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Boys of Summer
Sliding Home
Leslie Kelly
Fever Pitch
Julie Elizabeth Leto
The Sweet Spot
Kimberly Raye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Sliding Home

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Epilogue

Fever Pitch

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

The Sweet Spot

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

Epilogue

Copyright

Sliding Home

Leslie Kelly

To Julie and Kim—it’s been great “playing” with you. And to the real “boys of summer”— thanks for keeping the summer months extra hot!

1

Early March, three weeks before Opening Day

WHAT JANIE NOLAN knew about baseball could be summed up in three words: zip, zero and zilch. She’d never liked sports of any kind, being far too focused on what her family called her “causes” to much care if some guy hit a ball with a stick farther than some other guy hit a ball with a stick.

So the fact that she’d ended up running a sports memorabilia shop called Round The Bases, which was primarily focused on Louisville’s Major League Baseball team, the Slammers, made as much sense as if she’d decided to become a stripper. And even with her very early-in-the-alphabet cup size, she’d probably still have had a better shot at a pole-dancing career than of preventing her brother’s store from going under while he served in the military.

Aside from Janie’s blood, sweat and tears, there was only one thing keeping the shop afloat, and that was the elderly man sitting across from her on the lawn of Bluegrass Retirement Village. Her personal walking baseball encyclopedia.

“You oughta be able to get six hundred for that,” Edgar Smith said, rubbing his jaw as he eyed the framed, autographed game picture in his hand. “’86 Mets, game seven over the Red Sox. With the certificate of authenticity, six minimum, maybe seven.”

Nodding, Janie jotted a note in her small, spiral notebook, which was already filled with information the man had provided. He’d been an absolute godsend. Without Mr. Smith’s input, she would probably have sold her brother’s 2004 autographed Red Sox ball for ten bucks to some kid on a Little League team.

“You’re my guardian angel,” she said, squeezing Mr. Smith’s age-spotted hand before putting the picture in her bag.

“Hands off, girlie, he’s mine. Wouldn’t want to have to arm wrestle m’own granddaughter for a man.”

Grinning, Janie eyed her grandmother, Anne Nolan, who sat beside Edgar on the blanket. Tart and spry at seventy-eight, Grandma Anne was her closest ally, and her only family other than her brother. Even if Janie didn’t love the depth of character she’d always found in the elderly, she would have spent every minute she could here just to enjoy her grandmother’s company.

“I’m not a man stealer,” Janie replied, lifting her brow.

Man “repeller” would be more accurate, given her romantic track record. Three words would sum that up, too: zip, zero and zilch. The last time she’d dated anyone seriously was before she’d taken over the store, so she was going on a three-year-long dry spell when it came to sexual experiences. Unless vibrators, rich chocolate ice cream from her friend Babe’s shop or the number of times she’d watched the Brad Pitt bare butt scene in Troy counted.

“Unlike Mary Moseby. She is a man stealer,” Grandma said. “I think she hid my uppers so I couldn’t go to the races last week.”

Janie didn’t ask why Mrs. Moseby was swiping another elderly woman’s dentures. And why her grandmother—who’d moved into the retirement community after a heart attack two years ago—was attending horse races. Sometimes she was better off not knowing.

“I should be going,” Janie murmured, glancing at her watch.

She wished she didn’t have to leave. The three of them were enjoying their Sunday afternoon picnic on this lovely early spring day, talking about family and the latest scandal among the amorous elderly. And baseball. Always baseball.

All around them, families visited with their loved ones, kids darting around catching butterflies or playing tag while the adults chatted. It was a ritual, and Janie loved it. If life hadn’t interfered, she would have been working at this place full-time rather than just volunteering on Sundays. But life, in the form of her ex-sister-in-law Beth, had interfered. When she’d walked out on Janie’s brother Tom, Beth had done more than break Tom’s heart. She’d thrown Janie’s life a curve, too. Literally.

Grandma Anne frowned. “You sure you have to go, honey?”

“Yes. Tomorrow’s the start of another long work week.”

