Their meals sat in front of them, half-forgotten as Josh and Gretchen spent most of the evening just talking. She couldn’t have eaten much anyway, her nerves shot to hell in anticipation.
They talked a lot about Toronto, comparing their experiences living in the city.
Gretchen swirled the big glass of red in her hand, watching Josh’s face as he tasted the same wine in his. “This is really good,” he muttered, raising his eyebrows as he placed the glass back on the table. “Tastes very expensive.”
“But it’s not really. Part of my job is finding the best wines for the best price. Hidden gems, underrated wineries—that sort of thing.
I buy for restaurant groups. Value for bottle is super important.”
“How on earth did you get into wine? I would never have picked something like this, and I love it.”
“My mom was a caterer. I spent a lot of my youth in the kitchens at events. She wasn’t great with wine; she had a friend who would give her recommendations. I loved how rich and inviting the tables would be with the bottles sparkling in the lights, watching the staff trying the leftover bottles at the end of the dinner and hearing their comments. I worked alongside my mom a lot growing up.”
“Inspired by your mom? That’s cool,” he said.
“I started out in culinary management, following in Mom’s footsteps—that was where I met Sharla. We had a lot of fun, the two of us.”
“I can only imagine. I remember college, and the stupid stuff my buddies and I got up to. Sometimes I wonder how we survived,” he chuckled. “I went in for business at Clemson because they had a good ball program too. Why aren’t you running your mom’s catering business now?”
“I found out, after I graduated, that the organizing end of the catering world wasn’t as glamorous as I remember it being when I was a kid. Sharla convinced me to take the sommelier program with her, and a year later, I took the certification.”
“So you became a sommelier, and the rest is history, as they say? How long have you run your own business?” Josh asked, changing the subject.
“About three years now. I branched out on my own; working for restaurant syndicates wasn’t getting me where I wanted to go,”
Gretchen said, trying not to sound too boastful. “I was able to gain ground quickly because I’m a certified sommelier with feet-on-the-ground expertise.”
She was shy to share more with him, and steered the conversation back to safer ground: him. She knew so much about his career, but now, all of the trivia and MLB information had come to life, fleshing him out as he talked about it both on the plane and now.
“What was it like to come to Toronto? Had you spent much time in Canada before?” she asked.
“Only ever visited to play ball. It was a big change, moving there. I almost didn’t come to Toronto, actually. Deal nearly fell through. They wanted this other guy, he was a home-run machine from Atlanta, but he wanted too much money. The contract negotiations fell through; my agent caught wind and pushed me forward. I was originally headed to Milwaukee.”
“Were you happy about that?” she asked. He looked serious when he’d shared that.
“I liked Pittsburgh well enough, but the coaching on the team was in flux and I was thinking a move might be what was best for my career. Harv, my agent, he agreed.”
“I’m glad you found your way to Toronto,” she replied softly.
“You’ve been a good player for the team.”
“If I were to pick a bottle to go, what would your recommendation be?” he asked abruptly, looking away from her. He opened the wine book. “Red or white? If you were to blow a boatload on a wine, what would you buy?”
The thought of drinking wine with him, in bed, or surrounded by fragrant bubbles in the massive tub in her suite was fuel to the fire already smoldering between them.
“What about champagne?” she suggested. “Or a really nice, deep red, like a zinfandel. That’s a lovely varietal to sip by the fire.”
The heat of his eyes hit her as he leaned across the table and brushed a knuckle over her cheek. “Or other activities, I think.”
Holy hell. She wanted to grab the collar of his shirt and yank him over the table. She had never been this turned on in her life. She cleared her throat and bowed her head, positive it was showing.
“Or other activities, yes.”
Josh waved at the waiter, making a signal for the check, and within minutes, he had the 2013 Joseph Phelps Insignia she’d spied on the list under his arm as they headed back toward the Luxor. They took an elevator down to the main concourse level, his hand on her back, warm and solid. If not for the three other couples in the space, she would have reached for him and kissed him senseless.
