Always Right Page 7

  “Then I guess you won’t have any trouble sleeping later.”

  “Actually, I still have three more articles— Oh. Wait. That was a joke.”

  Despite himself, despite the nerves playing hell with his stomach, he shrugged and said, “It was supposed to be.”

  There was a long silence, and he could picture her chewing on her lip, pushing her hair back behind her ear. He wondered if she was wearing those glasses, whether she even needed them for reading. Was she sitting at her kitchen table, papers spread out around her? Or maybe she was in bed, leaning back against her pillows. Maybe she was letting her free hand trail down her own stomach, spreading flat against her abs as a lazy heat started to roll over them. He closed his eyes and listened to her breathe.

  When she spoke, he could barely make out her words above the thunder of his pulse. “I’m not changing my mind, Kyle.”

  That should have been ice water splashed across his lap, bringing down the tent in his boxer briefs. Instead, he made his voice as soft as hers. “You’ll have the checks tomorrow.”

  “Then why did you call?” If she hadn’t been whispering, the words would have been a wail. As it was, she was practically moaning. He pictured her with her eyes closed, with her head thrown back, like she was letting him do a hell of a lot more than talk to her across a thousand miles.

  “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  Why had he called? Because he wanted to hear her voice. Because he wanted to understand more about her. Because he wanted to know who she was, and what the crazy pull was that she had on him—why he couldn’t stop thinking about her when he was awake, why he kept dreaming about her every night he’d been on the road.

  “I thought we had a good time at dinner,” he finally said.

  “Right.” There was that sniff again. A snort, if she hadn’t been so quiet.

  “We did. I did. Until…” He purposely trailed off, wondering if she’d finish his sentence. Wondering if she’d let him in.

  It took almost a minute, but she finally said, “Until I asked for money.”

  “Why do you need it, Amanda?”

  He could almost picture her shaking her head. He could imagine the sparks in her eyes as they blazed in determination. “I can’t tell you. It’s not my story to share.”

  “But it’s the same reason you needed the hundred grand?”

  Another minute. More silence, so thick it seemed like the air around him had turned to stone. But finally she said, “No. I needed the first payment because I’m totally incompetent.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  This time she didn’t hesitate. She was more than willing to tell him how stupid she was. How stupid she told herself she was. “I thought I had everything planned. I went to University of Raleigh for college and law school, mostly on scholarship. I’m the first person in my family to get a degree, and I worked for tuition money, for room and board, whatever UR didn’t cover. I tutored in math and science—high school kids whose parents were willing to pay an arm and a leg so they could get into good schools.”

  He made one of those small sounds, a hum in the back of his throat that let her know he was listening. She seemed to take heart that he didn’t interrupt her, because she slowed down, choosing her words with greater care.

  “I passed the bar exam, and the patent bar too. I got a job at Link Oster, a good job, and I thought everything would be okay.”

  Her voice quavered, just a little, on that last word. “But?” he finally prompted.

  “But… I have a budget, and I’ve stuck to it. I spent seven years working day and night, on call every single day, and that was good enough for the firm to make me a partner. But I didn’t save enough to buy in. No sane banker would give me a loan because… well, they just won’t. I couldn’t borrow from the partners—they would have questioned if I belonged in the firm at all.”

  “So you took the money from me.”

  He had to say it because she didn’t, but he thought he’d lost her. This time, he couldn’t hear her breathing. He couldn’t think of the next thing to say, another way to draw her out. But finally, she whispered, “I’ll pay it back. All of it. With interest.”

  You don’t have to pay it back. He almost said that. Almost let her off the hook.

  But he couldn’t. She still had the documentation on Spring Valley, papers she could use against him at any time. And he might have a hell of a lot more disposable income than she’d ever dreamed of having, but he shouldn’t be handing it out to strangers. And no matter what his cock kept saying, Amanda Carter was a stranger.

  Except that wasn’t true.

  She was the key to his hitting streak. She was a major reason the Rockets were leading their division. She was the ticket to post-season baseball and to the World Series win he needed.

  So instead he said, “You will.” But he added, “After the season ends. After October.”

  “All right,” she said. “I promise.”

  “And I’ll have the new checks sent to your office by noon tomorrow.”

  The new checks. For something she couldn’t tell him about. For something she wouldn’t explain. He was a fucking idiot. But he was a fucking idiot without a lead weight in his gut, for the first time in three days.

  After that, they didn’t have much left to say. She said she should get back to her article. He said he should get some sleep before the next day’s game.