“You’re a good sister, Janie, to do this for your brother. Giving up three years of your life…there’s not many who’d do it.” Grandma’s tone was hard. She hadn’t gotten over Tom’s boneheaded decision to enlist in the National Guard to nurse his broken heart any better than Janie had. “That boy didn’t have the sense God gave a mule when it came to his trashy wife.”

Janie remained silent, not daring to agree for fear Grandma would go off on a tangent about her grandson’s poor judgment. Though agree she did. Tom’s reaction to his wife’s abandonment had landed him in the Middle East. Not even the fact that he’d finally attained his dream of opening his own sports memorabilia shop could keep him from enlisting. He’d left not giving a damn about anything, and Janie and Grandma had lived in terror ever since.

Grandma Anne hid her terror behind anger. Janie hid hers behind the store. Keeping Round The Bases up and running was the only way Janie could feel as if she were doing something for her brother. As long as he had something to come home to…well, he’d come home. She refused to think of the alternative.

She’d work at the store for as long as it took. Her degree in geriatric social work would still be there in the future. As she often reminded herself, everybody got old eventually so it wasn’t as if she was going to miss out on all the business.

Edgar tapped her arm. “Are you gonna bring me the jersey that fella says is a gen-u-ine Cal Ripken?”

“Next weekend.”

“It’s a date!”

Janie smiled at the pleasure on Edgar’s face. The man lived for baseball and loved helping her. Grandma liked the arrangement, too, because Edgar was a catch among the geriatric crowd. Janie’s need for help gave her grandmother a leg up on the other widows, who outnumbered the men two to one around here.

“Before you go, honey, would you mind dashing to my room and getting me the book on my beside table?” her grandmother said. “I think we’ll sit out here and read aloud for a spell.”

Rising, Janie brushed any stray grass off the back of her baggy jeans. “Of course,” she said before heading inside.

Once in Grandma Anne’s room, she spotted the book right away. Then she read the title: Sexual Positions For The Ages.

Janie gulped. Either her grandmother was playing a joke on her, or she was reading sex manuals aloud to her elderly boyfriend. Janie preferred to think it was a joke. Still, knowing Grandma Anne…well, anything was possible.

Determined to hand her grandmother the book and leave before any specifics were discussed—like which position was best on an eighty-year-old man’s knees—eww—she headed outside. Striding toward the shady spot where she’d left the amorous octogenarians, Janie wondered whether she’d inherited any of her grandmother’s sexual longevity. It was a serious concern, given her track record. Which was, er, uninspiring to say the least.

Yes, she’d started out with a bang, her first sexual affair being with a fellow college student—a musician—who’d introduced her to every naughty little thing a mouth could be used for. And she’d discovered she liked those things. Really liked them. Janie had, in fact, pretty much sixty-nined her way through senior year.

But when they weren’t making it in her narrow dorm room bed, they’d had almost nothing to talk about. Eventually, even the sex hadn’t been enough to make her put up with his laziness.

Since then, she’d been darn near celibate. Considering she was short, relatively flat-chested, always kept her long, boring brown hair in a ponytail and wore glasses—she liked to sleep late, and wearing glasses allowed her to spend an extra five minutes in bed every morning instead of putting in contact lenses—maybe that wasn’t so surprising. A femme fatale she was not, even if she did like sex more than she liked to breathe. Now that she worked in a store where ninety percent of her customers were jocks who liked cheerleader types, the thought that she might meet someone who would see the sex-addicted female beneath the bookish exterior seemed to have flown right out into left field.

Oooh, a baseball analogy. Maybe she was getting good at this sports thing. “Or is it football?” she mused aloud.

Deep in thought trying to remember the basics of team sports, she barely noticed that her grandmother and Mr. Smith were no longer alone. She was just a few feet away, coming over the top of a small hill that hid them from view, when she saw they had company. And what company.

Janie froze. Because when she saw the man in the dark glasses sitting on the blanket she’d vacated five minutes before, she thought she was part of some undercover video show. A camera crew had to be nearby. They’d be ready to catch the moment when the skinny volunteer came face-to-face with a man who looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of some women’s fantasy magazine.