“Gretchen Harper, do you like to dance?” he asked as they were walking briskly through the casino close to the lobby of the hotel. She was having to take two steps to his every one to keep up with him, her shoes clicking as they hit the tile of the lobby. Her legs and stiletto heels were no match for his long, ground-eating stride.
“Yes,” she replied, breathless, “but I haven’t in—”
Josh stopped and a mischievous look stole over his face. He caught her up with one arm and lowered his lips to her ear. She shivered, her entire body wanting to plaster itself to him and never detach. She could feel his breath, the heat from him, and she put her arm around him to steady herself.
“Wait here,” he whispered huskily.
He strode off, and she did as she was told, her entire body thrumming. The wine at dinner, paired with the sex appeal of Josh, was making her head swim and she looked for somewhere to sit. She swayed over to the edge of a column and perched on the lip of the wainscoting.
As he walked back, the way he exuded confidence caught her.
While in Vegas, right? If nothing else, it would be one crazy story to tell Sharla tomorrow, and something to savor when this trip was over and she had to return to being dependable, boring Gretchen.
Who was that Gretchen, exactly? An almost-thirty, solely career-focused woman with only one serious relationship under her belt, who had never dared to contemplate a casual hookup and considered dating sites too dangerous? That normal, basic woman who had managed to put her hair up in a sophisticated twist and wiggled into the daring dress she’d brought for the competition social—but had expected to wimp out and wear her more modest choice—was so far removed from the one leaning against the side of the casino wall that she wasn’t sure what to think.
She deserved one night of letting it all go, right? Hopefully Normal Gretchen wouldn’t worry too much tomorrow when it was all over.
“I’ve sent the wine up to your room. Let’s go. There is a night-club here that I really like,” he reached out a hand. She took it and he yanked her flush against him, pulling her arm up and around his neck, his hand sliding down the length of it, down her side and resting on her hip. Little shots of pleasure zapped through her and she closed her eyes, a small gasp making its way out. They swayed softly together and he kissed her upturned lips.
“I want to see you move in that dress,” he ground out and she opened her eyes to see his eyes fierce and full of arousal. She took in a breath, steadied herself, and the last of her reservations left, the buzz from him intoxicating.
“Then let’s go,” she purred as seductively as possible.
“You should come with a warning,” he uttered hoarsely before kissing her again. “You are going to set me on fire before the night is through.”
. . .
The bass pounded through his chest, but part of it was the woman in front of him, sending his senses into overdrive. She was dancing, her arms up, her eyes closed, completely taken over by the beat. When she opened them again, the fuck me look was very direct and very, very hot. He was going to hell for what he was thinking of doing to her later. Or sooner. If she kept dancing like that, he was going to drag her back to her room like a caveman.
She had pulled him out onto the dance floor the moment they got into the club, her eyes lighting up, laughter bubbling out of them both, and they had stayed there. The firecracker, at that point, went off, and he felt it as he let the beat take over, enjoying her body as it moved.
She angled over to him, slid up as far as she could, then ran her hands up her body as she backed up again, her eyes boring into him. Jesus. Okay, that was all it took to make him painfully rock-hard. He couldn’t wait any longer.
He grabbed her hand, spun her, and then gathered her up against him, moving with her, his head bent to hover over her lips and catch hot, searching kisses. He wanted more. He wanted to feel her wrapped around him, he wanted to taste her. He’d never been this forward with a woman, and with one shake of her hips, he’d seemingly lost all ability to be a gentleman.
“I want you naked and under me,” he murmured, ghosting his lips over her mouth to her ear. She let her head hang back, exposing her neck, shivering. He brushed his lips there too, still moving with the beat. He could have taken her right there, on the dance floor, he was that riled up.
“Now,” he added, and she brushed her leg over his crotch. His cock twitched and a wicked look stole over her face.
“Yes,” she replied and he practically dragged her out of the club toward the elevators at the main entrance, and then to her suite. They ran, she on her wobbly heels, laughing, stopping several times to kiss. He could not get enough.
