Leary let him fall from his mouth, wrapped his fist around the shaft, and started pumping. “I wouldn’t say magic.” He pulled the head back between his lips and sucked while he pumped.

  “Close e-damn-nough. Jesus. I can barely keep my legs from wobbling. You’d think I was some kid getting his prick touched for the first time.”

  “Go on and lie down if you need to. I can take care of your backside just as handily as the front.”

  Ren shuddered again. Leary knew it wasn’t an offer he’d take him up on, not when they had a game to play the next night. There was really no such thing as a gentle fuck when it came to the two of them. Too much testosterone. Too much urgency.

  “Tempting,” Ren said. “So damned tempting, but you’d probably fuck me through the wall clear into the next room. I need to be able to run for bases tomorrow.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Maybe…play with my ass a little? That’d be okay.”

  Leary chuckled again, freed his hand from Ren’s cock, and slipped his fingers down the back of his briefs.

  Ren was always so hesitant about asking for what he wanted, as if he thought Leary would really refuse him. Nothing the man wanted was ever unreasonable. He rarely even wanted to top, which suited Leary just fine. He liked being the one to set the pace. Liked the view of Ren’s back and ass muscles clenching and spasming as he pounded into him. Loved watching his expressions change so rapidly when Leary had him on his back with his legs wrapped around his waist. Loved his submission, and how he came again and again with so little effort.

  Ren was easy and loved to please him. Unlike some people Leary knew.

  “Fuck, yeah, that’s right. Be rough with me, Leary. Give it to me.”

  Ren’s voice brought Leary out of his fog of memories and he paid attention to what he was doing. Gripping Ren’s ass hard enough to bruise, palming his balls as if they were nothing but toy marbles, and sucking him with far more vigor than usual.

  Ren always asked for rough, and Leary had tried to give him what he needed, but never seemed to get the gist. Apparently, the man had wanted to be treated like a plaything—a fuck toy made expressly for Leary’s pleasure as if his own pleasure was merely secondary.

  “Do what you want to me,” Ren affirmed. “God, just do what you want. Give me what you want.”

  Leary drove his middle finger into Ren’s tight hole and said, “I want you to come” around his dick.

  And damned if he didn’t.

  Leary caught every drop of the surging liquid on his tongue, licked his lips, and rolled his gaze up to Ren who was breathing hard and clutching Leary’s shoulders for purchase.

  “I want you to…” Ren took a moment to catch his breath. “Be rough with me, Leary. I can take it. Make me feel.”

  “Feel what?”

  “Just feel. I wanna feel everything. Wanna be in that headspace.”

  Leary didn’t know quite what he meant, but it’d be no inconvenience doing a little study to find out. He was certainly in the right place for it. There had to be someone around who could tell him how to give Ren what he wanted.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Leary generally didn’t get a hell of a lot of downtime during the baseball season, so he was going to make the most of being at The Beaudelaire during one of its legendary Den events. If he had to be back on the field the next evening, he wanted to unwind a little before he did. Didn’t hurt that the food was amazing and copious, and that he didn’t have to dip into his own pocket to pay for it. His trust fund had dried up years ago, and had really only been enough to pay for his master’s degree and his living expenses while he searched for work. He had a few thousand dollars in reserve for emergencies, but practiced frugality as much as he could. His life was definitely a lot different than it had been when he was a kid. He’d taken so much for granted back then. Hell, they all did. Everyone in his circle at school…except perhaps Emilie.

  He cranked up the back of the lounge chair beside the pool and settled down into the seat, clutching his beer bottle. Ren took the seat beside him after dropping a couple of towels onto the end.

  The live band played luau music, the catering crew had countless grills and fire pits going, and booze was everywhere. The caterers were thrusting it at the guests as if it were some sort of medicine they’d all need to take to survive the event.

