Hot Zone: Hot Number Part 3

With those unruly blond curls, baby-blue eyes and soft skin, Micki had an innocence that made her an unmistakable contrast to the women who came in and out of his personal life. Women who knew the score. Women who wanted a fast lay and who wouldn't get hurt when he walked out later that same night. But most importantly, women who didn't linger in his mind after he'd taken them to bed.

One drunken kiss wasn't supposed to have knocked him on his a.s.s, Damian thought. He clearly remembered her dragging him outside, insisting he needed to sober up before his agent or the media noticed his condition. One minute he'd been insisting he wasn't drunk, defending himself to the one niece of Yank's wearing pants not a skirt, and the next he was kissing her senseless.

Micki had aroused more than just desire and left him wondering if alcohol had heightened his perception of the night or if she was really the hot little number he remembered.

Every time he'd seen her since, she'd piqued his interest more and more. And the last time he'd spoken with her on the phone, he'd realized he was talking to the woman he remembered--a husky-voiced Micki who teased him and made him want to get his hands on her again. Which wouldn't and couldn't happen with a woman who distracted him so strongly. At this stage of his life and career, he couldn't let anything or anyone distract him from the game.

"h.e.l.lo?" Ronnie said, waving her hand in front of his face. "We're here. Are you sure you're okay? I can come in if you need me."

He leaned over and kissed his worrywart sister on the cheek. "I'm fine."

"You wouldn't tell me if you weren't," she grumbled.

"Go home to the kids before poor Dave is taken away in a straitjacket." He forced a grin to relieve her anxiety and let himself out of the van.

"I'll call and check on you later," Ronnie yelled as he shut the door.

To prove she didn't have to worry, he waved with his injured, braced hand before heading inside, Micki Jordan still on his mind, Nothing about Yank's niece should appeal to him and yet everything did, which was why he had no choice but to continue to ignore the attraction and deny her appeal. The distraction was too dangerous. In exchange for keeping his focus, he knew he came across as a first-cla.s.s, womanizing jacka.s.s, which at times he probably was. As long as Micki kept that negative view of him, it'd make it easier for him to keep his distance. Thank G.o.d, her sister Annabelle was the publicist in charge of Joe Gordon's camp next week.

Yank paced his office, a room he'd learned by sense of feel and touch. He knew how many paces from the door to his desk and where the sunlight hit during the day. For now, he could see most things just fine. It was the peripheral that did him in. But he knew his days of complete independence were numbered, no matter what Sophie or those so- called specialists claimed.

While he still had his vision, he intended to make sure his girls' futures were taken care of. It was the least he could do for the little women who'd come in and changed his life. All for the better, though he couldn't have known it back then.

Annabelle was settled down with Vaughn, who'd turned into a decent man despite his uppity folks. As for the baby, Yank knew it'd be fine. He refused to think any other way. By rights Sophie should come next but she didn't want to focus on anything except his eyesight, so he'd decided it was Micki's turn at bat.

Perfect a.n.a.logy since Yank had the right man lined up already, He'd seen her watching Fuller at the New Year's party and when the man had begun flirting with every woman in sight, Yank had stepped in. Damian was a d.a.m.n fine man who didn't know when it was time to quit. He needed a decent woman to show him what he could have after his career on the field ended. Yank would get him all the broadcasting and commercials his good- looking mug could handle, but first the man needed to realize he was through playing the field.

Playing the field. Yank chuckled at his own joke. Yank represented many players in many sports and only a select few did he treat like his own son. Vaughn was one. Fuller another. Which was why Yank trusted his gut. Micki liked the center fielder and he needed a decent woman. They'd suit each other just fine, Yank thought. Case closed.

So Micki was going to Tampa instead of Sophie, though it'd have been nice to have a chance to bail on that d.a.m.n doctor's appointment--which was why he'd tried to push Sophie out of New York next week. He didn't have the stomach to go through tests and build up hope only to find out he'd been right all along and he'd need a.s.sistance for the rest of his life.

