Sliding Into Home

1

Three weeks later

“HAVE YOU BEEN WATCHING the news?”

Feeling like a suspect caught in the act, Naomi Benoit clutched the telephone tighter in one hand as she muted the volume on the television with the other.

“Not since the six o’clock update,” she lied to her best friend, forcing her restless feet into her cottage’s small kitchen to make a cup of tea. A wicked rainstorm battered the northeast tonight, seemingly centered on Naomi’s coastal New Hampshire hometown. Some tea would help ward off the storm’s chill and—maybe—help chase off the stupid, misplaced worries tonight’s news had stirred up. “And actually, I’ve got a ton of papers to grade before school tomorrow—”

“Do you believe Brody told the ump to, ah, screw off?”

Shayla had been her best bud since Naomi punched Mugsy Simpson on the playground for lifting Shayla’s skirt on a dare. Surely they’d been friends long enough for Shayla to know better than to bring up him?

The only ex-boyfriend to ever drag a piece of Naomi’s heart along with him when he left. The controversial baseball star Brody Davis.

“Of course he told the ump to go scratch himself.” Naomi pulled a shiny red teapot from the cupboard and switched on the burner under her kettle. “Did you see that pitch he called strike three?”

Not that it was any of her concern. How pathetic was it that she would defend a guy who’d ended their relationship via phone while he’d been on the road for a game? He’d never apologized. Never explained. He’d just gotten swept up into baseball and the majors and endorsements for Nike. All of which apparently ranked higher than his hometown girlfriend on his personal radar.

Still, her gaze strayed to ESPN’s replay of today’s home plate shouting match in spite of herself.

“It looked low to me.” Shayla sighed on the other end of the phone. “But why can’t he ever walk away? Doesn’t he realize they’ll never renew his contract, let alone consider him for the Gold Glove he deserves? I keep thinking Brody will get past the big outbursts one of these days, but—”

“Did I mention I had papers to grade?” Naomi’s heart shouldn’t twist over a conversation about an afternoon Boston Aces game at the home field just two hours south of them. She and Shay had been fans of the team since the sixth grade when Boston traded some upstart pitching prospect for Lyle Daringer, the hottest slugger on the planet at that time. But with Brody a fixture on the Aces’roster this year, Naomi found she couldn’t dish about the games quite as much as in the old days.

Although, in her defense, she’d dated with a vengeance after the breakup to oust Brody from her heart. She thought she’d done a damn good job of it, too, until her most recent ex-boyfriend suggested she was only interested in baseball because she carried a torch for her first love.

As if.

“Can you hear the subtle nuances of my cold silence on this end of the phone?” Shayla asked, remaining quiet for all of two seconds to illustrate her point. “Who am I going to talk baseball with if you find something else to do every time Brody’s name comes up?”

Naomi’s cat, Zora, twined around her legs and meowed, recognizing Naomi’s proximity to the cat treat cabinet. She pulled out the container like any well-trained pet owner and sprinkled a snack in Zora’s bowl.

“You can hear Mike and Tony battle it out on Pardon the Interruption if you want some insights. At least they won’t write off his beef the way that snarky DJ on Big Apple Sports Radio will. Because while Brody might be the type to dump his girlfriend in the most tacky manner possible, he sure as heck wouldn’t argue a strike call without damn good reason.” She could respect the guy’s prowess on the diamond without carrying a freaking torch for him.

And frankly, as a die-hard Aces fan, Naomi hated the flap Brody’s antics had caused in baseball circles, taking focus off the game and putting it on his…colorful character. She didn’t know what was up with him, but he was having a hell of a rookie year. The stats were amazing, but he seemed to touch off controversy at every other game.

“One last question,” Shayla pushed, stretching Naomi’s patience as the kettle began to whistle. “Do you think they’ll try to trade him for this?”

The hiss of steam blared through the kitchen, almost drowning out the roll of pounding thunder. Naomi tugged her sweater tighter around her and lifted the pot to fill her teacup. As the whistling ceased, she realized the pounding wasn’t thunder.

Bam, bam, bam!

It was a knock at her door.

“Someone’s here. I’ll see you in school tomorrow, okay?” Setting down the phone and the kettle, she hurried to the front door, wondering who would brave the storm. Zora kept pace, planting her furry cat body wherever she was about to step, nearly tripping her twice before she reached the door.

She pulled it open to see the same face that had filled her TV screen in highlight reels ever since the one o’clock game in Boston.

Dripping rain and testosterone, hometown hero Brody Davis stood on her porch step.

“TEN MINUTES.” BRODY FIGURED he’d better start small in his requests if he wanted to gain admittance to Naomi’s house after a year of silence. A year of knowing he’d thrown away the best shot he’d ever had at real happiness. “That’s all I’m asking. Can I talk to you for ten minutes?”

Frowning, she studied him while the wind whipped his baseball jacket, the gusts driving the pelting rain on his back. She held the door open wide enough that the elements blew around the magazines and papers on a coffee table just behind her, but she seemed oblivious to the tempest. She appeared more concerned with how to tell him off while he stood before her—a wet hat literally in hand—ready to talk.

And more.

“C’mon, Naomi,” he urged, miserable from the inside out. “I already struck out once tonight. You can’t ring me up a second time.”

Just remembering the fight with the ump and the ensuing dress down from his manager torqued him off all over again. But the mention of his latest outburst drew a lopsided grin from his former girlfriend.

Damn, but she was hot. Not manicured, groomed perfection. But real-woman sexy. Her fiery-red hair and take-no-crap attitude had turned his head at a young age and set the standard for what he would find appealing in a woman for the rest of his life. Still, though they’d dated on and off in high school, they hadn’t really gotten serious until last year when he’d been on a farm team close to town.

“I can pretty much guarantee you won’t be scoring in this house, Slugger,” she drawled, standing aside to let him enter. “But I’ve got ten minutes if you’d like to dry off before I send you back down the highway to Boston in that jaunty little sports car.”

Amen.

She could pick on his ride all she wanted. She didn’t know he’d already scored a victory tonight. Just stepping into Naomi Benoit’s house was like coming home. A unique feeling for a scrappy kid whose teenage parents had passed him around to every relative they could scrounge in an effort to abdicate his upbringing.

Finding Naomi tonight had been his overriding goal from the moment he’d walked out of the Aces’ clubhouse in the wake of the great meltdown. He wanted her back. And he’d been waiting for her to be free for the past six months. Lucky for Brody, he still had enough friends in town to keep tabs on her so he could jump into the fray the moment he’d heard she had split with her boyfriend. He wasn’t taking any chances she’d find someone new after she broke up with the latest guy.

“Thank you.” He stood on the front mat and took the door out of her hands since she didn’t seem inclined to close it. Shutting it behind him, he absorbed the sights and sounds of Naomi and her world. “Great place you’ve got here.”

He knew she couldn’t abide small talk, but it was his first reaction that was safe to utter since he couldn’t possibly tell her she looked good enough to devour.

When they’d broken up, she’d been house shopping. Her apartment had been tiny and they’d both been ready for more room, but he hadn’t been around to help her make the move. But his eye was taken by her and not the digs. She was a gorgeous redhead whose tomboy ways were masked beneath eclectic clothes with girly touches. Even tonight, roaming her living room in navy-striped pajama pants and a Boston Aces T-shirt, she sported a jeweled double headband that kept her wavy auburn hair off her face. The headband had a purple butterfly perched over one ear.

She clutched a mug in one hand and her house smelled like scented candles and flavored tea. Something cinnamony. Something sexy. Of course, sex had never been far from his mind when Naomi was around, one of many reasons he’d thought they should take a break a year ago. He’d wanted to focus on his career.

“Oh, please.” Naomi set down the mug and disappeared into a back room for a second before returning with a blue bath towel. She threw it at him before plunking into a green paisley wingback across from a fireplace with a single burning log. “You’re living in something that looks like the Playboy mansion and you think this place is nice?” She shook her head. “I’m not buying it. Why don’t you have a seat and tell me what you really came here for.”

