Julia London (9 page)

That smile did him in. He reached
for her again, but Kelly laughingly held him at arm’s length. “I reserve the right to
skewer you on the air if you play bad.”

“What?” he asked anxiously, her
words not registering clearly.

“I have a job to do. So if you play bad, you are fair
game.”

Parker laughed low in his throat and slipped his hand between
her legs and one finger beneath the tiny strip of fabric of her panties. Kelly gasped
softly and closed her eyes. “I mean it.”

“Why don’t we talk about that
later,” he suggested with a bit of a growl, and pushed her arm aside and planted his lips
on hers again.

This time, there were no interruptions. He quickly helped Kelly out of her
shirt and lacy bra, so that her breasts were exposed and in his hands. He grabbed her up
as if she weighed nothing and twirled her around, seating her on the countertop, then
braced his arms against it as he took one breast in his mouth and then the
other.

Kelly caught her breath, arched her back, and thrust her breast into his
mouth at the same moment her hands dug into his hair, while making sounds that suggested
she was enjoying his attention to her breasts. Parker’s hands were skimming wildly over
her body and her bare breasts, up her thighs and between them. She dropped her hands to
his shoulder, her breathing raspy, and then to his shirtfront. When Parker lifted his head
from her breasts, she caught his mouth with a kiss as she began to undo the front of his
shirt.

She slipped her hands inside his shirt and sighed into his mouth as her
fingers slid over his pecs, his hardened nipples, and then down his sides. “You’re
gorgeous. I can’t believe this,” she said breathlessly as she scraped across his back and
middle with her fingernails. “I wasn’t going to like you.”

“I wasn’t going
to like you either,” he said, just as breathlessly, and caught her bottom lip between his
teeth, then pressed his forehead to hers. “But I’m definitely liking you now,
girl.”

“That’s great. Do you have a condom?” she asked, sliding her hand down and
over a world-class, ought-to-win-an-award erection.

“Not on me,” he admitted with a
wince.

Kelly suddenly pushed him away, slipped down from the
counter, and hurried into the living room to an end table near the sofa. She yanked open
the drawer, threw several papers and things onto the floor, then whirled around, holding
up a condom in her hand. She was naked from the waist up, her chest rising and falling
with her gulps for air, wearing a short skirt and boots, and damn, Parker could come just
looking at her.

“It’s a little old, but it oughta do the trick.”

He was next to
her in three strides, and in a few moments, he had removed everything from Kelly but her
boots. “Let’s keep the boots,” he suggested with a wink as he yanked his shirt from his
body, then his shoes and pants.

Kelly’s eyes lit up at the sight of him—and frankly, he
was a little impressed himself. Massively engorged and desperate to be in her, he stood
before her, fully erect, until he reached for her, digging his fingers into the soft folds
of her flesh, burying his face in her neck and, with one arm wrapped around her waist,
picking her up and then falling onto her couch with her on top.

Kelly quickly
lifted one leg, planted her heel beside him, and slid back to his thighs. She dragged her
fingers down his chest, to his groin, and wrapped her hand around him.

“Shit,” he
muttered as she took him fully in her hand and started sliding up and down. He slipped two
fingers into her cleft and matched the rhythm of her hand, sliding up and down and around
and around to the point that Kelly closed her eyes and dropped her head forward. The ends
of her hair whispered against his belly, and Parker was thinking of taking matters to the
next level when Kelly released a tiny cry and suddenly let go of him and pushed his hand
away from her body. She grabbed him by the shoulder and lifted up, moving her damp body
against the tip of his cock. With a very seductive smile, she started to slide her body
onto his cock.

He groaned like an animal as she slid down on him; he gripped her hips and
began to move with her, watching her face, watching her find pleasure in his
body.

Her eyes looked like the blue-green flame of a fire, hot and
intense and filled with ecstasy, and Parker experienced a strange feeling in his chest, a
weird simpatico as if he had connected to someone totally and completely. Unlikely as it
was, he was feeling a very deep and profound connection with Kelly at that
moment.

Kelly sank her teeth into her bottom lip and began to move faster, but
Parker wasn’t going to let her ride away with this. He caught her by the waist and rolled
off the couch, stopping their fall to the floor with one arm. Now she was on her back and
he was on top of her—still connected—and her black boots around his waist.

Kelly laughed,
put her arms around him, and kissed him tenderly. This was heaven, purely heaven. Parker
reached between them and stroked her as he began to push deep into her. She sighed
blissfully—her head rolled to one side, half covered with blond hair. She moved her hips
to meet him, moving faster as she neared her release, and when she came, she let out a
groan of rapture.

That groan sent Parker over the edge—he held her steady with his arm around
her waist, reaching as far inside her as he could. His release was bubbling up in him,
along with several deep-seated emotions that surprised him. There was something here that
went beyond a primal coupling, something she had touched in him, some barrier she had
broken through. Those emotions and his pleasure spiraled around one another until the
bubble burst and he came, hard and long and completely.

Reduced to a mass of flesh—there was
nothing left inside of him—he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against her
shoulder. Kelly wrapped her arms around his head and sighed contentedly. They remained
like that for a few moments until the heel of Kelly’s boot stabbed him in the butt and he
yelped. “Sorry,” she said, and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

So did Parker.
And they lay there, giggling, until Kelly suggested that the guy across the garden could
see Parker’s bare ass.

Parker and Kelly did not leave that cozy apartment that
afternoon, but ended up in her four-poster bed, giggling like teenagers and
speaking about their lives, their dreams, and their desires. Around six that evening, when
Kelly’s stomach started to growl, they reluctantly got dressed and went out for what
turned out to be a long, leisurely dinner. And still Parker did not leave. They returned
to her apartment and made love like they’d been lovers for months instead of moments,
bringing each other fulfillment in ways neither of them had experienced in a very long
time.

