Category: Romance Publisher: State of Mind Publishing
Type: Fiction
Copyright: 2012
ISBN-13: 9780988434400
Control is the name of the game for Mustangs catcher, Jason Holder.
Keeping Carrie blindfolded and in the dark as to his identity suits Major League catcher Jason Holder just fine while he figures out if being a Dom really is his thing. With the media circling like vultures as he works to get his career back on track, the last thing he needs is a sex scandal if things don’t work out.
Just when he’s got it all under control a new kind of scandal from an unexpected source threatens everything, and Jason soon finds out that what you don’t know can hurt you.
Excerpt
Sweat trickled down his spine as he completed his batter’s box ritual. He was zero for three today. Fuck, even the crowd was booing him these days. He needed to get his shit together and start hitting. He dug the toe of his left shoe into the dirt and hitched up his pant legs, balancing his weight on his bent knees. He swung the bat to his shoulder in a casual motion that in no way mirrored the anxiety in his gut. The previous year, he led the league in homeruns, and now he couldn’t get a fuckin’ base hit to save himself. Much more of this, and he’d lose his clean-up spot in the batting order.
The first pitch sailed in, low and outside. He checked his swing in time. Ball one. He swung at the next pitch, fouling into the net behind home plate. Strike one. The third pitch caught the edge of the plate. He swung, connecting for a line drive foul into the left field stands.
One ball. Two strikes.
He stepped out of the batter’s box while the catcher threw a fresh ball to the pitcher.
The trickle of sweat along his spine turned into a river. He missed being in control of his life. Somehow his messed up personal life had spilled over into his professional one, and he didn’t have a clue how to fix either. Before he stepped back into the batter’s box, he closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath to center himself. A vision of Brooke on her knees, her ass red from his attentions popped into his head. Blood rushed south.
Ah, fuck! There wasn’t any room inside his cup for an erection, not to mention the horrendous timing. He stepped into the batter’s box, planted his feet, and focused his inappropriate energy on the next pitch.
The pitcher began his wind-up. He narrowed his gaze to the patch of white barely visible between his opponent’s fingers. The moment the ball left the pitcher’s hand, he knew in his gut, it was a good one. He tracked the orb’s trajectory, innately judging its velocity. Adjusting his grip, he shifted his weight to his back leg and lightning quick, swung the bat into the path of the ball. Wood connected with leather.
Thwack.
A sound to give a guy a hard-on for sure. He’d hit enough to know it wouldn’t leave the park, but it was a solid hit, nonetheless. He shifted his focus to first base and put every ounce of power he possessed into beating the throw. His foot hit the bag, followed a split-second later by the smack of leather against leather.
“Safe!”
He came to a stop ten feet beyond the base and doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. The hometown crowd roared their approval, adding to the excitement by stomping their feet in the Mustangs’ signature Thundering Herd rally. He took in two deep breaths then straightened, waving an arm at the fans, thanking them for their support. Never mind they were the same crowd who joyfully booed him minutes ago. He smiled and returned to first base. Fans were fickle. Tomorrow’s newspaper would celebrate the end of his hitless streak, and in the next sentence complain it hadn’t been a homerun.
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