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Her lipstick was smudged, her lips swollen and parted as she breathed fast. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes opened slowly. When she did lift her gaze to his, she definitely looked dazed.
“Holy shit,” she said. “We should have done that a long time ago.”
She’s the one woman who can get his ball back in play…
Protecting His Assets
© 2014 Cari Quinn
Deuces Wild, Book 1
For a while, MLB pitcher Chase “Deuce” Dixon used his bad-boy reputation as a smoke screen to cover up his elbow injury. But plummeting pitching stats don’t lie, so now he’s a free agent, spending the off-season in surgeons’ offices, and considering a post-baseball career in security.
His first night moonlighting as a nightclub bouncer, he’s surprised that the singer on stage is his little sister’s pure, sweet, spitfire of a best friend. And some drunk guy is getting way too personal.
Summer Maitland doesn’t need Chase strong-arming one of the few fans she’s managed to accumulate during the career she keeps secret from her family. And despite her body’s shimmering reaction to his touch, she certainly doesn’t need a self-appointed bodyguard following her around.
Chase has other ideas. If anyone’s going to lay a hand on Summer, it’s going to be him. Now if only he could keep his tongue out of her mouth long enough to keep her safe. And his hands to himself before he scares her off.
Warning: Contains an ace hurler moonlighting as a bouncer moonlighting as a bodyguard, and an angel-voiced chanteuse who’s up for anything he can throw at her—in and out of the bedroom. This one could make you rethink the definition of fastball.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Protecting His Assets:
By the time they arrived at her place, he’d come up with a plan to combat their aloneness for the next hour and a half before they started the trek into the city. He’d nail her shutters or whatever and then he’d stand at her sink and scarf down the ice cream without making eye contact or conversation. That would succinctly convey his disinterest.
Or it might’ve if she hadn’t parked ahead of him in her driveway and rushed inside, declaring she needed to change. Hard to ignore someone who wasn’t paying you any mind.
He dawdled in his SUV, not wanting to spend any longer in her personal space than necessary. In and out—that was his motto. No entanglements, no drama.
When he knew he couldn’t stall any longer, he trudged up the wide plank porch steps to the door, noting the shiny urns full of thriving fall flowers and cheerful half moon welcome mat, and pulled open the screen door. He’d taken two steps inside when Summer bounded downstairs in a tiny ass robe that showed her legs approximately up to her nipples. Maybe even higher.
“What the frig is that?”
Slyly, she held out the object she’d hidden behind her back. “This, my dear Deuce, is a hammer. One uses it to nail…things.”
“I don’t mean the hammer. I mean that piece of clothing. Why are you practically naked?”
“I need to take a shower before my show.” She inched closer, the hammer still clutched between her perky breasts. And there was that word again. Perky. “You don’t want me to stink when I’m on stage, do you?” She lifted her wrist and sniffed. “I reek of—”
“Chocolate and vanilla and everything nice?” He barely resisted a snarl.
She smirked. “You seem stressed. Maybe you should sit down and eat your ice cream before you go play with my hammer.” As she stroked it, he shifted uncomfortably. If he didn’t have sex soon, he’d probably shoot off from the image of those golden fingers wrapping around the wood. Squeezing again and again.
Christ. He needed ice cream or a cold compress or something. Maybe he should stuff his dick in the pint of chocolate. Couldn’t hurt.
“I’m fine,” he gritted out. “Give me the freaking hammer. And go get dressed. We need to leave soon.”
“Oh, we have plenty of time.” The way she caressed the word plenty made his balls throb. Stupid balls. Stupid celibacy.
Like his pathetic truck trick, he took as long to mess around with her shutters as humanly possible. If they’d actually been loose, it would’ve helped. They weren’t. He still hammered and banged the outside of her house, hoping she’d feel guilty for driving him out into the cold and wind to avoid her numerous blatant sexua
l overtures.
They had been blatant sexual overtures, right? Sometimes he just wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered. His fish couldn’t be lured with pink, perky nipp—hooks.
When he came back into the living room, his hands ached from his vigorous needless pounding. Other parts of him ached because they hadn’t pounded anything in way too long. Seeing Summer all curled up in the corner of the couch with a spoon in her jar of sauce and his ice cream stuff spread out on the coffee table didn’t help with the latter.
“Hey. Thank you. You’re so sweet.” She leaned forward and her robe gaped almost to the point of indecency. She didn’t seem to notice. “Here, let’s eat. I’ll get showered and ready to go when we’re done.” She waved her dripping spoon. “I had paperwork to do,” she added, all blue-eyed and pink-cheeked innocence.
