Fastball (Wilde Players Dirty Romance) by A.M. Hargrove, Terri E. Laine

who on any other day might have been my next conquest.
    “No. And thanks for dinner.”
    I start to pull out my wallet, but he stops me. “I’ve got this.”
    The accent rolls off his tongue in ways that are sinful, but he isn’t my baseball player. I leave and step outside to breathe. I’ve avoided all of Ryder’s calls. His gifts made me feel special, and I didn’t know how to handle it. He seems so genuine, but I’m a coward. The thought of heartbreak scares me more than death.
    Before I make up my mind on what I’m going to do, my dinner companion is by my side. I pretend as though I don’t notice and head to the bar. I need a drink. Here’s to hoping my silence sends a message that I want to be left alone.
    Lost in my thoughts when I open the front door, I see Ryder, beautiful and everything a girl could want, sitting with a tumbler cradled in his hands. He’s staring at it as though it has all the answers in the world.
    “Hey, Ryder,” I call out boldly. Bravado has been my shield. Hopefully, it will work tonight.
    He turns, but that’s about the time the lawyer circles his hand around my arm, turning me to face him.
    “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    I nod. “I’ll be fine. Thanks again for dinner.”
    His eyes are filled with desire, and I get the faintest hint he might quite possibly kiss me. I step out of his hold.
    “I’ll let you know what I decide,” I say, then turn and walk over to Ryder.
    “What’s shaking, Cowboy?”
    The grin on my face is supposed to get him to forgive me of any sins he might think I’ve committed. Only he doesn’t speak to me. Instead, he drains his glass.
    “What brings you to these parts?” I try again, nerves getting the best of me.
    His silence makes me feel like a desperate teenage girl who drew hearts of her crush’s name in the margins of her notebook. That’s something I’ve never done.
    “Oh, I don’t know. I came to see why I can’t get a response from a woman I’ve called a number of times. I guess I have my answer.”
    “Ryder, it’s not—”
    “Save it, Gina. I don’t chase after women. I don’t have to. The one time I try…”
    He shrugs. From his back pocket he produces some bills he lays on the bar countertop. When he stands, I fight back a wave of unwelcome feelings … fear.
    “Just give me a chance to explain,” I try.
    His frosty eyes land on mine. “You don’t owe me anything. You made it clear from the start. I was the fool for thinking…”
    Trailing off again, he doesn’t finish his sentence.
    “Then let’s not talk,” I suggest.
    In a risky move, I step forward, get on my toes, and plant my lips against his. His soft lips are hard and unyielding, before he finally relaxes. His arm coils around my waist, and his mouth parts. I snake my tongue inside, getting a taste of expensive whiskey tinged with tequila.
    Pulling back, I let my hand slide down his arm and wrap it in his. Then I tug him forward and lead him through the private hallway for employees only. There, I find the back door. Outside again, I scurry up the steps to my apartment. Quickly, I unlock the door and yank him inside. His eyes take in the clutter-free space that still weirds me out, but I’ve done my best to maintain the calm and get over my issues. Although in a rebellious move known only to me, I toss my dirty clothes on the closet floor and not in the provided hamper.
    He starts to speak, but I put a finger to his lips and force his back against the door. I slide to my knees and work at freeing his beautiful cock from his pants.
    At half-mast, I take it in my hands and feel it grow. I lift my eyes to meet his as I open my mouth and suck him toward the back of my throat, while trying to get most of him inside without gagging.
    His eyes change as if a fire burns in them. He takes his hand, threads it through my hair before pulling me forward and back to guide the pace he needs. I clamp my lips down hard, knowing men like a little more