Bottom Of The Ninth: Bad Boys Redemption: Book Three Page 11

  A low guttural growl escapes. She doesn’t understand, but I don’t want to explain because then she’ll lose all respect for me.

  Mia backs away, her hand sliding to my cheek again. “Seriously, there isn’t any shame in being poor.”

  “I know. But I did some things I’m not proud of. You, I knew you were too good for me the first day I met you.”

  “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”

  “Not the things I’ve done.”

  “AJ, you couldn’t have done anything that can’t be forgiven.”

  My jaw tightens. She’s so Goddamn sweet. A battle rages inside me between wanting to tell her and wanting to retreat.

  “AJ, please tell me.” She runs her fingertips along the edge of my face, and it feels so good. So intimate. “Please.”

  Those pleading eyes are my downfall, breaking my resolve.

  “Back in high school, I broke into cars and fenced the items.” I pause, staring into her eyes with a half plea to forgive me. “I’m no better than the lowlife scum that stole your valued possessions.”

  She presses her lips together, and I can see the pity rising in her eyes. Or is it disgust? Shit, why did I admit that? I haven’t admitted what I did back in high school to anyone. Not to Jax. Not to Zach.

  “Listen to me,” she says.

  I try to turn away, but she tightens her grasp, keeping my face toward her.

  “What you did as a kid is irrelevant. Do you go around breaking into cars now?”

  I laugh for real this time. This girl is too much. “No. Of course not.”

  “Then why are you beating yourself up over something you can’t change? It’s what you do with your life now that matters.”

  Because I still taint the things that matter most.

  “But what if some of the items I took were special to the owners? I didn’t care about anything but turning a quick dime. Hell, the thought of them missing their items never crossed my mind until I held you in my arms.” I swallow past all the guilt I held from that night. “You cried in my arms seeking protection, but these are the same arms that hurt someone else. I knew then you deserved better. So much better.”

  Mia’s eyes gloss over as my name falls softly from her lips. Without any reservation, she presses those delicate lips to mine in a whisper of a kiss. My hands still against her body as her offering holds more meaning than she realizes. It’s as if she’s accepting me for who I am.

  She breaks away, holding my gaze captive. Contentment pours through those blue hues, and although I don’t know what she’s thinking, calmness washes through me. She opens her mouth to speak, and I expect to hear words of forgiveness or something along the inspirational line. Anything but what she actually says.

  “Let’s finish that food. I’m starving.”

  I choke back a laugh. “Sounds like a plan.”

  My knees ache as I stand, but I ignore the pain, having been through much worse throughout my career. I grab hold of Mia’s uninjured hand and lead her to the kitchen. With her petite hand in mine, I stand straighter and toss my shoulders back—the lightest they’ve felt in the past eight years.

  * * *

  An hour later, our stomachs are full. I take Mia’s plate and head to the kitchen.

  “That was good. I couldn’t have done it better myself,” she chides.

  “I swear, some people will do anything to get out of cooking.”

  The impish grin crossing her face sparks desire inside me. I’ve been wired ever since our kiss in the bathroom. There weren’t any sexual implications to the kiss, but my body couldn’t tell the difference. But nothing can happen between us. Sex will only lead to brokenheartsville. A place I don’t want her to revisit. It’s just, as I grab her plate and those striking blue eyes darken with desire, it’s damn hard to restrain myself. I have to remind myself we were just in this situation last night—her seducing me—and that didn’t bode too well for me.

  After cleaning up our mess, I stoke the fire and hope my faux boy scout skills come in handy. It was a miracle I got the fire started in the first place. The most I’ve ever done with campfires is light up a cigarette back in high school. Thank God, I grew out of that phase.

  Mia yawns and stretches her legs across the couch. She’s a petite thing, but her leggings hug her calves, showcasing every muscle. My feet have a mind of their own because they march over toward her while my mind pictures those fit legs wrapped around me. Shit, those thoughts need to stop.

