Catching Zia (Spring Training Book 1) Page 4

  Maybe that’s why he found her so attractive. The word genuine came to mind once again. A breath of fresh air. How many women had he dated that had no idea what they wanted in life except to get in his pants? Half of them simply wanted to be able to say they slept with a major league player. The other half wanted to dip their hand in his wallet too.

  Why did he get the feeling Zia was also hiding from something? Not hiding something, but hiding from something.

  The waitress brought their wine, took their orders, and discreetly disappeared. Brett would thank her later. And Angelo.

  “You could try to do both,” he suggested as he took a sip of the wine. “I mean, if you were able to go to school while working for the first family, maybe you could find a way to do something artistic while working for another family.”

  “It’s possible. Perhaps. Just tricky working it all out. Not as easy if the next family has young kids, for example. They take up way more time. Though, they do pay better.” She lifted her wine glass, and he watched her reaction as she took the first sip. “Mmm. Really good.” She set it down, specifically not removing her hand from his as she used the other one.

  He liked that. He liked the contact with her.

  “To hear my sister tell it, you could easily jump from one client to the next, painting murals while you looked for something else. She’s so impressed, she’ll have everyone in her office vying for a chunk of your time by Monday morning. And that’s a lot of people. She works for a magazine. The place is crawling with both men and women in her age bracket popping babies.”

  Zia flushed and lowered her gaze. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It means a lot to me that you set that up. I was a little leery when I found out your motives, but I’m going to take your word for it that you aren’t pulling my leg about the quality of my work…even if you did use it as an excuse to ask me out.”

  Heat rose across his cheeks just looking at her. Weird for him. Not a usual response to anyone. He leaned closer. “I mean it. I don’t want you to think for one minute that your work isn’t top notch, even though you’re right, I took the opportunity to get to know you better. I’m not sorry.”

  She exhaled and lifted her face, changing the subject. “What about you? Monica said you’ve been doing some work for her.”

  Holy smokes. Monica said that? There was a God. He would have to thank her later. “Oh, yeah. No big deal. I have an accounting degree. I’m between things right now. Just helping her out. Most boring degree on the planet. No idea why I chose it.” Because I didn’t give two fucks what the degree was at the time, as long as it didn’t involve much English and I got to play baseball morning, noon, and night.

  At least he wasn’t lying. He did have an accounting degree, and he did help his sister straighten out her taxes every year.

  Maybe one day he would be glad he had that degree, but at this point, he doubted it. He was set for life. He’d managed to remain injury-free for six seasons. He made wise investments. And he had more money tucked away than most humans ever saw.

  Besides, he wasn’t a flashy guy. Except for his car, he considered himself rather minimalistic. He had a nice home in a great neighborhood, but not so ridiculous that he needed staff to keep it up. He was only in it about half the time. Sometimes less, during the season.

  The most unfortunate part about finally having the balls to talk to Zia was the fact that he only had three more weeks before he needed to be in Jupiter for spring training. It was less than two hours away, but three weeks wasn’t much time to convince her to continue seeing him after the season started.

  What if he came right out and told her? He could. Just spill it. Take the risk.

  It was too steep. He simply wasn’t willing to open that subject yet. The pure normalness of this evening filled him with more joy than he could ever remember experiencing. One more hour. One more day. One more week. Whatever he could get before he told her, he would take it.

  Apparently, the name Brett Michelson meant nothing to her. She had no idea who he was.

  Good thing or bad thing? On the one hand, it bought him time. On the other hand, it meant she probably didn’t follow baseball.

  Although, maybe he shouldn’t assume that not knowing his name meant she didn’t follow baseball. It wasn’t like he was the star pitcher. He played second base. Started most games, but didn’t have the same level of household name as some other players. Or heck, maybe Miami wasn’t her favorite team.

  “Do you have family in the area?” he asked to change the subject.

  She shook her head. “None to speak of.”

  “Why do I think there’s a story behind that?”

  “My mom is around somewhere. Who knows where. I haven’t spoken to her in over six years.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah. She’s a narcissist. I would have fared better if she’d left me at an orphanage.”

  His eyes grew wide. He didn’t even know how to respond to that.

  “I know that sounds harsh and shocking, but that’s the nicest way to put it. She has no idea which of the men she slept with that week was my father. She had no interest in having a child. And yet she kept me, and then spent the next eighteen years making sure I knew what a burden I was.”

  “God, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.” He squeezed her hand and drew it closer, curious to note that she didn’t flinch much while telling this horrific story.

  She shrugged. “I’m over it. And her.” She spoke as if it were all simply matter-of-fact at this point in her life. Details. “All she cared about was her fake hair, fake makeup, and fake boobs. She spent every dime making herself look like she had more money than she did so she could catch a series of wealthy suitors who kept her in style. She was a difficult mom and left me pretty unprotected, but I’m over it.”

  Zia was strong. A survivor. He was impressed with the way she had obviously managed to pull herself out of a horrific childhood and showed no signs of suffering as a result.

