and she’s off anyway.”
The rest of the conversation pretty much goes her way. When we hang up, I make a beeline to Mark’s office. I knock, go right in, and motion for him to stand with my hands. “Up. Up. Hurry. We need to leave early. Your mother insisted Kara take her to the practice now, so your father won’t feel he has to leave to get her. She’s not taking her nurse.”
Looking puzzled, he doesn’t move. “Are you sure we’re talking about my mother? The one who could barely move yesterday?”
“I know. I thought the same thing. She says she’s fine today—and I can vouch for her being as feisty as ever.”
“Well, that’s good news, at least.”
“You still aren’t getting up! What if she gets weak and needs help?”
His intercom buzzes. “It’s your father, Mr. Compton.”
“Put him through.”
I perch impatiently on the edge of a chair, trying to follow the conversation.
Crystal just told me,” Mark confirms to his father. “She’s worried Mom’s too weak to be there without us.” He listens a moment. “You’re sure? And you have security in place to handle reporters?” A few seconds pass before he nods. “Okay. Yes. If you’re sure.” His eyes meet mine. “I’m really coming, Dad.” Another pause, and this time Mark’s lashes lower, sheltering him from my probing stare as he replies, “I know. It has. I will.” He hangs up the phone, and I don’t miss the way he drags out the process, studying the desk a few seconds too long before he focuses an unreadable look on me. “My father says he’s not even involved in the earlier practice she’s trying to make sure he can attend. His base coach is running it. He’ll be free to take care of her.”
Sighing, I relax. “Thank goodness.”
“All is well,” Mark assures me. “And since we have a little time . . .” He opens his desk drawer and reaches inside, shocking me when he sets a black pouch the size of his palm on the desk. “Come here, Ms. Smith.”
My fingers dig into the arms of the chair. “No.”
“Come here, Ms. Smith.”
“What are you going to do?”
His stare is a pure, white-hot challenge. “What do you want me to do?”
“That’s not the same bag as before.”
“This is one of the items from the bag. I’m going to show you the rest later.”
“Why?”
“Because I said.”
“That’s not a good reason.”
“It’s the only reason you’re getting. Come here.”
“Shouldn’t we be leaving? Just to be safe.”
“After you come here.”
There is something about dominant Mark that does funny things to my body. Heat rushes through me, and my skin warms all over. It’s arousing. And confusing. Why do I want to do what he demands? Can I take orders and still be my own form of alpha?
I study him, this man who affects me like no other, this man who is not my type at all.
I find myself standing without consciously deciding to do so, but I manage to delay my advancement. Pressing my fingers to the edge of the desk, I make darn sure we’re clear that I’m making this decision, not him. “I’m going to come over there—but only because you’re really sexy right now.”
He laughs, low and deep, and the sound is sin and sex. “Is that right?”
“Yes. It’s because I want you—and only because I want you.” With those final words of bravado and my pulse jumping like I’m skydiving without a proper parachute, I walk around the desk.
Mark rolls his chair back just enough to allow me to stand in front of him without touching him, then rolls forward, trapping my knees with his, his hands settling possessively on my hips. “No one talks to me the way you do.”
“No one tells you you’re sexy?”
“I don’t invite conversation with women. Or anyone, for that matter.”
“Like the way you don’t like to be touched?”
“Th
at’s right. But every time I’m with you, Ms. Smith, you yank out another page of that rulebook.” He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me sideways onto one leg. There’s something immensely erotic about sitting on his lap, how the delicious male scent of him surrounds me, and the thick ridge of his erection presses against my hip. He reaches up, his fingers caressing my cheek, then finding my hair, and a light tug leads my mouth to his. We breathe together and I don’t know what is happening to me with this man. He’s both night and day, good and bad, in all the ways every girl wants a man to be bad.
His lips brush mine, a soft caress. I feel him like hot sun blistering my skin in one moment, and a cool breeze soothing the burn the next. I feel him in every part of me. I want him next to me, inside me, everywhere. I need him everywhere.
“You,” he whispers, “are like a drug.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Both, in all the right ways.” It’s as if he’s heard my thoughts about him.