Scrubbing the towel across his short hair, Brody finished drying off and slipped out of his shoes before leaving the front mat. He dropped the towel next to his loafers, thinking how much the whitewashed New England cottage stuffed with quirky furnishings suited her.

“My house is 6,500 square feet of vacant floor space and baseball memorabilia. It’s about as welcoming as a sporting good store.” Not ready to spill his real reason for seeking her out yet, he hoped to distract her. “Any chance of snagging some tea, or is that pushing my luck?”

He flexed his sore hands, thinking it might help to wrap them around a mug. His trainer had told him to ice the knuckles he’d scraped up after putting his fist through his locker, but Brody couldn’t stand the idea of being any colder.

“The water’s hot.” She nodded toward a tiny galley kitchen with a stove that looked like it came from the 1930s and a bright red teapot on the white tile countertop beside it. “Help your—What happened to your hands?”

She set her cup down on the coffee table made of a lacquered tree stump just as he stood up. Darting past her, he snatched the teapot and rummaged around her cabinets until he found a second cup.

“It’s not a big deal.” Of course, it was a big deal to let his temper get the best of him for the umpteenth time this season, but the cuts on his hands were the least of his worries.

She snatched up his right arm before he could grab a mug. He hadn’t been prepared for how her touch would affect him. Purple-painted fingernails barely grazed his skin, the pinkies graced with tiny daisies. A silver Celtic bangle wound around her wrist, a gift from her parents on her sixteenth birthday. He vaguely remembered her friend hosting a big bonfire party to mark the date.

Now, the fruity scent of her shampoo tempted him to lean closer, and he realized she’d just showered. A few damp strands of hair remained darker than the rest and her skin had been scrubbed clean of any makeup. A shot of pure longing jolted his insides as he remembered showers together. Whole days spent in bed…

“Please tell me you used the fist on an inanimate object?” Her chin tipped up as she met his gaze and she let go of his hand in a hurry.

Had his carnal thoughts been that obvious?

“Of course.” He poured hot water in his mug while she slid him a tea bag. “You know me better than that.”

“I thought I did until you went after Javier Velasquez the last time you played Chicago.” She shot him an assessing look for a moment before she reached into the freezer for a package of frozen vegetables and passed it to him. “You should hold that on your hand.”

“It was a tense game and he was talking smack.” Still, he’d never lost it like that before. His world had been falling apart ever since his breakup with Naomi and he didn’t know why. He’d thought it would be a good idea to focus on his career. But lately everything he touched went up in flames. “And you should know that Velasquez was cool about it afterward. He plays the way I do, you know? He doesn’t leave anything on the field. It’s the media that blew it out of proportion.”

Taking the tea and the green beans, he stalked out of the kitchen to take a seat on her couch.

“I never thought you would piss away your shot at the majors.” She followed more slowly, studying him over the rim of her mug. “I couldn’t believe you were ripping into that ump on national TV after you’ve been warned to keep a rein on your tendency to, shall we say, speak your mind?”

He knew he shouldn’t be flattered she’d kept tabs on his career. She’d been a baseball enthusiast, and particularly an Aces fan, since long before they’d dated. Still, it pleased him to know she hadn’t carried a big enough grudge against him to make her root for New York.

“Did you see that strike-three call?”

The Aces had been down by a run in the eighth when he’d come up to bat. There were two outs with runners on second and third and Brody had two legitimate strikes on him for multiple balls he’d fouled off trying to work the count. As a catcher, he’d sat behind home plate all game and he knew the ump’s strike zone. The guy had been calling the outside corner all day for both pitchers, squeezing them hard. But it had started to rain sometime in the seventh and maybe the guy didn’t want to stick around for extra innings with bad weather on the way. When the next pitch came, it was low and outside, same as a hundred other balls that afternoon.

Brody had let that one past him, confident as hell about the placement, yet the home plate ump had given the strike-three sign and ended the game.

“Yes. And it was a bad call. But you and I both know that’s not the first one and it won’t be the last. There’s no instant replay in baseball. The umps call the game like they see it.”

He chugged the tea, hoping to ingest some calm even if he scalded his tongue in the process. Fortunately, just sitting in Naomi’s living room brought his blood pressure down a few notches. Funny how she could tell him the same damn thing his manager had three hours ago and it didn’t make him want to put his fist through anything.

“Sometimes arguing convinces the ump to make the next call in your team’s favor,” he insisted, knowing for a fact that was true. “We’ve seen that happen.”

“Right. But this isn’t stickball in the backyard with Shayla’s big brother umping the game. This is the big leagues and the manager decides what to dispute. He doesn’t get paid a million per year to let you do his job for him—and a sloppy one at that.”

Every word she said made total sense. He’d known all of it before he’d showed up here. But somehow hearing her say it helped. She’d always had a practical fairness that appealed to him. She could cut through his B.S. faster than any female he’d ever met and some perverse part of him had wondered if she still held that power.

Sure enough, the woman was still more potent than the homemade rotgut his granddad once brewed on a falling-down farm not ten miles up the road from Naomi’s cottage.

“You’re right,” he acknowledged, polishing off the tea and setting aside the frozen veggies.

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe you drove here in a thunderstorm after we haven’t spoken in a year because you wanted my input on a bad call.” She punched a button on the remote to turn off the television just as a highlight from his earlier argument flashed on the screen.

She hadn’t moved fast enough to erase that unflattering image of himself—red faced and tense—from his head.

“No.” Jolting to his feet, he roamed around the small living area in his socks, restless with too much tension. “It’s complicated.”

Her silver bracelet clanked against her mug as she gripped it more tightly. Thunder rolled outside, the rain pummeling the roof.

“I’m a smart woman. Try me.”

“Nothing’s been the same since you—since we—” He didn’t know where to begin. “I always felt more grounded when I lived up here. When we were dating.”

Frowning, she set the remote on the coffee table and remained silent. Waiting.

“That much is fact. What I don’t understand is why or what variable in my life I need to adjust to fix it.” It was like trying to iron out a hitch in your swing. You went back to basics to sort out the trouble.

“And you think I could be a variable?” Her nose wrinkled with confusion or maybe distaste.

“I need to figure out why I can’t settle down in the box. Why I can’t sit still in a hotel room when we’re on the road for games. Why I’m restless as hell all the time, even when I’m knocking the ball out of the park.” He’d circled her floor multiple times and forced himself to stop.

To face her.

“I’m confused.” She shook her head, clearly having no idea where he was going with this.

“Maybe I lost some mojo when we broke up.” It sounded stupid. It was stupid. But after telling himself that was the dumbest thing he’d ever come up with and having the damn idea persist, he figured he owed it to himself to test the theory.

He was better with her than without her and the time had come to reclaim the woman who’d become a part of him.

“Brody.” She straightened in her chair. “You made it through the ranks of the minors and into the majors. You’ve got a multi-million-dollar contract. You’ve dated the chicks in the SI swimsuit issue. Trust me, your mojo is formidable.”

“Yeah?” He stalked across the living room and dropped down to sit on her coffee table inches from where she sat. “I think I never got over you.”

Her blue eyes widened. A slight flush crawled across her skin. He was close enough to see her pulse throb at the base of her throat.

“You can’t be suggesting—”

His hand on her knee halted whatever she’d been about to say and he remembered every single time he’d ever touched her. Every single time they’d taken their attraction to a heart-pounding, mind-numbing conclusion.

“Give me another chance, Naomi.”

2

“YOU’RE CERTIFIABLE.”

Naomi’s heart fluttered like she was sixteen again and she cursed the breathlessness he inspired. He’d been the one to leave her behind while he chased his superstar dreams. She’d coped by becoming a serial dater, making sure she never stuck around long enough to get her heart broken again. The method hadn’t helped her find true love, but she was managing to have some fun in the process.

