"Thanks for coming, Doc." Damian spared a glance at Micki. "I'm going to walk him to the car that's taking him back to the airport."
She bit down on her lip and nodded. "I'll be here when you get back."
Damian's words had been vague, but decidedly negative. The next few minutes felt like a lifetime, leaving her on edge, flexing and unflexing her fingertips and pacing the floors. Finally the front door slammed hard and Damian rejoined her in the kitchen.
"What did he say?" she asked.
"Who's asking? Micki the team publicist or-"
"Micki your friend and I think you know that." She reminded herself that it was his pain causing him to question her loyalty.-
; He lowered his gaze. "I have tendinitis. Nothing some time off and immobility won't cure," he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He raised his injured hand, pointing out the brace he'd been wearing.
Since that seemed like positive news, Micki knew there had to be more. "And?"
"And the numbness is probably a result of carpal tunnel syndrome. You know, repetitive motions such as throwing exacerbates it. After reviewing the X rays, the bone density and the MRI results, and after a physical examination, the good doc said he also sees strong evidence of arthritis, which weakens the bones and will begin to give me aggravation down the line. Not too far down the line because the wrist is pretty fragile. So are the rest of the bones." He grimaced. "Welcome to old age."
She raised an eyebrow. Thirty-five wasn't ancient, but she'd heard it many times. Athletes counted age like dog years. "You aren't finished for the season are you?'
He shook his head.
"That's good. Though when you are, I know Uncle Yank has plenty of post-game work lined up for you. Or at least he's got some good ideas percolating."
Damian stared in wonder at her. He'd had crappy news and this woman wasn't pitying him. She was looking on the bright side.
"A good-looking guy like you, with all your sports knowledge, is pretty marketable, you know," she said in a deliberately smart-ass tone and patted his cheek with her hand.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. She'd just showered and her hair smelled fresh and clean and her body was warm and willing, just as she'd been last night. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in the curve of her neck, wishing he could bury his problems as easily and as pleasurably.
He slid his fingers into the back pockets of her pants, cupping her rear and nestling his groin into the sweet V of her legs. “These jeans fit you like a glove."
"Your sisters are all different sizes but luckily I have an average body type that fits most anything."
He heard the self-deprecation in her tone and knew it was tied in with her tomboy image and her impression that somehow she was less feminine than her sisters. He knew differently. It was time she did, too. He might not be able to help himself but he could help Micki.
"You are anything but average," he said in a gruff voice and, in case she wasn't sure or didn't believe him, he rolled his hips, letting her feel the bulging erection that she'd caused.
She moaned in pleasure, a pleasure he understood. He'd walked into the kitchen, Dr. Maddux's words weighing heavily on his mind while his future and his career crashed down around him. And then he'd taken one look at Micki wearing a tight pair of faded jeans and a sunny yellow shirt and his mood had lifted. Just like that.
"You're just saying that to make me feel good," she said.
He shook his head, determined to win this argument. "I've been with many women-"
"Thanks for reminding me," she said wryly.
"And none has inspired me to do this." He stepped back, unsnapped his pants, then dropped and kicked them to one side of the room.
"Damian!"
"You know what they say, honey?"
“I’ m afraid to ask," she said, her cheeks flushed red.
"If you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen." He grinned and waited for her reaction.
She raised her hands to the bottom of her snug T-shirt and yanked it over her head. Same see-through bra as yesterday, pushing up her full breasts enticingly. His throat tightened as need pummeled him hard.