He pulled her off her feet and into his arms, wanting her closer, tighter. He was too far gone to care the moment their tongues met anyway.
The doors of the closest elevator opened, and the car was thankfully empty. He walked her in, his lips on hers while he fumbled for her floor button and she flailed her room key against the scanner.
Every part of her he touched reminded him what awaited, as she rotated her hips into him, the impatience mutual. The elevator stopped, and two people decided to take the next one when he stabbed the Close button, glaring at them to stay out.
“I want—” she gasped, and threw her leg up over his hip, her dress riding up her thigh, heel firmly in the small of his back. He turned his attention back to her, not the swiftly closing doors and laughter from the other side.
“Tell me,” he whispered in her ear. She shivered as his hand slid over her calf. “What do you want?”
She made a very sexy noise that cut straight into him, and one hand wound its way into his hair, her fingers digging in. He focused in on her eyes, the wicked glint in them setting every nerve ending on fire when she tugged his lip down to hers and purred, “You.”
. . .
Gretchen threw the plastic key card on the little side table as they crashed through the door to her suite, feeling him kick the door closed. They stumbled into the foyer of the suite, his hands roaming everywhere at once.
He pushed her up against a wall, kissing her hard, possessing her mouth, and she responded, the ache to have him inside her almost unbearable. She launched her shoes, and they skidded along the tile floor, forgotten, as he picked her up, hands under her as he strode toward the bed.
“Fuck, you are hot as hell,” he rasped, his hands on her back.
“Get out of this damned dress so I can see all of you.”
She laughed as he dropped her onto the bed. She reached behind her and undid the low zipper, biting her lip, as one strap of her dress slid off her shoulder. His hair was ruffled in all directions, a shadow of stubble across his jaw, and his muscles flexed as he lifted his shirt and undershirt over his head in one swift movement. His chest and abdomen were taut and rippled, his features dangerous. He was perfect. Beautiful. She paused a moment to drink it all in. He stopped, sensing her.
“Still okay?” Josh whispered, moving up her body, holding her gaze. She shimmied further out of her dress, pooling it around her waist, while reaching for his belt, undoing it, and popping the top button of his pants.
“Oh yes,” she breathed, running her fingers over his stomach.
“Just admiring the view.”
She ran her hands up his chest, feeling him tense wherever her hands went, and he gently took both her hands in his, shaking his head. “Stop. You’ll—”
“I’ll what?” Gretchen replied softly. “I want to feel you.”
He yanked her dress down in one swift motion down her legs, throwing it behind him, and kissed her again, lifting off her to hungrily look down her body. He made a sound low in his throat, his fingers tracing the line of her bright-blue lace underwear.
She wanted him. Now.
“Those too.”
She hooked her thumbs under the sides and slowly wiggled her panties down, looking up at him, then tracing her fingers to the front, slowly running her hands over herself. “All the way?” she teased.
“Baby, you’re killing me,” he growled and snatched them off her the same way he’d taken off her dress, coming back to kiss up her inner thigh, his mouth covering over her the moment he reached the top, his tongue and fingers exploring every part.
“Oh my God, Josh, stop or I’ll—”
“You’ll what? I want to taste you,” he replied, crawling up over her, playing her game.
She laughed as he did, pulling at his pants, and he slid them off at her insistence. She heard them hit the floor. He followed them, crouched down, then slowly stood back up and there he was. All of him. Ready to go, with a condom held between his fingers.
Emboldened, she reached for him again.
“Now, Josh. I want you inside me. I can’t wait any longer.”
He pulled her under him, his arms above her shoulders, and she raised her leg over his hip, digging her heel in, her hands caressing every inch she could reach. He breathed in and out a few times as he sheathed himself with impressive speed between them. She raised her hips the moment he finished, and he thrust into her, his mouth crashing to hers the moment he did, stifling her cry.
Josh stilled, his eyes wide, and she moved her hips up to him again, raking her fingers across his back. The heat of him sent her nerve endings into overdrive, begging for more. He pressed forward, stretching her, filling her completely, tension and gentleness meeting in the middle.
