Stealing Home

chapter 14



MARK SWORE AS another ball flew past his glove and sped toward the backstop behind him. On his feet in a flash, he chased it down ruthlessly and spun toward third. A runner had rounded the base and was speeding toward home. Instantly judging the distance to the plate, Mark’s feet kicked into motion, determination to tag the runner out his only motivation. That was his goddamn plate. Seeing him advance, the runner lowered into a slide, forcing Mark to dive headfirst toward home, the ball stretched out in front of him nestled firmly in his glove.

The impact jarred him, and dirt flew obscuring his vision. He knew he’d tagged the runner, but had he already crossed the plate?

The answer came roaring from the umpire and it pissed Mark off. “Safe!”

Like hell he was.

Jumping to his feet to argue the umpire’s call as the dust settled, Mark could barely hear the discontent from the crowd around the blood pounding in his ears.

A warning look from the umpire stayed him, though. He’d been tossed from a game on more than a few occasions for arguing calls. Biting back the anger, Mark registered the sound of cheering from the opposing team’s fans, their very presence a punch to his already bruised ego.

Thoroughly ticked, he slapped his mitt hard against his thigh and prepared for another batter. The Denver Rush were taking a thrashing. And it was completely his fault. One hundred percent his frigging fault. He wasn’t playing worth shit tonight.

He was jinxed. And he deserved it for being idiotic enough to have a woman for a good luck charm. They caused nothing but trouble.

Before play could resume an argument broke out between JP and the runner on second. JP was nose to nose with the guy, spouting obscenities. Adding insult, the shortstop lashed out with his free hand and knocked the runner’s helmet from his head. The umps rushed over to break it up, hollering as they waded into the pissing match.

The game got under way again and Mark took his frustration out on any call he disagreed with, criticizing the home plate umpire every chance he got. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he suddenly didn’t care.

When a runner tried to steal second after a pitch, Mark caught the ball, leaped forward, and rocketed it off with punishing force. Though the second baseman tagged the runner out, it did nothing to assuage Mark’s ego.

The ousted runner jogged toward the dugout and glared at Mark as he came into range. “You’re a real a*shole tonight, Cutter.”

“What’d you say, Norton? You whining about something?” Mark rolled his shoulders beneath his pads and shifted on his cleats, ready to take him on.

The player just shook his head and entered the dugout. Smart move on his part, but there was a part of Mark that was pretty bummed about it. He felt like kicking some ass.

Mark tried crossing himself for good luck and shook the feeling off. He hoped to God he’d be able to get his head back in the game.

With the runner out at second, that made two outs in the top of the third. One more and he could take a few minutes, cool down and collect himself on the bench. All he had to do was keep it together. The Rush were down 6–1.

Ten minutes later the bases were loaded and Mark knew his luck had completely deserted him. He’d given up two more runs—easy runs that he should have been able to stop. In a fit of temper he cursed a blue streak. He couldn’t remember playing a worse game in his life.

By the time the last game in the series was over Chicago had scored more runs, ending the game in a humiliating 9–2 defeat. The locker room was hushed when Mark walked inside.

They were all taking the loss hard. The Rush had been in the position this game to really put them in the running for the playoffs. They’d blown it.

Now they had a road trip coming up and the Phillies to contend with. Every Rush player despised going to Philly. The fans were notorious and made the games there damn tough. But it was part of the deal and it meant Mark had one day to get his head back in the game. He wondered briefly what it meant that he’d played like ass even though Lorelei had been there. Maybe he’d run out of luck. Or maybe he’d just sucked because he’d sucked. The end.

Drake Paulson dropped down on the bench beside Mark. Shaking himself, he leaned over and began undoing the laces of his cleats.

“You looked like you were struggling out there tonight, Cutter.”

Mark started on the other cleat. “You could say that. I played like shit.”

The big infielder stretched his leg out and began unwrapping the bandage around his knee. “We all have off games. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

With his cleats off, Mark stood and began to undress. “I’m not. I’m just stating facts.”

Drake clipped the bandage and tossed it in the open locker behind him. “I should have played better at first. You aren’t the only one to blame for tonight.”

“Maybe I wasn’t the only one, but I was the biggest contributor.”

The scarred veteran leaned his huge shoulders against the metal locker. “When a woman gets under your skin it can really screw with your game. I know.” He eyed Mark. “I saw the two of you the other night. You’ve got it bad, brother.”

Denial was swift and strong. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m fine.”

“How long have we been teammates? Five, six years? This is the first time I’ve seen you lose focus. It’s the first time I’ve seen you look at a woman the way you did last night.”

Mark scowled and yanked his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. “How did I look at Lorelei?”

“Like I used to look at my wife.” Drake smiled and shook his head. “Before she left me for my tax accountant.”

MARK HAD BEEN awfully withdrawn on the car ride to his condo. In fact, he’d been downright sulky.

Lorelei knew he was upset about tonight, but she had a feeling it was more than that.