  Emilie sure seemed to be clinging to hers pretty hard. Yeah, he saw her in the shadows. She sat near a blazing torch with her legs curled in to her chest and her friend sharing her lounger and partially blocking her from sight. Although it was night now, Emilie wore dark sunglasses and had obviously missed the memo about the dress code. She wore a simple black T-shirt, faded jeans torn at both knees, and appeared to be barefoot from where he sat.

  “Do you want something to eat?”

  Ren’s voice pulled Leary out of his reverie. He turned to look at his partner, who took a long draw of his beer, eyes locked on Leary.

  “The barbecue smells great, doesn’t it?”

  Leary nodded in agreement. “You go ahead and get yours. I’ll watch our seats.” They were damned good seats. Nice view.

  “’Kay. Be right back.” Ren took their empty bottles with him.

  Leary settled in and tried to look at anything besides Emilie, but that was fucking impossible and he was stupid to even think he could. She’d always been magnetizing. That hadn’t changed.

  Henri made his way through the tight configuration of loungers and tables nearest the pool house and stopped near Emilie’s chair.

  She’d taken her sunglasses off, and though Leary couldn’t tell for sure from where he was sitting, but he’d bet his lucky cleats she’d rolled her eyes. She covered her face with the hand that wasn’t holding her cocktail glass and shook her head.

  Henri’s lips kept moving.

  Emilie dropped her hand and said something to him that had his back straightening.

  Her friend laid a hand on Henri’s forearm and gave her head a hard shake.

  Oh, to be a fly on the wall over there.

  Henri pointed at one woman then the other, and Leary made out only a single word out of all the ones Henri was saying: hospital.

  Emilie shrugged. Said something-something-me.

  They obviously weren’t arguing about the Big Easy luau.

  Emilie shook her head and put her back to Henri. She took a long sip of her drink, and Henri just stared at her.

  Her friend said something, possibly, “Just go for now.”

  Henri left them.

  Ren returned with a plate loaded down with succulent barbecue, some starchy sides, and there might have even been a real vegetable or two somewhere on it, as well. He grinned as he sat. “I know you didn’t think I’d be coming back with mostly salad.”

  “I’m not going to say shit. What the trainer doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Did you leave any for me?”

  “There’s plenty. If I were as tacky as my grandmother always accused me of being, I’d pack some up and take it with us when we go tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure the smell will piss off the guys on the bus royally.”

  “What’s one more thing for them to be pissed about?”

  “I’d be pissed, too, if I were staying at the damned Motel 6 while four of us are here.”

  Ren shrugged and forked up a bit of barbecue. “If they played better baseball, maybe they’d be here, too. It’s about time we started getting some perks.”

  “If you wanted perks, you should have stayed in the major leagues.”

  “Nah. Too much pressure. It’s gotten so I prefer relative anonymity. Nobody’s asking me for my autograph, but at the same time, nobody’s giving me a second glance if I grab another man’s ass off the field.”

  Yeah, he was pretty grabby. Leary rarely cared, but the team manager seemed pretty tormented about how they carried on. “Keep that shit on the down low,” he’d said.

  Ren had scoffed and said, “So, I shoudn’t suck Leary’s cock in the dugout, is that what you’re saying?”

  The manager had flushed some shade of purple Leary hadn’t seen since, and probably never would again.

  So, they weren’t exactly out, but not exactly hiding anything, either. Leary suspected they hadn’t been the first. He would have had to have been far more stupid than he actually was to not guess something had been going on between Boswell and Lock last year. Leary might never know for sure, though. Lock retired, like Leary would be soon enough, and Boswell got pulled up to the Majors. They’d always shared hotel rooms, and given the libidinous looks Boswell was always giving the other man, there was no way the two weren’t getting it on behind closed doors.

  “It does smell fuckin’ good.” Leary pushed himself to standing and stretched his arms overhead, taking one last glance in Emilie’s direction before heading toward the food.

  Huh.

  She wasn’t there. Her friend remained at the lounger, studying her phone, but Emilie had disappeared. Just as well.

  He got a plate filled with protein and not much else and returned to his seat, only now knowing exactly where Emilie had disappeared to. He nearly dropped his food.