There was no way he could coerce her into—what? Sex? A relationship? Because he’d lost his mojo.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He stared at her with heart-melting gray eyes, his good looks sharper and more defined since high school. He’d filled out in the last six years, his body honed into a slugging machine. He had the upper body strength of a power hitter and rock-hard catcher’s thighs. Not that she was ogling him now, but she might have ogled a time or two on television.

In fact, there were probably an embarrassing number of interviews with him recorded on her DVR, although they were strictly used for the sake of the inspirational videos she put together for the youth baseball team she coached. Surreptitiously, she hid the remote control between the seat cushions.

“So you don’t care that you’re barking mad?” She reached to tuck a stray hair into her headband and realized her fingers felt a little trembly.

Heaven help her, Brody Davis was getting under her skin again and he’d been back in her life for all of ten minutes. And that ticked her off.

“When have I ever cared what anyone else thinks?” he asked in all seriousness, his chiseled features set in stark lines.

She spied a darkness in his gaze that he’d never revealed in any of his interviews.

“You’re serious.” It wasn’t until that moment that the full import of why he’d shown up really hit her.

He’d honestly come here to get back together with her.

Or maybe just to spend a night in her bed.

And he wasn’t here so she could be some notch on an already-impressive bedpost—her notch had been left a long time ago. He really thought sleeping with her would straighten out whatever problems were chasing around his head tonight.

“Like a heart attack.” His words whispered over her with deafening softness, uttered by a man she’d let get too close.

In more ways than one.

“No way—”

He flexed his fingers against her pj-clad knee, reminding her that he’d been touching her that whole time and she hadn’t done jack to stop him. That big, broad, powerful palm that halted hundred-mile-an-hour fastballs day in and day out, now touched her with infinite gentleness. Heat.

“Naomi.” The word was a plea. Or maybe a chastisement. She couldn’t tell because she was too caught up in the feel of his touch and the intoxication of having him this close.

She tried hard to call up the way it had felt when he’d broken up with her long distance and followed it up with a rambling e-mail at one in the morning to explain they’d both be “better off.”

A little of the anger came back—slowly. She let it build, knowing her righteous indignation was tempered by the subtle stroke of his thumb on the underside of her knee as the rain thundered against the windows, sealing them in this moment.

“You hurt me too much to deserve that opportunity,” she admitted finally, needing to say the words out loud so her hormones got the message.

“So you can hurt me in return,” he suggested, sliding forward on the coffee table so that his knees bracketed hers and his hand glided up her thigh three breath-stealing inches. “Tomorrow, you can kick me out and send me back to Boston a spurned man. But consider just this one night…”

She wanted to flip his hand off her leg—the touch was nervy for a man who hadn’t seen her in months. In fact, she wanted to flip him off, period. But no matter how much she tried to tell herself otherwise, she’d never fully excised Brody Davis from her heart. Besides, the dark, haunted look in his eyes gave her pause.

She could still read his moods like an old farmer read the weather. She’d known he’d tell off that ump tonight the second she’d seen his jaw clench. And she knew right now that he wasn’t spinning some lover-boy nonsense to get in her bed. He was as intense in a relationship as he was on the field. The man was far from shallow.

He had to be genuinely worried about losing his career because of his outbursts and he’d come to her for—what? To help keep him grounded? To level out one of his legendary moods?

“Sleeping with me won’t fix whatever you think has gone wrong for you.” Her gaze tracked over his face, searching for more clues to this confusing and complex man who’d charmed her from the moment he’d whispered an answer to her in Spanish class.

Not that she’d needed help, sitting in an accelerated program with kids one and two years ahead of her. But Brody had wanted to talk to her and found a way, even though the answer he’d given her had been wrong.

“If you’re right, then I’ll be the one who has to deal with it.” He didn’t appear overly concerned.

Of course, he’d had total confidence in his incorrect Spanish answer, too. Naomi had always admired his ability to ignore obstacles and plow ahead in life. Right or wrong, he’d achieved so much simply by brazening his way through the world.

“What if I had a boyfriend or a husband?”

He smiled for the first time since he’d stepped back into her life.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you, too.” He reached to tuck that loose strand of hair into her headband, his other hand never leaving her thigh. “You’re still teaching and coaching youth softball. You’ve been dating, but there haven’t been any serious boyfriends besides the X-Games dude you told to take a hike a couple of weeks ago.”

She couldn’t believe he’d kept track, right down to her recent breakup. “The X-Games guy is actually an environmental engineer.” Her cheek tingled where he’d brushed away the stray strands.

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “So he’s a hardcore granola eater. I watched his dirt bike routine one night to see what all the hype was about and I figured he’d break his neck by the time he’s thirty, then where would that leave you?”

He sounded protective, possessive and far too jealous for a guy whose dating life got press in newspapers, magazines and—for the really addicted sports fan—online. Nevertheless, she’d broken up with the X-Gamer for precisely the reasons he mentioned.

Of course, the X-Gamer hadn’t taken it so well. Ryan had quickly made it known that she hadn’t been breaking up with him because of what he did, but because he wasn’t Brody. Naomi had been furious. But she would have to find a way to get along with him eventually since he coached one of the other softball teams in her league. They had to see each other every weekend.

“Okay. I didn’t mean to suggest my private life was up for discussion. Clearly, you’ve got access to better research than I gave you credit for.” Someone from their hometown must be keeping him up-to-date on what she’d been doing. Naomi took small comfort in that since it meant she wasn’t the only one to seek out information on an ex.

Him.

Heaven knew, she’d never tried to find out what Ryan was doing in the short time since they’d split. Maybe that was because their relationship had run a more natural course, whereas she and Brody had broken up prematurely. Over the freaking telephone.

And what if there was a certain messed-up logic in Brody’s idea that they should have sex? Would it have helped cure her of Brody if things hadn’t ended so abruptly? If their relationship had died a more natural death?

“You’re free of emotional entanglements right now, and so am I.” He sat very still, not pressing his luck with the hand on her thigh, but not retreating, either. “Don’t you ever think about me? About what it would have been like if we’d stayed together?”

A lie sat on her tongue, all ready for automatic discharge. But just then, a flash of lightning brought a clap of thunder so loud the windowpanes rattled in the casements. She remembered the old childhood vow about “may I be struck dead” for lying and thought maybe she shouldn’t test the issue with lightning dancing all around the house.

“Sometimes. Maybe.” She shivered at the thought. Memories of endless kisses on the bench seat of his old pickup truck returned with sizzling clarity.

Ryan had accused her of being hung up on Brody and she’d denied it to him the same way she so often denied it to herself. But since she hadn’t managed a solid relationship with any of the guys she’d dated since the man in front of her, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to prove in no uncertain terms that she could put Brody in her past. She could sleep with him, see that sex with him wasn’t the monumental experience her brain had built it up to be, and walk away from him for good.

It had been his idea, after all. He would hardly be surprised if she sent him packing in the morning.

“I’ve thought about it, too,” he admitted, his striped dress shirt open over a gray T-shirt that followed the lines of his perfectly maintained bod. “A lot. Too much lately.”

“Belated guilt?” she guessed, thinking about what it would be like to forget their shared past and launch herself into the arms of her fantasy man. No way could he live up to her memories of him. All the better for shuttling him out of her memory so she could get on with her life. “Better late than never, I guess.”

All thought of sending him away tonight was fading. Maybe it had been a moot point since the moment she’d opened her door. Something about his presence in her living room—asking for a replay of the past—felt inevitable. Destined.

“It’s not guilt that made me drive two hours in a downpour.” His gaze shifted south to linger on her mouth. “I couldn’t see the road half the time.”

“You’re too reckless by half,” she accused, her tongue darting along her suddenly dry lips.

Now that she’d given herself permission to be with him just this once, her body was responding with enthusiasm.

“There was a time you had a bit of a reckless streak yourself.” He twined a hand behind her neck and she was lost.

She wasn’t sure how she’d feel in the morning when Brody was excised from her life forever. But by her calculation, she had a good seven hours before she needed to worry about it.

“I think you bring out the brash side of me.” The man was an electric spark. He jolted everyone and everything around him.