Yeah. Good TV. The unsuspecting victim goes to retrieve a naughty book and comes back to find a sex god’s perfect butt occupying her spot. Sounded like a great setup since it was so far from reality. Because guys like this—perfect, mouthwatering, to-die-for gorgeous guys—did not stumble across the paths of the Janie Nolans of the world. And they certainly didn’t place their rock-hard tushes and firm thighs on their blankets.

No. The nonglamorous Janies of the world only met horny college students who’d be loyal to even plain girls if they sucked them off on occasion. Or beefy jocks who didn’t notice them. Or nice teachers. Or store clerks whose clothes never fit right because they waited to purchase them at the deepest discount…like one man she’d dated. Guys who had never once been overpowered by uncontrollable lust, and certainly not by anything resembling love. Not where Janie was concerned.

She simply wasn’t capable of inspiring that kind of emotion in a man. She doubted she ever would be.

And she most certainly would not with a strong, powerful specimen like this one, with his thick, sandy brown hair blowing loosely in the breeze, his stubbled, lean cheeks, and a sexy pair of lips that were curled in a playful grin. His long legs were stretched out in front of him as he leaned back, bracing his weight on his elbows. The position emphasized the thick muscles striping his shoulders and chest. More devastating was the way it tugged his khaki slacks tightly across his impressive lap.

Very tightly…and very impressive.

Gulping, she reminded herself to breathe. Not stare. And lap leering is out.

The man was laughing at something Edgar said, a low sound that warmed her from a few feet away. His amusement brought out two deep dimples in his cheeks. Recognizable dimples. Suddenly shaken out of her lap-induced dementia, Janie realized whom she was staring at. “Oh God.”

It was Riley Kelleher, aka Riley the Rocket, aka the sexy, studly star pitcher who played for the Louisville Slammers and owned the heart of the city. Not just the women’s hearts, either—all the fans adored him. The man was often called the soul of the team, with everyone taking pride in his prowess and his love of the game.

She’d seen his picture in the paper—especially a few years ago when he was going through a divorce that had shocked even the most jaded sports fan—but he was so much better-looking in person that she simply hadn’t recognized him. But there was no doubt that one of the most sought-after bachelors—and talked-about playboys—in baseball was chatting up her elderly grandma.

“Janie! Here you are,” Mr. Smith said as he spotted her.

Wishing she’d turned around and walked away, Janie trudged closer to the old man who said, “Isn’t this a nice surprise? My grandson’s come to visit. I’ve been wanting you two to meet.”

Grandson. Janie’s breath escaped her lungs in one giant gush. Good grief, no wonder Mr. Smith knew so much about baseball—his grandson was one of the stars of the sport.

Though Janie’s dislike of baseball—and playboy baseball players, no matter how gorgeous—was matched only by her dislike of going to the dentist, she managed a weak smile. “Hi.”

The pitcher, whose reputation as a stud off the field was as well known as his abilities on it, slowly tilted his head back and looked up at her. Janie shifted from foot to foot and clenched her hands together like a starstruck teenager in front of a member of some boy band. Which was so not her, considering she didn’t hold sports figures up as heroes.

But being honest, it wasn’t his status that had twisted her tongue into an incoherent knot in her mouth. It was his looks.

“So you’re little Janie.”

She stiffened. At five foot four, she’d heard her share of petite/little/diminutive comments. “I’m just Janie,” she snapped.

He rose slowly, his muscular body moving with innate grace. When standing, he was only a head taller than she, probably of average height. Not too tall for her. Perfect, in fact.

Forget about it, he’s perfectly out of the question!

He extended his hand. “Gramps has told me a lot about you, Just Janie.”

“Funny, he never mentioned your name at all.”

“Well, Riley likes to keep a low profile,” Mr. Smith said.

The low-profile sex god was still standing there with his hand out, so Janie lifted hers, forgetting the book.

If fate had been kind, the manual wouldn’t have fallen to the ground. If it had been at least decent, Sex For The Ages wouldn’t have landed faceup at Riley Kelleher’s feet. And if it had any heart at all, the man wouldn’t have been able to read.