She’d spent the game observing him and visiting with Leslie. Turned out his sister went to almost all his games. What she’d observed was that Mark had played like a man haunted by something. And that something wasn’t related to baseball. Lorelei was pretty sure she knew what that was.

It was her.

He shoved the door to his condo open and she followed him through. Flicking on lights as he went, Mark shrugged out of his charcoal dress jacket and strode down the hall to his room. Left alone in the foyer, Lorelei sighed. He’d been ignoring her since she’d turned him down last night.

He couldn’t have made his feelings any more plain.

She’d been right. To him she was nothing more than a faceless name. It shouldn’t bother her. Not when she’d been considering using him the way she had. Mark wasn’t anything more to her than a means to an end. He couldn’t be.

It shouldn’t bother her, but it did.

Why it did, she didn’t really want to examine. Lorelei knew what she was, and what she wasn’t. She wasn’t the type of woman to keep the interest of a man like Mark for very long. It’d last just long enough for one or two nights of steamy sex.

It was her track record. The truth was that most men didn’t stay interested beyond the bedroom door. Mostly they hung around long enough to get what they wanted and then they bailed. The last one had been the worst. He hadn’t even waited until the sheets had cooled before he’d run out and never called again.

Lorelei sighed again and started down the hall to the guest room. She slipped off her brown leather jacket and hung it on a spare hanger in the closet. Spying her duffel bag on the floor in the corner, she went to it and crouched down.

Mark had already searched the bag for his cross, she knew that. It hadn’t been much of a secret, really. And she’d expected it. He could search all he wanted, but he wouldn’t find a thing. It was still at the concierge desk at the hotel.

Lorelei straightened and grabbed another bag off the floor. In it were some clean clothes she’d grabbed from her house. When Logan had asked about it, she’d just told him that she was going with Mark on an away game trip. He’d given her the eye, but kept his mouth shut. Not that he needed to say anything, anyway. She already knew how he felt. He’d made that clear back in their kitchen.

Now she pulled out a thin white cotton camisole and a pair of blue jersey lounge pants. They were the only clean pajamas she had. She needed to wash some clothes, but had no idea if Mark had a washing machine or if he sent his laundry out.

Kicking off her shoes, she quickly undressed and slipped the clothes on. Then she pulled the clip holding her hair in a messy bun out and let it fall loose down her back.

Out in the living room she went straight to Mark’s entertainment center and perused his CD selection. His tastes ran the gamut from classical to hard rock and she skimmed the spines until coming across one that suited her mood. Slipping it from the rack, she put it in the player. When slow, moody blues came through the surround sound speakers, she turned and sank into the couch and listened. Blues full of sax and guitar always relaxed her.

Mark appeared a few minutes later, dressed only in a pair of flannel lounge pants. Lorelei glanced over the back of the couch and fought to keep her jaw from dropping. Her mouth watered at the sight of his tanned, sculpted chest and washboard abs. Those deeply cut muscles that V’d down into his low-riding flannels were delicious. So was the dark blond trail of hair that disappeared beneath the plaid fabric.

Why was she hesitating to act on her desire to have sex with him? At the sight of his gorgeous body she was about to experience a total meltdown. And if he never spoke to her again after getting her in the sack? Well, she supposed she could deal with that, if it meant she got to experience a night with him.

He took another step and his abs flexed hard in response to the movement. Oh yeah, she could deal.

He shot her a dark look as he headed into the kitchen. Lorelei guessed he was still ignoring her. Glass clinked as he rummaged in his cupboards. A few minutes later he reemerged with a glass half full of amber liquid and started toward his room.

She sat up straighter and swung an arm over the back. “Why don’t you come sit over here, Mark?”

He stopped. “Why would I want to do that, Lorelei?”

Because he looked angry and miserable at the same time, that’s why. “You look like you could use a sounding board. I’m a great listener if you want to talk about tonight’s game.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” But he rounded the couch and took a seat. Bringing the glass to his lips, he took a sip and propped his bare feet on the coffee table.

So he didn’t want to talk about the game. Fine. She had a million questions she wanted to ask him. “Did you decorate this place, or did you hire an interior designer?” She’d keep it light until he relaxed. Then she’d ask the good stuff.

Mark took another drink of the amber liquid. The corded tendons of his throat worked and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I hired someone. I can’t decorate for shit.”

She smiled. “So you don’t have an affinity for colored rocks?”

That got a tiny smirk out him. “Nope. But they kinda grow on you after a while.” He dropped his head back against the backrest, exposing the long line of this throat. A day’s growth of deep bronze hair shadowed the strong line of his jaw and his lean cheeks.

Lorelei tucked her legs underneath her and leaned back against the plush cushions. “Do you ever get tired of the grind of professional baseball? Ever think about retirement?”

He rolled his head along the back of the couch and looked at her. “Every player has to think about retirement somewhere down the line, Lorelei. As much as we’d like, we can’t play ball our whole lives.”

Curiosity prodded her to ask, “What would you do if you couldn’t play baseball anymore?”

“Are you trying to jinx me, sweetheart?”

