Look what people are saying about this talented author …

“Shalvis thoroughly engages readers.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Hot, sweet, fun and romantic! Pure pleasure!”

—Robyn Carr, New York Times bestselling author

“Witty, fun and sexy—the perfect romance!”

—Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author

“Fast paced and deliciously fun. Jill Shalvis

sweeps you away!”

—Cherry Adair, USA TODAY bestselling author

“A fun, hot, sexy story of the redemptive powers

of love. Jill Shalvis sizzles.”

—JoAnn Ross, USA TODAY bestselling author

Dear Reader,

Who doesn’t love a sports hero? There’s just something about a guy who’d lay it all on the line for the win. Mark Diego is an NHL head coach, and a lifelong athlete. He’s used to winning, and getting his way. Too bad no one ever told Rainey Saunders that.

Rainey and Mark haven’t seen each other in years when my story opens, but their past is indelibly imprinted in their minds.

These two were a challenge for me. Mark wanted things to go his way (and since he’s a man, you can guess which way that was …). And Rainey was determined to call the shots. Sparks flew from my keyboard every day during the writing of this book. My fingers are still smoking.

This is my first Blaze® novel in a while, but it won’t be my last. There is still a lot more heat left in the keyboard, so stay tuned. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy Time Out. I sure did.

Happy reading,

Jill Shalvis

http://www.jillshalvis.com

http://www.jillshalvis.com/blog (be sure to sign up for my newsletter on the right sidebar to keep up to date!)

http://www.twitter.com/jillshalvis

http://www.facebook.com/JillShalvis

About the Author

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling and award-winning author JILL SHALVIS has published more than fifty romance novels. The four-time RITA® Award nominee and three-time National Readers’ Choice winner makes her home near Lake Tahoe. Visit her website at www.jillshalvis.com for a complete booklist and her daily blog.

Time Out

Jill Shalvis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mary.

Thanks for always knowing what to say.

1

AS ALWAYS, RAINEY’S brain was full, too full, but one thought kept rising to the top and wouldn’t leave her alone. “Tell me again,” she asked Lena. “Why do we like men?”

Her best friend and wingman—even though Lena was no longer technically single—laughed. “Oh, honey. We don’t have enough time.”

They both worked at the beleaguered North District Rec Center in Santa Rey, a small mid-California beach town. Lena handled the front desk. Rainey was the junior sports coordinator, and today she was running their biweekly car wash to raise funds for their desperate sports program. Sitting on a stool in the driveway of the rec building’s parking lot, Rainey directed cars in and accepted customers’ money, then sent them through to the teenagers who were doing the washing. She kept her laptop out for the slow times. In between cars she’d been working on the upcoming winter sports schedule while simultaneously discussing all things men. Rainey was nothing if not a most excellent multitasker.

And maybe the slightest bit of a control freak.

“I thought you were going to try that online dating service,” Lena said.

“I did. I got lots of offers for hookups.”

Lena laughed. “Well, what were you looking for?”

Coffee, a few laughs, a connection … A real connection, which Rainey was missing lately. Her last two boyfriends had been great but … not great enough. Lena thought she was picky. In truth, Rainey was looking for something that she’d only felt once before, a very long time ago, when she’d been sixteen and stupid. “Men suck.”

“Mmm,” Lena said. “If they’re very good, they do. Listen, you’ve had a dry spell, is all. Get back in the pool, the water’s warm.”

“I haven’t had a dry spell, I’ve just been busy.” Okay, so she’d had a little bit of a dry spell. She’d been spending a lot of time at work, trying to keep the teens in the North District—the forgotten district—out of trouble. That alone was a full-time job. She turned to the next car. Mrs. Foster had the highest beehive in all the land, and had been Rainey’s fourth grade teacher. “Thanks for supporting the rec center’s car wash,” Rainey said.

“You’re welcome.” Her beehive, bluer now than ever, still quivered. “I was going to go to South District since they’re giving away ten minute back massages with each wash, but I’m glad I didn’t. I overheard about your dry spell, dear. Let me get you a date with my grandson, Kyle.”

Great. A pity date. “No, that’s—”

“He’s quite the catch, you know,” Mrs. Foster said. “I’ll have him call your mother for your number.”

“Really, it’s not necessary—”

But Mrs. Foster was already driving forward, where her car was immediately attended to by a group of Rainey’s well-behaved teens.

Okay, not all that well-behaved. Rainey had coerced them here on threat of death and dismemberment, but they desperately needed the money if they wanted a baseball and softball season.

“Score on Mrs. Foster’s grandson,” Lena said dryly. “Think Kyle still has buck teeth?”

“My mom won’t give him my number.” Probably. Okay, she totally would. Rainey had gone to school with Kyle, so her mother would think him safe enough. Plus, she’d turned thirty last week and now her mom was on a mission to get her married before it was “too late.” Hot and sweaty, Rainey swiped her forehead. It might be only June, but it was ninety degrees, and she’d been sitting out here for hours. Her Anaheim Ducks ball cap shaded her face for the most part but she could feel that she’d still managed to sunburn her nose, and her sunglasses kept slipping down her damp face.

They’d fed the teens pizza about an hour ago, and the kids were using the fuel to scrub cars and squirt each other every chance they got. They were down a few bodies since Rainey had kicked four of the guys out, the same four who always gave her trouble. They’d been trying to coerce one of the younger teen girls into the woods with them.

Even long before the fires had devastated Santa Rey the previous summer, the North District had been steadily deteriorating, and that core group of four were hell-bent on deteriorating right along with the area. Working at the rec center was far more than a job for Rainey. She genuinely cared about this community and the kids, but those boys had no interest in her help. She couldn’t allow them back, not after today, and given that they’d called her a raging bitch as they’d vacated the premises, the hard feelings were mutual.

“Rick promised to take me out to dinner tonight,” Lena said.

Rick was a lifelong friend of Rainey’s as well as her boss, and also Lena’s boyfriend. “Huh,” she said. “He promised me some summer league coaches.” Coaches who wouldn’t quit when the going got rough, like the volunteer coaches tended to do. “It’s three days before the start of the season.”

“He’s on it,” Lena said, just as the man himself walked by, all dark eyes, dark hair, and a dark smile that never failed to get him what he wanted.

He flashed it at Rainey now. “I promised,” Rick said. “And I’ll deliver.”

“Great,” Rainey said. “But when—”

But nothing. He’d given Lena a quick, soft smile and was already gone, back inside the building to wield his power there.

“I hate it when he does that,” Rainey grumbled.

Lena sighed dreamily. “If he hadn’t tasked me with a hundred things more than I have time to manage this morning, I’d totally want to have his babies.”

“Honey, you’re dating him. You’ve been dating him for a year now. Chances are decent that you will be having his babies.”

Lena beamed, ridiculously happy. Rainey wasn’t jealous. Yes, Rick was hot, but they were friends, and had been since high school. Because of it, they knew far too much about each other. For instance, Rainey knew Rick had lost his virginity behind the high school football stands with their substitute P.E. teacher. In turn, Rick knew that Rainey had tried to lose her virginity with his brother—the last guy she’d felt that elusive connection with—and been soundly rejected. At the humiliating years-old memory, she slumped in her seat. “What if my dry spell is like the Sahara Desert, never-ending?”

“All you have to do is take a man at face value. Don’t go into it thinking you can change them. Men aren’t fixer-uppers, not like a house or a car. You buy them as is.”