I’ve never been so connected to a man, so in the same place, at the same time.
He strokes hair behind my ear, then drags the velvet bag to the edge of the desk. “Open it. There’s something for now, and something for later.”
My throat goes dry at the “later,” due to his warning that he wants more than a simple fuck. “This part of you makes me very nervous,” I tell him.
He frames my face with his hands and stares at me. “I’ll push you, but I will never, ever hurt you.” He scoops up the bag and hands it to me. “Open it.”
Nervous, but ridiculously aroused by this little game we’re playing, I open the bag and reach inside, my hand trembling a bit. I dump the contents onto my palm. Two small balls, about twice the size of a pencil eraser.
“What are they?”
He turns one over, showing me the opening on the back. “To cover your nipples.”
“Clamps?”
“No.” He rolls them in my palm. “These are soft plastic with no clamping. Just some suction.” He takes them from me and positions my backside against the desk, his hands returning in that possessive way to my hips. “All they’re going to do is remind you that I’m thinking about licking them, every second we’re not alone.”
My lashes lower with the rush of sensations his words create. “You probably shouldn’t talk to me like that.”
“Why is that?”
I look him in the eyes. “Because we have to leave.”
His sexy, sensual, so-damn-scrumptious mouth curves. “That’s the idea in doing this now.” He tugs down the zipper at the front of my dress to expose my lacy red bra, which he shoves down in a swift, easy move. His thumbs stroke my nipples and I have to press my hands to the desk to keep from touching him.
One of his hands cups my breast and he leans in and laps at the already stiff peak, making my sex spasm. I bite my lip and moan, already wet and aching, wishing he were inside me right now. He licks the little plastic ball and then places it on my nipple. I suck in a breath and there is pressure, but as he promised, no pain. His tongue flicks the plastic, sending darts of sizzling pleasure to all parts of my body.
His eyes meet mine with heat and possessiveness that match his touch, and I’m all for being possessed right now. He was right. He will own me, and I might just like it. He leans down, his blond hair tickling my skin, his tongue lapping at the other nipple before he draws it deeply into his mouth. I grab his head and hold him to me. When he lifts his head, his mouth finds mine, kissing me deeply, passionately before he licks the other ball and places it on my swollen nipple.
The intercom buzzes, and he surprises me by hitting the button. “Jacob from Walker Security would like to see you,” Beverly announces.
“Send him back,” Mark replies.
“What?” I say. “No!” I try to move away but he holds me. “I didn’t lock the door, Mark!”
“We’re done.” He pulls my bra up and zips my dress. “And now, Ms. Smith, every time your nipples chafe, think about all the ways I might fuck you when we get home.”
A knock sounds on the door.
“Come in,” Mark calls, and I glower at him as I stand up.
“I was not ready.”
“You will be, though, I promise.” He smiles.
“You really are an asshole, Mark Compton.”
He laughs as Jacob enters.
“I hear you might want to leave early. What time were you thinking?”
“I believe we’re ready now,” Mark replies.
* * *
We exit Riptide to a fresh crush of reporters that slams us with reality, leaving fantasy back in Mark’s office. By the time Jacob has us en route to the NYU athletic facility off Fourteenth Street, Mark’s mood is notably darker. Whatever he’s facing tonight from his past has clearly hit him. He’s reserved, barely speaking to Jacob, but I’m encouraged by the way he keeps me close, molding our legs and hips together, his fingers resting on the inside of my knee.
Jacob parks by a side door near a gymnasium and exits the vehicle, but Mark remains where he is, all hard lines and tension. I silently settle my hand on his leg. Baseball is clearly a part of the past he doesn’t want to revisit, but can’t escape. I wonder if that’s the reason he moved to San Francisco, and not his need for individual success outside the umbrella of Riptide and his mother.
He finally seems to shake himself into action. “Leave your coat here,” he says, shrugging out of his own. “You won’t want to deal with it inside.” After helping me with mine, he opens the door. Stepping outside, he guides me out of the backseat and into the cold, dry night. My hand settles on his chest, his erratic heartbeat thrumming beneath my palm.