Just as soon as Yank knew little Mich.e.l.le, the one who'd latched onto his calf and never let go, was settled and happy, Sophie would have her turn. Then Yank would feel like he'd done right by his sister and her girls. Done his job as the parent, though he'd never planned to be one.

"And then what, old man?" he asked aloud.

You'll be alone, a voice in his head told him. Darned but that voice sounded a lot like Lola's.

For someone who'd abandoned him in favor of his best friend, the woman seemed to be talking to him a lot lately. He smacked at his noggin, annoyed he was hearing things.

It was enough he'd be going blind. He didn't need to add insanity to his list of ailments. And dealing with Lola and his feelings for her didn't make a dang bit of sense when the woman deserved better than a blind old bat like him.

CHAPTER THREE.

A FEW DAYS AFTER RECEIVING Annabelle's a.s.signment by default, Micki took a late Sunday morning flight to Tampa. Before leaving, she'd spent time with both of her sisters and felt better about Annie and her unborn baby's health. She had also fit in a Sat.u.r.day lunch with Lola, but the other woman had refused to discuss Yank, just as he always avoided talking about her. Micki doubted there were two more frustrating people on this earth but there was nothing she could do to change the status quo.

Micki checked in to the hotel after dinnertime and headed for the bar where the team had decided to hang out after their late-day win. With the autism fund-raiser scheduled tomorrow, an off day, the guys could afford to relax and let loose. Micki decided to join them for a quick bite to eat instead of sitting in her room alone. She had every intention of turning in early so she'd be up and functioning tomorrow morning. Within seconds of-stepping into the outdoor bar, the typical Florida humidity wafted around her and destroyed whatever soft waves she'd managed to create in her hair.

She pulled up a chair and joined a group of players sitting at a rectangular table. "Hey, guys."

"Micki," they all chimed in at once.

She smiled at their welcome. "At least you're not disappointed you got me instead of Annabelle."

"We'll miss her," Ricky Carter said raising his gla.s.s, tipping it her way, "but I hear you're single."

Micki didn't take his c.o.c.ky att.i.tude or his interest seriously but he earned an A for sheer arrogance alone. She pierced him with a scowl. "Doesn't mean you're getting any action, hotshot."

He just smiled and took a slug of his beer.

"With Annabelle married to Vaughn, he would kick our a.s.ses if he caught us drinking and hanging out like this with his wife," said Joe Caruso, the third baseman.

"He might kick your a.s.s for giving his sister-in-law a hard time," Micki replied.

"Micki, Micki, that's what I love about you. Your sense of humor." Roper grinned, his gaze zeroing in on her made-up face.

She had no doubt he'd also noticed she was wearing a dress, a definite change from her normal black-and-white uniform. At least he hadn't said anything aloud.

Uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, she was glad Damian wasn't here to make her discomfort even worse.

"I live to amuse," she said wryly. "Someone want to buy me a drink or at least call the waitress over?"

Roper gestured for the nearest waitress.

She walked over, tray in hand. "What can I get for you?" she asked.

"An iced tea would be great, thanks." Micki wasn't much of a drinker. College had taught her she didn't hold her liquor well, and the hangover the next day, even from one gla.s.s of alcohol, wasn't worth whatever fun she might have while intoxicated.

"Lightweight," Roper said, but she heard the joking affection in his voice.

She glanced at his highball gla.s.s with the cherry floating in it and rolled her eyes. "You're hardly one to talk. What's that you're drinking, a s.h.i.+rley Temple?"

He leaned back and laughed, then smoothed his neatly cut blond hair. "It's a mai tai." "Anything for anyone else?" the waitress asked.

The rest of the guys called out their orders and the waitress left to fill them. A minute later, Ricky Carter excused himself and sidled up to the waitress, obviously flirting as the woman worked.

Micki ignored him and made small talk with the players who took turns coming by and getting to know the publicist for the Renegades. By the time the waitress returned with their drinks, almost all of the team was present and accounted for--except for Damian.