“Well I haven’t found one yet who’s not in need of a little fixing.”

Lena laughed. “No kidding, Ms. Control Freak.”

“Hey.”

“Face it, Rainey, you always have to have a plan with a start, a middle and an end. Definitely an end. You have to know everything before you even get into it. Dating doesn’t work that way.”

“Well, it should.” Rainey gestured the next car through, accepting the money and handing out more change. The teens were moving the cars along at a good pace, and she was proud of them. “Everyone could benefit from a well executed plan.”

“A love life doesn’t work that way,” Lena said. “And trust me, you need a love life.”

“You can get a love life in a specialty shop nowadays, complete with a couple of batteries.” Rainey took a moment to organize the cash box and quickly checked her work email on the laptop. “Thirty new emails,” she groaned. All timely and critical, and she’d have to deal with them before the end of the day. Goody.

“I could help you with some of that,” Lena offered.

“I’ve got it.”

“See? Control freak.”

Ignoring that painful truth, Rainey deleted a few emails and opened a few others. She loved her job, and was doing what she wanted. She’d gone to business school but she’d come back here to do this, to work with kids in need, and to give back. The work was crazy in the best of times. But these days, in the wake of the tragic California coast fires that had destroyed three out of four of their athletic fields last fall, not to mention both buildings where all their equipment had been housed, were not the best of times. Worse, the lease for the building they were in was up at the end of the year and they couldn’t afford renewal.

Problem was, she had a hundred kids, many of them displaced from their own burned-out homes. She wanted to give them something to do after school that didn’t involve loitering, shoplifting, drugs or sex. She’d just started to close her laptop when her gaze caught on the Yahoo news page. Hitting the volume key, she stared at a sports clip showing a seedy bar fight between some NHL players from the Anaheim Ducks and Sacramento Mammoths.

The clip had been playing all week, because … well, she hadn’t figured out why, other than people seemed to love a sports scandal. The video was little more than a pile of well-known professional athletes wrestling each other to the ground in some L.A. bar, fists flying, dust rising.

Rainey gestured another car through, then turned back to the screen, riveted by the million-dollar limbs and titillating show of testosterone. On the day the footage had been taken, the two teams had been in the Stanley Cup finals. The game had been decided on a controversial call in favor of the Ducks, killing the Mammoths’ dreams.

That night at the bar, the Mammoth players had instigated the fight, holding their own against four Ducks until their head coach strode up out of nowhere. At thirty-four, Mark Diego was the youngest, most popular NHL head coach in the country.

And possibly even more gorgeous than his brother Rick.

On the tape, Mark’s eyes narrowed in on the fight as he walked fearlessly into the fray, pulling his players out of the pile as though they weighed nothing. A fist flew near his face and he deflected it, leveling the sender of said fist a long, hard look.

The guy fell backwards trying to get away.

“That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Lena murmured, watching the clip over Rainey’s shoulder.

Yeah. Yeah, it was. Rainey had seen Mark in action before, of course. He and Rick were close. And once upon a time, she’d been just as close, having grown up near the brothers. Back then, Mark had been tough, smart, and fiercely protective of those he cared about. He’d also had a wild streak a mile wide, and she’d seen him brawl plenty. It’d turned her on then, but it absolutely didn’t now. She was grown-up, mature.

Or so she told herself in the light of day.

On the screen, hands on hips, Mark said something, something quiet but that nevertheless had the heaving mass of aggression screeching to a halt.

“Oh, yeah. Come to momma,” Lena murmured. “Look at him, Rainey. Tall, dark, gorgeous. Fearless. I wouldn’t mind him exerting his authority on me.”

Rainey’s belly quivered, and not because she’d inhaled three pieces of pizza with the teens an hour ago. Mark was no longer a wild teenager, but a tightly controlled, complicated man. A stranger. How he “exerted his authority” was none of her business. “Lena, you’re dating his brother.” Just speaking about Mark had twisted open a wound in a small corner of her heart, a corner she didn’t visit very often.

“I’ve never gotten to see the glory that would be the Diego brothers in stereo.” Lena hadn’t grown up in Santa Rey. “Mark hasn’t come home since I’ve been with Rick. Being the youngest, baddest, sexiest head coach in all the NHL must be time-consuming.”

“Trust me, he’s not your type.”

“Because he’s rich and famous? Because he’s tough as hell and cool as ice?”

“Because he’s missing a vital organ.”

Lena gasped in horror. “He doesn’t have a d—”

“A heart! He’s missing a heart! Jeez, get your mind out of the gutter.”

Lena laughed. “How do you know he’s missing a heart?” Her eyes widened. “You have a past! Of course you have a past, you grew up here with Rick. Is it sordid? Tell me!”

Rainey sighed. “I was younger, so Mark always thought of me as a …”

“Forbidden fruit?” Lena asked hopefully.

“Pest,” Rainey corrected. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I do!”

Knowing Lena wouldn’t leave it alone, she caved. “Fine. I had a crush on him, and thought he was crushing back. Wrong. He didn’t even know how I felt about him, but before I figured that out, I managed to thoroughly humiliate myself. The end.”

“Oh, I’m going to need much more than that.”

Luckily Lena’s cell phone chose that very moment to ring. God bless AT&T. Lena glanced at the ID and grimaced. “I’ve got to go.” She pointed at Rainey. “This discussion is not over.”

“Yeah, yeah. Later.” Rainey waved her off. She purposely glanced away from her computer screen, but like a moth to a flame, she couldn’t fight the pull, and turned back.

Mark was shoving his players ahead of him, away from the run-down L.A. bar and towards a black SUV, single-handedly taking care of the situation.

That had been three days ago. The fight had been all over the news, and the commission was thinking about suspending the players involved. Supposedly the two head coaches had stepped in and offered a solution that would involve giving back to the fans who’d supported the two teams.

She looked into Mark’s implacable, uncompromising face on her laptop and the years fell away. She searched for the boy she’d once loved with all her sixteen-year-old heart, but couldn’t find a hint of him.

TWO HOURS LATER, THEY’D gone through a satisfying amount of cars, fattening the rec center’s empty coffers, and Rainey was ready to call it a day. She needed to help the teens clean up before the bus arrived. Many of them still had homework and other jobs to get to.

The parking lot was wet and soapy, with hoses crisscrossing the concrete, and buckets everywhere. With no more cars waiting, the teens were running around like wild banshees, feeling free to squirt and torture one another. Rainey blew her whistle to get their attention. “We’re done here,” she called out. “Thanks so much for all your help today. The faster we clean up, the faster we can—” She broke off as the county bus rolled up and opened its doors. Dammit. All but a handful of the kids needed to get on that bus. It was their only ride.

When the bus pulled away, Rainey stared at the messy lot and the two kids she had left.

“More pizza?” Todd asked her hopefully. He was a lanky sixteen-year-old who had either a tapeworm or a bottomless stomach.

Rainey turned and looked through the pizza boxes. Empty. She opened her bag and pulled out her forgotten lunch. “I’ve got a PB&J—”

“Sweet,” he said, and inhaled the sandwich in three bites. His gaze was locked on Sharee, a fellow high school junior, as she began rolling hoses. Sharee was all long, long mocha-colored limbs and grace. Another fire victim from the same neighborhood as Todd, she currently lived in a small trailer with her mother. When Sharee caught Todd staring, she leveled him with a haughty glare.

Todd merely grinned.

“Go help her,” Rainey told him. “She can’t do it all alone.”