  The large, kidney bean-shaped pool was flanked by two in-ground hot tubs. One in the kidney’s bend, and the other on the opposite side nearest the manicured lawn. Emilie was at the opposite one, already shirtless and peeling off her jeans. Laughing. She was fucking laughing at one of the guys—no, not just some guy. That was Quinn Hathaway, shortstop.

  Hathaway kept talking, she kept laughing as she undid her bra.

  She undid her fucking bra!

  He set down his food and started toward the hot tub.

  “Where are you going?” Ren asked.

  Shit. He never forgot about Ren. The man was on the constant forefront of his mind and distracted him to no end, but Emilie had made him forget. He cringed. Turned. “I need to go have a word with your stunt double.”

  Ren’s forehead furrowed, then he rolled his eyes and turned in his seat to look toward the hot tub.

  Leary had started calling Hathaway Ren’s stunt double because they were practically interchangeable on the baseball field and actually had similar backgrounds. They’d both grown up on ranches. Both had dark hair and a fondness for Stetsons and boots. Ren had simply been around longer. Naturally, he couldn’t stand Hathaway.

  “Be right back,” Leary said.

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “Just make sure he’ll be ready to bounce first thing in the morning.”

  Ren’s expression said he didn’t believe it, but he didn’t call Leary on it. He just sat back, crossed his legs at the ankles, and put his beer to his lips.

  Leary worked his way through all the loungers and responded to Hathaway’s head bob of acknowledgement with one of his own as he knelt beside the handrail across from Hathaway and Emilie.

  The jets were working fast, blowing lots of large bubbles and foam into the hot water, so while it was obvious most of the people in the tub were nude, none of their body parts were particularly prominent.

  Thank God.

  Leary’s swim trunks were loose, but didn’t leave much to the imagination. No one would probably bat an eyelash if he sported a woody—shit, there were certainly men around who had them—but he usually preferred to keep his arousal a bit more discreet. And having seen Emilie’s high, taut backside and long, naked legs, arousal was a definite possibility…in spite of everything. He was a man, and he’d once claimed what was between those legs. If he weren’t content with his current partnership, he might perhaps consider claiming her once again. Just for a few minutes, though. Obviously, that was all she was good for.

  “You all packed up, Hathaway?” he asked. “Don’t want a repeat of last time.”

  Hathaway gave him a mock salute, splashing him with a little water in the process. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He looked to Emilie. “He’s the asshole tasked with rounding us all up before travel. Drew the short straw, I guess.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “Yeah, I have a real knack for drawing short straws,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Let me introduce you to this lady,” Hathaway said. “I work on her ranch every now and then, when she lets me. She’s got some beautiful thoroughbreds. One of these days, she might let me talk her into giving me one for a steal.”

  A rancher? Huh. He wouldn’t have thought she had it in her. Prissy little thing probably hired people to do all the dirty work and heavy lifting. She was a Beaudelaire. She probably knew how to chase those dollar signs.

  She laughed—a genuine laugh. Hathaway had put the first damned smile on her face since Leary had first run into her that afternoon. “Don’t hold your breath, Quinn.”

  Leary flexed his hands to fists when he realized he’d been cracking his knuckles. “So, is casual nudity par for the course in your working relationship?”

  Emilie’s smile fell away.

  Hathaway drummed his fingertips along the hot tub’s edge and crooked up an eyebrow. “You know, I wasn’t going to make a big deal of it. I was just going to sit here and soak up the ambience.”

  Right. And try to get his dick into some of that ambience, probably. Leary knew what happened at the Den. Folks would keep their mouths shut when they left, but while they were there, it was anything goes. And the thought that Emilie would go anywhere or do anything with Ren’s stunt double made Leary’s indigestion flare. He didn’t want to know what that meant, but did know he wasn’t going to let her saunter off with the shortstop.

  “You know, she’s a Beaudelaire.”

  Hathaway nodded. “Yep. Name shows up on my paychecks every now and then.”