But fate screwed her again. Because as Riley bent over to pick up the book she’d dropped, he began to chuckle.

Oh, God, just let me die now.

She didn’t know which was worse: him thinking she was the one reading the sex manual, or finding out her grandmother was.

“Uh, yours, I believe?” he said, his voice not disguising his laughter. He held the book out to her. “Interesting reading for a Sunday afternoon at the old folks’ home.”

Oh, great, now he’d done it. Before Janie could warn him of the fire he’d brought down on his head, Grandma Anne was on him. “Who’re you calling old folks?” she asked as she struggled to her feet and grabbed the book. She wobbled on her pale, skinny legs, revealed by a pair of pink shorts that hung to her knobby knees.

“You pushed one of her hot buttons,” Janie murmured, almost feeling sorry for the ballplayer, who suddenly looked sheepish.

“My apologies, ma’am. I mean, the retirement home.”

“Community for the enlightened years,” she snapped.

To give him credit, Riley didn’t laugh at Grandma’s haughty tone. Instead, he replied, “That’s a perfect description.”

Grandma Anne jerked her thumb toward her own frail chest and poked herself with it. “I came up with it myself.” The power of her own thrust almost knocked her off her feet. Fortunately, Mr. Smith had slowly followed her up and was there to support her.

Not that a strong breeze wouldn’t have blown him over, too.

Janie couldn’t help it. She started to giggle, lifting her hand to cover her mouth so Grandma Anne wouldn’t see.

“I think I’ll take Annie to her room now,” Mr. Smith said, frowning at his grandson. “She’s had enough of an upset.”

Saying goodbye to her grandmother and kissing her smooth, delicate cheek, Janie watched as Mr. Superstar suffered under his grandfather’s glare. When the older couple had gone, he said, “Has she got a problem with being old, or what?”

“Or what,” Janie said dryly. “She has no problem being old. She has a problem with anyone telling her she’s old.”

“Like it doesn’t exist if nobody says it aloud?”

“Kind of.”

“Sounds superstitious. Bet she’s a baseball fan.”

“Are they superstitious?”

“Not as much as the players,” he said with a lopsided grin.

His grandfather hadn’t introduced him as a famous baseball player, but Riley obviously expected her to recognize him. She didn’t try to pretend otherwise. “Including you, Mr. Kelleher?”

He nodded. “I’ve been known to wear the same socks for ten games when I’m on a streak.”

Janie wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

Laughing, he crossed his arms. “I have a washing machine.”

With a challenging lift of her brow, Janie retorted, “Even when you’re on the road?”

“There’s always somebody to wash the uniforms on the road.”

Her smile faded. Though she knew he almost certainly meant the Slammers had staff to care for the uniforms, she couldn’t help thinking of all the other people dying to help the players on the road. Help them into the nearest bed, most likely. That was supposedly what had caused his nasty divorce.

She fell silent, wondering why he was still standing here talking to her when she was so not his type. He said nothing, either, watching her watch him, so Janie took a moment to notice the little things. Like the tiny curls of gold-tipped hair at the nape of his neck. The small lines beside his mouth that said he smiled a lot. And, oh, the way he smelled.

She loved man smell. Not heavy cologne, but that strong, musky scent that seemed to emanate from a hard, masculine body. Especially when it was aroused. Wow, would she like to smell this man when he was aroused.

Keep your nose to yourself, girl. Swallowing hard, Janie took a step back. This guy was completely out of her league. He had groupies, actresses and beauties after him all the time and would most assuredly not appreciate a social worker who was not in the least seductive sniffing him up.

He suddenly chuckled, as if remembering something. “She took it with her…so the spunky old lady was reading the sex book?”

“To your grandfather,” she replied with a smirk.

Some of the color fell out of the handsome face. Janie almost felt sorry for him, knowing what was going on in his head.

“I could have gone my whole life without knowing that.”

“Me, too,” she said, watching the way his lips pursed a little when he winced. Great lips. Incredible mouth. Lord, it had been a long time since she’d kissed a man.