“Sure, I’ll help her,” Todd said, and the next thing Rainey knew, he was stalking a screaming Sharee with a bucket full of soapy water.

Sharee grabbed a hose and wielded it at him like a gun. “Drop the bucket and no one gets hurts. And by no one, I mean you.”

Todd laughed at her and waved the bucket like a red flag in front of a bull.

“Okay, okay,” Rainey said, stepping between them. “It’s getting late.” She knew for a fact that Todd still had to go work at his family’s restaurant for several more hours. Sharee, on the cusp of not passing her classes, surely had a ton of homework. The girl also had a healing bruise high on one cheekbone and a set of matching bruises on both biceps, like someone had gripped her hard and shaken her.

Her father, Rainey guessed. Everyone knew Martin was a mean drunk but no one wanted to talk about it, least of all Sharee, who lived alone with her mother except for the nights her mother allowed the man into their trailer.

“He called me a scarecrow,” Sharee said, pointing at Todd. “Now his sorry ass is going to pay.”

“Language,” Rainey said.

“Okay, his sorry butt. His sorry butt is going to pay.”

“I said you have legs as long as a scarecrow,” Todd said from behind Rainey. “Not that you are a scarecrow.”

Sharee growled and lifted the hose.

“Stop!” Rainey said. “If you squirt him, you’re leaving yourself wide open for retaliation.”

“That’s right,” Todd said, nodding like a bobblehead. “Retaliation.”

Rainey turned to shut Todd up just as Sharee let it rip with the hose and nailed him.

Rainey gave up. They had worked their asses off and deserved to let off a little steam. She stepped aside to leave them to it, but stopped short as a big, shiny black truck pulled into the lot.

Which was when the entire contents of Todd’s bucket hit her. Sucking in a shocked gasp as the cold, soapy water rained over her, Rainey whipped around and stared at the sheepish teen, who was holding the offending empty bucket. “Oh, God,” he said. “I’m so sorry, but you stepped right in its path!”

“You’re in big trouble,” Sharee told him. “You got her hair wet. You know how long it must take her to get that hair right?”

Sharee was right about the hair. Rainey shoved it out of her face, readjusting the Ducks hat on her head. Her wavy brown hair frizzed whenever it rained, or if the air was humid, or if she so much as breathed wrong. She had no doubt it resembled a squirrel’s tail about now. “It’s okay. Just … clean up,” she said, watching as the black truck rolled to a stop.

“Look at that,” Todd said reverently, Rainey’s hair crisis forgotten. “That’s one sweet truck.”

Sneakers squishing, Rainy moved toward it. She could feel water running in rivulets down her body as the driver side window powered down. “I’m sorry,” she said politely, feeling like a drowned rat. “We’ve closed up shop. We—” She broke off. The driver was wearing a Mammoth hat and reflective Oakleys, rendering him all but unrecognizable to the general public. But she recognized him just fine, and her heart stopped on a dime.

The man she’d just been watching on the news.

Mark Diego.

He wore a white button-down that was striking against his dark skin and stretched across broad shoulders. The hand-painted sign behind her said: Car Wash—$10, but he pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket. She stared down at it, boggled.

“No worries on the wash,” he said in a low voice as smooth as aged whiskey, the same voice that had fueled her adolescent dreams.

He didn’t recognize her.

Of course he didn’t. She was wearing a ball cap, sunglasses, soap suds, and was drenched to the core, not to mention dressed like a complete slob. Unlike Mark, of course, who looked like sin-on-a-stick. Expensive sin-on-a-stick.

The bastard.

“I just need a place to park,” he said with the smile that she knew probably melted panties and temperamental athletes with equal aplomb. “I’m here to see Rick Diego.”

“You can park right where you are,” Rainey said.

He turned off the engine and got out of the truck, six feet two inches of tough, rugged, leanly muscled grace. Two other guys got out as well, and beside her, Todd nearly swallowed his tongue. “Casey Reynolds! James Vasquez! Oh man, you guys rock!”

Casey, the Mammoths’ right wing, was twenty-two and the youngest player on the team. He looked, walked and talked like the California surfer he was in his spare time. He wore loose basketball shorts, a T-shirt from some surf shop in the Caicos, and a backwards Mammoths’ hat.

James was the team’s left wing, and at twenty-four he was nearly as wild as Casey, but instead of looking like he belonged on a surfboard, James could have passed as a linebacker in the NFL. He was wearing baggy blue jeans and a snug silk shirt that emphasized and outlined his every muscle.

If she hadn’t known they were the two players who’d been in the big bar brawl, she could have guessed by Casey’s nasty black eye and the bruise and cut on James’s jaw. Still managing to look like million-dollar athletes, they smiled at Todd and shook his hand.

The kid looked like he might pass out.

Mark and his two players clearly had a longtime ease with each other, but just as clearly there was a hierarchy, with Mark at the top—and he hadn’t taken his carefully observant eyes off Rainey.

Crap.

She turned away, but he snagged her hand and pulled her very wet self back around. She thought about tugging free.

Or kicking him.

As if he could read her mind, his lips twitched. “Easy,” he murmured, and pulled off her sunglasses.

She narrowed her eyes against the sun and a wealth of unwelcome emotions as the very hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his sexy mouth.

“It’s a little hard to tell with the raccoon eyes,” he said. “But the bad ‘tude’s a dead giveaway. Rainey Saunders. Look at you.”

The others were all still talking with a false sense of intimacy. Mark tapped the bill of Rainey’s Ducks hat, giving a slow shake of his head, like he couldn’t believe she’d be wearing anything other than the Mammoths’ colors.

And suddenly she felt like that silly, love-struck teenager all over again. Having four years on her, he’d been clueless about the crush. He might never have known at all if she hadn’t made a fool of herself and sneaked into his apartment to strip for him. It’d all gone straight to hell since he’d been on the receiving end of a blow job at the time. She’d compounded the error with several more that evening, which she didn’t want to think about. Ever. It’d all ended with her pride and confidence completely squashed.

Worse, the night had negated the years of friendship she and Mark had shared until then, all erased in one beat of stupidity.

Okay, several beats of stupidity.

She lifted her chin, which turned out to be a mistake because water had pooled on the bill and now dripped down her face. She blinked it away and tried to look cool—not easy under the best of circumstances, and this wasn’t anywhere close to best.

Mark pointed to her nose. “You have a smudge of dirt.”

Oh, good. Because she’d been under the illusion she was looking perfect. “Thought you liked dirty girls.” The minute she said it, she could have cut out her tongue. He’d been on GQ last month, artfully stretched out on some L.A. beach, draped in sand.

And four naked, gorgeous, equally sandy women.

She’d bought the damn issue, which really chapped her ass. Mark clearly knew it, and his smile broke free. She rubbed at her nose but apparently this only made things worse because his smile widened.

“Here,” he said, and ran a finger over the bridge of her nose himself.

Up this close and personal, it was hard to miss just how gorgeous he was.

Or how good he smelled.

Or how expensive he looked.

All of which was hugely irritating.

“Got it,” he said. “Not much I can do about the soap all over you. Let’s fix this too.” Then, before she could stop him, he tugged off her drenched hat, flashed an amused glance at what was surely some scary-ass hair, then replaced her hat with the one from his own head. The Mammoths, of course. He ran a hand over his own silky, dark hair, leaving it slightly tousled and perfectly sexy.

She snatched back her hat. “I like the Ducks. They’re my favorite team.”