Her uncle had let her know about his wrist injury and extended stay on the DL, asking Micki to keep an eye on him while she was in Florida. Uncle Yank worried about Damian's frame of mind and Micki understood. His absence told her he'd either wanted time alone or he'd found comfort elsewhere. She wasn't sure she wanted to know with whom and she knew better than to ask and call attention to any interest she had in Damian Fuller.

Instead she focused on food. The waitress arrived a second time carrying buffalo wings and nachos with jalapeno peppers. Since Micki hadn't eaten anything except airline food all day, she indulged immediately.

Next to the jalapeno nachos, the wings were the spiciest things she'd ever eaten and she burned her tongue badly. Her mouth was on fire and before she knew it, she'd finished her whole large iced tea in an effort to cool it off. Nothing worked and eventually her tongue grew numb.

"Hey, Roper--" As she looked around the table for her friend, who she thought was sitting next to her, the guys appeared blurry and a sudden rush of dizziness a.s.saulted her. She blinked and put a hand on the nearest arm.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"Oh, you are sitting there."

"Have been all night. What's wrong?" he asked again, narrowing his gaze. "You don't look so hot."

"What a rude thing to say to the woman paid to make you look good." Was it her imagination or was her speech slurred? She tried to move her lips but they felt rubbery. "Actually I'm not feeling like myself." If she didn't know better, she'd think she was drunk.

"I'd think not after consuming two Long Island iced teas in the span of ten minutes," Carter said.

She shook her head. Big mistake, she realized immediately when the room began to swim. "Long Island ked teas? Impossible. I don't drink alcohol." To prove him wrong, she took a final sip from the second gla.s.s, but between the way she'd killed her taste buds with the hot food and the complete fuzziness wrapped around her brain, she couldn't tell what she was drinking.

"I ordered a regular iced tea," she insisted.

"I asked them to spice it up for you a bit. And I made sure you got another one when you finished the first, doll." Carter wedged his lean body between her chair and Roper's and placed an arm around her shoulder.

When Micki had begun her transformation, attracting a man like Carter had never been on her agenda. She shook him off, annoyed. "Watch what you call me or you'll find my fist in your mouth," she said, disliking the man even more than her initial impression had warranted.

"Anyone want to hit Lacie's?" Joe Caruso asked.

Roper slid his chair back and rose from his seat. "h.e.l.l, yeah. I'm not gonna waste a night off."

The rest of the guys were equally enthusiastic, ready to head off to their next stop.

"What's Lacie's?" Micki stood along with them and immediately grabbed the back of her chair in order to steady herself. "Whoa," she said, laughing. Giggling really, but she hated to admit that the alcohol had dulled her inhibitions that much.

"Easy," Roper said.

"I got her." Carter remained by her side, trying again to slip his arm around her waist. "I like my women feisty."

"I'm not your woman." She jabbed him in the side. "And I like my personal s.p.a.ce."

"You heard the lady. Back off," a masculine voice said, coming to her defense.

Damian. Oh h.e.l.l, Micki thought.

Carter scowled at his captain but surprisingly he listened, keeping his mouth shut before he turned and walked away.

Micki glanced at Damian who'd unexpectedly joined them. In faded jeans and a black silk T-s.h.i.+rt that clung to his gorgeous body and defined his muscles and physique, he looked s.e.xy as h.e.l.l.

On a good, sober day it would take all of Micki's energy to hide her desire for the man. On a drunken night she didn't stand a chance. Better to get away fast.She took one step and tripped, falling toward him. Roper caught her first. Embarra.s.sed, she steadied herself and as she did, she got her first look at the bimbo on Damian's arm. Even in the Florida humidity, she sported silky smooth hair, perfect makeup and impossibly large b.o.o.bs. Micki tried to swallow but thanks to the unrequested alcohol, her mouth had grown dry.

"So, where are you off to?" Damian asked.

"Lacie's." The word fell from Micki's lips before she could stop it.

He let loose a loud laugh. The woman beside him stared at Micki with a pitying expression and chuckled as well. It wasn't just a laugh at Micki's expense, but one with a perfect lilt no man could resist.

"What's so funny?" Micki asked, defensively.

"Someone needs to look after her," the big-breasted woman said about Micki as if she were a child in need of a babysitter.

