Hard and Fast

He grinned. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’ve had two shutouts in a row, but there’s speculation your old teammate, Mike Ackers, could rattle you next week. In fact, he promises a home run. What’s your take on that?”

Brad eyed Jack with amusement evident in his expression, then motioned Amanda toward his open locker. “Well, darlin’, why don’t you step right over to my little home away from home, and let’s talk about it.”

She didn’t have to look at Jack to know he was glaring. Amanda felt his stare like a dart landing in her back. Ah, but she liked it, relishing a little high from her successful verbal banter.

But the high shifted as she stepped close to Brad and his towel. Though she maintained a calm exterior, her heartbeat kicked into double time, pounding like a drum against her chest. The spicy scent of freshly showered male invaded her senses, and his gaze, direct and attentive, warmed her skin.

Amanda had met her share of professional athletes over the years, and none had affected her this way.

“So, ah, about those shutouts…” Amanda lost her words as he reached down and made a slight adjustment to his towel. She followed the action with avid interest. She swallowed and forced her attention upward. “Maybe I should let you get dressed.”

The corners of his full mouth lifted, mischief once again in his expression. “I trust you to shut your eyes if it falls off.”

That made her laugh. She couldn’t help it. No way in hell was she shutting her eyes if Brad Rogers lost his towel. He was lucky she didn’t yank it off.

His eyebrow inched upward. “What’s so funny?”

She shook her head, aware he was working her. “You’re being very bad and you know it. You should cut the new girl a little slack.”

“What fun is that?”

“Hey, reporter lady!”

Brad and Amanda both looked over to find Tony Rossi demanding her notice. An Italian with dark good looks and the best bat on the team, Tony had a reputation for playing the field with the ladies as much as he did the game.

“Her name is Amanda,” Brad said.

Tony ignored him. “Why’s he getting the first interview?”

She smiled, instantly taking a liking to Tony, possibly because of his directness. “I see you’re competitive on and off the field,” she teased. “I’ll make sure you’re next.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be next,” he said, giving her the puppy dog eyes that only a player could deliver so effectively. “I get tired of being second to Brad.”

Brad reached into his locker, pulled out a balled-up sock and threw it at Tony. “Shut up, man. What are you now? Twelve years old? Poor baby lost his place in line.”

Amanda decided to toss a weapon of her own at Tony. “I hear that new pitcher, Rodriquez, has your number.”

Tony’s expression grew stormy, and he mumbled something in Italian that sounded fairly nasty. He poked at the air the way he did when he was yelling at the umpire, which tended to be far too often, and ended with a clear statement of, “That’s bull.”

One of the trainers called Tony’s name, ordering him to the back room. Tony eyed Brad, ignoring the summons. “Tell her, man. Tell her it’s crap.” His gaze returned to Amanda. “I’m going to rip the seams off that asshole’s ball. Print that. It’s a quote.”

“You can tell her when she’s done with me,” Brad said.

As Tony headed over to the trainer, Brad focused on Amanda. He rested one arm on top of the locker, framing her with his deliciously muscular body. “I need a favor,” he said softly.

She stared at him and tried to figure out why he affected her so. Maybe it was his mouth. He had a full bottom lip, sensual and enticing. She could imagine how his mouth would feel pressed against her skin. Amanda blinked and resisted the urge to shake her head to rid it of the ridiculous thoughts.

“Favor?” she asked, a bit hoarsely. Delicately, she cleared her throat. “What would that be?”

“Before we go on…” He paused, leaning closer, his proximity wrapping her in sultry sensuality. A dart of electricity raced up her arm as his hand left the locker and settled on her elbow. Her entire body reacted, sending shivers along her nerve endings.

He tilted his head toward hers, his breath warm on her neck as he whispered in her ear, “Promise you’ll quote Tony.” He eased backward to make eye contact. “He’s very sensitive.”

He might as well have asked her to get naked with him, because the impact of those words, the touch of his fingers against her bare skin and the heat of his body so near were nothing shy of sizzling.

“Tony is sensitive?” She found that hard to believe. “Mr. Macho?”

“The tough ones always are,” he said. “Didn’t you know that?”