At this, both of his players turned from Todd and stared at her. Rainey didn’t know if it was because of what she’d just said, or because no one dared sass their fearless leader. “No offense,” she said to them.

“None taken,” Casey said on a grin and held out his hand, introducing himself. James did the same.

Rainey instantly liked them both, and not just because they were famous, or cute as hell—which they were—but because they were quite harmless, as compared with their head coach. He wasn’t the least bit harmless. Rainey squirmed a little, probably due to the soapy water running down her body.

Or the way Mark was studying her with the same quiet intensity he used on the ice—which she knew because she watched his games. All of them.

“So how do you know Coach?” James asked her.

Rainey looked into Mark’s eyes. Well, not quite his eyes, since they were still behind the reflective Oakleys that probably cost more than her grocery bill for the month. “We go way back.”

Mark’s almost-smile made an appearance again. “Rainey went to school with my brother Rick.” He paused, clearly waiting for her to add something to the story.

No thank you, since the only thing she could add would be “and one time I threw myself at him and he turned me down flat.”

They’d seen each other since, of course, on the few occasions when he’d come back to town to visit his dad and brother. Once when she’d been twenty-one, at a local police ball that Mark had helped chair. He’d slow danced with her and the air had crackled between them. Chemistry had abounded, and she could read in his dark eyes that he’d felt it too, and she’d melted at his interest. But she hadn’t been able to swallow her mortification about the fiasco on her sixteenth birthday, so she’d made an excuse and bailed on him. She’d seen him again, several times, and each accidental run-in had been the same.

The laws of physics didn’t change. The sun would come up. The sun would go down. And she would always be insanely attracted to Mark Diego.

The last chance encounter had been only two years ago. They’d had yet another near miss at a town Christmas ball when they’d again slow danced. He expressed interest in every hard line of his body, some harder than others, but she’d let self-preservation rule once more.

“So are you friends?” James asked her and Mark now. “Or …?” He waggled a finger back and forth between them with a matching waggle of his brow.

Mark gave him a single look, nothing more, and James zipped his lips.

Impressive. “Neither,” she told James resolutely, trying to wring out the hem of her shirt while ignoring how close Mark was standing to her, invading her personal space bubble.

“It’s been a long time,” he said. “You look …”

“All wet?” she asked.

His eyes heated, and something deep inside her quivered. Damn, he still had the power. He smiled, and she narrowed her eyes, daring him to go there, but his momma hadn’t raised a fool.

“Different,” he finally said. “You look different.”

Yes, she imagined she looked quite different than the gorgeous women she’d seen hanging off his arm in magazines and blogs.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

She wanted to believe that was true, but realized with some horror that she’d actually leaned into him, drawn in by that stupid magnetic charisma. But she was nothing if not a pro at hiding embarrassment. Spreading her arms, she gave him a hug, as if that’d been her intention all along. Squeezing his big, warm, hard body close, she made sure to spread as much of the suds and water from her shirt to his as she could. “It’s good to see you as well,” she said, her mouth against his ear, her lips brushing the lobe.

He went still at the contact, then instead of trying to pull free, merely folded her into his arms, trapping her against him. And damn if her body didn’t burst to life, as if all this time it’d been just waiting for him to come back.

“Yeah, you’re different,” he murmured, doing as she had, pressing his mouth to her ear, giving her a shiver. “The little kitten grew up and got claws.”

When she choked out a laugh, he closed his teeth over her earlobe.

She gasped, but then he soothed the ache with a quick touch of his tongue, yanking another shocked response from her. “You said you were looking for Rick,” she managed to say, shoving free. “He’s in his office.” And then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she walked off, sneakers squishing, water dripping from her nose, and, she suspected, her shorts revealing a horrible, water-soaked wedgie.

2

AFTER CHECKING IN WITH his brother, Mark and his players got back into his truck, not heading back to the coast, but further up into the rolling hills.

Rainey Saunders, holy shit. Talk about a blast from his past. Seeing her had been like a sucker punch; her smile, her shorts. Those legs …

Once upon a time she’d been a definite sweet spot in his life. A friend of his younger brother, who always had a smile for him. He’d been fond of her, as much as any teenage guy could be fond of something other than himself. She’d hung out on the fringes of his world throughout school, and he’d thought of her as one of the pack. Until she’d changed things up by going from a cute little kid to a hot teenager.

The night she’d shown up in his college apartment had been both a shock and a loss. A shock because he’d honestly had no idea that she’d had a crush on him, at least not before she’d dropped her clothes for him without warning. Until then, she’d never let on, not once. And a loss because everything had changed afterwards. He’d never forget how she’d broken into his place and found him in the throes with a coed. By the time he’d caught up with her, she’d run off with the first guy she’d found.

And that guy had been a real asshole who’d nearly given her a birthday moment she hadn’t counted on. Mark had managed to stop it, and somehow he’d ended up the bad guy.

Rainey had wanted Mark to notice her, to see her as a woman, and hello, mission accomplished. Hell, he could still picture her perfect body—but he’d been too old for her. Even at twenty, he’d been smart enough to know that. Too bad he hadn’t been smart enough to handle the situation correctly. Nope, he’d screwed it up badly enough to affect their relationship to the point that they’d no longer been friends.

It’d taken him a shamefully long time to figure that out, though, and by then he’d been on his path and gone from the area. Leaving Santa Rey had been his dream. To go do something big, something to lift him out of the poverty of his upbringing. He’d spent the next few years climbing his way up the coaching staff ladder, working in Toronto, New York, Boston … finally landing back on the west coast with a coveted head coaching position at the Mammoths.

He’d seen Rainey several times over the years since, and on each occasion she’d definitely sparked his interest. As a bonus, they’d both been age suitable. But though she’d flirted with him, nothing had ever come of it. He had no idea what being with her would be like, but he knew one thing. It would be interesting.

The Mammoths were officially off season now and on vacation. Except for Casey and James, who were damn lucky to still be a part of the team after their stupid bar fight.

He and the Ducks’ coach had agreed to teach their players a lesson in how to be a role model by making them contribute to a struggling local community. Both coaches had chosen their own home communities, areas hit hard by fires and needing to heal. The players would be volunteer laborers at charity construction sites for most of the day, then after work they’d coach summer league ball. At the end of the summer league, the two rec centers would have a big game, with all the proceeds going directly to their programs. The community would benefit, the players could get their acts together, and everyone would feel like they’d made a difference.

All that was left was to tell his idiot players that they wouldn’t be summering in style, but doing good old-fashioned hard work.

“Uh, Coach? Aren’t we going home?” Casey asked from the passenger seat of the truck.

“Nope.” Their asses were Mark’s. They just didn’t realize it yet. “We’re staying in town.”

“Where? At the Hard Rock Café?” This from James.

“We won’t be at the beach.” That was the South District, and they didn’t need nearly as much help as the North District did. “We’re heading to the very northern part of the county.”

His two players exchanged glances. Mark smiled grimly and kept driving. He had a lot to think about—recruiting and trading for next season, not to mention hundreds of emails and phone calls waiting to be returned—but his brain kept skipping back to Rainey.

She’d grown up nice. The wet T-shirt had proved that. But it’d been far more than just a physical jolt he’d gotten. One look into her fierce blue eyes and he’d felt …

Something. Not even in the finals had his heart taken such a hard leap as it had when he’d realized who she was. Or when she’d touched her mouth to his ear.