"Quiet," Damian said when he took in Micki's gla.s.sy eyes and heard her slurred speech. He would never have pegged her for a drinker, but separated from her uncle and sisters, who knew?

Still, Lacie's? He'd bet his entire savings that Micki was clueless about their destination.

"You didn't tell her?" he asked his teammates.

"Tell me what?"

His companion squeezed his arm. "Excuse me, sweetie, but I need the little girls' room" she said, obviously bored by Micki and a conversation that didn't revolve around her.

To Damian's relief, Carole, the legal secretary he called whenever he was in town, excused herself.

He'd seen her on and off during spring training and again over a month ago. By then his interest had already died out. She'd been distracted as well, as if she'd already mentally moved on. He hadn't intended to call her again, but between his injury and Carter's mouth on the flight over, Damian had needed a diversion and had picked up the phone. Now he wished he hadn't. With Micki here, he was definitely sorry he hadn't just joined up with the team instead.

From the moment he'd seen Micki's reaction to Carole, the flicker of surprise followed by dismay in her expressive face, he'd felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt and self-loathing. Micki managed to work his emotions as well as his sisters did, which merely p.i.s.sed him off and reminded him of all the reasons Micki wasn't good for him when he needed to focus on his career plan.

A plan he'd been working on successfully for years. He'd party with the team tonight and when he still showed up first for the camp stint tomorrow, he'd prove to everyone that not even an injury could get him down. End result, n.o.body would wonder whether age was catching up with Damian Fuller, nor would they worry too much about whether this injury would sideline him from the postseason and the playoffs. They would merely speculate on how soon he'd manage to return.

But where Micki was concerned, Damian was torn. As much as he resented Micki's emotional pull, he also desired to let things play out between them. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. Man, he thought, if he ever let himself get tangled up with Micki Jordan, she'd tie him up in knots so tight he'd never get them undone.

For all his mixed emotions about this attraction, Damian knew he had no choice but to follow his cardinal rule: There'd be no s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around with Micki no matter how much he desired her, and the best way to keep that vow was to distance himself.

"Lacie's is a strip club," he said to Micki. "And I can't see you hanging out at a place like that." He figured she'd blush and make a quick getaway.

Instead she stepped around Roper and faced Damian head-on, treating him to a shocking sight he hadn't noticed before. Micki wasn't Micki, at least not in appearance. Instead of her b.u.t.toned-up s.h.i.+rt and dark pants, she was dressed in a bright pink strapless sundress, exposing bronzed skin and s.e.xy thin tan lines that made a man want to devour her. Starting at her shoulders, he imagined licking her soft flesh, heading downward until he discovered just where those tan lines led. With a groan, Damian s.h.i.+fted to accommodate the growing ache in his pants.

"Are you saying I don't belong in that club?" Indignant, Micki perched her hands on her hips, thrusting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s out "That I can't compete with the other women there? Is that what's making you laugh at the thought of my going to a strip club?" she asked.

He blinked, sensing there was a wealth of information in that statement. Obviously he'd touched a nerve. Knowing women as he did, he also realized anything he said now could get him into trouble.

In this case, trouble was a good thing if it kept her away from him. "Micki, I'm sure you can hold your own anywhere you go," he said in a deliberately placating tone he often used to tick off his sisters.

"Even among naked women?" Micki blushed red, but to her credit she didn't run away.

He figured he had the alcohol to thank for her lack of inhibition and muttered a curse. Meanwhile his teammates looked on in amus.e.m.e.nt at their exchange.

"Hey, if you can handle yourself with these guys, you can handle yourself anywhere," he said as if he didn't believe his own words.

"Because I'm one of them? Good old Micki, one of the guys," she spat, the disdain in her voice clear. Now, where had that come from? He hardly viewed her as one of the team, but he wasn't about to alter the impression she believed he had of her when it suited his purpose of creating distance.

"If you say so," he muttered instead.

She nailed him with a vicious glare. "Come on, let's get going," she said to the rest of the men.

Damian shot Roper a warning look. Do not take her to a strip club.