Hard and Fast

“And the players?” Amanda prodded. “Did they notice?”

“Oh, yeah, they noticed. But he was inside their circle. He’d looked the other way on some things, didn’t oversensationalize some career-damaging incidents, so the team hung tight. Until Jack does someone dirty, the guys won’t kick him out. But let me tell you, he will. Jack’s new job is a stepping stone to bigger things. He’s going to do what it takes to get to the next level.”

From the conviction in Reggie’s words, she knew he had experienced the bad side of Jack firsthand. “Jack did you dirty.”

The light turned green and Reggie focused on the road. “When we worked together he talked a lot about the two musketeers. All for one and one for all.” Pause. “In the end, Jack was out for Jack.”

“He burned you pretty bad, huh?”

Reggie didn’t look at her. “I let it happen,” he said and didn’t elaborate.

Amanda wanted to push him for details but decided it was best she leave it alone. They’d only just met, and Reggie had no reason to trust her. But in time, maybe he’d feel he could tell her the entire story.

“After being burned by Jack, I’m surprised you’re so willing to be my wingman.”

He laughed, but not with humor. In fact, the sound rang with a hint of bitterness. “Because of Jack, I’m willing to be your wingman.” He cast her a sideways glance and winked. “I want to see him go down, and I’ve a good feeling you can kick some Jack Ass. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

“You and me both,” she murmured, feeling the pressure of success more than ever.

She’d known her predecessor would be tough competition. Now, she knew Jack was more than that. If he would stoop to such low levels to achieve success, even burn those closest to him, he’d certainly bury her, given the chance.

But Jack Krass wasn’t standing between her and success—and she refused to let him. He reminded her of her ex, who’d been willing to do anything to get ahead, even marry her. Though she’d put her marriage behind her, she had learned to be wary of people like her ex, like Jack.

She wouldn’t play dirty the way Jack did. She’d play smart. And she would prove good reporting and good ethics could defeat big egos and dirty deeds every time.

BY MONDAY NIGHT, Amanda had written and rewritten her first feature story so many times, she wanted to rip her hair out. Now as she stared at the blank screen of her notebook computer, the pressure of that short time frame she had to capture an audience had her second-guessing herself.

One angle played over and over in her mind. If being a woman gave her an edge, why not use that edge in her column? How could she translate that advantage to the page in a way that connected with readers? She toyed with the hem of her oversize T-shirt while she considered and discarded potential story threads. As seemed typical since meeting him, her thoughts strayed to images of Brad wearing that skimpy towel. In her fantasies, a bolder version of herself tugged off that towel and indulged her every sensual impulse in the perfection of his body. Maybe she should make him the focus of her feature, write this crazy urge out of her system.

Her cell started to shake on the bedside table, disrupting her thoughts. Eying the caller ID, Amanda wasn’t surprised to see her sister’s number. She put the receiver to her ear, and before she could even speak, the verbal barrage started.

“You didn’t call me,” Kelli reprimanded. “It’s been days and not one phone call. How am I supposed to know what’s going on if you don’t phone?”

Amanda leaned against the headboard, preparing for a long chat. “Hello to you, too.”

“Screw hello. I’ve used great restraint not calling before now. I want the gossip. Tell me everything. How did the first night go?”

“I didn’t trip and fall, and my skirt did not get stuck in my panty hose. I’d say it was a success.”

“Falling isn’t so bad. Nothing wrong with creating opportunity for chivalry.”

Amanda remembered all too well her tumbling act, smack in the middle of the food court at the mall, when she’d switched from flats to heels. “Preferably not when landing facedown, looking like a fool, I would assume.”

“You didn’t look like a fool.” Kelli gave an unladylike snort. “Okay, a little, but it was your first day in heels.”

“I still can’t believe I fell,” Amanda said. “I never do stuff like that.”

“Walking like a goddess in heels is an art.”

“So I found out,” Amanda agreed. “I’m just waiting for the toe-pinching to subside.”

“You get used to that, too.”

“One day I might grow up and be a diva doctor like you,” Amanda teased.

“You could never be a doctor. You turn blue at the sight of blood. Besides, my dear little sis, why would you want to develop a God complex? Doctors, pilots and athletes all have gargantuan egos and you are much too sweet to either acquire one or date one.”