Or when he’d bitten hers and absorbed the sexy little startled gasp she’d made.

“Come on, Coach. We’re sorry about the fight. We’ve said it a million times. But it was the big game, and we were robbed.”

Just getting to the finals had been a sweet victory, considering the Mammoths were only a five-year-old franchise. It’d been a culmination of grit, determination, and hard work, and even thinking about the season had a surge of fierce pride going through him. But the bar fight—now viral on YouTube—had taken away from their amazing season, and was giving them nothing but bad press. Mark had been featured on Sixty Minutes and all the mornings shows, trying to put a positive spin on things. He’d been flown to New York in a helicopter to recite the Top Ten Things That Had Gone Through His Mind After Losing The Stanley Cup. He’d been on the Ellen DeGeneres Show and had plunged Ellen into the dunk tank for charity. And then there’d been the endless lower profile events filling his calendar: meet-and-greets, photo shoots and endless charity appearances.

And still all everyone wanted to talk about was the fight. It pissed him off. After working around the clock for seven months, he should be on vacation.

He’d seen the press of other players on Jay-Z’s yacht in the Caribbean with a bunch of scantily-clad women. Mark wouldn’t mind being on a sandy beach somewhere, a woman at his side, a drink in his hand. But no. Instead he was babysitting his two youngest players because apparently they thought with their fists instead of their brains.

That was going to change. It’d been handy having his brother as the director of the rec center. Casey and James would be working their asses off. Construction and coaching, and hopefully, if they were lucky, they’d manage to take in some positive publicity while they were at it. That would make the owners of the Mammoths happy, and Mark too.

As well as Rick.

Win-win, all around, and Mark was all about the win. Always.

James leaned forward from the backseat. “We stayed at the Santa Rey Resort last time, remember? Man, they have that great nightclub.…” He sighed with fond memories.

Mark just kept driving. They weren’t staying at the resort. Or the Four Seasons. Or anywhere that any of them were accustomed to. “You both agreed to do whatever it took to not be suspended, correct?”

Another long glance between the two players.

“Yeah,” James said.

‘You’re going to work as volunteer construction crew on the fire rebuilds, then every afternoon you’ll coach at the rec center.”

“That sounds okay,” James said. “Especially if the coach gig involves that hot little counselor they had running the car wash. What’s her name … Rainey? Loved her wet T-shirt—you guys see that?”

Casey grinned. “I loved her whistle and clipboard, and the way she barked orders like a little tyrant. Sexiest tyrant I’ve ever seen.”

When James chuckled, Mark’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “She’s off limits.” He ignored the third long look that James and Casey exchanged. But they had one thing right. Rainey was a tyrant, especially when she decided on something.

Or someone.

And once upon a time, she’d decided on him.

“So we’re not going to the Biltmore?” James asked. “Cuz there’s always plenty of hot babes there.”

“James,” Mark said. “What did I tell you about hot babes?”

James slumped in his seat. “That if I so much as look at one you’re going to kick my ass.”

“Do you doubt my ability to do so?”

James slouched even further. “No one in their right mind would doubt that, Coach.”

“And anyway, you’re not allowed back at the Biltmore,” Casey reminded James. “That’s where you got caught with that redhead by her husband. You had to jump out the window and sprained your knee and were out for three weeks.”

“Oh yeah,” James said on a fond sigh. “Madeline.”

Mark felt a brain bleed coming on. He exited the highway, a good twenty miles from the beach and any “hot babes.”

“Damn,” James murmured, taking in the fire ravaged hills on either side of the narrow two-lane highway, then repeated the “damn” when Mark pulled up to a small, run-down-looking motel.

“Home sweet home for the next month,” Mark told them grimly. “The Santa Rey Welcome Inn.”

Casey and James just stared at the single story motel. The stucco walls were pea-green, the windows lined with wrought-iron grates. The yard was dead grass.

“They’re on water restrictions,” Mark said, and clapped them both on the backs. “You’ll be reminded of that come shower time in the morning. There’s a three-minute shower requirement here. Let’s go,” he said to their groans.

The Welcome Inn sign blinked on and off in flashing white lights. The door to the office was thrown open, letting out the scent of stale coffee and air freshener. Inside the office was a desk, a small couch, and a floor fan on full blast aimed at the woman behind the desk. Celia Anderson was sixty-something, and glued to the soap opera on the TV mounted on the wall—until she saw Mark. With a warm smile, she came around and squeezed him tight. “Aw, you’re such a good boy,” she said. “Throwing us your fancy business.”

Boy? Casey mouthed to James.

“Sometimes homey is better than fancy,” Mark said to Celia.

She patted his cheek gently. “Your father raised you right. I’ve got the three rooms you requested. Cash or credit?”

“Cash,” he said, knowing how badly she needed the cash.

“I’ll give you a discount.”

“No,” he said gently, putting his hand over hers when she went to punch a discounted rate into her computer. “Full price.”

She beamed at him and handed over their room keys.

Which were actual keys. Casey looked at his like he didn’t know what to do with it. They walked down the outside hallway to their rooms. Each had a single bed, dresser and chair beneath the window. All of which had seen better days but were spotlessly clean.

“Coach, I think your assistant screwed up the reservations,” Casey said.

James’s head bobbled his agreement. “I don’t think they even have cable.”

“There’s been no mistake,” Mark said. “Unless you guys wanted to room together?”

They looked at the narrow bed and vehemently shook their heads, both wisely deciding to drop the subject.

Mark waited until he was alone to smile. Operation:Ego Check was in full swing.

For all of them.

RAINEY DIDN’T FALL ASLEEP until past midnight, and dreamed badly.

Sweet Sixteen, and she stood outside Mark’s bedroom door, heart pounding inside her chest so loudly she was surprised she hadn’t woken the entire apartment complex.

Mark had no idea she was here. No one did. She’d stolen his key from Rick and lied to her friends that she was too tired to go out. Wearing a pretty lacy teddy beneath her sweats, carrying a borrowed pair of sexy heels in her hand, she grinned. Tonight was the night. She was finally going to tell him she loved him, that she always had. They’d live happily ever after, just like in all the good chick flicks.

Quietly she opened his bedroom door and dropped her sweats. She stepped into the heels and fluffed her hair. She was just checking her boobs to make sure they were even and perky when she heard it.

A rough moan.

Whirling around, she got the shock of her life.

Mark wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t even in his bed.

He was sprawled in the beanbag chair beneath the window, long legs spread for the woman on her knees between his, head bobbing—Oh, God.

Mark’s head was back, eyes closed, his perfect body taut and his hands fisted in his date’s hair as she …

Rainey must have made a sound, or maybe he’d heard the crack of her heart as it split wide, because Mark sat straight up so fast he nearly choked his date. “Christ. Rainey—”

“Hey,” his date complained, lifting her head with a pissed-off frown. “I’m Melody.”

Rainey turned to run away and ran smack into the door—which didn’t slow her down. Not that, or the sprained ankle from her stupid heels.

“Rainey!”

The pounding of bare feet told her he was coming after her. Not wanting to face him, she kicked her heels off and raced barefoot out into the night like Cinderella trying to beat the clock. Young and desperate, she’d run off looking for a way to prove herself as grown up as she imagined.

She’d been ripe for trouble, and unfortunately, she’d found it.

SITTING STRAIGHT UP in bed with a gasp, Rainey realized it was dawn, and she blinked the dream away. Fourteen years and she remembered every humiliating detail as if it’d been yesterday. Especially what had happened next. But she wasn’t going there, not now. Not ever.

