“Yeah, for real,” Lincoln chuckles. He looks up at me and extends a hand. “I’m Lincoln Landry.”
We shake, his hand a bit smaller but more calloused than Barrett’s. “I’m Alison Baker.”
“Guys, this is Alison and Hux Baker. This is my brother, Graham, and my oldest brother, the mayor, Barrett.”
“I knew you weren’t a baseball player,” Huxley says.
“Hux!” I exclaim, my cheeks reddening as Graham and Lincoln burst into laughter. Barrett just grins and shakes his head.
“You didn’t even make it to the plate,” Hux points out.
“You are now officially my favorite kid ever,” Lincoln says, catching his breath. “Come on. Let’s go play catch in the bullpen.”
“Can I?” Hux pleads. “Please, Mom?”
I hesitate, but before I can think it through, Lincoln puts me at ease.
“It’s safe. No one can get in there. And there aren’t any balls that will hit him or anything. I promise I’ll take care of him. I mean, after that crack at Barrett, I owe him one.”
“Please?” Hux begs.
I glance at Barrett. He’s standing with his back to the wall, his arms over his chest. He watches the interaction, purposefully staying out of it, letting me make the decision with no pressure from him.
“Sure,” I relent. “I can wait in my seat.”
“You can wait here,” Barrett interjects. “There’s a room in the back so you don’t get trampled when the guys come in. Linc can bring him back there, right?”
“Sure thing,” Lincoln says. He grabs Hux’s shoulder and off they go, Graham trailing behind them, muttering under his breath.
I’m left standing with the mayor.
He starts to speak, but thinks better of it. Instead, he touches me lightly on the small of my back, a gesture that would seem innocuous to a bystander, but feels anything but. The warmth of his palm, the zing of the contact, makes my jaw slack and my knees weak.
Guiding me through a doorway in the back of the dugout, we enter a hallway. He leads me into a small room with a desk and a water cooler. The door is pulled shut behind him and when I turn around, his chest is rising and falling just like mine.
“I was going to ask what you’re doing here, but you know what? I really don’t care,” he marvels. “I’m just glad you are.”
He closes the distance between us and stops right in front of me. If I reached out, I could touch his face, run my fingers down his freshly-shaven cheeks. I could kiss his lips, the one his tongue is skimming over as I watch nervously, anxiously . . . breathlessly.
“Thank you,” I say, getting lost in his emerald eyes. “I know you set that whole thing up with Lincoln and Huxley, and I can’t thank you enough. This after the tickets today? You just made his year.”
“It was my pleasure. But can I tell you a secret?”
I nod, my body temperature rising dangerously. His lips lower slowly until they hover just above the sensitive skin below my ear. I fight back a shiver, my chest rising as I hold my breath and wait for him to speak.
“It wasn’t just for Hux. It was for me, too,” he confesses, his words dancing along my cheek. “Want to know why?”
I nod again, my breath catching in my throat.
“Because I want to kiss you,” he whispers.
“You’re asking permission?” I breathe.
“I’m trying to play by the rules,” he says sincerely, pulling back and looking into my eyes. “If there were none, I’d pick you up and press you against the wall and lose myself in you.”
His words are erotica, a direct line of fire from his mouth to my core. He pulls back just enough for me to see into his eyes again, to see the caution, the self-control he’s using.
My attraction to him was never the problem. The glimmer in his eye right now, the one of patience, is enough for me to somehow give myself permission to enjoy myself for a moment. After all, it’s all I’ve been able to think about for days.
“May I?” he breathes, his chest rising and falling as quickly as mine.
His hand touches my cheek and I gasp. A slight nod of my head is all it takes before his lips land on mine, tenderly, at first, and I melt into his hard body.
Just like he said, he’s playing by some set of rules, ones that keep him from devouring me like I want. Even though a voice in the back of my head tries to remind me that with every stroke of his tongue this becomes dangerous, I can’t do anything about it but kiss him back.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me against him. I feel his palms pressed flat against my back. I give in, any defense I may have had obliterated, and let my fingers wind through his locks.
I fit against him like a puzzle piece, like we’ve practiced this dance so many times that we fall in step without any hesitation. We move together fluidly, effortlessly.
It’s sensory overload. The taste of his minty breath, the scent of his cologne. The roughness of his hands and the incredible smoothness of his lips. A moan starts to slip passed my lips when we’re interrupted.