The next morning, Parker woke to an empty apartment. He stretched, got up,
found a radio, and switched it on, finding Kelly’s show as they were discussing the Mets’
series against the Chicago Cubs. He was leaving today.

“I’m just saying,” Kelly said, “that
if he could get his batting average up to around .285, .300, the guy would be
unstoppable.”

“You mean if he’s got any glove,” Guido said.

“It definitely
goes without saying that if he ain’t got glove, he ain’t got game,” Kelly quipped, and
Guido provided the sound of laughter.

“But I think we might have seen a turnaround, Guido. I
think maybe the Mets are back.”

That was met with a stadium cheer, which Guido really
seemed to like.

“Let’s go to the phones—this is
Sports Day with Kelly O’Shay
. Who are
we speaking with?” Kelly asked, and Parker turned it off. He didn’t need to listen to her
show anymore and walked into her bathroom and turned on the shower. Actually, he didn’t
think he needed much of anything anymore. He had a very fluid feeling that he’d found what
he was looking for.

Parker called her every day from
Chicago, and every day, he played spectacularly.

Every morning, Kelly sang his
praises on the radio, giving him credit for single-handedly turning the Mets around. When
Guido questioned that on the air, she retorted, “Hey, if he could single-handedly bring
the team down, then doesn’t it stand to reason that he could single-handedly build them
up? You can’t argue the facts, Guido. Two homeruns, four RBIs, and three double plays in
the last two weeks.”

And for a couple of weeks after that, the Mets were suddenly so
hot—thanks in large part to Parker’s bat—that Kelly had to turn her on-air attention to
the Yankees, who had an uncharacteristically bad slump after losing a series to the Red
Sox.

In the meantime, Kelly was on cloud nine. Between her negotiations with ESPN
and spending every moment she could with Parker, she felt like she was living in a dream.
Everything
was going her way. Her ratings were at an all-time high. New York,
which she’d once likened to a stinking cesspool in the dead of summer,
suddenly seemed beautiful, filled with flowers and bright sunshine, friendly people, and
lots of shiny cabs.

Guido was beside himself over Kelly’s new positively giddy
demeanor and started teasing her mercilessly, calling her Priceman’s Payment Plan, or
making cooing noises when Parker would call. Once, when she said something glowing about
his performance on air, Guido hit the thousand-smooches button, making the entire booth
sound like it was filled with kissers.

There was a time when Kelly would
have chafed beneath such teasing and thought it was undignified for a female sports radio
talk show host. But now she didn’t care in the least and just laughed at Guido. How could
she care? She was very happy. She loved being with Parker. She loved the way he laughed,
how he seemed to take everything in stride, and how he was so very attentive of her. It
was true—they were hounded wherever they went by eager fans wanting an autograph or to
talk baseball, and while she admired the way he spoke to each person as if they were a
personal friend, he still managed to be sure she had his undivided attention.

Parker was also
determined to infuse some culture into her, and marched her from one museum to
another—which, Kelly was privately surprised to discover, she actually enjoyed. She would
have thought she’d be deadly bored in them, but instead, she was intrigued by the art and
artifacts.

They also attended some Broadway shows, which she tried very hard to like,
but finally used as an excuse to insist they do some of the things
she
liked.
Parker thought that was great and dove right into spending an entire Monday afternoon and
evening in a movie marathon of Kelly’s creation, watching the classics and sharing several
big bowls of popcorn, which Parker insisted on slathering in butter.

When the Mets
played in town, Kelly had great seats behind home plate. Parker made it a habit to look up
and find her when
he walked out to bat. She would smile and give him a
thumbs-up. It worked like magic—Parker was hitting so well that the airwaves were full of
Parker Price, calling him the best ballplayer of the decade. Once, when Kelly went to the
game with her sister, someone tipped off the network booth as to who she was. Her picture
was broadcast up on the Jumbotron in the stadium and to Mets fans across the world, along
with the commentator’s remark that she was Parker Price’s new love interest.

Needless to say,
Guido was merciless after that and had the entire radio station staff teasing
her.

A few days after another fantastic afternoon game against Milwaukee in New
York, Parker brought Kelly home with him to his house on Long Island. When they arrived, a
blue-haired woman was waiting at the bottom of his drive, holding a box.

“Uh-oh,” Parker
muttered as the gate to his house swung open.

“Uh-oh? Why uh-oh?” Kelly asked,
fearing a deranged stalker.

“My neighbor,” he sighed as he put the car in park and got out.
“Hello, Mrs. Frankel.”

“Parker, you hit pretty well today,” she said, nodding
approvingly. “I won’t lie to you—I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far,
you’ve managed to hang on.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Frankel,” he said.

The woman turned
to Kelly and suddenly smiled brightly. “This must be the gal they showed on the TV,” she
said, her old brown eyes glistening with excitement. “Honey, you’re even prettier in
person. I made Parker a pie I was so pleased with him today, but I want you to have it,”
she said, thrusting the box forward.

Kelly took the box and looked down. It was a pie, all
right. Homemade and smelling like apple.

“The Mets oughta thank you,” Mrs.
Frankel continued as Kelly juggled the huge box of pie.

“Thank
me
?”

“Well, sure! It
wasn’t until Parker settled down with you that
he started hitting and
fielding worth a darn. You’re his lucky charm. Isn’t she, Parker?”

“She sure is,
Mrs. Frankel,” Parker said, rolling his eyes over her cotton-candy head.

“Oh, I think
that’s overstating it a bit—”

“It’s the truth, and everyone knows it—even Parker,” Mrs.
Frankel interrupted, and looked at Parker for confirmation. “Just think about it, now. He
doesn’t play as well on the away games as he does at home. That’s because
you
are
here.”