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Trinity slipped her hand into his, squeezing it. More strategy? If she’d noticed he’d slipped into a funk, she didn’t say anything, but the timing couldn’t be a coincidence. She’d somehow tuned in to him and he didn’t hate it, no matter how weird it felt to be here with a woman, especially one wearing his suit jacket. Weird, but nice.
Trinity oohed and ahhed over the skybox he’d borrowed from a friend. He tried to see it through the eyes of someone who’d never been in one before, but he’d grown up in the box his dad owned, often hanging out for hours on random Saturdays during the season.
It was odd to be above the field when his team was on it. The players were warming up, and he automatically assessed each one.
Trinity’s unique feminine scent hit him a moment before the woman did. She joined him at the glass overlooking the field. “Are you okay? You seem distant.”
He shrugged, mystified how she could do that when he hadn’t clued in on her moods to the same degree. “I’m an in-the-trenches guy. It’s very unusual for me to watch my team play from this vantage point.”
“Why are you here, then?”
It was a valid question. No one else was here yet. The party wouldn’t start for a couple of hours, closer to game time. And there certainly weren’t any photographers around. “I don’t know.”
He literally had no idea how to integrate a woman—fake, real or otherwise—into the rest of his life. Sure, he’d dated a few women here and there since buying the Mustangs. But they’d never been serious enough relationships to bring the lady to a game.
Which of course begged the question—how serious was this one?
There might have been a hundred other things he could have taken his fake girlfriend to besides an away game, where they’d be stuck together for three more days until they went home late Thursday night. Yet he’d pounced on Myra’s suggestion. Why, because he’d wanted to see how Trinity fit in here?
Trinity cocked her head, contemplating him. “If you’re normally down on the field, the only conclusion I can draw is that you’re here for me.”
He made the mistake of meeting her ice-blue eyes, which had gained a great deal of warmth as she watched him.
“I am.” No point in lying about it. “I didn’t want you to be alone. This is a big stadium, and you don’t know anything about baseball.”
Okay, that part might not have been the whole truth. But he wasn’t sure what was.
She laughed. “I’m a big girl, Logan. I can find things to do no matter where I am. But since you’ve made such an excellent point, tell me about baseball.”
Eyeing the green dress and sandals she wore, he crossed his arms. “Really? Like all of it?”
“Sure.” She uncrossed his arms for him without his permission and guided him to the long leather couch on the front row of the seating in the box. “We have time, right?”
He settled onto the cushion next to her, but only because he’d just realized the benefits of having this suite to themselves with no danger of her undergarments going missing.
The protective one-way film on the glass suddenly seemed like genius on the part of the stadium planners. No one could see in. No one could enter the suite without the lock code, and all the people who were privy to it wouldn’t arrive for quite some time.
He had a temporary pass to have real sex with his fake girlfriend. That was the only thing he should—could—focus on right now. It was all they had between them that was real. All he could allow to be real.
Things had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.
Seven
“We have a couple of hours,” Logan told her and picked up Trinity’s hand to raise it to his lips, nibbling on her fingertips because he wanted to and he could. “What do you want to know about baseball?”
“I want to know everything.”
Her voice had dropped into that register that somehow plugged straight into his groin, lighting it up. She pulled her hand from his grasp deliberately, with a little tsk. Without taking her eyes off him, she hiked up her skirt to flash him a very quick peek at her naked sex and levered one gorgeous leg over his lap, settling herself astride him.
Oh, God, yes.
Her heat ravaged his instant erection, burning him thoroughly even through his clothes. She leaned forward, rolling her hips to increase the contact between their bodies, and nuzzled his ear as she murmured, “Tell me what baseball means to you.”
His pulse went into a free fall.
“Baseball is like breathing,” he said hoarsely as her fingers went to work on his buttons.
He should stop her for...some reason. Because she was taking control. That was a bad thing. But he couldn’t find any fault in the way she worked her hips against his length, and he groaned as she laved at his exposed collarbone.
