Stealing Home

chapter 16



A GLASS APPEARED in front of her. Lorelei took it and looked up. Mark stood towering over her, a grin full of rotten intentions on his face.

Suddenly suspicious that her drink contained something gray and slimy, she peered into the glass. “Did you have the bartender slip a raw oyster in my drink?”

He dropped into the chair across from her and laughed. “Now why would you think I’d do a thing like that?”

“Because you would.”

Drake Paulson hooked a thumb over at her. “She’s got you pegged, Cutter.” He looked down at her. “When you going to forget about that loser and marry me, sweet thing?”

Lorelei asked, “What happened with”—she cupped her hands in front of her chest—“Candy?”

Drake’s gaze dropped to her hands and back up. “She used me, abused me.”

She feigned sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that, Drake.”

“I’m more than just a gorgeous body, you know.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m more than just a thick wallet.”

Lorelei bit her cheek to keep from laughing. “Absolutely.”

“She did find out the most important fact about me, though.”

She was almost afraid to ask. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I’m an easy lay.”

A burst of laughter erupted and she snorted. Across the table Mark let loose a laugh and shook his head.

Peter Kowalskin swore and retorted, “Like she wasn’t.”

Apparently the whole table had been listening to their conversation. Several pair of eyes were turned in their direction.

Drake shrugged his massive shoulders and smiled at the guys. “What can I say, it was a match made in heaven.”

“You mean a one-night stand, Paulson,” another player said from down the table.

He laughed. “That, too.”

Still chuckling, Lorelei glanced around the bar and inhaled the mouthwatering scent of barbecue that hung on the air. Three big screens were built into the walls and were tuned to the local late night news. Booths and tables were scattered around the huge open room, two pool tables were to her right, and a round pen with a mechanical bull was set up in the far corner. There was also a small stage for karaoke directly in front of her against the wall.

The bar and grill wasn’t crowded, but there were a few groups of people scattered throughout. For the most part the whole Denver Rush baseball team had the place to themselves.

Some of the guys had hopped cabs as soon as they’d hit the hotel lobby and were still wearing their dress suits. Others had gone up to their rooms to change first. Mark was one who’d changed into casual clothes.

Butterflies fluttered deep in her gut when she glanced at him. He was in conversation with another player, his hands laced together behind his neck while he leaned back in his chair. The cuffs of his shirt were rolled up his muscular forearms.

His profile was to her and she studied him. Hair waved over his ear and curled lazily. He’d shaved, and his skin was smooth and very tan against the pale blue chambray shirt he wore. He had such thick lashes. They fanned out and cast a slight shadow below his eyes in the low light.

He laughed at something and the masculine dimples that drove her crazy flashed in his cheeks, teasing her. The top two buttons of his shirt were open and when he moved she caught a glimpse of his sculpted chest. Her lungs tightened. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He must have felt her gaze because he turned his head. The smile melted and his eyes grew hot. Instantly his body tensed and he stilled.

Why hadn’t she noticed the deep bow of his upper lip before? It practically begged to be licked. Or the indentation of his clavicle? Her lips suddenly craved to know the feel of it. Mesmerized, her mouth opened as she stared at the base of his throat, at the smooth skin, and her tongue slipped between her teeth and touched her bottom lip.

Lorelei jolted and she felt her eyes go wide when Mark swore and lurched from his chair. “I’m going to play pool,” he growled.

She watched him go as her libido went haywire. Raked her gaze over his broad shoulders, down his back and narrow waist, over his firm butt and heavy thighs. Her mind flashed back to the night they’d first met, to the image of his bare chest and flat stomach. She had to bite back a moan.

Leslie appeared at her side, a glass of red wine in her hand. “Why are you still sitting here? Go after him, Lorelei.”

Why was she still there? This was her opportunity to experience what it felt like to be truly desired by a man, and to desire him back with equal intensity. Her chance to experience Mark Cutter.

Was she woman enough to handle it?

She glanced up at Leslie and demanded, “Tell me again that he’s worth it.”

Leslie’s smile was sympathetic and her voice was full of encouragement when she murmured, “He’s so worth it, Lorelei. So absolutely, totally worth it.”