“When was the last time you were here?” I ask.
“Ten years ago.”
It’s a number I’ve heard him mention on numerous occasions, and it stirs many questions that I don’t ask. He’s fighting some internal battle, and he’s trusted me enough to allow me here with him. He’ll talk when he’s ready to.
“Have you gone to your father’s games?”
“Yes. But I stay away from here.” His hands come down on my shoulders. “I’m going to want to touch you in there.”
It’s an admission that this trip is stirring his inner demons, and I want to help him. “Then touch me.”
“I’m certain my mother doesn’t know about us. She’d have already said something to me, and probably you as well. Let’s hold off until tomorrow.”
“We should go inside,” Jacob says, glancing around us, reminding me of the danger Mark is certain exists.
Mark scoops my hand from his chest and surprises me by bringing it to his lips and kissing it. The tiny act of tenderness reveals so much about what’s beneath his steely shell.
Jacob joins us and we walk to the door. Inside the small hallway, a guard assigns us badges. I hear Mark inhale a moment before we round the corner, and in unison we stop and take in the view before us. In the center of a yellowish orange floor is a catcher in full gear, kneeling in front of a huge net while a pitcher throws him a fastball. A half dozen players in uniforms are lined up to the left and watch the action. Mark’s father, dressed in jeans and a team shirt, is standing a few feet from the players with two other men in similar attire, apparently other coaches. On the opposite side of the room, Dana and Kara are seated in cushy folding chairs rather than on the hard bleachers, with a few extra chairs waiting for us.
Dana spots us and waves, her expression lightening and her energy level remarkably high. I lean in closer to Mark. “Her nurse thinks that her sleeping all the time has been more about depression than physical exhaustion. I’m beginning to think she was right, and you were the cure.”
“Whatever the case, it’s good to see her looking better.” He steps backward to where Jacob is talking to the guard, and I watch them huddle together before Jacob disappears out the door. Mark turns and his father spots us, waving his greeting as well. We both wave back and Mark rejoins me.
“Everything oka
y?” I ask.
“It’d be better if I was licking you all over right now.”
His hand comes down on my lower back, scorching me with erotic promise as he urges me forward, my nipples swelling beneath the soft plastic enclosing them. I want him suddenly, intensely, and I’m sure it shows on my face.
I step away and he laughs, low and deep. “Problem?”
“I thought we weren’t touching?”
“I cheated.”
Pleased that he’s being playful, I egg him on. “I’m going to make you pay for teasing me.”
“You can try.”
I purse my lips. “Game on, Mark Compton. Game on.”
We’re both laughing as we reach Dana and Kara. Kara stands up, offering me her chair as she moves to the bleachers.
“What’s so funny?” Dana asks, smiling as she glances at us, and I’m happy to see pink color in her cheeks.
“Your son’s bad jokes,” I say, casting him a taunting look.
He laughs again and Dana lights up. “Oh, do tell,” she says. “I love a good naughty joke.”
Mark claims the other seat next to his mother and covers her hand. “I’m your son. I don’t want to hear that from you.”
“I guess we both have to accept that we’re adults, now, don’t we?” she asks. It’s clear that she’s referencing his club activities, but it’s framed as acceptance, not disdain. “And,” she adds, “if you won’t tell me the joke, Crystal will.” She looks at me. “Right?”
“Right,” I say, moving my chair so that it’s angled toward them both. “Here it goes.”
“Crystal,” Mark says, his eyes steely.
I grin, loving how I have him in suspense. “It is a very bad joke, Dana.”
She waves it off. “Please. Tell me already.”
“If you’re sure, then,” I say, “here goes. So . . . there’s a mama tomato, a papa tomato, and all their baby tomatoes. They all go out for a walk, and when the youngest tomato falls behind, the mother yells ‘catch up!’ ”
Mark shakes his head. “I did not tell that joke.”
Dana laughs and kisses his cheek, whispering something in his ear. His lashes lower and a smile lingers on his lips. “Yes,” he says, and he leans in and whispers something to her.