Night Games (The Storm Inside #6) Page 2

  There was so much hope in his eyes. Was this real? Even if it was real, it was insane.

  “Why?” I’d ended our “fun times” because I was starting to care and now he was throwing around that word that began with an L. That was more than caring that was . . .

  That was . . .

  All the caring!

  He stared deep into my eyes. “Because you’re perfect.”

  “A work-obsessed party girl is as far from the word ‘perfect’ as a woman can get.”

  “That’s such bullshit.” His thumb skated my lower lip as he searched my eyes. “For me, you’re perfect. No one else matters.”

  I knew a lot of people who’d line up to set him straight. “Wes . . . ”

  “Give us some time before you freak out.” He grinned. “Well, more than you already have.”

  “Time?” The longer I spent near him the deeper I dug this hole. I’d never climb out at the rate I was going. And even worse? Part of me liked the idea of staying married to Wes.

  Plus there was the little problem of my promise. Marriage is the most sacred vow you can make.

  Divorce was not an option.

  But staying married to Wes wasn’t either.

  “Let’s start with a week. That will give us some time to think this through, talk to our lawyers,” he pulled me to his lips for a kiss, “talk to each other.”

  “Why do I get the impression you don’t mean conversation?”

  He lightly kissed each corner of my lips. “I actually do. If it helps, I’ll agree to keep my hands off of you for the week, too.”

  Then he kissed me again.

  Deeper.

  Oh God . . . as his tongue caressed mine and his fingers got lost in my hair, I forgot I was terrified of my feelings.

  Feelings I’d known for a while had turned into a hell of a lot more.

  He pulled my body flush against his, my hands naturally falling to his trim hips. He had a gorgeous body. An athlete’s body that had been carefully honed over the course of his entire life. I’d spent nights learning every dip and curve, stroking the length of his muscles. My interest was personal, but my knowledge was professional. His body was perfect and I loved studying it.

  He’d clearly kissed the sense right out of my head because the next words out of my mouth were the most uncharacteristic things I’d ever said in my life.

  “One week.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Thank you.” He stepped us closer to the bed, the kiss never seeming to end.

  “And you really won’t touch me?” He moved his lips over my throat, picking me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist.

  “I won’t. The last thing we need is sex confusing this situation anymore than it already is.” We tumbled onto the bed.

  “You mean after this?”

  His hips surged against mine, his erection hard against my belly. “We can start now,” he offered, kissing down my neck, nibbling on my collarbone.

  This was a mistake. “No. One last time.”

  He groaned, rolling me on top of him. “You’re sure?”

  I grabbed the pack of condoms off the nightstand and ripped one open. I was hot, needy, and confused. The only thing that could set me right was Wes. “What the hell? We’re already married. Why not go for broke one last time.”

  But based on the hurt look in his eyes I was in much deeper than I’d ever realized.

  2

  Wes

  She was going to kill me. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but eventually . . . I was a dead man. There were few things I was sure of in this life, but that was one of them.

  I stared at the wrinkles in the sheets where her body had just been mine for the taking. It was cold and empty now. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one fucking bit, but Carrie was not someone you told what to do. Hell, I was lucky if I could convince her of anything. And staying still long enough to feel a fucking thing was the hardest one of all.

  So when she found out . . .

  I ran my hands over my face a few times and groaned. I couldn’t even call my best friend for help. Nope, Roman was occupied for the rest of the day with his own bride. The only difference between the two of us was that his wife was willing.

  Well, Carrie had been willing. Very willing. It was a side of her I’d never seen. She was so carefree and fucking happy . . . one thing led to another and I was stupid enough to take advantage of it.

  All because Roman had made me see things clearly for the first time in . . . well . . . ever.

  To be honest, she’d taken it easier than I expected. I was prepared to find the nearest hospital when she woke up and took my balls from me, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead of angry she was terrified.

  And that . . . I couldn’t get that look out of my head.

  I’d made a terrible mistake. And that was saying a lot coming from me. I’d easily earned my reputation as baseball’s biggest player and I was usually pretty damn proud of it.

  Until I met Carrie.

  And yes, we had fun together and yes, we were more than a little wild, but since the day I met her it had only been her. No one else seemed to matter anymore.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  I threw on a pair of jeans and answered the door.

  “Asshole.”

  It was Zoe. I kind of expected her. Carrie, June, and Zoe were a trifecta of little powerful women and I really didn’t expect to get out of Vegas without one of them yelling at me.

  “Good morning to you, too. Would you like some coffee?” I’d ordered room service five minutes after Carrie abandoned me.

  Again.

  God, I hated how fast she could leave a room. It was like a skill a ninja would have.

  “Yes.” Then she spun on me. I reflexively covered my balls. “Did you get married last night?”

  “Why would you ask that?” If Carrie hadn’t told her best friend well, I certainly wasn’t going to.

  Her eyes dropped to my hands. “Shit! You did! Holy hell . . . ”

  I switched the hand on top, still covering my balls. “I didn’t do anything. Now, you should probably go.”

  “You just offered me coffee and I accepted.”