  “I’m sorry. That was probably more than you wanted to hear.”

  “Are you kidding? Of course not. She shaped who you are today. An amazing, strong woman who rose out of a shitty situation in spite of your mother’s bad choices. I’m in awe.”

  She flushed again. “Thank you.”

  The food arrived, and Brett reluctantly released Zia’s hand so Stella could set the steaming plates on the table.

  For a moment, they sat in silence, fidgeting with napkins, forks, and knives. Then Brett spoke again. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

  She shrugged it off again. She did that a lot. As if nothing were that important, when he knew for a fact it was. She lifted her knife and fork and cut into her lasagna, but her hands were shaking. “No big deal.”

  He reached across the table and set his hand on hers, wrapping his fingers around the fork over hers. “It is a big deal. And I’m even more impressed by you now than I was earlier. You’re an amazing woman. Inside and out.”

  She didn’t respond, and he released her after a few seconds, recognizing her need to withdraw a bit after the revelation.

  It made him cringe inwardly that she was being so open and honest with him while he lied to her by omission.

  Would she laugh it off later when he told her the truth? Or would she be pissed as hell and tell him to go fuck himself?

  He simply couldn’t picture her angry.

  Heck, it would seem most of the anger she had been allotted for this life had been used up in her childhood, leaving her without a healthy dose of that emotion for later years. Therapy? Probably. Someday he would ask her.

  Chapter Six

  Zia was in shock. What the hell had possessed her to reveal so much to this man she hardly knew, on what was essentially their first date? She didn’t usually spill her entire life story to random people. Her friends knew. Lily knew everything. And the variety of counselors she’d seen over the years. But that was a lot of information to toss out to a man she just met.

/>   By the time dinner was over, however, she let it go. Brett was a soft place. Kind. Warm. Sensitive. He listened to her with the right amount of shock and sadness. He didn’t act like she needed to be coddled for her bum lot in life. Instead, he praised her for her ability to overcome.

  The man liked her. It was obvious.

  And she liked him too. A lot. A hell of a lot. Too much. Way too much.

  It had been a long time since she’d been this attracted to someone. This relaxed. He made every second seem special somehow. Maybe that was what made it easy for her to open up to him.

  And he was so goddamn sexy. Like a body builder or a model or something. He didn’t look like at all what she imagined an accountant looked like. That would never have been on her short list of career choices for him.

  She wasn’t surprised about his level of education. After all, from the moment he’d introduced himself, he’d presented himself as professional.

  The man sitting across from her was not just a pretty face. Or body.

  He was way more than that.

  Why had he picked her out? Of all the people undoubtedly vying for his attention, how did she manage to lure him in the park that day, with her head bowed into her sketch pad, her hair hanging in disarray, and her most comfortable, unattractive clothes on?

  Surely women fawned over him everywhere he went. They had to. Then again, maybe he hated that. It certainly didn’t suit his personality to fall for a bimbo with a pretty face. He was the sort of man that needed stimulating conversation.

  Was Zia stimulating?

  One thing was for sure—she was definitely stimulated.

  Every inch of her was stimulated—emotionally, intellectually, and physically. She prayed he hadn’t noticed her squirming in her seat every time he touched her skin or stared at her so intently her panties grew wetter.

  It had been ages since she’d had sex, and although she wasn’t the sort of person who normally slept with a man on the first date, or the second, or the third for that matter, something about this date with this man had spurred her to reach for her sexiest bra and panty set when she’d gotten dressed.

  Insane? Yes.

  But so far she had only grown more interested. Not less.

  Didn’t this man have faults?

  She watched him closely, looking for at least one. But not a thing. He didn’t chew with his mouth open. He cut his food politely. He wiped his lips on his napkin. Kept his elbows off the table. The list went on and on.

  He’d obviously been raised well. Judging from her time spent with Monica, she felt even more certain of that fact. He’d told her their parents lived about an hour away. They’d moved out of the city several years ago when they’d grown tired of the noise.

  When he spoke of them, he smiled. His face lit up. He obviously loved his family. Not one moment of his childhood looked like hers. And his relationship with his sister was tight too. He seemed at home in her house. They were close.

  Zia had never had a sibling, which was for the best. She would have hated her mother even more if the woman had brought another poor soul into the world. But no. After the first time she’d gotten pregnant as a teenager, she’d wised up. That was the one thing Zia would give her credit for. The woman took her birth control religiously and always used a condom.

  As they left the restaurant, Brett reached for her hand and led her to his car. Interesting car. It looked expensive to her. But what did she know? Maybe it was an early midlife crisis, like he said. And who was she to judge? A single guy living alone could buy whatever car he wanted. Maybe he’d made super great money at his previous job.

  He hadn’t spoken much about his work, and after his initial statement about being between jobs, she’d let it go, fearing it might be a topic he’d rather not get into yet. If he’d lost his job to downsizing or something, the wound could be fresh. She didn’t want to force him to discuss it.

  Besides, he was clearly intelligent and well educated. Whatever situation he was in, she had no doubt he would find something else fast.