“Diva doctors are much better than God complex doctors,” Amanda replied dryly. Her sister had reason to be a bit cocky, since she was one of the best sport medicine doctors in Dallas, possibly in Texas.

“You don’t see me running off getting married,” Kelli said, not disputing her diva status one bit.

“No, you certainly are not. No marriage for you. I’ve heard it a million times.” Amanda mimicked her sister, “All play and no stay.”

Kelli wasn’t fazed. “Speaking of play, how ’bout them ballplayers?”

A smile lifted Amanda’s lips as she thought again of Brad’s towel. “I don’t remember the locker rooms being so—”

“Hot?” Kelli asked. “Heck, yes. There is enough beefcake in the locker room to keep a girl drooling for hours. You were so freaked out by the blood, you stopped hanging out with the guys before you were old enough to enjoy the scenery.” She made an unladylike sound. “Well, that and the fact you were talking like a sailor. It was quite comical. Cute little thing until you opened your mouth.”

“Well, I’m enjoying it now and, believe it or not, my sailor talking past comes in handy these days.”

“Just don’t go falling for one of those beefcakes.”

“Daddy’s a doctor.” Surely their father proved the exception to Kelli’s God complex rule.

“And Mom is a saint.” Apparently not. “Which reminds me. Call Mom and Dad. They are freaking out worrying that their little baby is okay.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Good grief. I’ve only been gone a few days. I’m twenty-eight and divorced, not eighteen and headed off to college.”

“That’s Mom and Dad. You know how they worry.”

“I’ll call,” Amanda promised. “But I have to make my deadline first.”

“How’s that going?”

“Not good.” Amanda went on to explain her run-in with her competition. “I’m thinking the best way to fight him is by embracing the whole woman power thing. Maybe try to draw female readers who might not otherwise even open the sports section.”

“Hmm,” Kelli said, pondering. “I like the concept but how do you do that and write a sports column?”

“What if my column could be the Cosmopolitan of sports? You know, take the personal side of the athletes, and blend it with their performance on the field.”

“I’m not following.”

“Well, I found out about a lot of superstitious stuff the guys do before the games. It gave me an idea about sharing the secrets behind the players. Digging into the men behind the uniform. I could top it off with suggestions for a sexy headline.”

“I like it. You have to have the game stats, though.”

“Right. But after the rundown, I’ll highlight a player’s more personal side. I was thinking I’d start with Brad Rogers.”

Kelli made a purring sound. “Good place to start. Yu-m-m-y. Oh crap. I have to go. I have a date in ten minutes, and I still haven’t fixed my hair. But I love your idea. And don’t forget to take your vitamins. Kisses.”

The line went dead.

Amanda rolled her eyes as she punched the End button and dropped her phone on the bed. Her sister was an herbal supplement freak, which made absolutely no sense, since most doctors hated them. But then, her sister wasn’t what anyone expected a doctor to be. She was as unique as they came.

Speaking of unique, Amanda had a kick-ass article to write. A kick-ass article featuring Brad…

She sighed, and leaned against the headboard, giving herself a few minutes to consider how hot he’d gotten her. After two years of being single and pretty damn close to celibate, she’d started to think her On switch had been locked in the Off position. Thanks to Brad, she knew not only was she on, but she was downright smoking.

Her mind pictured those rippling abs. The trail of blond hair starting at his navel and disappearing beneath the towel. She so wanted to see where it ended.

Yet, if she found out, if she dared to get lost in those sultry blue eyes, to taste those full, sensual lips, she knew how that would look. No one would take her seriously and it would be impossible to do her job. She would have to pack and go home. Any success she might have would be wiped away, dismissed as part of her bedroom antics.

Regret settled in her stomach. It had been so long since she’d felt this fire of attraction, this desire for physical satisfaction, and her libido had chosen a man out of reach. The only place she could have Brad was in a fantasy.

Maybe a little trip down fantasy lane was what the doctor ordered. A little mental satisfaction would rid her of this restless sensation. Amanda’s lashes fluttered, and she inhaled, allowing the sensual tension to flare.

What would sex with Brad be like?