It had apparently been a long time since she’d learned how to hide her thoughts, too. Because suddenly Kelleher was pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head, looking at her closely as if he’d caught her staring. “So do you volunteer here often?”

Tearing her stupid fan-girl gaze off his mouth, she focused instead on his eyes. And was lost. Spring-green and heavily lashed, Riley’s eyes twinkled with humor and self-confidence. Not to mention knowledge. He knew how he was affecting her.

Her face grew hot. “Not as much as I’d like to.”

“That’s great of you. Not a lot of young people would give up their Sundays to make a bunch of strangers happy. I wasn’t kidding. My grandfather has mentioned you dozens of times.”

So, he didn’t know Janie was also visiting her own grandmother. She didn’t volunteer the information, not certain why she didn’t want him to know. “Your grandfather’s a nice man.”

“He’s a shark,” he said with a laugh, his admiring tone saying he meant it as a compliment. “Old school all the way.”

“Old school?”

“Tough, proud, honorable and honest.”

Qualities Janie liked in a man. Qualities she wondered if Edgar’s grandson shared. The tabloids hadn’t made him sound like he’d lived up to the honorable and honest parts during his marriage. But in recent years he’d supposedly put his wild reputation behind him, and now took his game very seriously. Since he was a Kentucky boy who lived in Louisville year-round—unlike some members of the team—the local papers were always singing the man’s praises.

“Anyway, sweetheart, I appreciate it. You’re an angel.”

Janie was a modern woman and a strange man calling her sweetheart and angel would normally have set her off. But Riley’s soft, lightly Southern accent and nod of genuine appreciation made the words seem like harmless endearments. Which was why she melted inside again, going soft and weak, wanting to giggle like a kid, scuff her toes on the ground and simper.

Who was this man and how was he turning her into a mutant?

Whoever he was, she needed to get away from him. So without another word, she tore her gaze off his handsome face and broad shoulders. Still shaken, Janie swung around and bent down to pick up her blanket. It was only after she’d doubled over that she realized she was practically wagging her butt at the guy. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed he’d noticed. He’d definitely noticed, and was staring. That sparkle was still in his eyes, and he made no effort to hide his amusement. And maybe…just maybe…a hint of appreciation.

She shoved the pleasure that thought gave her into the recesses of her mind. She’d take it out and play with it later, when she was alone. Not now, when Louisville’s favorite son was probably thinking she was some sex-starved groupie like the ones who threw themselves at him every day. She’d probably imagined the appreciation, anyway, because no way should her tiny self in baggy jeans have inspired a reaction from a hunky superstar.

Quickly dropping to her knees, she rolled the blanket into a sloppy, lumpy ball that she clutched to her chest. Yanking her satchel, which contained this week’s newly priced sports items, she rose to her feet and offered him what she hoped was an impersonal smile. “Nice meeting you. I’ve got to go.”

He just stared, saying nothing. A long silence stretched out, during which Janie could have whirled around and marched to her car, confident that she’d just made a fool of herself in front of the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

But her feet wouldn’t move. The longer he stared—so intent, so silent—the heavier her limbs felt. The laughter of the children faded into the distance, until she heard only the buzz of a passing bee…and the sound of her own breath. Finally, unable to stand the tension, she whispered, “What?”

“I’m trying to figure something out,” he murmured, still focused entirely on her face.

“What’s that?”

With an unapologetic shrug he admitted, “Which I want to see more—your pretty brown eyes without those awful glasses? Or your magnificent ass in something other than those hideous jeans.”

Janie’s jaw dropped open and she sputtered something. Her heart pounding in her chest, she tried to fathom it—he was flirting with her. Riley the Rocket flirting with her?

Before she could say anything, the man with the magic hands on the field reached out and tilted her mouth closed. His touch was warm, the scrape of his fingers on her skin electric.

“Don’t worry, darlin’.” His voice sounded thick, less flirtatious, as if he didn’t like what he had to say. “I may have a reputation, but I don’t go after innocent little coeds like you.” With a shrug that looked mournful, he muttered, “Damn, I know I’m gonna regret this. Someone musta shined my halo today.”

And turning on his heel, he walked away, striding toward the building without a single look back.