With shaking hands she pushed from the table and stood. She took a step and stopped. The drink Mark had brought her still sat completely full on the table and she snatched it up and downed it in one long gulp, set it back down with a thump.

Leslie gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and nudged her in the back. “Go to him.”

She did.

He was alone at the pool tables; the rest of the guys were either still eating ribs and helping the rookie down his third pitcher of beer by chanting, “Go, go, chug, chug, chug,” or they were taking turns shouting dirty insults and getting bucked off the mechanical bull.

Mark glanced up from racking the balls, his eyes devoid of emotion. “What do you want, Lorelei?”

You. “Mind if I play?”

“Do you know how?” He rolled the triangle full of colored balls forward and back, settling the yellow one ball on the brown marker.

Lorelei spotted the pool cues and walked over. She grabbed one, held it out in front of her, and checked for straightness. It was too bowed for her taste and she put it back, grabbed another one, found it satisfactory. “I can hold my own.”

“What’s the ante?”

“What?”

Mark smirked and carefully removed the wooden triangle. “What’s the bet? You can’t play pool without one, or are you afraid I’ll kick your cute little butt?”

He thought her butt was cute. That was good to know. “I’m not afraid of you, Mark Cutter.”

Rounding the pool table, he stopped behind her and said against her ear, “You should be. If you knew even half the things I want to do to you, you’d be very afraid.”

Oh, this was getting good.

Her stomach flopped and took a nosedive. “Nothing you say could scare me.”

Hot breath feathered across her cheek. “Wanna bet? You forget who I am, Lorelei.”

A delicious shiver raced down her spine. “Remind me, bad boy.”

Heat pooled between her legs when he moved behind her and she felt a hand smooth over her butt, stroke down the center seam of her jeans. It stopped just before the junction of her thighs and curled, pressed strong fingers into the cleft between her cheeks.

“Ever been kissed there, sweetheart?”

She shook her head.

“Want to be?” His voice was low, rough with arousal.

He was trying to shock her, scare her with his vast experience. It wasn’t working. “Are you offering, Mark?”

The hand on her butt jerked slightly and she thrilled at his quick intake of breath. Two could play this game.

Teeth nipped the curve of her ear, sending a jolt of electricity down her neck. “Anytime, anyplace. I’ll kiss you, lick you wherever you want. Just tell me where you want it and I’ll make you scream.”

The air was too thick, too hot. It was like syrup in her lungs. Arousal like she’d never felt before washed over her on a tidal wave and settled between her thighs.

It was terrifying. It was exhilarating, this game of naughty taunting. It made her bold.

She turned her head slightly so that only he could hear her scandalous words. She couldn’t believe she was about to say it, but he’d dared her, challenged her. Called her bluff. On a lot of different levels. Because she knew in her heart now that she wasn’t just another conquest of his. She was more—so much more.

And that changed everything.

She swallowed hard and whispered, “Do you want to kiss my p-ssy, Mark? Lick it until I come?”

His whole body convulsed and his hand squeezed her, hard. He swore violently. “F*ck, yes.”

Charged silence stretched between them. Neither moved for several long seconds, then he slowly unclenched his hand and slid it back over her butt and let it drop away. She heard him suck in a deep breath as he stepped back and put some space between them. Cool air swept over her, a startling contrast to the wicked heat of his body.

They both looked up when they heard someone call his name. A group of the guys were heading in their direction, beers in their hands, completely oblivious to what was going on in the darkened corner where Lorelei and Mark stood.

She felt more than heard him move. He was suddenly beside her, his butt resting on the edge of the pool table. His voice was low and urgent. “This isn’t over, Lorelei.”

“Hey guys, mind if we get in on the game?”

Mark’s teammates crowded around the table and headed for the pool cues on the wall. Drake Paulson picked up the stick Lorelei had dropped on the table, raked his gaze over her and Mark. He laughed at them as he handed her back her pool cue. He, at least, knew exactly what he’d interrupted.

Lorelei took the offered pool cue and fought to get control of her emotions. There was no escaping the brood of slightly drunk baseball players crowding in on her, so she had no choice but to get a handle on her hormones for the time being and resign herself to a few rounds of pool.

Apparently Mark also realized the futility of trying to slip away because he let out a frustrated sigh and said, “Which one of you pansies wants to take me on first?”