Her hands settled on her stomach as she visualized him lying beside her, sprawled naked on the bed, sinewy muscles glistening in the candlelit room. He’d be hard for her, ready for her to take him inside her. But she wouldn’t give him what he wanted. Not at first. She’d take control, tease him, make him wait and want.

She’d climb on top of him, straddle him, his cock pressed to her backside. She might even reach behind her and stroke its length.

Her hands traveled over her body. She’d touch herself as he watched, tempting him without allowing him to caress her. She slid deeper into the imagined feel of naked skin against naked skin. Amanda palmed her breasts and her nipples puckered and tingled as she thought of Brad’s gaze, of his hunger as he watched her pleasure herself. He’d try to pull her close, to take control, and she’d shove his hands away, warning him not to touch…not until she said he could. Not until she gave permission. Yes. Dominating a man so wholly male was enticing. Exciting.

She’d lean forward, her nipples brushing his chest, nestled for a moment in the soft sprinkle of light brown hair there. From beneath a pillow, she’d produce the tools to ensure his compliance, two long silk scarves. She’d watch her intent register in his eyes, see his conflict as he debated resisting. But in the end, he’d let her tie him up. He’d hand over his power. And he’d be rewarded….

Taking her time, Amanda would secure his wrists, one by one. Her nipple would brush his lips and he’d claim it with his lips, pulling it into his mouth, suckling the hardened peak. Just thinking of that moment made her body ache, made her wet with desire.

When she’d secured him, when Brad was her prisoner, she’d begin the real game. She’d move between his powerful thighs, his cock hard, her hand circling its width. And she’d watch him watch her as she drew him into her mouth. Watch his eyes shut as he took a breath of pure pleasure.

Amanda thought of all the ways she could tease and please him. Her fingers slid between her legs, into the wet heat of her body, images of a new scene with Brad taking hold. Images of climbing on top of him, of taking him deep. Of riding him until she shattered with release.

Driving herself wild with desire, she felt the throbbing pressure of her orgasm build until, finally, she found release. And with release came regret that, as much as she wanted to, she could never dare to do these things to him, with him, outside of this fantasy.

4

BRAD WOKE Tuesday morning to the ringing of the phone on his nightstand. He rolled over to check the time. Early. Seven in the morning on one of the few days he could sleep in, since their series didn’t start until the next night. With a groan he grabbed the receiver.

“Have you seen the morning edition of the Tribune?”

It was his agent, Mike. “No.” Brad pushed to a sitting position, instantly alert. Please don’t let it be about my arm. “Do I want to?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mike said. “You want to. It’s good stuff. Exactly what we need for this negotiation. Read it. Like it. Thank God for it after that Ohio piece. Give me more stuff like this and you’ll lock up that contract in no time.”

Brad threw off the blankets and grabbed a robe before heading toward his front door. Though it didn’t sound as if the news was about his arm, he wouldn’t be calm until he knew for sure.

Brad prodded for more information, hoping to ease his nerves. “What exactly did it say?”

“The Tribune did an exposé titled, Undressing the Rays and you were the feature. Brad Rogers stripped down to a good guy who loves his mom. Man, oh man. It couldn’t get better than this if I had bribed the reporter.” Brad could hear Mike rustling papers. “Now we need that record. Ready to rock the world tonight?”

“Not tonight. Friday night. And I was born ready. You know that.” But even as Brad said the words, he knew he wasn’t ready. Already his arm hurt and he’d just woken up.

“That’s what I want to hear,” Mike said, approval lifting his voice. “Bring me three shutouts in a row. That’ll go a long way in negotiations.”

“Right.” Brad yanked open the front door and grabbed both morning papers. “Good press. Great pitching. No problem.” Hopefully his arm agreed with that declaration.

After a quick goodbye, Brad kicked the front door shut and headed for the kitchen. He sat at the table and read the piece Amanda had written about him, breathing easier with each line.

No mention of his arm.

With one worry behind him, his mind switched gears. This article gave Brad the perfect opportunity to make his move on Amanda, to open the door to more intimate communication. He considered his options, a variety of rather tantalizing plays to launch his campaign to victory flashing in his mind. Soon Becker would know who ruled this show. And who was man enough to make Amanda moan.

