Free Back in the Game: A Stardust, Texas Novel by Lori Wilde

buzz off.
    Liar.
    All right, cards on the table. The girlfriend thing was an excuse. Truthfully, he’d wanted to kiss her at the estate sale, curious to discover why she hadn’t glanced back at him. She’d been wearing his number, after all. If you wore a guy’s number on your baseball jersey, you had to be interested in him on some level, right? The opportunity to kiss her had presented itself, so he’d taken advantage of it.
    C’mon, that was only a half-truth.
    Bone honesty here. The real reason he kissed her? Something inexplicable had come over him. Call it instinct. Call it urge. Call it horniness. Whatever. He’d been compelled to go for it.
    He wanted to kiss her. He had kissed her. It was as basic as that.
    Big mistake.
    Because now he felt strange things, things he’d not felt before. And when it came to women, Rowdy thought that he had felt everything there was to feel.
    God, he wished like hell he hadn’t kissed her, and stirred this . . . this . . . well, he had no idea what the name of it was, but it was as jolting as falling against a fence he didn’t know was electrified.
    She glowered at him like she was a sleepy bear he’d poked awake in the middle of winter hibernation. Unable to hold up to her sharp-eyed scrutiny, he swung his gaze back to the other women who’d lined up in a row behind him.
    “ That’s your girlfriend?” asked the brunette in a tone that managed to sound both snotty and incredulous.
    Miss Cheetah Panties’ face reddened, her shoulders slumped, head ducked.
    A fierce protectiveness swept through him and he moved to drape an arm around her thin shoulders, and his next move was pure impulse. “She is.”
    Her muscles went stony beneath his touch, but she didn’t contradict him.
    The beauties, who, except for their hair color, had the uniform sameness of fashionable cookie-cutter neighborhoods, exchanged surprised glances. The redhead muttered to the brunette, “She must be really good at blow jobs.”
    “Why yes,” Rowdy said. “Yes she is, and we haven’t seen each other in a while, so if you ladies will excuse us . . .”
    He dropped his arm from Miss Cheetah Panties’ shoulders to her waist, and snugged her closer. The smell of her hair, all lemon drops and sweet flowers, boggled him.
    Miss Cheetah Panties’ shoulders were so stiff she could have passed for a baseball bat. But he could feel her warm breath on his neck, and it felt good. Wholesome. Inhaling her, he thought of homemade bread, cream of wheat, peanut butter, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese.
    She inhaled, the air expanding her lungs and causing his hand to rise with her indrawn breath, her solid life force moving beneath his touch. His own lungs picked up her quick tempo, then took over, and led the way to a more leisurely rhythm. She followed willingly, slowing, calming, relaxing into him.
    Pretty damn proud of himself, he smiled. Gotcha, babe.
    “When will you let us know what you decide about the job?” the redhead asked.
    “My agent will call you.” He kept the smile welded to his face, and his arm clamped around the woman beside him.
    “None of us got the job, did we?” the blue-haired woman asked.
    “Sorry,” he said, not the least bit contrite. “You should have minded your manners, and not insulted my girlfriend.”
    The beauties, who in retrospect weren’t so beautiful after all, collected their things and scurried off. The instant the door clicked closed behind the women, Miss Cheetah Panties jabbed her elbow into his breadbasket.
    Hard.
    Air shot from his diaphragm in an explosive ooph , emptying his lungs and doubling him over.
    “What . . .” He gasped, peering up at her. “. . . was that for?”
    “Kissing me, you . . . you . . . bounder .”
    Hand pressed to his belly, he halfway straightened and eyed her warily. “Bounder? Who are you? Jane Austen?”
    Her hands landed on her hips, and she scowled at him over the top of her glasses the way his first