By that afternoon, she’d nearly forgotten all about the dream and Mark. She was running laps with the group of teens who’d shown up after school, counting heads to make sure none had made off with each other into the bushes, when Sharee came up to her side.

Rainey’s welcoming smile faded as she locked her gaze on the new bruise on the teen’s jaw. “What happened?”

Sharee switched into her default expression—sullen. “Nothing.”

“Sharee—”

“Walked into a door, no big deal.”

“Where was your mother?”

Sharee lifted a shoulder. “Working.”

Rainey would like to get Martin alone and walk him into a door, but that was a stupid idea. The man scared Rainey. “You know where I live, right?”

“The Northside town houses.”

“Unit fifteen,” Rainey said. “Next time your mother’s working nights, come have a sleepover with me.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t walk into any more doors. We’ll watch a movie and eat crap food. It’ll be more fun than any date I’ve had in a while.”

“How often do you date?” Sharee asked.

The easy answer was not much. But that was also the embarrassing answer. “Occasionally.”

Sharee nodded, then went back to running laps. Rainey ran again too, until her cell phone buzzed an incoming text from Rick.

The help I promised you for the summer league is on their way. You’ve got two Mammoth players and their head coach, who I believe you’ve met. They work for you, Rainey. You’re in charge.

She’d have to kill Rick later. For now, she grabbed her clipboard and blew her whistle. “Two more laps before we scrimmage,” she called out, and began stretching to cool down. She’d figured Rick would get a few local college athletes. But nope, he’d gone all the way to the top.

And all she could think was that Mark would be around for three weeks.

Twenty-one days …

She lay on her back and stared at the puffy clouds floating lazily by, trying not to delve too deeply into how she felt about this. The first cloud looked sort of like a double-stuffed Oreo. She could really go for a handful of double-stuffed Oreos about now. The next cloud came into sight, resembling—”Mark?”

She blinked up at the cloud that wasn’t a cloud at all as Mark flashed her his million-dollar smile.

“Heard you need me,” he said. “Bad.”

AT TWENTY-ONE, MARK had been long and leanly muscled, not a spare inch on him. Rainey’s gaze ran down his thirty-four-year-old body and she had to admit he was even better now. In fact, the only way to improve on that body would be to dip it into chocolate.

He offered her a hand, his grip firm as he pulled her upright. She immediately brushed the dry grass from her behind and the backs of her legs, painfully aware of the fact that once again she was a complete mess and he…he was not. He had all that perfect Latino skin, and the most amazing dark eyes that held more secrets than some developing countries. He had strong cheekbones and a mouth that always brought sinful thoughts to her mind, especially when he flashed that rare smile of his. He’d broken his nose twice in his wild and crazy youth, not that it dared to be anything less than aristocrat straight. But even better than his arresting face was everything else—his fierce passion, his drive, his smarts. And now for the first time, she supposed she could also appreciate his coaching skills firsthand. “We’re running,” she said.

“Really? Because it looked like you were napping.”

Clearly he was in great shape. He could probably run a marathon without breaking a sweat. The thought of what else he might be able to do without breaking a sweat made her nipples hard.

Don’t go there….

Too late. She closed her eyes so she couldn’t stare at him, but as it turned out, he and his hot bod were imprinted on her brain. His world was about coaching million-dollar athletes, and he’d taken it upon himself to be as fit as they were. This meant he was six feet plus of hard sinew wrapped in testosterone, built to impress any guy and pretty much render any female a puddle of longing.

Except her.

Nope, there could be no melting, not for her. She was so over him. Completely. Over. Him.

Maybe.

Oh, God, she was in trouble. Because who was she kidding? She’d never gotten over him, never, and every single guy she’d ever dated had been mentally measured up to him and found lacking.

It made no sense. Yes, she’d known him years ago. Back then she’d been insanely attracted to the way he cared deeply about those around him, his utter lack of fear of anything, and his truck. Apparently some things never changed.

He stepped closer, blocking the sun with his broad shoulders so that all she could see was him, and she forgot to breathe.

His fingertips brushed lightly over a cheek and something deep in her belly quivered. “You’re getting sunburned,” he said. “Where’s your hat?”

The one he’d given her yesterday? She’d tried to toss it into her trash can last night. Twice.

It was sitting on her pillow at home.

But only because it would have been rude to let a gift go out with the week’s trash. And that was the only reason she’d worn it to bed. “I’m wearing sunscreen.”

He was just looking at her. His phone had vibrated no less than five times from the depths of his pockets, but he was ignoring it. She tried to imagine all he was responsible for on any given day, and couldn’t.

“How have you been?” he asked.

“Good. And you? Congratulations on your season, by the way.”

“Thanks. It really is good to see you, Rainey.”

She laughed and spread her hands, indicating her state of dishevelment. “Yeah, well it gets better than this, I swear.”

He smiled and looked past her to the girls. “Rick said to let you know the players and I are to report to you for coaching the kids. That’s how both the Ducks and the Mammoths are handling the fallout from the fight. We’re trying to show that players can be role models and help our local communities at the same time. At the end of summer league, we’ll have a big charity fundraising game between the two rec centers and show that it doesn’t have to end in a fight.”

“Hmm.” The idea was fantastic, and in truth, she really needed help. There’d been a time when she’d needed him too, not that she’d ever managed to get him.

And Rick had just given him to her on a silver platter. Oh, the irony. “That’s great.”

“Will the parents have a problem with us stepping in? Don’t they usually coach for summer leagues?”

“Not in this part of town, they don’t. They’re all working, or not interested.”

He eyed the teens on the field, specifically the boys, his sharp gaze already assessing. “How about you let us handle the entire boys’ program?” He turned that gaze on her, and smiled. “It’s been what, a few years?”

“Two.” She clamped her lips shut when that slipped out, giving away the fact that she’d kept count.

His smile widened, and she arched a brow.

“I’ll hug you hello again,” she warned. “And this time I’m all sweaty.”

He immediately stepped into her.

“No,” she gasped. “I’ll ruin your expensive shirt—”

Not listening, he wrapped his arms around her. “You can’t ignore me this time, Rainey, though it’s going to be fun watching you try. And you know what? I think I like you all hot and sweaty.” He ran a hand down her back, smiling when she shivered. Stepping away, he gestured to the boys on the field. “Bring them in,” he said. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

While she blew the whistle, he eyed the two baseball diamonds. There were weeds growing in the lanes, no bases, and the lines had long ago been washed away.

“Why are they dressed like that?” he asked.

The boys were in a variety of baggy, saggy shorts and big T-shirts. Some of the girls wore just sports bras and oversize basketball shorts. Others wore tight T-shirts, or shirts so loose they were in danger of falling off. “We don’t have practice jerseys.”

He pulled out his cell phone and walked a few steps away, either to make or take a call, and Rainey absolutely did not watch his ass as he moved.

Much.

When he came back, she’d divided the teens up into boys and girls, and sent the boys to the further diamond to scrimmage because they were much better at self-regulating than the girls.

She’d split the girls into two bedraggled, short teams and Sharee was at bat. She hit a hard line drive up the first base line. Pepper, their pitcher, squeaked in fear and dropped to the mound.

“Nice hit,” Mark said. “But why is the pitcher lying flat on the ground like there’s been a fire drill?”

“Pepper’s terrified of the ball.”