And, tomorrow morning aside, Naomi couldn’t wait for her dose of sizzle.

SHE WAS GOING TO LET HIM STAY.

Brody read it in her eyes the second before he kissed her, and the magnitude of that gift hit him like a fastball to the chest. His heart damn near stopped.

Thankfully, the forward momentum of his mouth never slowed.

Her lips met his in a slow dance he hadn’t forgotten. This was Naomi. His girl. The One Who Got Away—but only because he’d let her go.

Shutting down the old thoughts before they stole tonight from him, too, Brody forgot everything else but kissing her. Fingers tunneling through her hair, he freed the jeweled headband to slip to the floor, welcoming the silken slide of the strands on his skin. He angled her head, deepening the kiss, giving her as much as she asked for. More.

Her hands roamed his back, her touch even more potent than he remembered. She traced the muscles he’d fought for in daily training sessions, her fingers missing nothing in their thorough tour of his upper body.

He drew her closer, lifting her up off the couch to sit on his lap, cradling her against him. She fit him perfectly, all lean curves and sleek limbs as she wound herself around him. Seeking even more contact.

But then, Naomi had never been the kind of person to doubt herself once she made a decision. She gave a hundred and ten percent to whatever she chose in life and—for tonight at least—she’d chosen him. Making no attempt to hide her hunger, she splayed a hand across his chest and slid it around his shoulder, sealing herself to him.

His control slipped a bit more and he pulled her hips tight to his. Their kiss heated, their tongues battling out an old score their bodies would settle once and for all.

“Do you need a bed?” No one had ever accused him of any great finesse with women, and he regretted the harsh sound of the words as they croaked from his throat.

For all of a second and a half.

Naomi’s eyes were unfocused and desire-filled as she stared up at him and frowned.

“Hell, no.” She traced his lower lip with her finger. “A bed is at least twenty feet away and I’m not giving you any chance to change your mind.”

He might have smiled, but the need to put his mouth back on hers was so fierce, he didn’t have time to.

Outside, the rain escalated to impossible volume, drowning out any other sounds. The primal, driving force of it echoed everything inside him, his relentless need for the woman in his arms.

Spearing a hand beneath her shirt, he covered the creamy skin with questing fingers. He made quick work of the hooks on her bra, a smooth expanse of satin that he pulled off along with her shirt.

Breaking the kiss, he had to see her, to revere what he’d unveiled. She was as curvy as he remembered, her breasts generous for her small frame. The taut pink crests were rosy and slightly upturned, awaiting his mouth. Gladly, he obliged.

Tilting her back, he supported her with one arm and cupped the soft weight of her breast with his free hand. He kneaded her warm flesh, watching the way her eyes slid to half-mast, her breathing growing frantic.

Lowering his lips to one tight peak, he circled the tip with his tongue, drawing out the moment before he drew her deep in his mouth to suckle her. Not even the rain could smother her cry as he lavished kisses there.

Not content to savor her with his mouth alone, he trailed a hand down her stomach to the waistband of her thin cotton pajama pants. Unfastening the drawstring, he freed the waist, but didn’t penetrate the barrier yet, preferring to linger over the heat of her skin and the feel of her in his arms. He dipped a finger into the small depression of her belly button and she arched hard, calling out his name.

And then, playtime was over.

Naomi twisted his shirt in her hand, gripping the fabric tight to drag one layer and then the other up his shoulders and off. She slipped free from his grasp when he moved to help her, her pajama pants sliding to the floor to reveal a hot-pink thong with a rhinestone star on each hip. His hands were on her instantly, framing her waist, but she still wasn’t done with him. Her fingers plucked at his belt buckle, wrenching leather this way and that until she’d unfastened the belt, button and zipper in record time.

A flash of lightning crackled again, its appearance coinciding with a soft pop and the loss of electricity. The lamps faded to black, casting the room in darkness save for the bursts of lightning that provided a strobe effect.

If Naomi was concerned about the power outage, she sure didn’t show it. Her fingers never wavered from a slow track down his abs to the waistband of his shorts.

“Damn,” she whispered softly, leaning to press a kiss on his chest, her tongue darting out to trace a teasing circle just above his heart.

“What?” He didn’t want to interrupt what was happening between them, but for her he’d fix anything and everything that ticked her off.

“I didn’t get to see the best part,” she confided, her fingers slipping into his shorts to stroke the hard length of him.

“I think I could have fixed that problem if you’d waited to touch me.” Heat seared his skin, flaying his insides and torching all rational thought. “Now, I can’t do anything but this.”

He picked her up and held her against his chest, positioning the vee of her thighs to press against the tip of his erection. Lights flashed behind his eyes that didn’t have a damn thing to do with the storm. Naomi’s arms wrapped around him, clinging. Her breasts swelled against his chest.

His heartbeat kicked into overdrive, the thumping louder than a stadium full of fans at fever pitch. Anchoring her against him, he tugged down her panties with one hand until they slid to the floor.

Later, he would touch her. Taste her. Pile on so many orgasms she wouldn’t see any man but him for the next decade. Or ten.

But right now, he needed to be inside her. Laying her down on the sofa, he shed his shorts and felt around for his pants on the floor until he found the right pocket. He withdrew a condom and rolled it on, heedless of her hands tugging him down to the couch.

To her.

If he didn’t sheathe himself now, it wasn’t going to happen. It had been far too long since he’d touched her.

Positioning himself over her, he parted her thighs and allowed himself just one feel. Circling the hot center of her, his finger slid easily along the swollen folds. Her wordless plea assured him she was ready and he entered her in one breathless stroke.

Possessing her.

He felt the surge to his core, just the way he knew he would have every day for the last year if he hadn’t made a colossal mistake. Words of praise and commitment, reverence and—ah, hell—more than that bubbled in his throat.

Ruthlessly, he held it all back, determined to give her one night that wasn’t about anything else but pleasure.

She wrapped her legs around him, her slender thighs squeezing, locking. She arched her hips, meeting every stroke, taking all he had to give. He framed her face in his hands and kissed her, mirroring the slow glide of his hips with his tongue.

Heat blazed over his back, dotting his shoulders with sweat as he kept his movements seductively easy. Gentle. He could feel her tension mounting around him as she stilled, her breasts heaving with gusty breaths punctuated with little moans.

Just when she turned the most rigid, her fingers digging into his shoulders, he increased his pace. A cry wrenched from her lips. She writhed beneath him, so gorgeous in her pleasure, her muscles clenching his tight. He let go then, losing himself in the lush feel of her and the absolute perfection of the moment.

Later, he wrapped her tight in his arms, side by side on the couch. His heart slammed hard against his ribs for a long time afterward, as if it wanted to make itself known.

After all, he hadn’t just come here for one night with Naomi, no matter what he’d allowed her to think.

3

NAOMI’S ALARM WENT OFF, the wailing electronic beep ruining the great dream she’d been having about Brody…

Oh, wait. It hadn’t been a dream this time. She felt the very real proof wrapped around her, spooned against her in the tangle of sheets. The alarm hadn’t ended a great dream. It had ended her brief reunion with Brody, a one-night indulgence that had been far too delectable for words. Being with Brody had been…transporting. Amazing.

And oh, man, she was in over her head.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of getting out of bed at this hour.” Brody’s hand shifted where it lay on her hip, skating along the indentation of her waist and dipping lower to tease a response from her body that awakened it instantly.

“I coach kids’ softball on Saturday mornings, remember? I have no choice.”

Of course, she’d set the alarm early, after the power came back on, so she’d have time to say goodbye. Time for her heart to recover from her night with a man she’d always cared about more than she could admit. And their night together hadn’t done a damn thing to lessen the attraction.

The caring.

Her heart tightened in her chest. The parting was not going to be easy.

“Naomi.” He softened his tone and twisted her around in his arms so they faced each other.

Dawn hadn’t fully broken yet, so his expression remained shadowed. She hoped hers did, too, since she feared giving away the feelings last night had stirred.

“Mmm?”

