Stealing Home(6)

His pupils were dilated, his breaths coming faster through his just parted lips. “You missed a spot.”

Grabbing my hand, his fingers laced through mine as he swirled both of our fingers through the tin. Guiding my hand back to him, he settled our fingers on his chest, drawing a thick line diagonally across it. I didn’t miss the pace of his heart as my fingers skimmed over it. It was going faster than normal, but not quite as fast as mine.

He trailed our joined hands lower, sketching a streak across his stomach. Then another down his stomach. All the way down, until the tips of my fingers brushed the nylon of his belt.

When a shiver trembled down my body, he didn’t miss it. Knitting his fingers tighter through mine, he grinned down at me.

“Yes, that’s perfect.” The photographer leaned back from his camera, examining Archer with a fist tucked beneath his chin. “I love it. Bidders will go nutso.” Then the photographer waved his finger between Archer and me. “And you know what I’d love even more? Her in your jersey.”

My head was already shaking as I started to step away.

Archer’s hand pulled me back to him. “I love that idea too. Doc in my jersey.” His gaze skimmed down me, lingering on my thighs. “In only my jersey.”





NOTHING BUT A couple pieces of underwear and a certain number 11 jersey with the name Archer stamped across the back were all I wore.

I still didn’t understand why I’d gone along with his crazy scheme, but I was pretty sure it had something to do with this shoot being for a charity that was near and dear to my heart . . . and the way Archer’s eyes had softened when he asked me for the tenth time. Although by then, he was more begging than requesting.

They were waiting for me. I could tell because it was quiet out in the main part of the room, other than the metallic ting of the baseball bat Archer was probably clinking against his cleats. The game was starting in two hours, and I still had a team to get loosened up and warmed up.

Closing my eyes, I psyched myself up as best as I could before slipping out from behind the curtain sectioning off the dressing room.

Everyone turned to look.

But it was Archer who was staring.

As I padded across the room, he turned so he was facing me, refusing to discipline his stare. His eyes roamed down me, lingering on where the bottom of his jersey brushed across my thighs. When he licked his lips, his stare unyielding, I felt the band of muscles circling my stomach tighten.

“I am never going to be able to look at that jersey the same way again,” he said.

I kept moving closer, slowing when I was a body's length away from him. My face was hopefully giving off an unaffected vibe, though everything behind it was the opposite.

“I’m going to need that back once you take it off.”

My vocal cords constricted, but not before I squeaked out one word. “Why?” I cleared my throat and tried again. “You’ve got two dozen of these things back in the locker room.”

“Yeah, but none of them have been bundled around your body. I want this one for tonight’s game.” He pinched the sleeve of the jersey, inching me closer. “It will bring me good luck.”

Luke Archer was f*cking with me. I didn’t know why, but he was. I didn’t know his intentions, where his teasing originated from, or what he had in mind from here, but I knew I should back away instead of letting him pull me closer. I knew I should turn my back and go back to the way things were before Archer had turned his attention in my direction, but one could not simply turn and walk away when a man like him was looking at a woman like me the way he was.

It was a universal principle.

“If you don’t mind, we really need to get this shoot wrapped up before Coach Beckett storms in here and breaks another camera over my head.” The photographer came up behind me, dropping his hands to my shoulders as he positioned me in front of Archer.

“He replaced the last camera he broke of yours, right?” Archer asked, the smokiness clearing from his expression.

“Sure, yeah, but he can’t replace my sense of safety as easily.”

The photographer and Archer exchanged a look while I stayed quiet and let him position me. Coach Beckett was one of the best in the league. He was also one of the most hot-headed.

The photographer slid me to the side of Archer just enough that I wouldn’t be obscuring too much of his body, which no doubt would drive up the auction price. “Yeah, that’s nice.”

I didn’t know what they needed me here for—Archer sold himself just fine—but when the photographer nestled Archer’s bat behind my back, stationing Archer’s hands at the base and top of it, I knew escape wasn’t part of the plan. Not with the way Archer was drawing me closer to him, cinching the bat tighter against my back.

“Why don’t you put your hand right here on his chest, and tip your head just enough we get a profile of that stunning face?”

Before the objection could rise from my throat, Archer shook his head. “No, she doesn’t want her face showing.”

The photographer paused, giving us a curious look for a moment before wandering back to his camera. “Fine, fine. Whatever she’s comfortable with.”

“Thank you,” I whispered up at him, still not sure how I’d wound up in Luke Archer’s jersey and pressed up against his body, posing for a cover that would probably sell for thousands a pop.