  At my approach, she starts to sit up, but I grab hold and lift her legs while sliding underneath her.

  “I can give you room.”

  There’s plenty of room, an entire cushion worth where she falls short, but I don’t want to sit that far away. Instead, I play with a different kind of fire. My hands clamp around her ankles to stop her movement and place them across my legs.

  “No, stay. I’ll rub your feet.” I start at the top of her foot, kneading small circles, and then slowly working my way down the sole, applying more pressure as I go. I’ve never been much of a foot guy, but for some reason, I can’t seem to not touch her.

  Her eyes roll backward, and her generous breasts arch upward as the sweetest whimper escapes. My dick goes on high alert, and I adjust her feet so she doesn’t feel the evidence through my jeans. Why did I think this was a good idea? I must be a masochist, because I want nothing more than to have her beneath me. If she’s this fucking sexy from a simple foot massage, how will she look when my tongue laps her delicate pussy?

  “This feels incredible.” Her soft, velvety voice glides over me, fueling me on.

  “I can tell.” I move to the next foot, which earns me another delicious moan.

  “I could have you do this all night, every night.”

  “I’m good at rubbing other areas, too.” Shit, why did I say that?

  Her eyes spring open, and her lips curve into a crooked smile. “You sound like a cheesy porn star.”

  I laugh. “Do you watch a lot of cheesy porn?”

  Her eyebrow raises, but she remains quiet as her gaze holds a challenge. I take note that she doesn’t actually deny anything. She’ll be the death of me. The visual of her getting off to porn alone is enough to drive me mad. The strain of pure lust must contort my face because she lets out a small laugh.

  “Tell me more about yourself, Mr. Ballplayer.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What made you want to play with balls your whole life?”

  My chuckle dies on my lips as I think about the answer. The reasons are more like bad memories. Ones I don’t visit too often.

  “I liked baseball.”

  “Yeah, I know that. I remember back in college you said connecting with the ball the first time had you hooked, but when did you realize you wanted to make a career out of it?”

  My hands still on her ankles, and I debate whether to tell her the entire truth. She already heard a portion of my story in the bathroom, but I evaded the worst parts. I don’t like talking about this shit. I’ve placed the past behind me, where I’d like to keep it buried. I tilt my head toward Mia, and she stares up at me with an innocent determination.

  She shifts her legs slightly and gasps when her foot drags across my boner. Yep, feet may be my thing after all. Or maybe it’s just touching her in general. Whatever the reason, she turns me on.

  Her eyes widen, but then their brightness darkens to a stormy blue. My stomach stirs. I like the way she eyes me. The want. The lust. There’s hunger in her look that only I can fill. At least that’s how I’m interpreting it. It takes all my willpower, but I remain seated, and barely run my fingers over her skin. I kill the mood the best way I know how, by answering her question.

  “Playing ball is the one thing I did that was good. Besides being good at it, it made me be good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I almost blow the answer off, but the true concern behind her expression prods me along. It’s like she’s hooked me
with those fishing lures she lost many years ago. There’s no denying her.

  “When I said I stole things, I was on a dark path. Before then, I just did juvenile things. Egging old lady Erickson’s house, standing on the bridge and winging rocks at the cars passing under. Stupid shh—crap.”

  She smiles at my catch.

  “But after Dad left, I started lashing out more. Drinking, smoking, dabbling in drugs. Then a friend of mine needed cash, and we broke into our first car.”

  “Peer pressure?”

  “Maybe, but I liked it. The rush. It made me feel alive.” Made me forget the reason behind Dad’s departure.

  “But then I got cocky. We went to the better neighborhoods, and the payout was higher. You’d be surprised what rich people leave laying around. Eventually, I broke into Mr. Englewood’s car. Englewood was the high school baseball coach, but he had coached me in Little League.”

  Mia raises to her elbows and scoots herself into a sitting position. Her feet slide to my outer thigh.