“Breaking up with you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Surprised but wary, she squinted through the dimness to meet his steely gaze. She had not expected to have this kind of conversation. Nor did she want to remember the aftermath of their breakup.

“I assume that’s why you opted out of splitting with me in person and chose to simply dial my digits while you were a thousand miles away.” The sheets cooled at the thought and she was grateful she’d left ample time before she needed to shower and be at the practice field.

She sent up a prayer of thanksgiving that the rain had stopped during the night. She needed that field to be dry enough to play on by 8:00 a.m. because she needed something to get her mind off Brody.

“I was a chicken shit and I hated myself for it, but I swear to you, I would not have been able to look you in the eye and tell you it was over when I still loved you like crazy.” His gaze never wavered, as if he spouted the God’s honest truth when she knew he was full of it.

Suddenly, the prospect of walking away from him this morning seemed a little easier.

“Don’t you dare lie to me after what we just shared—”

“How many times did people tell us how tough it would be to make a relationship work while I was on the road and you were here?”

“And you decided to buy into the naysayers’ logic without telling me? After all the plans we’d made for a future together?” She regretted the note of outrage in her voice that hinted at how much he’d hurt her. What happened to using their night together to get him out of her head for good?

“I was going to spring training in Florida and then 162 games around the country while you were committed to a job here. How fair would it have been to ask you to wait for me while I traveled around the country with a major league team? How many relationships do you know that could have survived that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that instead of giving me the heave-ho like I was some girl you picked up in a bar?” She was shaking with the memory of it even now. Or maybe she was shaking because he’d made her feel something incredible last night and then brought up all this garbage first thing this morning.

Why couldn’t they have parted civilly, with the taste of kisses on their lips, instead of angry words? But then, Brody always had a way of sweeping you into his world, firing you up and making you feel as passionate as he did. Good or bad, his emotions were contagious.

“I was too conflicted about the whole thing to have broken up with you if I hadn’t had your anger to seal the deal. I knew in my heart it was wrong to drag you out on the road with me when you were excited to buy a house and put down roots.” He ignored her spluttered protest and pressed a finger to her lips. “Besides, we’d hardly dated anyone but each other. I had this idea in my head that you should date other people so you wouldn’t resent me for monopolizing most of your romantic life.”

She wanted to argue about how unfair it had been to deceive her. About how wrong he’d been to make a big relationship decision without her, and to break her heart because he thought he knew what was best for her. But something—maybe the sincerity she saw in his eyes as the sunlight filtered through the blinds—made her think twice.

He’d been under a lot of pressure when he signed with the Aces. And his family had all been there with their hands out when they heard about his fat contract. As exciting as his career had been, it had shown him who his real friends were.

Too bad that—after finding out—he’d turned his back on her, too.

“So instead of resenting you for tying me down, you made me resent you for ditching me without so much as a face-to-face conversation.”

He shook his head. “I never suggested it was a well thought out plan. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a habit of occasionally putting my foot in my mouth.”

In the quiet moment that followed his response, she remembered the way he’d started the conversation. The bit about loving her so much he couldn’t have broken up with her in person. Why had he brought that up this morning when her emotions were so mixed up to start with?

Unwilling and possibly unable to see straight where he was concerned, Naomi couldn’t think about it right now. Not with the scent of him on her sheets and her skin.

“I’d better get dressed.” She scrambled out of bed before he could stop her, too confused to continue a conversation that shredded her insides. “I don’t want to keep the kids waiting. They’ve got a big game this week and really need the practice, so—”

She hightailed toward the bathroom, needing a retreat.

“I’m coming with you,” he called, his sexy, he-man voice easily penetrating the bathroom door. “I want to see you in action. Besides, I don’t know if I’ve got a job to show up for today anyhow.”

Flipping on the handle for the shower, Naomi made a valiant effort to drown out the noisy hubbub of her feelings. She told herself Brody only wanted to hang out with her today because he might have been released from his contract after the fight with the ump and the manager yesterday. He’d showed up here last night because he’d been upset and for all she knew, that was the only thing keeping him in New Hampshire when the rest of his life was in Boston.

Too bad no matter how much she scrubbed and rinsed, the voice in her head kept insisting there was a chance he had come back to his hometown for more than a respite from the media storm. After the amazing time they’d had together last night, a little part of her wanted to believe Brody had another reason for coming home: her.

NAOMI WAS A HELL OF A COACH.

Brody realized as much within the first fifteen minutes of her softball practice for eleven- and twelve-year-olds. He’d never had time to be in town during one of her practices before, something he realized now had been a sign of how scattered his attention had been during the months they’d dated.

He hadn’t been surprised by her adeptness since she’d always had a sharp eye for sports. Plus, she could motivate anyone. Witness the way she’d encouraged him to follow a dream—starting way back in high school—that would have been easy to give up on so many times. No wonder the kids on the soggy field listened when she spoke and worked their hardest to gain her approval.

He’d laid low while the parents had dropped off the kids, figuring he’d save the mob scene for later. The kids thought it was cool a baseball player had come to help them out with a practice—but not so cool that they didn’t return to flicking one another’s hats off or giggling about a sleepover they’d attended the week before.

Brody had talked Naomi into giving him a lift since the two-seater convertible he’d been tooling around in lately was on the conspicuous side. Mostly, he just wanted more time to be with her and convince her to give him a second chance. His approach this morning had resulted in a stalemate, making him think he’d screwed up too badly last year for her to reconsider where he was concerned.

“Heads up, Jess,” Naomi warned, shouting to the shortstop on one of her scrimmage teams after she’d split the group in two for game-style practice.

A tall girl was in the box, waiting for her pitch and the shortstop tensed, eye on the batter. Brody had been watching the in-fielder during the warm-up drills and the kid was good for her age—athletic, coordinated, quick thinking.

She was ready to make a play, knees bent, poised on the balls of her feet. From Naomi’s heads-up to the shortstop, Brody guessed that’s where the batter normally hit the ball. Another sign of good coaching—Naomi paid attention to the finer points of the game and kept her team on their toes.

When the batter cracked a fastball, she hit a line drive right at the shortstop’s head. It would have been a tough play for anyone at that level, requiring quick thinking and deft reflexes. In fact, Brody figured the fielder would be damn fortunate just not to get hit. Instead, Jess made a beautiful, textbook-style backhand stab at the ball.

And missed it.

“Damn it!” Jess kicked the ground with a vengeance, the display of temper effectively halting the other team’s celebration as the runner passed first and sped toward second.

Brody felt the fielder’s pain like he’d bet no one else on the diamond did. The few parents who’d stuck around to watch the practice appeared vaguely horrified that their eleven-year-olds were subject to the tantrum. The language that would have been mild on a professional field was surely off-limits for a grade-school team.

For some reason, seeing the shortstop’s face twisted up in a snarl of anger—at herself, not at the batter—gave Brody a better look in the mirror than watching professional athletes lose their cool. That was how he’d looked to fifty thousand fans at the Aces ballpark yesterday. This was how he’d appeared on the jumbotron and on TV screens in a few million homes.

Like a temperamental kid who couldn’t keep his cool.

Naomi blew the whistle and called the teams in for a water break as she hurried over to the infield grass. Jess had thrown her glove on second base, clearly still pissed she’d missed a ball and not terribly wise to the upset she’d caused all around. Brody followed her, not to nose his way into her business, but because he didn’t like the idea of her talking to any ticked off person alone, even one who was eleven years old.

“Hey, Jess.” She picked up the glove and handed it back to the player. “Tough break on the play, but let’s give credit where it’s due, okay? Tyra had an awesome hit. That kind of bat speed keeps us competitive, right?”

Jess said nothing. Brody was surprised at Naomi’s approach, knowing most coaches of kids that age would have been all over the discipline of some sort. Was Naomi letting her off too easy?

“Because if you can’t make that play, no other shortstops in this league are going to make it, either,” she continued, extending an ego stroke Brody didn’t think the girl necessarily deserved. Still, the kid picked up her hanging head.