He shook his head. “You’ve got your hands full with the girls, huh?”

First base grabbed the ball but Sharee was already rounding second.

First base threw, and … second base missed the catch.

Mark groaned.

“They’ll get there,” Rainey said. “I’ve been working with them while waiting on coaches.”

At her defensive tone, he took a longer look at her. “You didn’t know we were coming in to help you.”

“No.”

He grimaced. “Rick’s an idiot.”

“That idiot is my friend and boss.”

“So you’re okay with this? Working with me, even though you’ve done your best to ignore me all these years?”

“You’re right,” she decided. “Rick is an idiot.”

He grinned.

And oh, God, that grin. He flashed white, straight teeth and a light of pure trouble in his eyes, and she helplessly responded.

Damn hormones.

“We’re grown-ups,” she said. “We can handle this—you working for me. Right? We can do it for all these kids.”

Mark moved into her, a small movement that set her heart pounding. She refused to take a step back because she knew it would amuse him, and she’d done enough of that for a lifetime.

“Working for you?” he murmured in that bedroom voice.

“I’m the athletic director, so yeah. You coaching is you working for me. You’re working under me and my command.” She gave him a look. “You have a problem with that?”

“No problem at all.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Though I’d much rather have you under me.”

3

RAINEY DID HER BEST to ignore all the parts of her body that were quivering and sending conflicting signals to her brain and drew a deep breath. “This is inappropriate,” she finally said.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Only if someone overhears us.”

She drew another deep breath. That one didn’t work any better than the first, so she turned to the field, watching the girls silently for a few minutes. After three outs, the teams switched on the field.

“Uneven teams,” Mark noted. “I’m going to go get a closer look at the boys.”

She grabbed his hand to halt his progress. “This is rec league, Mark. It’s not really about the competition.”

“It’s always about the competition.”

“It’s about having fun,” she said.

His eyes met hers and held. The sun was beating down on them and Rainey resented that she was sweating and he was not.

“Winning is fun,” he said.

Another little quiver where she had no business quivering.

Lila hit next and got a piece of the ball and screamed in surprise. Sharee sighted the ball and yelled “mine!”, diving for it, colliding hard with Kendra at second. Sharee managed to make the catch and the out.

Kendra rubbed her arm and glared at Sharee, who ignored her.

“Nice,” Mark said. “She’s got potential.”

“This isn’t hockey, Mark.” But Rainey was talking to air because he’d walked onto the diamond like the superstar coach he was.

Sharee had her back to him, barking out orders at the other girls on the field like a drill sergeant. When she turned to face home plate, her eyes widened at the sight of Mark.

He held out his hand for the ball.

Sharee popped it into her mitt twice out of defiance, and only when Mark raised a single brow did she finally toss it to him, hard.

He caught it with seemingly no effort. “Name?”

“Sharee.”

“What was that, Sharee?”

“A great pitch,” she said, and popped her gum.

“After the pitch.”

“A great play.”

He nodded. “You’re fast.”

“The fastest.”

He nodded again. “But you took yourself out of position and it wasn’t your ball to go after. You could have let your team down.”

Sharee stopped chewing her gum and frowned. She wasn’t used to being told what to do, and she wasn’t much fond of men. “Kendra would have missed the out,” she finally said.

“Then center field would have gotten it.”

Sharee eyed the center fielder, who was busy braiding her hair, and snorted.

Mark just looked at Sharee for a long beat. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah. Head coach of the Mammoths.”

“Do you know if I’m any good?” he asked.

“You’re the best,” Sharee said simply but grudgingly. “At hockey.”

Mark smiled. “I played hockey and baseball in college, before I started coaching. My players listen to me, Sharee, and they listen because I get them results. But when they don’t listen, they do push-ups. Lots of them.”

Sharee blinked. “You make grown guys do push-ups?”

“I teach them to play hard or not at all. You’re practicing for, what, maybe an hour a day? The least you can do is play hard for that entire time. As hard as you can, always.”

“Or push-ups.”

“That’s right.”

Sharee considered this. “I don’t like push-ups.”

“Then I’d listen real good. One hundred percent,” he said to everyone. “I am asking for one hundred percent. It’s effort. You don’t have to have talent for effort. You,” Mark said to the girl in center field, who was no longer braiding her hair but doing her best to be invisible. “What’s your name?”

She opened her mouth but the only thing that came out was a squeak.

“It’s Tina,” Sharee said for her. “And she never catches the ball.”

“Why not?”

Everyone looked at Tina, who squeaked again.

“Because she can’t,” Sharee said.

“So you make all the outs?” Mark asked.

“Most of ‘em.”

“That’s what we call a ball hog.” He tossed the ball back to her. “Let’s see who else besides you can play.”

“But—”

Again he arched a brow and she shut her mouth.

Rainey stared, mesmerized, as he coached the uncoachable Sharee through an inning, getting everyone involved.

Even Tina and Pepper.

When it was over, Rainey sent the kids back to the rec center building so that they wouldn’t miss their buses home.

“Didn’t mean to step on your toes,” he said.

“I’m happy for the help. Nice job with them.”

“Then why are you frowning?” he asked.

Because she was dripping sweat and he looked cool as ice. Because standing next to him brought back memories and yearnings she didn’t want. Pick one. She grabbed her clipboard and started across the field, but Mark caught her by the back of her shirt and pulled her to him.

And there went her body again, quivering with all sorts of misfired signals to her brain. Her nipples went hard, her thighs tingled, and most importantly, her irritation level skyrocketed.

“What’s your hurry?” Mark asked, snaking an arm around her to hold her in place. The kid were all gone. She and Mark were hidden from view of the building by the dugout. Knowing no one could see her, she closed her eyes, absorbing the feeling of being this close to him. Unattainable, she reminded herself. He was completely unattainable. “I just …” Her brain wasn’t running on all cylinders.

“You just …” he repeated helpfully, his lips accidentally brushing her earlobe. Or at least she assumed it was accidental. However it happened, her knees wobbled.

“I …” His hand was low on her belly, holding her in place against him. “Wait—what are you doing?”

“We never really got to say hello in private.” He tightened his grip. “Hello, Rainey.”

If his voice got any lower on the register, she’d probably orgasm on the spot.

“It’s been too long,” he murmured against her jaw.

Telling herself that no one could see them, she pressed back against him just a little. “I don’t know about too long.”

A soft chuckle gave her goose bumps, and then he was gone so fast she nearly fell on her ass. When she spun around, she got a good look at that gorgeous face—the square jaw, the almost arrogant cheekbones, the eyes that could be ice-cold or scorching-hot depending on his mood. And no matter what his mood was, there was always the slight suggestion that maybe … maybe he belonged on the dark side.

It was impossibly, annoyingly intriguing. He was impossibly, annoyingly intriguing, and yet he called to the secret part of her that had never stopped craving him. She headed toward the building, and he easily kept pace. Between the field and the building was a full basketball court, with a ball sitting on the center line.

Mark nudged it with his foot in a way that had it leaping right into his hands. He tossed it to her, a light of challenge in his eyes. “One on one.”

“Basketball’s not your sport, Coach.”

“And it’s yours?”

“Maybe.”

“Then play me,” he dared.

“We’re wearing the same color shirt. Someone’s going to have to be skins.” She had no idea why she said it, but he smiled.

“I guess that would be me.”

She shrugged as if she could care less, while her inner slut said “yes please.”

