Hot Number (Hot Zone 2)

"You need security to keep the women away, huh?"

He could tell she was deliberately keeping the conversation light for his sake and decided the hell with it. He wasn't in a light mood and she might as well know it going in.

"Right now I want everyone to stay away." He caught himself immediately. "Except you." He hadn't wanted company but with Micki he didn't feel the need to entertain her or make small talk.

She'd never been to his apartment, yet she made herself at home, heading straight for the den and his oversize club chair. Since she'd taken his seat, Damian eased-himself beside her on the arm of the chair.

"So how bad is it?" she asked, reaching for his good hand, the one not in a brace.

"Can't feel my thumb and the rest of me hand tingles like it's asleep."

"What do the doctors say?"

He shrugged. "They're being deliberately vague till the tests are read. They're still mentioning carpal tunnel and a pinched nerve but nobody's willing to commit to anything."

Micki swallowed hard. She'd come here because he'd ignored her calls on both his cell and his home number, and she'd realized he was probably holed up here throwing a pity party for himself. She glanced at the half-full glass of whiskey and frowned. She hated that she'd been right.

Damian was the least self-pitying man she knew but the potential for bad news was strong and he'd spent who knows how long denying the inevitable.

"Don't take this the wrong way and jump all over me, okay?" she asked.

He tipped his head towards her. "I promise not to take it the wrong way. As for jumping you-"

She laughed. "Those weren't my exact words."

"They work well enough for me," he said in a husky tone she couldn't mistake.

A tremor of awareness shot through her but she forced herself to keep her focus. He might not realize it, but he needed sound advice and she was here to give it to him. "Didn't you realize something like this would happen eventually?"

"Ever hear of denial?"

She thought of her Uncle Yank. "I'm vaguely familiar with the term. Look, you're thirty-five and have a multimillion-dollar contract. You've been selected for ten consecutive Ail-Star appearances, you've won an All-Star MVP award, five Silver Slugger Awards and ten consecutive Golden Gloves and that's not the half of your accomplishments. That's a lot to be proud of no matter when you have to step down." She glanced up and noticed the satisfied expression that curved his mouth into a sexy grin.

"Has someone been reading up on me?" he asked.

She nudged him in the side with her elbow. "Don't be so arrogant. I just happen to know these things."

He burst out laughing.

She ignored the burn in her cheeks. "My point is-"

"I get your point, Micki. I just can't accept it."

“Well maybe it's time you do." She let out an exasperated groan. "Maybe it's time that spoiled little boy who thinks everything comes so easily acknowledges that his time in the field and at the plate has passed. That doesn't mean the future doesn't hold great things."

She slid forward and rose from her seat, certain he needed time and space to absorb her words.

"Wait." His hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"I think I've given you enough to think about. I should go."

His hand curled tighter around her, his fingertips branding her with their heat. "What if I don't want you to leave?"

Micki's heart skipped a beat, maybe more, before it kicked in once more. "You aren't upset about what I said?"

He let out a harsh laugh. "Sure I am. That doesn't mean I'm upset with you."

She turned to face him. "Nice distinction. Another way of not dealing with your feelings?" she asked lightly, though how she could speak with both his large, warm hand and his chocolate gaze on her was beyond her.