“Yeah.” The scrappy blonde had frustrated tears in her eyes. “But if Tyra can hit that, someone else on another team will be able to get one past me, too.”

“So why don’t you work in the practice field with Brody? I need to put Carrie in while you cool off anyway.”

Sure enough, she’d yanked Jess from the scrimmage. But instead of being upset, the girl appeared grateful for the out and for the opportunity to work on her skills.

A true competitor.

“I’m right behind you,” Brody told the kid as the pony-tailed blonde jogged by him and her teammates returned to the field. He lowered his voice as Naomi walked toward the third-base dugout near him. “Remind you of anyone?”

He knew his worst traits well enough to see himself in the kid.

“Yes. You’re both the best players on your teams.” She blew the whistle to start the next inning, clearing the bases to give the other team batting practice.

Brody shook his head.

“Come on. You know I’m talking about the temper problem.” He didn’t know where he’d picked up that explosiveness since none of his family members behaved that way, but it had gotten him in enough hot water in his life to know it wasn’t attractive.

Hell, it could be his ticket to the unemployment line if his manager followed through on his promise to release him if he couldn’t rein it in.

“Passionate on the field. Passionate off.” She shrugged. “You’re not the only person to get fired up about your game. If you ask me, you’ve got that fire to thank for where you are today.”

“Are you kidding me?” He shook his head, half expecting her to make a crack about his temper. His teammates had started calling him Mercury the last time he’d gotten into it with an ump, as in his mercury rose faster than any other guy’s in the line-up.

“Absolutely not.” She pointed toward Jess. “She’s going to practice fielding line drives until sunset, just the same way you practiced like a fiend when a ball got past you at home plate. I’ll take Jess on my team any day.”

She turned back toward the practice, shouting encouragement to a redhead at the plate who bit her lip in concentration every time the pitcher wound up.

As he walked away from Naomi and toward his preteen doppelganger, Brody wasn’t really surprised at Naomi’s easy going attitude, her acute understanding of human nature. Those qualities were only a portion of many reasons he should have never let her go in the first place.

With a woman like that at his side, maybe he wouldn’t be spinning his wheels letting his temper railroad his career. Maybe he’d be letting the positive aspect of that—passion, she’d called it—fuel his ass forward in life. To be a better player.

Hell, maybe he could be a better person, too.

Picking up speed, he jogged toward where Jess waited, tossing herself fly balls and catching them on the run. Oh, yeah, Brody would help this girl with her game.

It was the least he could do since Jess had helped teach him a lesson he’d missed his whole adult life.

And considering that new understanding might be his ticket to feeling worthy of Naomi, the knowledge was pretty much priceless.

BRODY WAS MOBBED BY PARENTS after softball practice.

Naomi watched him try to make his way across the field to where she waited, sitting on the tailgate of her SUV. He signed autographs on auto club maps and fast food napkins—whatever the players’ parents had handy when they picked up their kids. He’d also signed all the players’ hats, leaving words of wisdom about the game on the insides of their brims.

Finally, he ambled over with his glove under his arm, his Aces ball cap jammed on his head backward.

“It’s not quite like the crowd at the All-Star Game.” She’d seen footage from the All-Star break enough times to know it was a media circus. Ticket prices were high, making the event less of a family affair and more geared toward the hardcore fans. “But they sure seemed pleased to have you here.”

Especially Jess. Naomi had been really touched to see the way Brody coached her, demonstrating the fluid mechanics of the most economical throws to first, second, third and home. Far from being over her head, the information had been quickly put to good use by the young player, taking her skills up several notches in the course of a few hours. Naomi knew the girl would never forget the lessons she’d received from a world-class player.

“Your team is great.” He tossed his glove in the truck and sat beside her on the tailgate. “I hope they beat the Braves Wednesday.”

She laughed, amused at the vehemence in his voice.

“We’ll do our best. Heaven knows if there are any line drives to the shortstop, we’ve got a guaranteed out.”

“Jess is a quick study.” He sat close to her so that his shoulder brushed hers. So that she couldn’t forget the potent effect he had on her despite her wishes to the contrary. “You’ve done a great job with the team.”

The simple praise touched her the way no extravagant compliment ever could have.

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat, aware of the emotion clogging it. “You know how much I’ve always liked sports. Softball’s my favorite, but I coach soccer, too.”

“I’ve heard the kids in town all want to be on your teams.” He peered out over the fields where another team had just started practice. There were four fields with a playground in the middle and a snack bar they ran during games that raised money for uniforms and new balls.

“You seem to hear a lot.” She couldn’t deny she was flattered about that.

“In particular, I heard you have some cool training films.” He turned to her, one eyebrow lifted in question.

Heat crawled over her cheeks.

“I use game footage from the local colleges and the major leagues and put together a fun instructional video to get them pumped up.” She kept her eyes trained on the monkey bars to avoid his gaze.

Unfortunately, he was having none of that. He cupped her cheek and turned her head toward him.

“I hear I’ve made the cut a few times.”

Her heartbeat accelerated at the heat of his stare.

“Anybody who gets a play of the day in the nightly highlight reels is in the running for my video.” She was a little defensive about it since Ryan had accused her of using her videos as an excuse to keep tabs on Brody’s career. “Long before we dated, I was sneaking on my radio at night to listen to the late games when the Aces played on the West Coast. Mom still pitches in the women’s league. My dad runs the men’s. You must remember that we took a family vacation to Cuba once, just to see some games.”

She took a breath, realizing she was rambling. Did she sound too defensive?

But Brody didn’t look at her like she was trying to cover up some big, secret crush on him by taping a few of his best plays. Not like Ryan had. Brody watched her with something like admiration in his eyes.

“You love baseball. Just like me.” He draped an arm around her shoulders, his thigh grazing hers. “You know how cool it is to talk to someone who understands the beauty of fielding a double play ball or the joy of fighting off impossible pitches to stay alive in the count when your team is down by a run in the last inning.”

She smiled. “It’s kind of like recognizing the skill of a five-tool player when you see Brody Davis knock one into the stands. Other fans see a two-run homer. I see the way you read the pitches and were ready for the curveball.”

His lips brushed her temple in a tender kiss. For a moment, she absorbed the closeness of the moment, allowing her mind to entertain the prospect of being with him again. Of talking about baseball. Touring around the major league stadiums with him or spending days here at the rec field, coaching kids. They’d always had fun together. And their amazing chemistry translated into the most spectacular sex of her life.

All at once she realized what a fool she’d been to let him back into her life. She’d been kidding herself to think she’d be able to get him out of her system by spending the night with him. Instead of proving her memories of him were overrated, she’d only learned that being with him was better than she remembered.

“Brody.” She eased away from him, needing to come back to reality before she got swept up in his world again, a world a long way from coastal New Hampshire.

But before she could explain why she needed to protect her heart, a truck pulled into the parking lot beside them, kicking up enough mud to spatter her shoes.

Incensed, she turned to tell the arriving parent to slow down. However, the silver Ford didn’t belong to any player’s family. She recognized the vehicle as the driver jammed the gearshift into Park and vaulted out of the cab.

Her ex-boyfriend, Ryan Patnode, strode around his truck to confront her. Actually, he appeared more like he planned to confront Brody since his eyes were glued to the Aces’ catcher, his stare hostile.

Confrontational.

All at once, she realized how similar in temperament these two men were and she wondered for the first time if she’d gravitated toward Ryan for a very particular reason. Holy rebound man, they were even built similarly with tall, athletic bods.

Ryan jabbed a finger in Brody’s chest and barked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

4

FOR A TEMPERAMENTAL GUY, Brody really hadn’t been in many fights in his life.

He’d thrown a few punches back in Triple A when some redneck clown had threatened him with a broken beer bottle in retaliation for a flubbed play at the plate. And of course, there was the brawl seen around the world when he’d gotten into it with the Chicago Flames third basemen a few weeks ago. But other than that, he’d managed to keep his nose clean.

A feat he didn’t see lasting much longer unless he did some fast talking.