  “So, you knew her before the hotel started sponsoring the team?”

  “Yep.”

  The world was too fucking small. In all that time, Hathaway had had more access to Leary’s child’s mother than Leary had. The universe was a fucked up place. He ground his teeth. “I bet you’d like your business relationship to be a little more casual, huh?”

  Emilie’s expression had been pretty neutral before, but now it was outright hostile. It was the same look she used to give to the mouthy senior boys who used to ask her why she wore her uniform skirts so long.

  Hathaway shrugged. “It’s The Den. Anything goes. You might consider haunting up some anything for yourself, Cap’n. Might help you loosen up for tomorrow.”

  Leary looked at Emilie who’d shifted on the little bench. The retreating foam revealed dark rose nipples and full, heavy breasts that were so familiar and yet so novel. He wondered if they’d taste the same, feel the same under his tongue.

  Fuck. He dangled his hands between his legs to hide his growing bulge.

  “I think your friend was calling you,” he said to Emilie. He canted his head toward the corner with the torch.

  “I doubt that. I happen to know Ceria has class. One of the reasons why I hired her. If she had something she wanted to tell me, she’d walk over and look me in the face.”

  Huh. Hired her. What on earth could Ceria’s job description have been?

  “Maybe she wants to be discreet.”

  Emilie cut her gaze to the corner.

  Ceria wasn’t even looking at them. She sipped some fruity drink and stared down at her phone.

  “Try again.”

  He let out a breath. “Fine. I need to talk to you.”

  “Come on, man,” Hathaway balked. “With all the women here, you’d home in on this one? I found her first.”

  “She’s not a thing to be found. And actually, I got there first. She’s my ex-girlfriend, you dipshit, and we need to have an adult conversation.”

  Emilie toyed with the end of her long, dark braid. “And if I don’t want to talk?”

  “Then you’ll listen.” He grabbed a towel from the nearby cart, opened it, and held it up for her. “Let’s go.”

  She just sat there, fiddling with that braid, her cheeks going red and blue eyes growing cold.

  “Looks like she’s staying,” Hathaway said. “That gonna be a problem? Are we gonna have a problem, Captain?”

  Emilie rolled her eyes and stood. “Don’t make a scene. That’s the last thing I need. Another fucking thing added to my reputation.” She skimmed around Hathaway’s knees on her way to the steps, and the motherfucker copped a feel of her ass as she departed.

  Leary would kill him. Or at least sprinkle some cayenne in his jock strap. Hathaway would probably wish he were dead by the end of the game.

  She ignored the towel and grabbed one of her own. She wrapped herself in it, scooped up her clothes, and stormed toward the hotel.

  He followed, but stopped to level a warning glare on Hathaway. “Stay away from her.”

  “How about you let that be her decision?”

  “Her decision is overruled. I’m not even fucking playing.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Emilie may have tried to lengthen her stride and speed her pace to shake Leary, but he caught up and found her the moment she put her key to her door.

  He gave her no leeway as she entered the room—no chance to shut the door on him, and got in the way of the bathroom door before she had a chance to slip in and hide away.

  “Don’t even try it, Emilie.”

  “Ugh.” She swerved around him and walked to her open suitcase. She rooted around in it, and he got closer just to ensure she wasn’t going to pull out some mace or a stun gun or something.

  Nope. Just panties. Simple cotton panties. Nary a thong, ruffle, or bow in sight.

  She dropped the towel and headed to the bed.

  And he followed her with both heads piqued. Those thighs… That ass…

  He didn’t know what had come over him, but the next thing he knew, he had her bent over the bed and was grinding his crotch against her perfect backside.

  “Leary,” she warned.

  “Do you want to argue or fuck?” He had to ask. Had to. The argument was going to come, sure, but he didn’t see a reason why he couldn’t scratch that itch first. He hadn’t been so hard and ready for a woman since… Well, shit. He couldn’t remember.

  She didn’t respond. Her mouth opened and closed, forehead furrowed, and fingers notched into the covers.

 

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