  But long after he hung up, he played the conversation back in his mind. And no matter how many times he thought about what she’d said, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when he’d abandoned his half-assed idea of a phonesex booty call. He couldn’t say exactly when he’d started to care about Amanda Carter.

  ~~~

  Amanda sat at her kitchen table, telling herself to concentrate. She was working. Working hard. She’d spread out medical studies and law review articles. She’d lined up highlighters. She’d sharpened half a dozen pencils, used one of them to pin her hair up off her neck.

  But the truth was, she was waiting for her phone to ring.

  And when it did, she answered so quickly, her words were almost lost. “Great game!”

  “Had to be, after yesterday’s disaster.” Kyle’s voice was easy, relaxed, a far cry from the day before when she’d needed to pull words out of him, syllable by syllable.

  “And the hitting streak continues,” she said. “Even though it was a day game. And I was nowhere in sight.”

  “Nag, nag, nag,” he said, and she thrilled at his teasing tone. “How many times do I have to tell you? We weren’t—”

  “—at Rockets Field. I know.”

  It shouldn’t be this easy to talk to the man. Not when she’d been so tongue-tied, just three nights before. Not when it had hurt to carve out the words, to tell him the truth about the mistakes she’d made, how she’d failed to predict her financial needs. At least she’d protected her family’s privacy. She hadn’t divulged her brother’s secrets or her mother’s.

  And she’d made it through that horrible conversation. And two more besides—Friday night, late, after the game went into extra innings, when she’d called him to thank him for the checks he’d had delivered to her office. Saturday evening, after the afternoon loss that had put Kyle out of sorts.

  “What are you doing now?” he asked, but before she could answer, he said, “I know. You’re working.”

  “Got it in one.”

  “God, I wish I was there right now.”

  She laughed. “Why? You have a thing for graph paper and pencils?”

  “We could chart a measurement or two.”

  The blatant flirtation caught her by surprise, even though she’d been looking forward to talking to him, even though she’d purposely made her dinner of ramen noodles early, slurped them down in a hurry so he wouldn’t hear that awkwardness over the phone. She raised her eyebrows and let her smile sift into her words. “And what exactly did you have in min
d?”

  “For starters, I take that pencil out of your hair. Let it fall down around your face. Against your neck.”

  “How did you know?” she gasped.

  “Lucky guess.” His chuckle made her want to hear more of his guesses. “Next, I’d take off your glasses.”

  “I’m not wearing them.” She made the admission, stated the simple truth, before she realized her words sounded flirtatious, like she was admitting to not wearing other things—a bra, panties, whatever.

  The amusement in his voice let her know he was thinking the same thing. “So you weren’t really working.”

  “I was,” she corrected. “But I don’t really need the glasses. The lenses are just plain glass. I wear them so people will think I’m smarter than I am.”

  “Right,” he said. “Because people always think you’re dumb.”

  “Some people,” she said.

  “They’re the dumb ones.” Before she could recover from the surprise rush of pleasure his words raised in her, he said, “So, I don’t have to worry about taking off your glasses…”

  His teasing tone was perfectly clear. This was ridiculous. Absurd. She was supposed to be working, and he was supposed to be… Well, he’d already played his game that day. His work was done. And truth be told, her concentration was pretty much shot for the night.

  She pulled the pencil out of her hair, shaking her head to free the pinned-up length. “Okay,” she said, purposely making her voice as throaty as she could. “My hair’s down. What’s next?”

  And that was her turn to catch him by surprise. She could tell by the way his voice sharpened, by the way his words were strained as he said, “All right, then.” But he barely gave her a chance to change her mind. Because the next thing he said was, “Those sweatpants you’re wearing are tied awfully tight.”

  “I’m not—” she started to protest. But she was. She was wearing sweatpants. And they were cinched close around her hips. She licked her lips and cradled the phone against her shoulder as she picked the knot loose. “Okay, Mr. Know-it-all. They’re not tied anymore.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “That opens up an entire world of possibilities.”

  She closed her eyes and listened to his voice, rich as caramel, warm as sunshine, and she let those possibilities became reality.

  ~~~

  The team had a killer schedule. Those four games in St. Louis, and one day off to fly out to San Diego. Now they were three games into their West Coast stand, playing some of the best teams in baseball. If they could break even by the time they got back to Raleigh, they’d be lucky.

  This was the strangest road trip of his life. In the past, he’d played the game and taken his chances. He’d hung out in the bar at whatever hotel he was calling home, sipped his tonic water while the guys waited to see what baseball fans showed up, waited to see how many willing women hung around. That’s the way it used to be. Now, most of the guys headed up to their own rooms early, saying they had to check in with their girls back home. There was something in the air, or maybe it was the water back at Rockets Field. The guys were dropping like flies, handing out diamond rings and tying themselves down for the rest of their lives.

  Through it all, Kyle had shaken his head and told himself to stick to what was important. He’d shot the shit with plenty of bartenders, asking them to change the channel so he could pick up game highlights from around the league. He’d talked to guys from conventions, men who were on expense accounts and all too happy to buy him a top-shelf drink, even though he always settled for tonic. He’d even taken a girl up to his room once or twice after making sure they weren’t looking for anything other than a good time. He’d had some fun, and he’d always slept soundly, alone in his bed.

  But that was all before. That was before he’d broken out of his hitting slump. That was before he’d met Amanda.

  Now, he watched the other guys on the team—Tyler Brock, who shrugged off a good-natured mob in the lobby and fought his way over to the elevators so he could phone home before it got too late. Josh Cantor, who always made sure he had a good dinner out, but hit his room as soon as he was back at the hotel. Adam Sartain, who didn’t even make it through most meals, just headed upstairs, saying he’d order room service.

