“Friends can’t have sex?”
He continued as if she’d never spoken. “I work for you.”
Not that again. “No money has ever changed hands between us. I could pay you—and I fully intend to—but you haven’t let me yet. Besides, I didn’t really want to hire you. You basically forced me to. Not that I’m saying I disagree about the whole security thing,” she added, unwilling to get into that same old fight.
“I’m…injured.” His shoulders slumped and for the first time she could remember, genuine fatigue lurked in his voice. “I stood there tonight and couldn’t concentrate on keeping you safe because I was so hard for you that I couldn’t think straight. Do you have any idea at all what your singing does to me?”
She had nothing to say to that, nothing at all. Her shock was so absolute that it froze her vocal cords. Only the warmth flowing up from her chest could combat her sudden deep freeze.
He liked her voice. Thought she had talent. Maybe one day he’d even believe in her dreams. Maybe then he’d start going after his own again.
“And if that wasn’t enough, my stupid fucking arm fails at the worst possible times. I never know when it’s going to happen. Usually I’m okay, but all it would take is one bad moment and I could risk someone who matters to me.”
“Me?” she managed.
He slanted her a look. “I’m your bodyguard.”
“You’re my friend first, and my lover second.” At his derisive snort, she cupped his cheek with her free hand. “We’re lovers now. You can’t pretend otherwise.”
“I’m not pretending anything. I’m saying it was a one-time thing. It has to be. For your sake,” he added.
“Because you’re the bad boy of the major league?” She shook her head, letting her hand drop from his face. She knew it was a lost cause. He wouldn’t take her comfort yet, if ever. “Sorry to rub your bat raw, but I think I can handle anything you dish out. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“I never sleep with the same woman twice.”
“Then you’re overdue, aren’t you?” she asked lightly, unwilling to allow her churning emotions to creep into her tone. That little factoid wasn’t true. It couldn’t be, could it?
He sighed. “I’d like you to talk to my…partner in the agency. Temporary partner, at least. Not sure how it’s gonna go long-term. The bodyguard agency,” he added when she gazed at him blankly. “His name is Jason Wilder. He’s new to the field too, but we have—”
“Jason Wilder?” Her voice rose. “Jax Wilder?”
“You remember Jax?”
“Sure I do. He was your best friend.” She grinned and slugged Chase lightly in the arm, then immediately rubbed it. Logic—and those vague rumors she’d heard and dismissed—dictated he’d hurt his left arm, but she didn’t know for sure. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No, it’s my left elbow, not my right. Pretty sure I can still handle a girl punch, anyway,” he said drily.
“Ass. So Jax’s working with you in your little bodyguard thing, huh? That’s awesome. So what are you going to call it? Deuce and Jax? You know, like Turner and Hooch? Or better yet, Wild Deuce. Or…”
“Little bodyguard thing? Thanks, ace.” He paused. “Deuces Wild.”
“Yeah. I was getting there.” She frowned and let her gaze drop to his left arm. She’d tried to talk her way around and through her worry for him, but she’d be popping antacids by the end of the night if she didn’t address the topic. “What happened to your arm?”
“Typical pitcher’s injury. Overuse, not enough stretching. Getting older.”
“Huh, you, a defeatist.” He started to release her hand, but she clamped tighter around his fingers. “Never would’ve figured on that.”
He cursed under his breath. “Defeatist? I nearly dropped you tonight in that dressing room. That would’ve been memorable, right? So instead of trying to hang on, I got between your legs.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “Hell of a consolation prize.”
“Here I thought you just liked being there.”
Chase brushed his mouth over her knuckles, and her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. “Liked? Try loved.” He gave her that smug little grin that by turns infuriated and aroused her. Sometimes simultaneously. “Never knew how much I’d enjoy being with a commanding woman.”
Better not to discuss her commands right now, considering she was already starting to get warm all over from the memory. “Are you doing PT?”
“I have. I will again. Though I don’t see the point. It’s not working. I can take NSAIDs out the wazoo and stretch until my eyes cross and I still don’t know when my elbow’s going to fuck me over.” He shook his head. “At this point, either I live with it or I have surgery. The risks are good with the surgery, but there are no guarantees. Some guys still don’t get back on a mound, you just don’t hear about them as much.”
“Do you know anyone who didn’t?” she asked softly.