  “The next-door neighbor saw me and called the cops. By the time they came, Mr. Englewood was out of bed and had come outside. Hands down, the most embarrassing moment of my life.” I cock my head. “That includes the fuzzy pink handcuff debacle.”

  Mia’s cheeks warm, and her hand lands on my biceps. Her touch, gentle and soft, feels as if she branded me. The sharp impulse shoots straight to my groin where my balls tighten, begging for release. They can beg all night. They deserve their blue ball status.

  “Anyway, Coach refused to press charges but made me promise to play ball for him. He’s the only one who saw my potential. Who never compared me to my dad.” Like all the others.

  “He sounds like a great guy.”

  “The best.”

  “So, this began your career.”

  “Like I told you before, once I smacked my first hit, I was hooked. Throwing guys out on the bases and hitting home runs became my natural high. I owe everything to that guy.”

  “That’s a beautiful story.”

  My growl goes unnoticed as Mia shifts until she’s straddling my lap. She places her hands on the side of my face, her fingertips weaving into the side of my hair. I grab hold of her waist as she peers directly into my eyes.

  “You’ve got to be the most stubborn man I know, AJ Gonzalez. You’re a good man.”

  I’m really not.

  If she knew the wicked thoughts dancing in my mind right now, she’d think differently. The fire crackles and snaps in the background. A tantalizing sound, but neither one of us turns to admire it. I’m not looking anywhere but at these eyes that scream “fuck me.” My heart races as my hands wander down and around her hips, landing on her ass. An ass that fills my hands perfectly.

  “Kiss me, Ariel Jesus Gonzalez,” she whispers.

  I oblige. A man has to love a woman who gives direction.

  Her lips press against mine, and unlike earlier, she kisses like she means it. No hesitance. No holding back. I sink farther into the couch and let her guide the pace. She starts slow but with determination. As her good hand cups my jaw, my fingers dig into her flesh. Her body feels warm against mine, and I don’t think I can restrain myself anymore. With a quick nip to her bottom lip, her mouth parts, and I go for my reward. Our tongues collide in a frenzied show of exploration. Her slow, sensual moan vibrates through me, sending heat curling down my spine.

  She has no idea how much I like her. How much I need her. But this is wrong.

  Her hips grind into mine. The movement is hot and sexy; my body throbs to take her. I want to keep going. Move this party to the bedroom, but I can’t. I need to slow down.

  I break the kiss, but she leans her head back and exposes her delectable flesh. My willpower crumbles like a spent pitcher in the seventh inning. I trace my lips along the curve of her neck and savor the moment.

  She runs her hands down my torso and pauses when they land on my jeans. She begins to work my belt loose, but I clamp my hands over hers, shutting her down.

  “Ouch!”

  “Shit, Mia.” I automatically let go of her sore finger. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  I grab her hand and inspect it to see if her wound reopened. Once I make sure the dressing remains dry, I release her.

  “See, I’m all right.” She leans toward me, but I place my palms up to block her.

  She lets out a tiny whimper and practically pouts. “I want a taste.”

  That’s my line.

  She leans into to me again, my entire body begging for me to lose my inhibition, but I push her back with a gentle shove. I don’t want to hurt her. Not again. Last night, I may have been willing to fuck her but not since discovering the extent of her pain after I left the last time. It wouldn’t be right because I will, inevitably, leave.

  Guilt brings me back to the present, and I break away. Not that I want to. God knows I want to keep going, but I need to protect her.

  Protect her from me—once again.

  She nods but doesn’t say a word as she untangles herself and leaves me sitting alone on the couch. My breaths come short and quick as I watch that slender ass slip into the bedroom. Jesus, this is the most turned on I’ve been without even making it to second base.

  I must be the biggest idiot of all time.

  But am I an idiot who can withstand another day of being trapped with her? If the painful ridge inside my pants is an indicator, the answer is no.

  Chapter Nineteen

  MIA

  Current Day

  The wind howls around AJ as he steps inside the cabin. Who knew snow dripping from the body could be so sexy? But when a six-foot-one wall of muscle shakes his coat loose, stomps out of his boots, and stretches his taut muscles, it’s downright mouthwatering.