A ballplayer she didn’t recognize stepped forward. “I’ll take you on, Cutter. How about loser buys the next round of drinks?”

Mark looked down at her before he stood and walked around to the head of the pool table. “You’re on, Brexler, but I break.”

For the next twenty minutes she watched Mark play and eventually felt her equilibrium return. When Mark won the first round of pool, Brexler shrugged and happily ordered a round of beers. Before she knew it, a pint had been shoved in her hand and she found herself laughing at something Peter Kowalskin said.

Another player stepped forward and issued the same challenge—a round of beers on the loser—only he got to break this time. “You had unfair advantage, Wall. We’ll see who wins this time.”

Lorelei brought the pint glass to her lips and was about to take a drink when JP Trudeau stumbled over to the table. Over the rim of her glass she saw that he’d downed one too many pitchers of beer. He was totally smashed.

He raised his nearly empty pitcher and said around a belch, “Iz Miller time.”

It must have been some inside joke because all the guys—including Mark—laughed, raised their beers, and shouted, “It’s Miller time!” Then they took a drink.

Baseball players.

“Somebody needs to pour that boy into a cab. I think he’s about to pass out,” she said to no one in particular.

Another player she didn’t know came forward. “I’ll take him back to the hotel. It’s about time I call it a night anyway. The wife will be calling my room before much longer to make sure I’m there.”

Everyone said their good-byes to the inebriated shortstop and then attention turned immediately back to the pool game. The guy who’d challenged Mark was just about to break when Kowalskin spoke. “Not so fast there, Jim. I think our boy here needs something tougher than a round of beers from the loser. Let’s make it interesting.”

MARK SET THE butt of his cue on the floor and grinned. “Oh yeah, old man? You wanna take me on instead?”

Peter crossed to the table. “If Jim here’s willing to give up his turn I will.”

He turned his head to see what the second-string third baseman’s response was. Jim smiled and handed Pete his cue. “He’s all yours, Walskie.”

Mark eyed ballplayer. “You want to make this interesting?”

Pete looked over at Lorelei and winked, irritating Mark. “Uh-huh. New bet. Loser has to stand up on that stage over there and sing a karaoke song for the great enjoyment of the team.”

He considered. “What’s the winner get?”

Pete laughed and clapped him hard on the back. “To pick the song.”

Mark heard Lorelei gasp and snort with laughter. He straightened. “You’re on, Pete.”

“You’d better tune up your vocal cords, boy, ’cause you’re gonna be singing like a canary in a minute.”

For the next half hour Mark and Peter battled it out, the crowd of onlookers cheering like it was a baseball game instead of pool. When Mark tried to bank the seven ball and it missed the corner pocket by a mile, a collective gasp came from the players. Even Lorelei was getting into the sport of things, and she gasped right along with them.

“Your turn, Walskie.”

As Peter lined up his shot, Mark quickly surveyed the table. The seven ball was his last one before sinking the nine ball. If Pete didn’t dislodge it from its spot by the middle pocket he shouldn’t have a problem getting it next time. And Pete still had two balls to get in the pockets.

His shot set up, the pitcher pulled his stick back and let it go. The cue ball smacked hard into the striped ball, sending it straight into the pocket. “Are you ready to sing, Cutter?”

Mark stared at the table with a sinking feeling. “A bet’s a bet.”

With efficient strokes, Peter cleared the table and sent the nine ball home to rest in the corner pocket. Looked like he was going to be singing.

Shit.

A shout went up from the guys as they congratulated their pitcher. Then the heckling started.

“Whatcha gonna sing, Tweety Bird?”

“Oooh, The Wall gets to perform for us.”

“Does he have to dance, too?”

The group gathered around him and started pushing him toward the small stage by the bar. A liberal amount of alcohol made the shoves a little more enthusiastic than needed and Mark tripped on the step as they hauled him up on stage.

They’d made enough noise that the whole bar was now looking at him, watching with avid curiosity. The only way Mark was going to get out of this was by force.

He tried to decide whom he wanted to deck first.

Peter appeared on the stage beside him and took the microphone out of the stand. He flicked the on switch and tapped his fingers on the mouthpiece. A resounding thump, thump, thump came through the speakers.