ON TUESDAY MORNING, the day of her column’s debut, Amanda whipped her piece-of-junk rental car into a parking spot outside the Tribune with only minutes to spare. How she’d managed to snag a rental that seemed on the verge of a breakdown was beyond her. The last thing she needed was to be late for work only a few days into her new job. Of course, it might not matter. She could very well be fired after writing such a daring story.

She’d hit the Send button on her computer the night before, delivering her story to her boss just in time to meet her deadline. Afterward, Amanda had stared at her inbox waiting to hear his feedback. It never came.

This morning, having slept through her alarm, Amanda had been forced to dress in a frantic rush, leaving her no time to find a newspaper. For all she knew, some Associated Press filler had taken her story’s place.

Shoving aside self-doubt, Amanda walked toward the building, running her palm down the slim-fitting black dress she wore, hoping she didn’t appear wrinkled. She knew she was fidgeting so she wouldn’t focus on the nerves making her chest tight and her stomach flutter.

She’d done the right thing, she told herself. Considering the short window of opportunity she’d been given to succeed, she had to make a splash, and fast. Adopting the Nike motto of Just Do It had worked in the pool. It could work here, too.

Amanda walked through the newsroom, turning heads and instigating hushed whispers as she passed. Great. Everyone but her knew she was getting fired. She let out a relieved sigh at the sight of her boss’s closed door. She preferred seeing the paper before she faced Kevin.

But all her fears and concerns disappeared as Amanda stepped inside her tiny corner cubicle and spotted the front page of the sports section laid on her keyboard. She picked it up and stared down at story center page. Her story.

Undressing the Los Angeles Rays. Beneath the racy headline, she saw her name. Beneath that, the words staff writer. A smile touched Amanda’s lips. She wasn’t a flunky anymore and, damn, it felt good.

“Whatcha think, sugar plum?”

Reggie appeared in the opening of her little space. “I think I’m a ball of nerves,” she told him, examining the rows of thumbnail pictures on either side of her story. “And you’re my hero.” She’d asked him to dig up photos that showed Brad on and off the field, and he’d come through. “I can’t believe what great shots you found.”

He flashed her a bright white smile. “That’s what a wingman is for.”

“So…what did you think about the story?” she asked, anxious to hear but afraid to at the same time. So much so, she continued talking before he could respond. “I went for a dual audience. Draw in the men with the facts. Entice the women with the real man and a promise of lots more to come.”

“Stop already,” Reggie said, leaning on the wall. “You scored big-time. You’ve got just enough sports to keep it real, but you’ve got that edgy, speculative quality that sells papers.”

She bit her bottom lip. “So as a guy, you’d still read it? You weren’t turned off by the real man stuff.”

He shook his head. “Actually, as a guy, I loved the part about Brad’s lucky necklace. It made him seem human. Besides, men are all about superstition when it comes to our sports. It’s something a guy could relate to.”

Before Amanda could comment, Kevin appeared, resting his arms on the top of her partition walls. The shininess of her boss’s bald head did nothing to detract from the scowl on his face—the one he’d worn in her interview that she would have sworn meant he hated her.

“My phone is ringing off the hook,” he declared, his tone clipped and rough.

Amanda and Reggie exchanged a concerned look. “About?” she prodded because Kevin seemed to expect her to ask the obvious.

“Some of the players are worried about your promise to expose the real men.”

Reggie made a sound. “Then they must have something to hide. Sounds like news to me.”

Kevin didn’t say anything. He stared at her, ignoring Reggie. Amanda’s heart settled in her chest and proceeded to beat so loudly she was quite certain the entire building could hear. “Right. I—”

Kevin cut her off. “The papers are flying off the racks.” Then, to her shock, he smiled. Almost. His lips sort of lifted on the sides a bit. She doubted the man ever full-out smiled. “You need to ease up a little. I printed the story, so obviously, I thought it worked. Every newspaperman worth a grain of salt knows sex and scandal sells. Good work.”

Amanda blinked, taken aback and thrilled by the compliment. “I, uh, well, thank you.”

“Speaking of ‘Undressing the Rays,’ there’s a rumor of steroid usage on the team. Jack’s working the story.”

Steroids? That was the kind of story that ruffled feathers. The kind of story one treaded lightly around. The wrong information could ruin careers. “Do I get to know your source?”