  They were whipped, all of them. And they’d never been happier in their lives.

  It was one thing for a guy to call his fiancée at three in the morning. Those girls had signed on for the good and the bad. They expected to be woken up after a West Coast game. He couldn’t do that to Amanda. It wasn’t fair.

  But he could text her. Take advantage of her turning off her phone to sleep.

  He stared at his screen, trying to be smart. What could he type that would make her smile in the morning? Weather is beautiful. Wish you were here. He typed it in, rolled his eyes and deleted the words before hitting send.

  The only thing this room is missing is you. Right. Like this chain hotel was different from a hundred others, like it was any different from the cookie-cutter places he spent half his nights. Delete.

  I want to tear your clothes off with my teeth and make you scream my name a dozen times over. Sure. That wouldn’t scare the crap out of her. Delete.

  I miss you.

  He’d barely hit send when the phone rang. “Amanda,” he said, not bothering to disguise the pleasure that brightened his voice.

  “I was hoping you’d call.” Her voice was thick, soft, and he knew she’d been sleeping. Her hair would be spread across her pillow. Her body would be warm. He’d smell soap on her skin, toothpaste on her lips.

  His cock swelled so fast he grunted. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I’m up now.”

  So was he. He tried to make himself concentrate on batting averages, on slugging percentages, on a thousand dry and boring numbers. “Tell me about your day,” he said, desperate for distraction.

  But she didn’t tell him about being a lawyer. She didn’t talk about depositions or interrogatories or requests for admissions or any of those other things she’d mentioned before, all those things that were the difference between her winning and losing the big case she was working on.

  Instead, she told him to lie back. She told him she’d been dreaming before he called. And as she shared exactly what she’d been doing in those dreams, he slipped his hand beneath the elastic waistband of his shorts and gave up on being any sort of gentleman.

  ~~~

  Amanda handed over a stack of files to her paralegal. “These are the next ones to review. The other side says they developed their product sixteen months before we did. But these lab records should contradict that, if we can just pull the facts out of all the scientific jargon.”

  “Got it,” Shay said. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

  Her cell phone rang as he stacked the files beneath his chin and left. One glance at the screen, and she felt her cheeks heat, despite the fact that she was in the office, that a couple of dozen co-workers were within shouting distance.

  She got up and shut her office door. “Hey there,” she said, crossing back to her high leather chair. “I thought you’d be in the air by now.”

  “I wish,” Kyle said. “There’s weather here—a monsoon, it looks like. We’re grounded for another three hours at least. Maybe more.”

  She did the math without thinking. “You’ll still come by after you land?”

  “Not a good idea.” She heard noise behind him; it sounded like he was surrounded by his teammates. “We’ve got that one o’clock start tomorrow.”

  “Who planned that?” she asked with surprise.

  “Some asshole who didn’t take into account the fact that we’d be flying cross-country to get home. The front office is all about trying new things this year. A ‘businessman’s special’, they’re calling this one.”

  “Like any real ‘businessman’ has time for a mid-week game.” Amanda tried to hide her disappointment. She’d been looking forward to seeing Kyle. Hell, she’d be
en looking forward to a lot more than seeing him. Not that she would ever admit that to herself. Not here. Not in the office. Not when she was supposed to be the ice queen of the patent practice.

  He managed to laugh, even if the sound was rueful. Her lips curled at the thought that he was as frustrated as she was. “Get some sleep tonight. I’ll see you at the park tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, right.” She looked at the boxes Shay had carted in that morning. It was just as well Kyle wasn’t going to distract her tonight.

  No, her body informed her, with no mistake in its twinges. It wasn’t just as well. There were a number of parts of her that had distinctly looked forward to distraction.

  But those new boxes weren’t going to empty themselves. It was better for her to work straight through. She might even spend the night here, try to pick up some of the hours she’d dropped during the past week and a half of late-night phone calls.

  “Hey!” Kyle’s voice was sharper than she expected. “You’ll be there, right?”

  “I’m a lawyer, remember? Big office? Partners breathing down my neck? Trial in a month?”

  “Amanda, you promised!”

  He hissed the last word. She could imagine him cupping his hand around his phone. She heard the urgency in his voice—an entirely different push than the ones that had captivated her for the better part of the past two weeks.

  “I promised to go to your day games. No one ever said they’d be in the middle of the week.”

  “It’s on the schedule! It’s been on the schedule for the past six months! I gave you the tickets!”

  There was real panic in his voice. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man, putting stock in some silly joke. Like she could just drop everything and trot down to Rockets Field whenever she wanted. Whenever he wanted her to. “Kyle,” she said, and this time she put on her lawyer voice, the one she used with junior associates when she needed to explain how they’d screwed up a brief. “I have a meeting with opposing counsel tomorrow. We’re setting the final briefing schedule.”

  “Push it to Wednesday.”

  “I can’t push it to Wednesday. I have a job to do.”