  “We’re stuck for at least one more night.” His eyes roam over my body, lingering on my cami tank top.

  “You didn’t get the big, bad truck unstuck?” I ask.

  “No, Miss Smarty Pants, the truck is fine. It’s the roads. They’re still closed. Visibility is near zero with this wind.”

  “I figured when I looked out and could hardly see the truck.” I spy the stack of wood and heave a sigh of relief. My irresponsible brother came through again. He must’ve bought—because I highly doubt he played lumberjack—enough wood to last an entire month. The only item in danger of running low is clean underwear. “At least we have enough supplies to last another day.”

  “They’re predicting the winds to die down either by this evening or tomorrow morning. Not sure what to do until then.”

  A sly smile stretches across his face. The same one he wore last night after kissing me. My mouth instantly waters because, wow, that man can kiss. If he’s that good with his mouth, how good is he with other parts of his body? The question alone creates new wetness between my legs, and I have to suppress a moan. Yeah, a definite underwear shortage alert.

  I place my hand on the back of the couch and lean forward, my mounds pushing upward. I lower my voice. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.” Although, I can think of plenty. He just needs to look past the pedestal he placed me on. I understand his reasoning for ghosting me much better. Although there were better ways of handling the situation, I get it. He felt responsible for my possessions being gone and thought I wouldn’t understand. I may have been upset when we arrived at the car, but I remember the guilt being prevalent in his eyes. I associated it with him taking me on a date, not something that runs deeper.

  And I must’ve forgiven him, for the most part, at least. One make-out session later had my body screaming “Give me more!” I just need to convince him. He put the brakes on so fast I almost got whiplash. He doesn’t want to hurt me—that’s obvious—but I’m not looking for a lifetime commitment. It’s been a while since the last time I got laid, and who better to rechristen me than AJ?

  There’s no denying the dynamic changed between us last night. I always thought of AJ as this arrogant, self-centered jock,
but that’s not entirely true. He revealed another side—a hint of his true self. Sure, he’s cocky and not much of a talker. He grunts, a lot, but he finally opened himself up to me. Not to mention he had no qualms taking care of my injury, not once hesitating from the blood. And when he told me his story, oh my God, my poor heartstrings. For some reason, he blames himself for his dad leaving. I can see the burden in his expression, but I don’t understand why. And that makes me believe he’s still holding back part of the story.

  “Oh, wait.” He digs into his coat pocket and pulls out a couple of chocolate bars. “I found these in the glove compartment. I don’t think they’re too old.”

  He stalks closer to me, his gaze dropping to my exposed flesh. When the gap between us closes, I straighten and sweep my eyelashes toward him. “Mmm, I know exactly what to do with those.”

  He gulps. “What did you have in mind?”

  I run a finger along his arm, tracing the lines of his tattoos, and lean closer. My mouth parts, but as soon as I reach his lips, I snatch the candy out of his hand and turn on my heels.

  “Hot chocolate,” I say as my feet carry me to the kitchen.

  “Say what?”

  “I’m going to make us hot chocolate.”

  “Out of that?”

  “It’s easy. I’ll grate these bars down and cook it with the milk.”

  “O-Okay, I don’t think I’ve ever had hot cocoa that way.” He places a hand on his neck and rubs while stretching again.

  “It’s delicious.” I pull out a cheese grater and start shaving the bar. “Is your neck bothering you?”

  “A little. The couch isn’t too comfy.”

  I suppress a grin and file that information away for later. “Why don’t you get your shower while I work on this. Maybe it will loosen your muscles.”

  “Sure.”

  “I need to warn you. The faucets are reversed.”

  “Reversed?” He glances over his shoulder, and I try like hell not to picture him naked under spraying water.

  “Turn the right side on first to get hot water. If you turn the left side on, all you’ll get is cold.” I shrug. “I don’t think my dad was much of a plumber.”