The jerk pointing in his face was clearly looking for trouble.

“Lower your voice, Ryan,” Naomi warned, peering past the newcomer toward the rec fields where a couple of young teams still ran their practices.

“So this is Ryan?” Brody clarified, understanding better why the guy was in a bad mood. “I didn’t recognize you without your bicycle helmet.”

He kept his arm around Naomi, figuring if his right hand was on her shoulder, he wouldn’t be tempted to knock the jerk’s accusatory finger into next year.

“Well, I recognize you, pretty boy, and if you don’t get your hands off Naomi now I’m gonna show you how we settle disputes around here. And it doesn’t involve a temper tantrum on home plate, I’ll tell you that much.”

Whoa. The guy wasn’t just pissed to see another man touching his ex. This man was livid to see Brody touching his ex.

Apparently his style of baseball didn’t appeal to the bicycle dude.

He was about to tell him to cool off when he realized Naomi had tensed beside him, her shoulders stiff as a board as she eased away from him.

“Ryan, we need to talk.” She moved to slide off the tailgate.

Brody held her back. “Wait a minute.” He looked at her, confused why she would take off with some angry jerk she’d already broken up with. “Do you see the vein ticking under this guy’s eye? You can’t go anywhere with someone this mad.”

His request was reasonable. Hell, his request wasn’t optional. He wasn’t letting this woman—the woman he’d probably never stopped loving—spend time with a guy who went around threatening people.

For all that Brody had a temper on the field, he’d never dream of bringing it into his personal relationships.

“Don’t you see what he’s trying to do?” Naomi spoke quietly, eyes pleading for understanding as she met his gaze. “He wants to goad you into a fight for his fifteen minutes of fame. Or maybe so he can get you kicked out of baseball when the media hears about it.”

Brody felt his eyebrows shoot up along with his skepticism.

“Give yourself more credit, Naomi.” He didn’t buy her theory for a minute. “Any guy who had you and lost you would be hurt to see you move on. I don’t need to punch this guy. He already took a right hook to the chest just seeing me touch you.”

But Naomi didn’t seem to hear him. She turned her attention to her ex. Reaching for the finger the guy still poked at Brody’s chest, she guided his hand down and away.

Just like that, the steam puffing the guy up seemed to hiss out of him. His shoulders sagged with defeat. His face fell. He sucked in a breath and Brody thought bicycle dude might cry.

If he was in Ryan’s shoes, he might.

The poor bastard had lost more than a hot girlfriend when Naomi dumped him. He’d lost a caring, warm-hearted, amazing friend.

Still, recognizing that and empathizing with the loss didn’t begin to feed the green monster that roared inside Brody when Naomi led Ryan a few feet away to talk privately. They weren’t far from him in physical distance, but watching Naomi stand so close to another man, her face etched in lines of tender concern, made Brody feel a thousand miles away from her in every way that counted.

One of the teams’ practices ended nearby and the parking lot started to fill with parents offering their kids advice or encouragement on how they’d played that day. Spikes sloshed through the muddy gravel lot, as the kids stowed their gear in trunks and shouted parting words to their friends. Brody sat apart from it all—unnoticed on the SUV tailgate with his hat pulled low. Not even the familiar sound of a bat pounding dirt out of mud-caked cleats could cheer him as he watched Naomi console her ex.

Did she want to get back together with the X-Gamer, even after that outburst? Hell, she’d stuck by Brody through enough shouting matches and had never seemed fazed.

But then, maybe Ryan felt like more of a real option for her since Brody hadn’t come out and said he’d do whatever it took to make a future work for them. He’d been waiting for the right moment. And he’d almost arrived at it, but the bicycle dude had ruined it with crappy timing and bad attitude.

Unwilling to wait anymore for his shot at happiness, Brody slid off the tailgate and approached Naomi. He needed to speak to her now, before she patched things up with a guy who wasn’t close to worthy of her.

His step slowed.

Was he worthy of her?

Brody would uproot her. Disrupt her teaching, her coaching, her whole life. And while he had a multi-million-dollar contract and a kick-ass lifestyle to offer, he knew she didn’t care about stuff like that. His car didn’t impress her any more than any of his other toys would.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he spun on his heel and stalked back to her vehicle. He couldn’t afford to screw up her life when she had carved out a happy niche for herself here. He had no plan of attack and no inkling how he was any better for her than X-Game dude, who at least had the benefit of never having broken up with her via cell phone.

Dropping into the passenger seat of Naomi’s SUV, he banged his head on the headrest and wondered where to go from here.

“THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME talk to him.”

Naomi finally broke the silence on their way back to her place after the embarrassing encounter with Ryan at the practice field.

She’d taken the long way home, both to clear her head and because she remembered Brody liked the view of the Atlantic from a bluff they would pass in another few minutes.

She felt a need to make it up to him after the way she’d ditched him at the field to talk Ryan off the emotional ledge. Things had ended on an ugly note with him a few weeks ago and she’d managed to avoid him until today. No doubt seeing her with Brody had hurt.

“You have a knack for calming down ticked off guys,” he observed lightly, his gaze trained out the window at the sun warming the wet fields after the downpour the night before.

“I figured he deserved to know how I felt about you since he had accused me of being hung up on you.” Her heart pounded with the admission and the scariness of laying it on the line with Brody.

But why avoid the truth?

Brody straightened in his seat, his gaze rounding on her as she approached the turnoff for a scenic lookout point over the ocean.

“So you told him how you feel, but not me?” He sounded incensed.

Slowing to a stop, she put the SUV in Park.

“Consider it payback.” She swiveled in her seat to face him, prepared to have it out with him once and for all. “According to you, you really cared about me a year ago and didn’t bother telling me. Instead you let me think I meant nothing to you.”

This man had broken her heart, and while he might have had mildly good intentions for what he’d done, his approach had sucked. If she was going to make peace with their past, she would at least call him on the behavior and—just maybe—give him a glimpse into how it had made her feel.

Apparently the glimpse had rendered him speechless because he stared at her in disbelief, his gorgeous mouth falling open so that she reached to lift his jaw for him.

“Don’t you remember?” she prodded, turning to roll down her window a little more so the fresh seaside air could blow through. “You told me last night that letting you stay could be my revenge. I could be the one to walk away.”

“And you’re taking me up on it.” His jaw flexed. His eyebrows scrunched up. His words were clipped.

They were all the signs she remembered from when she’d seen him get mad. Which was just as well, because she was dead serious about the payback.

“You gave me no freaking clue about your motives for breaking up with me last year. None. And then you show up at my door twelve months later and say it was all for my own good?” She’d had time to think about it during softball practice this morning and she still couldn’t swallow his tactics. If he thought he could just waltz in and out of her life this way, he was sadly mistaken.

Even if he did make her feel things no other man had ever come close to inspiring.

A flash of hurt in his eyes nearly undid her. But just as quickly, he shuttered his expression and thrust out his stubborn jaw.

“It was for your own good. And mine. And so is this.” He reached over to her side of the vehicle and withdrew her keys from the ignition.

“What are you doing?” She made a grab for them.

He arced back and with the strength and speed that could gun down a runner trying to steal second, he pitched her keys out the window. They went sailing into the woods where she’d be lucky to ever find them.

“I’m showing you that I’m not going anywhere.” The mutinous expression on his face was the same one he’d flashed umpires from Little League right up through the ranks.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Wrenching open the door to her SUV, she stepped out to go search for her keys. “You can get away with that crazy, temperamental guy stuff on the baseball field because you’ve got skills every manager wants. But this is me.” She started marching away from the SUV, her voice raised so he didn’t miss a word. “You’re not so all-mighty damn important that you can toss me aside when you think it’s best or pitch some unholy fit to make me do what you want.”

She stomped toward the tree line, carried along by righteous indignation.

He was out of the vehicle and jogging beside her in two seconds flat.

“This is not a fit.” He planted his body in front of hers, blocking her path. “This is making you see reason.”

