Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“It’s one of those internet wonders, you know.” She huffed a laugh, but her eyes held a touch of anxiety. “You’re a lot more
famous now than when you woke up this morning.”
“I don’t want to be famous.”
“I don’t think you have a choice.” Eve reached out and traced the contour of Madden’s brow, as if she was memorizing the texture
of him. “They’re going to want to know everything about you. It’s going to take barely any digging at all to find me.”
“Good. Let them.”
She was already shaking her head. “I know you want more than six months from this marriage, but maybe it’s for the best if—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” he rasped.
They stared at each other in stony silence, the distance between them scant, but it might as well have been a mile—and Madden
desperately needed that gap to be narrowed.
Desperately. Who knew standing his ground at the plate today would be the thing that drove Eve away?
To Eve’s way of thinking, her reputation and profession would taint his own and there didn’t seem to be anything he could say to convince her he didn’t give a shit.
Not even if he said it a million times and meant it with every fiber of his being.
Stall.
He could only think to stall and pray this whole Bad Madden thing blew over.
“Come home with me tonight.” Despite the pain in his shoulder, he sat forward, curling his hand around the back of her neck.
Massaging her nape. Gratified when her pupils expanded, her breath quickening at his touch. “I won’t have you driving home
alone in the dark.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Come here.”
She hesitated. But when he made it clear he was willing to put himself through pain to get closer, she rushed to perch on
the edge of the bed. God forgive him, he took advantage of her being slightly off-balance, pulling her face down to his until
their mouths were only a half inch apart.
“Sleep in my bed with me.” Madden twisted their lips together, not kissing, just dragging. Breathing. “The only decision we
have to make tonight is which shirt of mine you’re borrowing. If you need one at all.”
Eve rubbed the side of her nose against his, almost absently, as if she wasn’t aware of the nuzzle. Or couldn’t help it. “Nothing
will make me forget what’s at stake.”
He sipped at her mouth. Once. Twice. “We’ll talk about this when we’re not somewhere that makes us both uncomfortable.”
“Fine,” she whispered, her palm skimming down his chest now. “I’ll spend one night, but only because you’re hurt and someone
should be with you.”
“You’re coming to be my nurse, are you?”
Their lips moved damply on top of each other when she nodded. “Uh-huh. I’m going to wipe your brow and pat your hand comfortingly. Just like in the movies.”
“Nurses don’t usually sleep in the same bed as their patients.”
“I suppose I could take the couch.”
“The hell you will.”
The victory of getting Eve to agree to sleep at his apartment didn’t overshadow the fear of what could possibly lie ahead,
but their closeness distracted him, to say the least. He’d successfully stalled any rash decisions. For now. He’d work on
the rest as soon as he got discharged from this fresh hell known as a hospital.
“Come get in bed with me right now. We can practice for later.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but there are two dozen people foaming at the mouth to get back in this room and talk to Bad
Madden.”
“I’m already sick of that nickname,” he groused.
“Too bad. You earned it.” Eve started to stand, but she gasped when Madden caught her around the waist with his good arm and
tugged her on top of him, farther and farther up his body until she straddled one of his thighs and their mouths were even.
“Jesus Christ. Can’t I have one real kiss, woman?”
She struggled to push herself up without touching his injury. “You had your chance, Mr. Donahue.”
“I was warming you up.” Madden bent the knee between her legs, an action that pressed his thigh up tight, so tight to her pussy, shuddering over the warmth he found there.
They stayed like that for long moments, Eve pulsing against his flexed thigh, her hips riding up an inch, back an inch, just once, her teeth sinking into her full bottom lip, the effort to restrain herself visible.
“A week is too fucking long without you, Eve. In every way. Not just being inside you. But goddamn, a few hours is too long for that, let alone a week.” He moved his thigh. “Tell me you missed me.”
“I missed you.”
“Kiss me like you missed me.”
She didn’t hesitate, maybe she couldn’t, as she arrowed for his mouth, her lips opening over the top of his with a whimper
that balanced his growl perfectly. She balanced every uneven part of him in a split second, his taciturn soul relaxing because what could be wrong with the world
when this gorgeous, stubborn woman in a sundress was on top of him, taking great pains not to touch his shoulder, but aye,
she was getting wetter against his thigh. He didn’t have to feel it with his fingers to know. He could sense her need in the
way she kissed, as if she’d been starving for a week and now, she’d been offered a feast.
That’s what they were to each other.
A mutual feast.
He just needed to keep reminding her until her arguments ran out.