“I guess—”

The words backed up in her throat when he reached over his head and yanked his shirt off in one economical movement, tossing it aside with no regard for the fact that it probably cost more than all her shirts added together.

Her eyes went directly to his chest. His skin was the color of the perfect mocha latte, and rippled with the strength just beneath it. She let her gaze drift down over his eight-pack, and—

“Keep looking at me like that,” he said, “and we’re going to have a problem.”

She jerked her gaze away. “I wasn’t looking at you like anything.”

“Liar.”

Yeah. She was a liar. She dribbled the ball, then barreled

past him to race down the court. She could hear his quick feet and knew he was right behind her, but then suddenly he was at her side, reaching in with a long arm to grab the ball away.

She shoved him, her hands sliding over his heated skin. Catching herself, she snatched the ball back, then executed a very poor shot that went in by sheer luck. Grinning, she turned to face him and plowed smack into his chest.

“Foul,” he said.

“What are you, a girl?”

That made him smile. “Gee, wonder where Sharee gets her attitude from?”

“Actually, she gets that from her abusive alcoholic father.”

Mark lost his smile and dribbled as he studied her. “It’s a good thing … what you’re doing here.”

Feeling oddly uncomfortable with the compliment and the way his praise washed over her, she snatched the ball and went for another shot. Competitive to the bone, Mark shouldered his way into her space, grabbed the ball and sank a basket far more gracefully than she’d done. Dammit. She took the ball back and elbowed him when he crowded her.

He grinned, a very naughty grin that did things to her insides. “Is that how you want to play?” he asked.

“Dirty?”

“Playing” with him at all was a very bad idea. But as always with Mark, her best judgment went out the window. Or in this case, down the court where she took the ball. Her feet were in the air for the layup when he grabbed her and spun her away from the basket.

Oh, no. Hell, no. She struggled, and they both fell to the ground. He landed with a rough “oomph.” Lying on top of him, she looked down into his face, extremely aware of how he felt sprawled beneath her.

His eyes were heat and raw power. “Foul number two. You play panicked, Rainey. Am I making you nervous?”

“Of course not.” Face hot, fingers even hotter after bracing herself on his bare chest, she scrambled off him. She walked along the side of the rec building to the storage shed to put the ball away.

Mark had picked up his shirt and followed her, pulling it on as he did. Then he backed her to the shed.

“You really don’t make me nervous,” she said.

“You sure about that?”

Before she could answer, he kissed her, slipping a hand beneath her shirt at the base of her spine, trailing his fingers up her back. The kiss was long and slow and deep, and her hand came up to his chest for balance.

And absolutely not to explore the tight muscles there.

By the time he broke it off, she realized she’d let one of his legs thrust between hers, and she had both hands fisted in his shirt. Clearly she was sex-deprived. That was the only way to explain how she was riding his leg, breathing like a lunatic, still gripping him for all she was worth. She stared up at him, unable to access the correct brain synapses to make her mouth work. By the time she managed to speak, he’d smirked and begun walking away.

Dammit! “I’m not nervous,” she called after him. “I’m annoyed, and I won our game!”

“You cheated.” He shot her a look over his shoulder. “And payback is a bitch.”

AFTER LEAVING THE FIELD, Mark attempted to put both Rainey and their kiss out of his head, which turned out to be surprisingly difficult.

Rainey had always had a way of worming beneath his skin and destroying his defenses, and apparently that hadn’t changed. He’d missed her in his life—her sweet smile, her big heart, that way she’d had of making him want to be a better person than he was.

He picked up pizza and beer, and took it to the Welcome Inn.

As per their agreement, Casey and James had been at the construction site all day, just as their Duck counterparts were doing in their chosen community a couple hours south of them, just outside of Santa Barbara.

The two Mammoth players had been brought back to the inn by one of the workers. Mark had purposely stranded them in Santa Rey without a car, wanting them to be at his mercy—and out of trouble, with no chance of finding it. He located them in Casey’s room, hunched over the yellow pages of the phone book arguing over food choices.

James looked up. “Did you know that there’s no room service here?”

Mark lifted the three pizzas and twelve-pack. “I’m your room service tonight.”

“Sweet.” Casey looked very relieved as he tossed aside the phone book. He stretched and winced. “There’s no whirlpool. No hot tub. No spa—”

“Nope.” Mark took the sole chair in the room, turning it around to straddle it. “There’s no amenities at all.”

“Then why are we—”

“Because you two screwed up and are lucky to still have jobs.”

They sighed in unison.

“And,” Mark went on, “because the couple who owns this place lost their home in the fire last year. Business is down, way down.”

“Shock,” James muttered.

“You both agreed to this. The alternative is available to you—suspension.” Mark stood. “So if this isn’t something you can handle, don’t be here when I come to pick you up in the morning.”

He turned to the door, and just as he went through it, he heard James say, “Dude, sometimes it’s okay to just shut the hell up.”

AFTER DROPPING OFF THE pizza and ultimatum, Mark picked up his brother and drove the two of them up the highway another couple of miles, until the neighborhood deteriorated considerably.

“He’s been looking forward to this for a long time,” Rick said.

“I know.” Last summer’s fire had ravaged the area, and half the houses were destroyed. Of those, a good percentage had been cleared away and were in various stages of being rebuilt. The house Mark and Rick had grown up in was nearly finished now. Still small, still right on top of the neighbor’s, but at least it was new. They got out of the truck and headed up the paved walk. The yard was landscaped and clearly well cared for. Before they could knock, the door opened.

“So the prodigal son finally returns,” Ramon Diego said, a mirror image of Rick and Mark, plus two decades and some gray.

“I told you I was coming,” Mark said. “I texted you.”

Ramon made an annoyed sound. “Texting is for idiots on the hamster wheel.”

Rick snorted.

Mark sighed, and his father’s face softened. “Ah, hijo, it’s good to see you.” He pulled Mark in for a hard hug and a slap on the back.

“You too,” Mark said, returning the hug. “The house looks good.”

“Thanks to you.” Ramon had migrated here from Mexico with his gardener father when he was seven years old. He’d grown up and become a gardener as well, and had lived here ever since. Forty-eight years and he still spoke with an accent. “Don’t even try to tell me my insurance covered all the upgrades you had put in.”

“Do you like it?” Mark asked.

“Yes, but you shouldn’t waste your money on me. If you have that much money to spare, give up the job and come back to your home, your roots.”

Mark’s “roots” had been a tiny house crowded with his dad and brother, living hand to mouth. A one-way road for Mark as he grew up. A road to trouble.

Ramon gestured to the shiny truck in the driveway. “New?”

“You know damn well it is,” Mark said. “It’s the truck I bought for you for your birthday, and you had it sent back to me.”

“Hmm,” Ramon said noncommittally, possibly the most stubborn man on the planet. Mark knew his dad was proud of him, but he’d have been even more proud if Mark had stuck around and become a gardener too. Ramon had never understood Mark not living here in Santa Rey, using it as a home base.

“You should come home more often,” Ramon said.

“I told you I wouldn’t be able to come during the season.”

“Bah. What kind of a job keeps a son from his home and family.”

“The kind that makes him big bucks,” Rick said.

They moved through the small living room and into the kitchen. “If you’d use the season tickets I bought you,” Mark told his dad. “You could see me whenever you wanted.”

“I saw you on TV breaking up that fight. You nearly took a left hook from that Ducks player. Getting soft?” He jabbed Mark’s abs, then smiled. “Okay, maybe not. Come home, hijo

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