It wasn’t the obstacle of his formidable frame that stopped her. It was the look in his eyes. He wasn’t mad. He was all business.

All passionate drive and intensity.

This time, it was her who was speechless. He stepped forward, backing her up toward her SUV.

“I didn’t come here to mess this up again.” He kept walking toward her until she bumped into the side of her vehicle. With nowhere else to go, she faced him down while he bracketed her with his arms. “I came here to snap you up while you weren’t dating anyone else. I came to tell you that I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you.”

Her heart sort of turned over inside her, its furious beat slowing as Brody looked into her eyes. His body was so close she could feel the heat of him and smell the musky notes of aftershave that had tantalized her the night before.

“How can I trust that?” she asked, feeling weak inside. “You’ve been back in my life for twenty-four hours.”

It would be so easy to go along with him, to ride the tide of his hunger for her and let it sweep her to the sweet, amazing heights. But where would it leave her in the end?

“You can trust it because you aren’t the kind of person to condemn a guy forever for the stupid stuff he did at a time in his life when he didn’t have his head screwed on straight.”

She wasn’t, either.

“How can you know me so freaking well when we haven’t seen each other in so long?”

He skimmed a knuckle under her chin, as light as the breeze blowing off the water.

“Because I dated you longer than anyone else. Because we went to the prom together. We formed a template for each other about what we wanted in a partner just by being each other’s first romantic interests.” He grinned. “Don’t you watch Oprah?”

She nearly choked on a laugh. His goofy admission made her love him even though he’d just pitched her keys two miles into the brush. He was so impossible to resist.

“Okay. Let’s say I buy into that and, for argument’s sake, let’s say I’m crazy enough to fall for you all over again in spite of everything.” Just saying the words made her heart beat faster, the emotions for him surging inside her like a rogue wave. “How do you expect to make a relationship work when you play 162 games a year and are traveling the country from March until October?”

A professional baseball player’s life—while exciting—hardly lent itself to a committed relationship with someone who had roots and ties to a community.

His cell phone rang then, an obnoxious intrusion into an important conversation. She suspected if they ever tried to make it work between them, there would be a lot of that.

Brody didn’t move to answer it.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

“This is more important.” He ignored the second ring, too.

“What if it’s your team?”

If anything, it had been a miracle that the device hadn’t been ringing off the hook all night, but maybe he’d powered it down to get away from the media requests for interviews and general industry excitement.

“You’re more important to me than baseball.” He paused long and deliberately after that statement, and she recognized it for exactly what it meant.

He couldn’t have told her he loved her with any more emphasis than what he’d just said.

Her heart did backflips. Her knees sort of fell out from under her and she launched herself into his arms. Whatever else happened, whatever they could or couldn’t work out, Brody loved her.

Enough to ignore a multi-million-dollar career.

“I love you, too.” She sort of sobbed it into his shirt, a surprise shower of happy tears raining down her cheeks that this passionate, incredible man would put her before everything else in his life. Still, on the fourth ring, she dug in his pocket and took out his phone. “But you aren’t giving up baseball for me, Brody Davis.”

Flipping open the cell, she pressed it to his ear.

“Hello? Jeff? Um…can you hold on a sec?” He took the phone away from her and held it behind his back, ignoring his caller. “Naomi, I don’t want to screw this up. Staying in baseball would mean a lot of travel.”

She couldn’t believe he would discuss this now.

“Is that your manager on the line?” She felt a little starstruck to think baseball legend Jeff Rally might be waiting on hold.

“Yes. But don’t think about that. Think about how you’d feel to travel with a major league team, never coming back here except for Christmas.” He frowned, the worry evident in his furrowed brow. “I can’t ask you to give up your career any more than you would ask me to give up mine.”

Naomi clutched his shoulders, her heart soaring to think about the kind of future they might have together.

“With you in the lineup, we have a shot at the pennant.” She spoke slowly so he’d remember how important that was. “I have the best interests of you, me and every Boston fan in the world in mind when I tell you that I can take a hiatus from teaching to cheer you on for as long as you can swing a bat.”

The lines on his forehead smoothed away and he wrapped an arm around her to pull her close.

“I am so crazy about you, sweetheart.” He planted a kiss on her lips that reminded her how much she’d be gaining by going on the road with him. “I swear you won’t ever regret this.”

“I know I won’t,” she assured him, grabbing his arm and wrenching it up so he could finish his phone call. “Now don’t keep a baseball legend waiting any longer.”

In her heart, she knew that Brody’s manager wouldn’t release him for the previous day’s offense. He’d been out of line, but not that out of line. Jeff Rally was known for running a tight ship, so it made sense that he’d at least throw the threat out there. But Rally hadn’t been in the game for most of his life by being the kind of manager who released players with a .660 slugging percentage.

And sure enough, her guess was confirmed by Brody’s easy smile, his heartfelt apology, and his promise to be on the plane to Baltimore by nightfall.

But then, that was something she understood about Brody. He could get upset and yell, but just as quickly as the storm cloud of temper came, it would be gone again. And he was as sincere in his apologies as he was with his outbursts. It was part of his charm, and she hoped the media and his fans would come to recognize the way this passionate, driven man could do more than just hit and field the ball. His bouts of anger could fire up team members who weren’t playing with heart. Brody Davis could fuel a whole field to excel.

When he closed the phone, he dropped it back in his pocket.

“Looks like we’re headed to Baltimore.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I can’t believe you’d go with me.”

The rightness of her decision filled her.

“It’s August. There’s enough time to find a teacher to take my classes before school starts. And I think the kids I coach will forgive me for bailing on them a week before their season ends if I come up with some Aces tickets for a field trip.” She allowed herself to sink into his arms. Into the moment. “Too bad you tossed my keys into the middle of the woods where we’ll never find them again. You’ll have to walk to Baltimore at this rate.”

“Geez, woman.” He kissed the top of her head and stroked a possessive hand along her spine. “I understand you inside and out and you don’t know me at all.”

“What do you mean?” She tipped away from him to gauge his expression.

“I make that play an average of five times a night, five times a week.” He took her by the hand and pulled her toward the woods, counting off his paces as they walked.

“You think you’ll find those keys?” She rather hoped so because she couldn’t wait to start their new life. Together.

“Second base is 127 feet and change from home. And I’ve got killer aim. So as long as we stay in a straight line…” He ducked beneath a low-hanging branch as they entered the tree line. And right on cue, she could see the glint of silver ahead, among the pine needles and fallen leaves. “We’ll find them right where second base would be.”

Laughing, she picked them up, jingling their weight on her finger. “Except you didn’t account for the lack of rotation like a baseball would have, or the non-aerodynamic shape. I think you’re pushing it to suggest you got more than 110 feet.”

“And I think you forgot just what a rocket I’ve got for a right arm.” He looped his arms around her again and she was half tempted to pinch herself to make sure that today had been real. “But I don’t mind working harder to prove myself to you.”

She stretched on her toes to brush a kiss along his bristly jaw.

“You already made my personal highlight film. I know you’re pretty damn amazing.”

He pulled her hips to his, the heat of him already warming her body in the most delicious way.

“I’ve got another highlight film I want to make though.” Leaning down, he nipped her ear and backed her against the trunk of an old locust tree.

“Oh, really?”

“Actually a few of them. I think we’ll start with top ten lovemaking moments.” He picked her up and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Then we can work on top ten shower scenes. Most memorable ways to put my mouth to work—”

“Oh, my.” She thought she might overheat despite the ocean breeze.

“You know how I like to set the record in whatever I do.”

Her heart fluttered fast as she thought about the life he wanted for them. Being part of Brody’s world was going to be purely magical. Not because he was a big deal baseball player, but because he was a warm-hearted person who had never stopped caring about her. A passionate man who was ready to devote himself to her.

Tunneling her fingers through his hair, she pulled him close.

“Have I told you how much I love a man with a competitive streak?” She melted into a slow tangle of tongues she would put at the very top of her list for the best kisses she’d ever had the pure pleasure to receive.