Captivated
Authors: Susan Scott Shelley
CAPTIVATED
SUSAN
SCOTT SHELLEY
Copyright © 2015 Susan
Scott Shelley
http://www.susanscottshelley.com
Connect with Susan on Facebook
Domingo Torres, star center
fielder for the Los Angeles Riptide, needs to stay off management's radar
after a Spring Training game ended in flying fists and bloodshed. He's ordered
to keep a lid on his temper and a low profile for the rest of the season.
Keeping his focus solely on baseball isn't a problem- until he meets his sexy
new neighbor, and his thoughts shift to a lot more than his batting average.
After years of complete
control in handling every aspect of her brother's multi-platinum selling rock
band, Irisa Rostov is ready to crack. And it doesn't help that the band is on
the verge of self-destruction. Playing peacemaker and keeping them
together for the last six weeks of their summer concert series is all that
matters- until she meets Dom, and the feelings he stirs up causes the guards
around her heart to weaken.
Getting distracted by
romance is the last thing Irisa wants, and being in the headlines is the last
thing Dom needs, but their attraction is undeniable, their connection is
immediate, and staying away is impossible.
But when being captivated by
each other causes their worlds to fall apart, they must decide whether
they're better off staying on the bench and out of each other's lives, or
if love can find a way to win.
This book is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right
to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
The
last game of Spring Training should have filled him with excitement for the
upcoming season. Instead, Los Angeles Riptide center fielder Domingo
“Dom”
Torres stood just off second base, sweating bullets and plotting murder. To his
left, the opposing team’s second baseman, Marc Platt, made snide remark after
snide remark every chance he got throughout the game, and Dom’s temper simmered
closer to boiling with every word.
They
’d
met in the minors. They hadn’t liked each other then. And after five years in
the big leagues, they sure as hell didn’t like each other now. Trading barbs,
edged sharp and aimed low, had become their ritual. He blocked out Platt,
inched a little farther away from the base, and kept his focus on the pitcher.
He was known for his fastball.
Dom eyed his teammate
Slade, in position to swing at the plate, and adjusted his stance, ready to
run. The pitcher
’s right foot stepped off the rubber, and
then his body twisted lightning fast toward second base. Shit. Five feet
separated him from safety. The ball came fast, a blurred white streak, gunning
toward second in an effort to get
him
out.
Arms outstretched, Platt
prepared to make the catch.
Dom scrambled for the
base, headfirst, arms out. No way would he let that jerk tag him out. His hand
crossed the base.
Safe.
Platt
’s
cleat stomped onto his hand, and his mitt slapped hard against Dom’s ribs. Pain
seared from his arm and straight into his gut. Dom dragged his foot through the
dirt and to the base. Making sure to keep contact, he jumped to his feet. “What
the hell, asshole?”
Platt smirked and lifted
his hands.
“Sorry. Didn’t see you.”
“Like hell.” His fingers
stung. He flexed them slowly. Thank God it wasn’t his throwing hand. Sweat
rolled down his back and droplets dripped from his forehead and into his eyes.
The burn only added to his irritation. He swiped away what he could.
Platt stood close by, a
wad of tobacco puffing out his cheek.
“If you can’t take the
heat, get out of the big leagues.” His mitt slapped against Dom’s shoulder.
“Watch it, man.” The
temptation to deck the overrated jackass overwhelmed him. Tension tightened
Dom’s muscles and his hands formed fists.
“What’re you going to do
about it?” Platt smiled and spat out a stream of tobacco in a direct hit across
the blue and green logo on Dom’s chest. “Looks like you got some shit on your
jersey, Torres.”
The simmer boiled over.
Dom pulled back his arm, and then let his fist fly. Rage powered his punch. His
knuckles slammed into Platt
’s face. Landing one only released
the desire to land more. Right, left, right, left; he kept swinging. The
crowd’s cheering drowned out the blood roaring in his ears. Platt’s fist
glanced off his batter’s helmet. Someone grabbed Dom from behind. He fought
against the hold. Hands tugged on Platt, but couldn’t pull him away. More hands
gripped Dom’s arms. Someone knocked the batter’s helmet off his head. He ducked
Platt’s swing. More players jumped in. Both dugouts emptied onto the field,
joining the fray. He focused on Platt amid the sea of Riptide blue and
Rattlesnakes gray.