Madden was calculating the wisdom of sliding his hand up her dress and playing with her from behind through her panties, because
surely the skirt would hide anything he was doing to her, but that’s when he heard the voices approaching. And he froze.
Those voices were too familiar. He heard them day in and day out.
In the locker room.
On the field.
“Love.”
She mewled her way down to his throat, sucking his skin.
“Love,” he panted. “We have to stop. The team is here.”
“What?” she asked, raising her head and looking adorably befuddled, a rarity for his badass Eve. “Who is what?”
Christ, her tits were nearly falling out of her dress. “My teammates. They’re not going to let anyone keep them out, if they
want to come in. They lack anything resembling a boundary.” He sat up with her in his arms, wincing. “Let’s pull up your dress.”
Eve was still in a fog, so Madden performed the task for her, one-handed.
The voices drew closer now and that finally seemed to penetrate Eve’s haze.
“Oh! Your team?” She scrambled off him, but her state of disarray couldn’t have made it more obvious what they’d been doing.
Her hair was sideways and half free of its clip, her mouth rosy and swollen. “Should I go?”
“Don’t even think of leaving my sight.”
“When did you get so pushy?”
“Since you threatened to divorce me early while I’m in a hospital bed.”
He regretted the outburst as soon as her face started to lose color. “It sounds terrible when you say it like that.”
“It’s terrible no matter how you say it,” he said quietly. With every ounce of the conviction he felt. “And it’s not happening.”
They only had five seconds to glare breathlessly at each other before the door was kicked open, slapping off the opposite
wall and sending a meal tray crashing to the floor.
Ruiz stood at the front of the pack, holding a bouquet of roses. “Bad Madden, you Irish brick house motherfucker. Ice that
shit and get back to work.”
“Planning on it.”
“Planning on it,” Ruiz echoed with an attempted brogue.
“This dude is crazy. Hey. Brought you some flowers—” The pitcher was advancing into the room, but cut himself off when he noticed Eve standing in the corner.
Still looking like she’d come within inches of being ravished.
“As I live and fucking breathe. Is this Mrs. Donahue?”
Eve shot Madden an incredulous look, flushing to the roots of her hair. “I’m Eve.” She waved at the dozen or so men who were
trying to pile their way into the room to get a look at her. “Oh boy. Hi, everyone.”
“Hi, Eve,” came a chorus of baritones.
If Madden was annoyed at being stuck in a hospital bed before, the ordeal had just become untenable. His instinct told him
to surround Eve, protect her from everyone’s curiosity, so that’s what he was going to do. Without another thought, Madden
ripped off the blood pressure cuff, followed by the flimsy sheet, before climbing to his feet, gritting his teeth over the
brief lack of equilibrium.
“Whoa.” Ruiz tossed the roses onto the counter. “Lay back down, man.”
“Madden,” Eve said, coming forward and attempting to guide him back to the bed.
He drew her up against his uninjured side instead. “I’m fine.”
Ruiz turned and looked at the rest of the team. “Coach! Get this warrior off the injured list. He only needs one shoulder.”
The pitcher leaned around Madden to make eye contact with Eve. “Your man got me back on track tonight. I haven’t pitched the
lights out like that in five damn years.”
“Finally pulled your head out of your arse and listened, is what happened.”
Every player in attendance howled, but none of them found the comment more amusing than Ruiz.
“Something tells me we’re not done brawling, Donahue.
” He put his hand up for a fist bump, which Madden cautiously returned.
“But I think we’re going to be all right, man.
You’re blunt as fuck and kind of weird, but I like you. ”
“Thanks.”
Ruiz laughed, exchanging a high five with the player closest to him. “We’re about to go celebrate, but we wanted to stop by
and see you first. Get better, man. Like I said, we’ve got work to do.”
Madden nodded, surprised to find an odd sense of . . . belonging with the group of men in front of him, which he’d come nowhere
close to experiencing at the professional level until that moment. They weren’t a bonded group of friends, they were individuals
with big personalities and complicated paths to the pros, but maybe the individuality worked for him. Maybe this worked better
for him than blending to fit. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good,” Ruiz said, sincerely. “Bad Madden. Bad Madden.”
The Yankees’ starting lineup chanted their way down the hallway to the elevator, their voices carrying until all three groups
had piled into the empty cars. When the quiet was all that remained, because even the executives were in a hush now, visibly
moved by what they’d witnessed, Madden found Eve looking up at him, at first thoughtfully, then with understanding. Pride.
“Let’s go home,” he said.