  She half hoped, half expected Brett to lead her away from the car and the restaurant and direct her down the sidewalk. The weather was perfect for a stroll, and she didn’t want the night to end.

  But he didn’t, and she wasn’t about to comment. Instead, he ushered her quickly to his car, and in seconds, they pulled away from the curb.

  “I had a wonderful time tonight,” he stated, taking her hand in his and holding it on top of the console between them.

  “Me too. Thank you for taking me out. And the restaurant was wonderful. Excellent choice.” She tried to rationalize, or at least explain, the incongruences. On the one hand, he’d practically rushed away from the restaurant as if he were in a hurry to get this night over with. On the other hand, he held her fingers threaded with his and continued to glance at her with earnest interest.

  If he hadn’t enjoyed the evening, he didn’t need to continue to touch her or make eye contact.

  How was she supposed to process that?

  When he pulled up to her apartment twenty minutes later, he rounded the car like the total gentleman he had been all evening, opened her door to help her out, and then walked her to her front door.

  His hand twined with hers again. Pure unadulterated arousal shot through her system for the millionth time. She hadn’t felt this level of magnetism with any man she’d slept with.

  What was she thinking? Why would she contemplate sleeping with this guy so soon?

  Because her sex was wet and she’d been clenching it all evening. Because her nipples had stood at attention for the same length of time. Her mouth had been dry. A tightness in the pit of her stomach had made itself at home, begging her for release.

  She could give him a goodnight kiss, send him on his way, and relieve herself with her perfectly operational electronic man-substitute. But that orgasm would be incredibly unfulfilling tonight.

  And why? Was there a need to be such a prude? It was the twenty-first century. Plenty of women had sex with men they’d known far less than she knew Brett. She’d lived with one of them for eighteen years.

  That thought made her cringe. She was not her mother. And she never wanted anyone to think of her in that light.

  So, maybe it would be a bad idea to invite him in.

  Shit.

  What should she do?

  Her time was up. They’d reached her apartment—a first floor outside entrance. Without saying a word, however, Brett slowly spun her around so her back was to her front door. He set his hands on both sides of her head and met her gaze from inches away—his boring into her, reading her, studying her. “I’m going to kiss you.”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  Then his lips were on hers. His head angled to one side, and he claimed her mouth without hesitation. There was no slow build. No gentle peck. No nibbling exploration.

  Full-fledged, deep, penetrating, all-consuming kissing.

  She grabbed his waist with both hands, mostly to keep from falling over.

  Her brain instantly scrambled as his tongue swept into her mouth to dance with hers.

  The arousal she’d felt earlier shot to full-on, out-of-control lust. Her chest actually ached. And she arched into his in an effort to press her breasts against his pecs.

  He lifted his hands from the door beside her head and buried them in her hair, tipping her head farther to one side and taking a stronger stance.

  As if he needed to be more in control. As it was, she was putty in his hands.

  The moisture between her legs increased to coat her panties. And she tightened her thighs together against the ache that drove her mad.

  As if he sensed this and didn’t like it, Brett nudged her knees apart with one of his and forced her legs open.

  Oh God. She was going to faint.

  So many sensations. Bombarding her. Consuming her.

  She uncurled her fingers where they clenched his shirt and flattened her palms on his waist. And t
hen she ran them up his back, attempting to draw him closer, to no avail. He didn’t budge. Not an inch. As if he was in complete control and she was a teenager with unchecked raging hormones.

  The only indication he wasn’t fully aware of his stance was the way he urgently continued to deepen the kiss, as if he couldn’t get enough of her and would die of thirst if he stopped.

  His hands in her hair gripped tighter, almost pulling. But the sensation only made her desire shoot higher.

  Who knew she would enjoy a sexual encounter like this? It was heady having a man with so much confidence. He was in control of everything. She was simply a puppet. A willing puppet who never wanted this to end.

  When a low moan finally escaped his lips, indicating he was indeed affected by the kiss, he pulled back. By then, she was delirious with need.

  He took several deep breaths, setting his forehead against hers and searching her gaze. “Wow.”

  “No kidding,” she whispered.

  “I should go.”

  “You should definitely stay.” Who the hell was the woman who blurted that out?

  He didn’t respond for several seconds, and then he licked his lips, continuing to stare deep into her eyes. “I don’t want you to think I—”

  “I don’t. I mean, I don’t want you to think…either.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I’ve never done something like this before.”

  “Good.”

  “Ever. In fact, I’m going to warn you, I haven’t had sex in a while. Like, a long while.”

  “Good.” He smiled at her, pleased with her admission.

  So they were going to do this? Go into her apartment and fuck on the first date? God.

  And thank God.

  If he walked away, she might actually self-combust or something. Could someone actually have a heart attack or a stroke from unfulfilled lust? It seemed entirely possible.

  She released the grip she had on his back with one hand, and without breaking eye contact or moving a muscle, fished around in her purse hanging from her shoulder to find her keys.