“No.” His tone was clipped. “I’ve been around a long time. I’ve earned my contacts. You haven’t yet. All you need to concern yourself with is getting this story before Jack. Understand?”

Her response was instant. “Oh, yes. I want that, too.” Amanda made sure her voice held the conviction she felt.

Kevin’s eyebrow inched upward, but he didn’t comment. “Good. I expect an update soon.” Without another word, he left.

Hand pressed to her chest, Amanda felt both relieved and happy. “Oh, my God, I just knew I was getting fired.”

“You scored big,” Reggie told her. “Now you have nothing to worry about except—”

“Getting this story before Jack Ass.”

“Right,” he said with a nod. “But don’t fixate on Jack. Do this your way, not his. And that wasn’t what I was going to say, anyway. I was going to say you need to find a place to live.”

“Oh,” Amanda said, settling into her chair. “I know. Kevin said to get here, so that’s what I did. I need time to find something I can afford. So far, everything the real estate agent has showed me is crazy expensive or so far away it’s nuts.”

“I might have a solution,” Reggie offered. “Karen Tuggle, our weather woman, has a duplex and she rents out the other side. I’m not sure when it’s available, but it’s in a good area of town and it’s affordable.”

“Sounds good. I’ll contact her today. I’m hoping Kevin lets me travel with the team for the Texas series in six weeks. That way I can drive my own car back.”

“I’d bet on it. The Rangers and the Rays have a competitive history with some tension between the coaches. Jack Ass will be going for sure. All the more reason for Kevin to want us there.”

Amanda’s cell phone rang before she could respond.

“I’ll check in with you in a bit,” Reggie said, before departing.

Amanda managed to retrieve her phone from her purse by the third ring. Caller ID told her it was her father. “Hey, Dad.”

“How is my baby girl?”

“I’m fine.” Amanda smiled into the phone. “My first story hit the paper today.”

“I saw that,” he said, his voice holding a fatherly authoritative tone as if he wasn’t completely pleased his daughter had written it. “And quite the story it was. I bet you got some notice.”

“I did,” Amanda agreed. “And the good news is, I’m still employed.”

“Well, of course you are. But let me get this straight. You wrote the article thinking it might cost you your job?”

“No.” She blinked. “Well, maybe. It is a bit daring,” Amanda admitted.

“You certainly made everyone sit up and take notice, and you did it right out of the gate.” He paused. “I noticed you picked Brad Rogers as your first feature, too.”

“I knew you’d approve.” Her father had a thing for pitchers. Not teams, but pitchers. Brad was a favorite. Amanda loved watching baseball with her highly opinionated father. Just listening to him complain about the bad calls, bad pitching, bad coaching and a long list of other bad things, kept her entertained.

“You didn’t happen to get—”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Daddy, I did not get you an autograph. Give me time to be accepted.”

A heavy sigh filled the phone. “All right, but don’t wait too long. You know how I like my autographs.”

“Yes,” she said, thinking of his den filled with his collection. “I do know. I’ll get you one. I promise.”

“Before he quits pitching.”

She frowned. “You think he’s going somewhere?”

“He’s playing hurt. You know from your own history what that means.”

She knew very well. “I noticed, too. He kept doing that little flexing movement between pitches. Discreet, but obvious if you’re a doctor.”

“Or the daughter of one,” her father said.

“I couldn’t listen to you and Kelli talk shop and not pick up something. The odd thing is that no one with the Rays seems to have noticed that Brad’s hurt. I noticed, but not them. How crazy is that?”

“You’ve been in the locker rooms. Broken bones and blood get attention. The rest is easy to miss. Especially when it’s being hidden.” A female voice sounded in the background. “Hold on,” he said. “I have lots more to ask, but your mother feels it’s her time to talk. Love you, honey.”

“Love you, too, Daddy.”

“Don’t forget my autograph.”

She laughed. “I’ll get it.”

“Oh,” he said, as if he’d had a last-minute thought. “Any word on you coming home for the Texas series?”

“Not yet,” Amanda said, feeling the pressure of performance. The team would head to Nashville before Texas, and she didn’t know about that trip. “I imagine that decision will come once they decide if I’m a keeper or not.”

“Then I’ll see you soon,” he said, confident in her as always.