The day’s stress and the alcohol had his voice growing rough. The velvet sandpaper sound of it crept inside her and lodged in her chest. “No, I was just wondering what you would do, that’s all. What your other interests are.”

“Uh-huh. I’m not going to answer that because you’ve already jinxed me by stealing my good luck charm. Any chance you’re willing to give it back?”

Lorelei shook her head.

“Didn’t think so.” He sighed. “Am I going to have to have you arrested after all, Lorelei Littleton?”

She leaned forward and took the glass from his hand and swallowed a small amount. It burned a path down to her stomach. “You don’t want to have me arrested, Mark. You just want something to blame for your performance tonight.”

“Is that so? Maybe I might enjoy seeing your sexy little butt carted off to jail in handcuffs. Ever think about that possibility? You’ve caused me a lot of grief, sugar.” His hand closed over hers and he brought the glass to his lips, took a long pull. His sullen gaze never left hers.

The feel of his large, hard hand on hers sent a spear of heat spiraling up her arm. She dropped her hand and stood. “I’m going to grab the bottle real quick.”

“Good idea. I wasn’t planning on getting drunk, but now that you mention it. Grab another glass, too.”

Lorelei returned with the liquor bottle and another glass. She started to hand it to Mark but he gave a look that spoke volumes and shook his head. “That one’s yours. I remember too well what happened the last time you brought me a glass.”

Guilt slammed into Lorelei and she nearly dropped the bottle. She recovered quickly, but her hand shook slightly when she poured a drink. He watched until she took a drink and swallowed before he reached for the bottle to replenish his glass.

He had every right not to trust her. She’d done nothing to deserve trust, but it still stung just the same. Before her encounter with him she’d never done anything to deserve distrust and skepticism. And she discovered that it didn’t sit well that Mark felt both for her.

If only they’d met under different circumstances he would have seen the real Lorelei. But they’d met under these circumstances and she was just going to have to deal with it.

It would have made the whole thing easier if she could continue believing that Mark was the selfish womanizer she’d first thought him to be. Instead, she was beginning to have a sneaky suspicion there was a whole lot more to Mark Cutter than met the eye.

Turning, she strode over to the panoramic windows and gazed out at the lights of downtown Denver. It was beautiful. It felt almost like being on top of the world with all the shimmering lights sprawling out before her. She hugged her arms to her, the snifter dangling from her fingers, and soaked it in. It was all so different from the world she lived in.

“Little League.”

She sharpened her gaze until it focused on his reflection in the window. He was still lounged on the sofa with his feet outstretched and his head tipped back. In one hand he held the glass, the other rested across the flat plane of his belly. His hand shifted and he lazily scratched the skin just above his pelvic bone, and Lorelei felt it in the pit of her stomach like a caress. Heat flooded her and pooled in the same spot on her where his hand touched him.

What was she doing feeling so much chemical attraction for a man who thought so little of her? A man who, with one misstep on her part, would have her arrested without a second thought? It was insane. And stupid.

So why couldn’t she stop it?

Movement in the glass caught her attention and she watched as Mark raised his head and looked at her. He was waiting for her response. “What are you talking about?” she said. “You’ve lost me.”

In the reflection she saw him take another drink and lower the glass to rest on his thigh. “You asked what I would do if I couldn’t play. I’d coach Little League.”

“Really?” That was a shocker. “You’d want to teach kids?”

He pressed his lips together, revealing the deep creases in his cheeks, and frowned. “I’m not a complete ass, Lorelei. I do have a few redeeming qualities. I like kids. To me it’s more rewarding to coach them than it is an adult team, all right?”

If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d just offended him. And wasn’t that strange? She’d insulted a man known by and large to be a completely arrogant jerk. She hadn’t known it was possible. An apology was in order. “I’m sorry, Mark. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did,” he countered. “But that’s fine. It doesn’t really matter what you think of me. You’re only here because I need my lucky charm.”

So that’s what it boiled down to. The bottom line. Lorelei swirled the half-forgotten drink and took a deep pull of the rich Caribbean rum. Heck, she knew that, but to hear him say it with such annoyed finality was jarring.

The moment at the club last night had been nothing more than a passing urge to him. She could have been any woman last night and he’d have done the same thing. The blond bimbo could have been in his arms and he’d have wanted her, not Lorelei.

She knew that with gut certainty because he was Mark Cutter, and people didn’t get a reputation like his for nothing. Women were nothing more than a passing amusement, a moment of distraction.

Last night had been her moment and now it was gone.

Lorelei tossed back the rest of the rum and wiped a forearm across her lips. She turned from the windows and squared her shoulders. Knowing that only made her job easier.

Guilt was a five-letter word that didn’t belong in her vocabulary. In fact, it was a good thing that Mark reminded her so bluntly where she stood before she lost sight of what she was doing there in the first place. Before she found herself falling for a cold-hearted baseball player who didn’t give a crap about her.

Mark Cutter deserved to be brought down a peg by a woman. And she was just the one to do it.