Dom ignored his manager
’s
call to stop. The umpire forced his way between Dom’s fist and Platt’s face,
and he had to lower his arm or risk punching an official.
“That’s it. You’re done.”
The ump’s yell carried over the noise. Glaring, he jerked his arm toward the
dugout.
Dom strode to the dugout,
bypassed his teammates and screaming manager, and went directly into the locker
room. He stripped and headed for the showers. Cold water pounded over his skin,
washing away the dirt and sweat and slowly cooling his temper. He rested his
head on the tile. No matter how angry he
’d become in games over
the years, he’d never fought on the field. But Platt spitting on his uniform
had been the last straw.
He wasn
’t
sorry for what he’d done, but he’d have to apologize to his teammates anyway.
And endure the post-game phone call from his father, guaranteed to be more
blistering now that he’d fucked up and lost his cool on the field. Fresh steam
built, and agitation crawled over his skin. He dressed and watched the last
inning on the monitor. Losing the game capped off the perfect end to a rotten
day.
His teammates filed into
the room, some amped up from the fight, some pissed off about the loss, and all
a sweaty, grimy mess. Dusty Martin, their manager, charged in like a bull
chasing a red cape.
“Torres.” He pointed a blunt finger in
Dom’s face. “What the hell was that out there?”
Dom shrugged.
“He
got to me.”
“He got to more than you.
Because of you, Slade’s hurt.”
“What do you mean, he’s
hurt?”
“He was hit by a pitch
after the fight. His fingers are too swollen. He can’t grip the bat. Doc
doesn’t think he’ll be ready to play in the opener. He might be out a week,
maybe even two.”
Playing without Slade,
their best power hitter and one of Dom
’s best friends, would
really hurt the team. Dom sat up straight and looked around the locker room.
Adam, Cole, Mario, and Brent offered silent support. His gaze swept past his
buddies and met every single teammate’s hostile stare. “Sorry, guys.”
Dusty waved away the team
’s
murmurs. “Of course they’re going to tell you not to worry about it. Well, I’m
telling you different, son. You pull another stunt like that and you won’t be starting
at center field or anywhere else. You’ll be riding the bench from now until
next season.”
Shit. Being in the same
division as Platt meant having to play his team more frequently. Keeping his
mouth shut and his temper locked down would be damn near impossible.
“I’ll
try.”
“You’ll do more than try.
Think of this as strike one. You know what happens when you hit strike three.”
Dom rested his head
against the wall. He was in for one hell of a long season. And he
’d
never felt more like a loser.
Struggling with her luggage, I
risa Rostov
skirted the tractor-trailer parked in front of her apartment building. The
doorman wasn
’t at his station. Managing to keep hold of her
belongings, she staggered into the lobby and barely missed colliding with the
broad wall of muscle exiting the elevator. She jerked to a stop. “I’m sorry. I
didn’t see you.”
He reached out to steady
her.
“Need
a hand?”
“I’m fine, thanks. But
can you tap the Up button for me?” Her gaze traveled up his chest to a chiseled
face and eyes as dark as her favorite chocolate. Attractive didn’t begin to
describe him. Sexy, with an energy smoldering below the surface, commanding
attention and keeping her enthralled.
A workman wearing blue
coveralls exited the elevator and waved to him.
“Dom, we’re ready
to start unloading.”
“Be right there.” The
giant turned back to her. “That’s a lot of bags. You sure you’re okay?”
“I can manage. Are you
moving in?”
He nodded and tapped the
elevator
’s
button for her. The doors opened with a quiet ping.
“Thanks. Welcome to the
building.” She maneuvered into the car then watched him until the doors closed
out her view.
He was still on her mind
when she finally set foot in her apartment, but exhaustion clouded her brain.
She dropped her luggage onto the soft carpet.
Ahhh
. Blissful silence.
Early morning sunlight drifted through the large windows, showcasing her view
of L.A. Normally, she
’d be waking up about now, but with
traveling all night, she hadn’t yet been to sleep.
Two months of life on the
road with the band had been hard, but refereeing spats that had grown more
frequent and heated was exhausting. As band manager, she tried to please
everyone. As sister to the lead guitarist, she had to make sure she didn
’t
show favoritism. Doing both was a delicate balance that kept her teetering on
an increasingly thinning tightrope.
