Leslie Kelly - Boys Of Summer - Sliding Home / Fever Pitch / The Sweet Spot

It had been a long time since a woman had so disconcerted him…had left him questioning his decisions. Ever since his first sexual experience back in high school, he’d never questioned his choice to accept or decline an opportunity. So why couldn’t he stop thinking he’d made a mistake this time?

For half a second, while passing the entrance to the restaurant, he considered stepping inside to see if the brunette was the kind who liked to linger over a long dessert and coffee.

Chocolate and raspberries.

But he thrust the idea away. He’d look ten kinds of fool. Besides, she’d been pretty set on leaving with someone and he didn’t particularly want to see who she’d chosen in his place.

Having been invited by Callie Andrews to park in the alley out back to avoid some of the more persistent Slammers fans—or critics, given their recent six losses in a row—Riley headed down a quiet rear hallway. Digging his keys out of his pocket, he couldn’t help wondering how his night might have ended up if he hadn’t grown something of a sexual conscience.

He was so focused on the slew of delightful possibilities flashing through his brain that he almost didn’t notice the crash. But it was followed by a loud, feminine scream.

Hell, that shriek could startle a man out of contemplation of a Penthouse centerfold, so it certainly interrupted his own rather mild visualizations. “What now?” he mumbled, turning around. No one was in the hall behind him, but he had just passed a door marked Round The Bases: Deliveries. Pulling it open and sticking his head in, he said, “Hello? Everybody okay?”

No response.

Probably the noise had come from the restaurant, but just in case someone was hurt, he stepped inside what appeared to be a stockroom. Shelves laden with jerseys, Slammers caps, coozies, pennants and seat cushions surrounded him. And right in the middle of it, covering the floor, was a mountain of big yellow foam hands with index fingers sticking up.

He saw the hands, which proclaimed Slammers Are #1, during every game. But he’d never seen them moving by themselves, undulating on the floor like a big yellow serpent.

Suddenly a head popped out of the pile, and he realized it wasn’t the hands moving. It was the woman beneath them.

At least, he assumed it was a woman. Since he could only see the back of a thick head of dark hair, he couldn’t be sure. But given the shapely figure outlined by a tight pink T-shirt and jeans that worked its way out from beneath the yellow mountain, he figured he was right. That was confirmed when a feminine voice muttered a very foul word. He bit his lip to hold back a laugh.

“Slimy salesman. Oh, sure, we needed a thousand of these things,” she said as she sent a bunch of the hands flying in all directions. “I’ll tell you where you can shove your dumb…”

Clearing his throat and raising his voice, he said, “Hello?”

The woman immediately jerked her head around to stare at him. Which was the exact moment he recognized her.

“You,” he whispered, completely shocked. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it definitely had not been this. Because the cursing, dusty little jeans-wearing package was the same dark-eyed angel he’d seen an hour ago sitting four tables away.

Riley smiled. Things were suddenly looking up. Fate, aided by a box full of foam hands, had given him a second chance. And maybe now he would go ahead and act on his devil-red hunger for the woman who’d been wearing the devil-red dress.

SMILING, Riley watched the flustered woman analyze his presence. She, of course, recognized him, too. He hadn’t changed his entire persona in the hour since he’d left Diamond.

While they stared at one another, those big eyes of hers reached saucer diameter. “What…?”

“I heard a scream,” he explained, raising his hands, palms out, so she wouldn’t feel threatened. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m fine, thanks.” Frowning at the mess, she added, “My stock attacked me.”

“Kinda gives new perspective to the idea of roving hands.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve known guys who seemed to have more appendages than an octopus before, but this was a bit extreme.”

Lips twitching, he stepped closer. Though tempted to ask her if she needed a hand, he modified his offer. “Need some help?”

“Thanks for not asking me the obvious.”

“Busted,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “I almost did.”

“I probably would have slugged you if you had.”

Since the woman probably only stood about five foot four, he didn’t consider that much of a threat. But the fierce look on her face was so damned adorable, he didn’t dare laugh at her. He’d learned growing up with his petite mother—who could silence any of her six-foot-plus sons with one frown—not to question the power of an upset woman.

Hiding his amusement, he looked around, wondering why she’d been “attacked” only by the hands. Everything else was stacked just as haphazardly. She was lucky the shelf of replica trophies hadn’t landed on her head. “Got a little overstock here?”

Her succulent lower lip stuck out in a weary pout. “I think my inventory reproduces at night when I leave.”

“Which is why you’re here working so late? Trying to prevent any…procreation?” His voice softened on the last word, and he heard his own intensity as a whole litany of images returned to mind. The ones he’d been picturing when he’d considered taking her up on her sultry, unspoken invitation at dinner.

He couldn’t help eyeing the foam hands. That yellow mountain might be a mess to clean up, but he’d bet it was very soft.

The woman sucked in a deep, audible breath, and her lips parted as she licked nervously at them. She’d heard his hesitation and correctly interpreted it. Something deep and basic passed between them—an acknowledgement of the brief connection they’d shared earlier in the evening. The realization that they were both feeling the same heated awareness. Maybe even a silent admission that something was going to happen.

Something exciting. Something erotic. Something amazing.

He hesitated, wondering why he was feeling none of the reservations he’d felt before about indulging in one night of erotic sex with a seductive stranger. Because right now, he wanted more than anything to taste her lips and feel that slender body pressed against his own.

She rose, kicking a few #1 hands out of the way. He didn’t waste time watching her feet, however, not when her tight jeans were much more interesting. As was the shirt she wore, which highlighted the indentation of her waist and the softness of her arms. It also emphasized the delicate swell of her breasts.

Riley forced himself to lift his gaze, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, though she’d certainly been inviting stares at dinner. But since she was just as attractive all the way to the top of her head, he sank deeper into hot water.

She’d not only changed her clothes, she’d also brushed her hair out so it hung in a thick, loose curtain around her pretty face. She appeared younger than she had before, softer, though every bit as attractive. And he was reacting to her every bit as strongly as he had then.

There was still that tiny hint of recognition that told him he’d seen her before, but damned if Riley could place her. So he forced the thought away…no way would he have forgotten those lips. That face. That incredibly hot little body.

Finally, he couldn’t help confronting her on the obvious. “You look different than you did earlier.”

Her bottom lip quivered, but she said nothing. That quiver reminded him of the hint of uneasiness she’d displayed in the restaurant. It also reminded him that there was much more to the woman than a shapely figure highlighted in either a sexy dress or a sexier pair of jeans.