  “And now I’m taking it back. I need all the coffee.”

  “Because you stayed up all night getting married!”

  Lying to Zoe was pointless. She was a writer. She saw everything—like Sherlock Holmes but cute and tiny. “What made you think you needed to come to my room for confirmation of my potential marriage?”

  And that got her off my back and out of my personal space. She dropped her eyes and slowly made a show of pouring her cup. “I may have noticed that Carrie was out all night.”

  “A plus B does not equal C.”

  She rolled her eyes. “She came in flustered and damn near tears. This is Carrie.”

  And my Carrie didn’t do tears. “Is she okay?”

  “She took a shower and came out with her game face on. She’s in the gym working out. Who works out in Vegas?”

  A driven badass woman going half mad. “If I didn’t workout six days a week I’d be hitting the gym, too.” It was a sad, pathetic attempt at defense.

  “Yeah right. Anyway. When she left for the gym I snooped. And you know what I found, Wes Allen?”

  I covered my balls again. “What?”

  “A wedding ring. And you know why I figured of all the men on the planet I should start looking here?”

  “Why?” My voice cracked like a teenager. I grew up with women. I knew what they were capable of when they were pissed. Nuclear arms had nothing on an angry woman.

  “Because you love her,” she said with a shrug. “And when she left me last night you were the one with her. I can’t imagine a single scenario in which you left her side or abandoned her to Vegas to find another man to marry.” She took a sip of coffee and wrinkled her nose. “Plus it’s Carrie. She would never marry anyone, but if she was going to make a crazy decision on a whim, she would do it with
you.”

  She would do it with you. Those words sounded kind of epic. “Excuse me?”

  Zoe sipped again, this time with a pleased little smile on her face.

  I’d just been played.

  “You love her. I think it just hit you yesterday and I think it’s just dawning on her now, but you two love each other. Trust me, this is kind of my business.”

  Zoe wrote romance novels, among several other things. I may have picked up a copy of one of her books to see what the fuss was about.

  And that may have led me to read all of them.

  All. Of. Them.

  Yep, she was that good.

  Actually, she was so good I kind of blame her for the situation I was in right now. “This is your fault.”

  Both her eyebrows shot up. “How so?”

  “You and your love stories about people finding each other and being happy.” I was pacing now, waving my hands like a panicked high schooler giving his first speech in an auditorium. “You scrambled my brains!”

  “You’ve read my books, Wes? Really?”

  I cleared my throat. “I got them for the sex but . . . I stayed for the really good stories. Stories that have made me do something incredibly stupid.” I threw myself on the bed face first and groaned into the mattress.

  “She trusts you, Wes. That’s why she keeps coming back. Carrie doesn’t trust many people, but you? There’s something here that makes her feel safe. So yes, you were stupid to get married on a whim to a woman who wasn’t really ready, but I think if you’re smart you might be able to make this work.”

  I popped my head up and focused on the tiny minx currently making me even more confused than I already was. “Come again?”

  “Show her the way.”

  Maybe I was still drunk. “Excuse me? Are you telling me to convince Carrie we should stay married?”

  She shrugged. “Marriage isn’t the issue. Your relationship is. I like you two together. You are an immature asshole who needs to grow up already and Carrie needs to stop for five minutes and get a grip. I think you two might be perfect for each other.”

  I blinked a few times to make sure she was real. Instead of beating me to a bloody pulp Zoe was hinting at helping me keep Carrie?

  I did not see that coming.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I have a teeny tiny confession to make.” The little pixie actually blushed. “A few weeks ago I helped Carrie plot out all the ways to fuck with your head.”

  I sat up straight. “I knew it!” There was no way Carrie was that . . . that . . . mean. I’d been toyed with a time or two in my years of dating. I knew when a woman was leading me on or using me. With Carrie it was a roller coaster from day one, but I knew when the switch had flipped. “Why?”

  “Why did I help her or why did she do it?”

  Did it matter? “Both!” We were husband and wife now. This was information I needed.

  “Well, I helped her because I could see it.”

  Zoe was going to be the death of me with these breadcrumbs of half information. “Spit. It. Out. Pixie.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I could see that she was falling for you. I knew that was why she wanted to mess with you.”

  Well that made no sense. “She was falling for me so she messed with my head?”

  “Yes. It was easier for her to stick around you if she believed she was doing it out of frustration instead of love.”

  “Frustration?”

  “You’re a player, Wes. You flirt like it’s a profession.”

  That hurt. That really, really hurt. Like, deep down where my ego was usually pretty happy to hang out without a care in the world. Spraining my ankle, not getting the trade I wanted, Mom dying when I was ten—none of it dented my ego the way this did. I hadn’t been with anyone since Carrie and the idea she might have been hurt by my flirting was a hard kick straight up the middle.

  “So here’s what I’m going to do,” Zoe slid over to the chair and sat, “I’m going to right my wrongs by offering the same services to you.”

  “You’re going to plot against your best friend?” Now I’d heard everything.