With two weeks until the
next leg of the tour began, she intended to do as little as possible. Sleep,
get a massage, then more sleep. Repeat.
She toed off her shoes
and then headed to the kitchen for a large glass of water. No matter how much
water she drank on the road, dehydration never seemed too far away, thanks to
air-conditioned hotel rooms and tour buses and the dry air in planes.
The sound of ringing drew
her into the living room, where her phone lay on the table by the door.
Her brother, Zander.
She
’d
left her him less than an hour ago. “What’s up? You should be sleeping.”
“Check your email. Excite
added a few more venues to the tour.”
Her relaxed, happy mood
vanished.
“What? Oliver knows that’s supposed to be cleared with
me first.”
“I’m not happy about it
either. We’re fucking exhausted and they go and add in five more shows to the
end of the tour, with maybe more to come. We’ll be working through the whole
summer at this rate.”
Fabulous. The last thing
the band needed was more time together. And this wasn
’t
the first time she’d had to butt heads with the label, or remind Oliver that he
wasn’t the band’s manager. “I’ll make it clear that he can’t add on any more.”
Burning churned her stomach
and she dug through her purse for her roll of antacids. Dealing with Oliver
always put her back up and her defenses on high alert. On top of that, five
more shows meant five more hotels to book, and five more days of travel to
figure out, all while keeping the band
’s preferences in mind.
Brendan hated staying on high floors, Landry was an occasional vegan who
refused to stay in rooms with odd numbers, Luke had become a general pain in
the ass, and in the last month, nothing had pleased her brother. Finding
suitable accommodations would take hours. The only way she could ensure things
were handled perfectly was to do them herself, but at times like these, she
regretted her choice of full control. “I’ll start looking at hotels.”
“I can help.” The offer
was genuine, but he got so lost in his music that he often forgot to eat,
sleep, or keep track of time.
She chewed a
strawberry-flavored tablet.
“I’ll handle it. Don’t worry. Get
some sleep. I’ll call you when I’ve figured it out.”
Dull throbbing spread
from her temples, across her forehead, and down to the back of her neck. She
sat on the couch, sank into the cushions, and scrolled through her list of
emails. Her phone pinged with texts from the rest of the band. They
’d
learned the news and weren’t happy.
Banging came from the
apartment above. Lots of banging. Hammering and heavy footsteps. Loud thunks.
Deep male voices. A glance out the window confirmed what she
’d
heard. The large moving truck still sat open at the curb. Men in blue coveralls
hauled off furniture and boxes. Mr. Sexy from the lobby lifted a chair over his
head and strode into the building. Strong. Very strong.
Crash
.
Her gaze flew to the
ceiling.
Perfect. Hoping they
’d
work quickly, she rubbed her temples and tried to focus on her work. Another crash
sent a fresh stab of pain through her head and shredded her concentration.
Aspirin and her forgotten water were in order. And maybe the kitchen would be
quieter. After downing both, she surveyed the room. Raiding her stash of
emergency chocolate would help her feel better until the painkiller took
effect.
When she opened the
cabinet over the sink, the sight of colorful boxes and bags made her smile. She
’d
traveled all over the world with The Fury. The guys always teased her for
collecting chocolate as a souvenir, but she found it to be the perfect reminder
of the places she’d experienced.
“Irisa?” Jayne’s voice
came from the living room, followed by the front door closing. “Hello?”
She set the chocolate
aside and hurried to greet her friend.
“Hey. I didn’t think I’d
see you today. Your official plant-watering duties ended yesterday.”
“I know, but when I got
your text about your flight being canceled, I wasn’t sure if you’d get home
today or not.” The redhead set her purse on the floor and then caught her in a
hug.
“We managed to get on a
red-eye.” She winced as more stomping and banging came from overhead. “New guy
moving in.”
“The penthouse, hmm?”
Blue eyes twinkled with Jayne’s smile. “Is he single? Cute?”
“I don’t know about the
single part.” He hadn’t been wearing a wedding band, but how could someone that
attractive not be taken?
Brows raised, Jayne
grinned.
“Aha. So you
do
know about the cute part.
”