She lost control of her body from the sheer pleasure of him moving inside her slowly. The buildup to this had been teasing her, and the sensation of an instant orgasm waved through her body, her legs shaking as she came. He brushed hair off her face, leaning in to kiss her, his thumb caressing her lips, gentle and sweet as he continued to rock in and out of her.
“That was beautiful,” he murmured, as they moved together, in perfect sync. “Did you like that?”
“Yes,” Gretchen breathed, the curl of another climax building the moment he spoke. She wanted him hard and fast, all of him, nothing held back. She sucked his thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue over the pad, gently scraping with her teeth. He hissed in a breath. He liked that.
“Fuck me, Josh. Hard,” she added when she let it go.
He let out a moan that was pure animal, pulled her hands up and over her head, holding them, and he thrusted into her hard, picking up the pace, his eyes sharp and dangerous. She met him thrust for thrust, biting his shoulder, licking and sucking his skin.
Every graze of her teeth made him twitch and moan.
“Oh,” he breathed, raising himself to see her. She left her arms above her as he lifted her by her hips, one hand coming down to stroke her between them. “I feel you, baby. Come for me. Come now.”
It was all she needed to shatter like a glass thrown against the wall, arching into him, gasping his name as he tensed and then let himself go with her, groaning loudly. Somehow, through the fog of the most incredible orgasm she’d ever had, and him collapsing breathless on top of her, it registered that she had never, ever felt like that before.
. . .
The wine was even more decadent than she remembered. She swirled the glass and held it under her nose, taking in the deep, rich cherry notes.
“Does it pass, master?” Josh asked as he finished pouring his own glass and rejoined her on the bed. He kissed her gently, the taste of the wine on his lips.
“Oh yes. A bottle of Insignia never disappoints,” she replied.
“Thank you.”
He slid under the covers, and they sat with their backs to the headboard. Gretchen tucked the sheets up under her and took a sip, sighing happily. This was a wine to sip by the fire on a cold winter night, but it also worked as a rejuvenating draft after incredible sex. She rarely indulged in a bottle this expensive for just her; it was a treat to have one almost to herself and not sharing it with six people. Josh’s arm slid around her and they clinked glasses.
“To good wine, sexy company, and a memorable evening,” he quipped cheerfully.
“Memorable,” Gretchen repeated, amused at the word to describe their encounter so far. “I’ll take it.”
Josh looked into her eyes, and she caught the smolder of arousal in them. There was a promise of more in that gaze, and she forgot everything for a moment except his big, strong body beside her. He was gorgeous and good in bed. Was this really happening?
“Mmm, this is really good, even better than the bottle at dinner,” he remarked as he took another sip. “You don’t make many bad choices, do you?”
“My dad used to say my mom could never pick a bad wine with dinner but had terrible taste when it came to buying a bottle for drinking. She was so used to pairing food with varietals that it was difficult for her to taste a wine’s individual characteristics. Thankfully, I think I avoided that curse by making wine my career,” Gretchen replied lightly.
He sipped again, staring out toward the big picture window, stretching a little as he sighed. “What do your parents do now?” he asked.
“My mom sold the business; she lives in a retirement community now. My dad,”—she stopped, fiddling with the stem of her glass, then setting it off to one side. She hesitated; this was a downer, a mood killer—“he died, three years ago. Cancer. He and my mom weren’t together. They split when I was about thirteen.”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Josh said, pulling her under his arm, his thumb brushing her shoulder.
“Thanks. It’s fine. He’s the reason I enjoy baseball. It was one of the few things we bonded over.”
Josh held her a little tighter and made a sound of agreement in his throat that was sexy and sweet all at once, and she wanted him all over again, just like that. But this was nice too. Wrapped up in bed, postcoital and talking about personal stuff like it was easy. Gretchen wanted to share with him now that she wasn’t so nervous.
“Sounds like you were close,” Josh said, a hesitant tone in his voice.