  “No,” she said carefully, “I’m not plotting against Carrie, I’m plotting for you both. I don’t want to see her hurt any more than you do, but she is incapable of getting out of her own way. She needs some gentle nudging.” Then she stood up straight as an arrow, folding her hands in front. “I’m going to help you do it correctly. You do love her, right?”

  That was the easiest question I’d ever answered. “Yes. Let’s do this.”

  3

  Six Weeks Earlier . . .

  Carrie

  Her hand slid up my inner arch. It felt so good I had to suppress a moan of pleasure. Not that I would be the first woman to moan in the middle of a pedicure, but still. I’d been on my feet all day and at that exact moment I couldn’t imagine anything better.

  “Look at this guy.” Zoe thrust her phone under my nose.

  I blinked my eyes several times until . . . “Hello, lover.” On the screen was a delicious specimen of man. Dirty blond, piercing blue eyes, just a hint of afternoon scruff dusting his chin, oh, and he was fantastically shirtless. The shot was intentionally designed to draw my eyes to his perfect abs, then to the adorable cat in his hands.

  This man was a marketing genius.

  “Who is he?” And how fast could I follow his Instagram account?

  “His name is Wes Allen. He’s,” she grinned, “you’ll love this. He’s a baseball player.”

  I groaned. My catnip. I swore them all off when the Mantas hired me on as their orthopedic physician on staff. It wouldn’t be good to mix business and pleasure—even if they were my favorite form of pleasure. “Who does he play for?”

  “The Waves.”

  Dammit. Even worse. He was close by. “And all of his posts are like this one?” Please say yes! Even if he was off limits I could enjoy the visual splendor that was his Instagram.

  “Every single one.” She held up her phone again, this time scrolling down through his feed.

  One picture after another of him shirtless and holding that same cat in different, sexy ways. “I think he might actually own that cat.”

  Zoe laughed. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  I shrugged. “Ballplayers are busy. On the road all the time. And men who flash their bare chests on Instagram for attention are generally not the most empathetic guys.” Not that I’d dated five or six of them.

  Okay. Dated was a loose term.

  “Well, I’d say he seems to love his cat—whose name is Snickers, but the way.”

  Of course it was. I whipped out my phone and quickly found his account, hitting the Follow button before I began scanning. The pictures were all different, but the same. And I had to give it to him—he was gorgeous. But what really caught my eye were the captions. Some were hilarious, others strangely sweet descriptions of what Snickers had been up to that day, while others a glimpse into his life with the Waves. Wes Allen might be silly and shirtless, but the man loved the game.

  And that made him seriously hot.

  Catnip.

  I’d fallen in love with the game when I was a child. I don’t even remember when it happened. It was just always part of my life. I had almost nothing in common with my parents but my dad and I shared a love of baseball. He took me to local college and minor league games and I would wander in behind him with my pencil and notebook to track the game. I loved bubbling in the bases, tracking each player’s stats as the game slowly unfolded in front of us.

  Baseball was always on at home, usually a Royals game. I never did understand how Dad became a Royals fan considering he was born and bred in the middle of nowhere South Carolina, but that’s who he rooted for, even today. He didn’t blink when I asked to play softball despite Mom’s moaning and groaning that it “wasn’t done.”

  Despite her best efforts to ruin softball for me, I got pretty good and by high school I was being actively
recruited by college softball teams. At fifteen there was no doubt in my mind where the next ten years would take me.

  Boy was I wrong.

  That was my first hard lesson in life and I never forgot it. Even though life threw me a curveball I managed to get my feet under me and discover a different life in medicine. Maybe even a better one. But I couldn’t quite let the game go.

  It was no accident that I dated my way through a dozen ballplayers before I was done with med school. It was also no accident that I pursued a position with Major League Baseball. I loved the game almost as much as I loved my independence. My career managed to give me both in one perfect package.

  So I swore off dating ballplayers because they were always a bad idea and with everything I’d ever wanted finally in my grasp, the last thing I would ever do was to put it into jeopardy by dating the wrong jock.

  But Wes was the kind of man who gave a girl second thoughts.

  “Whoa,” Zoe whispered, grabbing my arm. “Is that?” She was staring off towards the entrance to the spa. Standing in the doorway was a tall, blond, gorgeous man who looked exactly like the man on my phone.

  I blinked. “Did we conjure him out of thin air?”

  Zoe shook her head. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  I could. We were in the spa at the Epicurean Hotel and it looked like Wes was on his way up to the rooftop bar. It was a fairly exclusive place to be out on a Wednesday night. The people we passed on these girls nights out were either very rich and in need of pampering, or famous and hoping for anonymity. I loved it here because I was treated like royalty on my one night off each week and the utter indulgence made the insane hours and the stress of the job seem worthwhile.

  “He’s just a man.”

  Her eyes slid over to me. “You’re going up there, aren’t you?”

  Did I want to? Yes. Absolutely. “No. It’s Wednesday and Wednesdays are sacred.” Whether it was Zoe, June, or both of them together, every Wednesday we met at Evangeline for a spa treatment, this week it was pedicures, before dinner at Elavage. There were no men.