Mark glared at the pitcher. “You know I’m gonna kick your ass for this, don’t you?”

The dark-haired player laughed. “Yep. But it’s so worth it. Come on, Wall, show us what you’re made of.”

“I need a drink.” He tried to step down from the stage.

Kowalskin shot out an arm and stopped him. “No time, Cutter. The song’s loaded and your fans are waiting eagerly.” He looked around the bar. “Isn’t that right, everyone?”

Even the bartender shouted and applauded.

Mark surveyed the bar and saw all the faces watching him. Leslie let out a whistle from the back table and yelled, “You go, boy! Show us your stuff!” He vowed he’d get even with her for that.

Hoots and hollers came from his teammates and he realized there was no escape. He was stuck.

Mark slid his gaze over the crowd until it landed on Lorelei. She’d moved off to the side and was leaning against the wall, a fist pressed against her mouth in an attempt to hide her smile. It wasn’t working—he still saw her laughing at him.

He’d show her.

He reached for the microphone and yanked it out of Peter’s grasp. “You’d better not have given me a chick song.”

The pitcher pointed to the monitor where the name of the song was displayed. “I did. The eighties at its best, man.”

“You’re a dick, Kowalskin,” he said after he read the title.

“So they tell me.” Peter raised his arms in the air and announced to the bar, “The one, the only Mark Cutter will now present us with a song.” The bar erupted in applause and whistles.

Hopping from the stage, Peter melted into the crowd of onlookers and hollered, “Give ’em hell, tiger!”

LORELEI SHUDDERED WITH suppressed laughter. Mark looked so damn uncomfortable all alone up there on stage. He just kept staring at the monitor in front of him and scowling. When the music started she understood why.

Instantly she recognized the song and burst into a fit of laughter. Everyone else in the bar recognized it, too, the hoots and hollers escalating to a frenzy. Mark was going to sing one of the most famous chick songs of the eighties.

“Hungry Eyes.”

The theme song from eighties blockbuster Dirty Dancing starring Patrick Swayze. One of the best romantic movies of the decade. She could remember the song playing on the kitchen stereo when she was a kid. Swinging her hips to the tune had made washing the dinner dishes go by in a flash.

Dear God, how bad was he going to butcher it?

She watched Mark shrug his shoulders as he did during a game and roll his head from side to side. Then he raised the microphone and said into it, “All right, here goes.”

Lorelei waited with trepidation for the first notes, tensed for Mark to tank big-time. She closed her eyes and flinched when his mouth opened. She couldn’t help it—he’d finally made her afraid.

A rich baritone with a raw, sexual edge greeted her ears and her eyes popped open and zeroed in on the stage. Mark was watching her and grinned when her gaze met his.

He could sing. Holy crap could he sing.

Her mouth dropped open in shock and she pushed away from the wall. His voice started soft and easy as the song began, seducing her through the speakers.

Shouts of encouragement came from a group over in the corner as he neared the chorus and his voice grew stronger, more emotional—rougher. It filled with real desire as he started singing about having hungry eyes.

The banked passion from earlier flared hot again as she watched Mark brace his feet apart and roll his hips suggestively, getting into the moment. A round of whistles followed, but she barely registered them.

All she could hear was Mark.

Her stomach took a long, liquid roll when his eyes locked on hers and he began singing directly to her. Need, desire, carnal lust—everything he felt was in his gaze, written across his face as the words of the song became his personal message to her, his plea. No man had ever wanted her that much before. Something shifted inside her, cracked. Without a fight she opened herself, let him in.

When the interlude came and saxophone wailed through the speakers, Mark placed the microphone in its holder. Then he raised a hand toward her, his palm to the ceiling, and crooked a finger at her. Beckoned her to him.

She went.

His hand wrapped around hers and he pulled her onstage into his arms. The bar went wild. Yells, whistles, catcalls.

She didn’t even hear.

Mark surrounded her, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, the other dove into her hair and fisted. Then his mouth was on her and he was kissing her. Hot, wet, demanding.

He tore his mouth from her and lowered his head until his lips caressed her ear. “It’s time, Lorelei.” His voice shook with his need.

She nodded. “Yes, it’s time.”

They were gone before the song was over.