“After he left, we weren’t. He was a proud, simple man, moved to the interior of BC, didn’t trust doctors, and trusted women even less,” she mused. “When they split up, he moved for a job in forestry. He loved the wilderness. Toronto was a nightmare for him, I think. My mother once told me that my father would likely fall off a cliff while hiking. I believed her.”
“Wow. Yeah, my parents live on opposite sides of the country from each other too. I lived with my mom in Boise and would go see Dad once or twice a year in Upper New York State until I was around sixteen, when summers became part-time jobs and competitive ball.”
“Your dad must have been happy to have you closer when you got to Clemson. That isn’t too far from where he lived, right?” she added.
“It was a twelve-hour drive from Carolina to where he lived.
We didn’t see each other much.”
“Yeah, that would be long,” Gretchen replied. A couple of years back she had read an interview in Sports Illustrated where Josh had talked about his parents. He hadn’t had the typical Little League experience—being driven to every game, then pushed to be competitive, going to scouting meets and tryouts. She’d admired, when she’d read it, how he hadn’t been handed a scholarship to a good school because of his varsity play. He’d worked two jobs to pay for college before he’d been offered grants his sophomore year, given how well he’d played as a freshman. Then it was into the farm system straight out of college. He’d never had a chance to use his degree. Now, watching him and talking to him, the fact that he had taken his rocket to the top in stride and seemed humble about it was icing on the cake.
“I’m not close to either of them. Mom didn’t know what to do with me as a kid, and my dad, well, he started another family that I wasn’t really a part of.”
“I’m sure they’re proud of you,” she murmured and patted his leg.
“I’m sure they are,” he said, and kissed her again gently, sweetly. It curled her toes under the sheet, the promise of more.
She drew her legs up and leaned into him, deepening the kiss and he obliged.
“Your parents are proud of you too, I’m sure,” Josh murmured, and set his wine to the side, pulling her down to lie beside him, slotted into his shoulder, her feet tangled with his legs. It felt perfect, like they fit, and she cautioned herself, Don’t go there. This is one night.
“Someday I want a crack at the Master Sommelier rank, but I need more experience first,” she replied. Her mom had always said go for it, to reach for those goals, even if she never took a big interest in what Gretchen did.
“Well I’m sure you will get it. You can be very determined when you know what you want, Gretchen. I’ve had firsthand experience.” They both laughed.
“Tell me about the Neons,” she said, wanting to take the focus off things she’d rather not think about right now.
“Oh,” he said and blew out a breath. “Like what?”
“Are they a good team? I bet there are some players you know already.”
“Well, there’s one young kid on the team I really enjoy working with, Neptune Gilbert. He’s been with them since last year.
I really got to know him last time I was out here. He’s seriously good. Super fast, good eye. He’d make a great pitcher too. I’ve brought him up to visit me a couple times in Toronto, special invite for batting practice. We get to do that for prospects every now and then.”
“Sounds like you’re looking forward to seeing him?” she asked.
His expression had softened the moment he started talking about his friend. She sighed and ran a hand up his chest, enjoying the flex of his muscles as he shifted to look over at her.
“I am. I feel like he needs the support too; his family is all back in the Dominican Republic. Between me, Coach, and his billet, I think we’ve done okay by him.”
“It won’t be so bad to hang out here while they figure out your options,” Gretchen added. He did sound like he was happier to be here than he’d been at the airport.
“This is a good club, the staff care about everyone. The ball is less tense, there’s an element here that you sometimes forget when you’re up in the majors.”
“What’s that?” Gretchen asked, her hand now straying downward onto his lower abs. He let out a breath and moved his hand down her leg, pulling it up over his hip. They went nose to nose, and he groaned softly when her hand went lower still.
“That it’s fun. Why you started playing the damned game in the first place,” he murmured, rolling her into him, his hands finding much better places to be than on her thigh.
“Mmm. Fun, you say?” Gretchen replied shakily as his lips met her neck, and she fisted her hands into his hair, holding him there. “I think I can imagine that.”
Josh levered up, eyes flashing heat as he smiled wickedly. “Let’s have some more fun, then, shall we?”