Designated Hitter (Reedsville Roosters Book 4) by Holley Trent Page A

that didn’t stop him from wanting her.
    “I’m licensed to conduct real estate transactions in Florida,” Marina said, “so I’m handling all of my own paperwork up until closing. I’ll give you a number and can send you the written offer tonight for you to forward to them.”
    “What’s the number?”
    “Well…” Marina led the realtor down the hall and toward the master, itemizing cosmetic things that needed to be fixed.
    She glanced over her shoulder at Quinn, and he waved at her.
    He had to get to the bar.
    She mouthed, “Keep your phone on.”
    He nodded. He’d keep it attached to his ear, if he had to if it meant she’d call.
    He hoped she would. She hadn’t been turned off yet by the usual things that sent women running. His net worth was in the negatives, he had no stable work, and sometimes when clothes came off, he was a little nastier than some ladies liked.
    Marina was bound to give up on him like all the rest he’d given a piece of his heart to, but he was tired of superficial connections. He wanted someone to try to relate to him for a little while…even if they didn’t stay for long.
    He’d take what he could get.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    On the stupidity scale from one to ten, inviting Quinn over to her rental condo for what amounted to a late-night booty call probably scored a strong seven, but Marina had been good for so long. Too long, maybe.
    When she wasn’t busy bouncing from project to project, she haunted fetish clubs to check out the local fare. She could remember the names of the men she’d played with in every major city where she’d done a flip, but couldn’t remember much about them beyond that. Hell, she didn’t even have sex with all of them. Sometimes, she just needed to remind herself that she was in control…and having a submissive male bend over backward—sometimes literally—to please her was a perfect way to bolster her self-assuredness.
    But, Quinn wasn’t a man she was going to forget about when she moved on to the next place. She knew too much about him, and perhaps not enough. She was confused about what she wanted from him, but if she played her cards right, he’d let himself be controlled. After a couple of hours negotiating with that parsimonious realtor, Marina was desperate to feel on top of things again.
    Quinn strolled into her short-term rental condo with his hands jammed into the pockets of his slacks, which made the fabric across his fine ass pull snug. He moved gracefully toward the luxe white sofa and turned to her. “Fancy digs.”
    She closed the door and locked it. “It’s just a rental,” she said. “I’ve been looking to buy something in Miami, but haven’t found the right thing yet.”
    “Beachfront?”
    “Not necessarily. Close enough to a place where I can dock my boat. Want a beer?” She walked to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. He’d need a beer—just a little something to take the edge off and get him relaxed as she eased him into how she liked to play when she was in that needy mood.
    She uncapped a stout and carried to him.
    He was sitting on the sofa, legs spread and forearms leaning against his thighs. He sat up to accept the drink, and then saluted her with it. “Good brand.”
    “I get something new as often as I can. There’s so much variety out there now.” She sat in the armchair across from him and crossed her legs at the knees.
    His gaze fixed on the apex of her thighs where the plackets of her bathrobe failed to shadow. She was nude underneath, having not seen the point of being dressed given what she had planned for him.”
    “I know it’s late,” she said.
    “I’ll be at the house on time tomorrow.”
    “I’m sure you will be. I just wanted to acknowledge that I know it’s late and that this is perhaps inconveniencing.”
    “I think you overestimate how much sleep I get.”
    “You said it yourself—cowboys wake up early.”
    “And sometimes they go to bed late, too.” He took a long