Sliding
Into Home
By:
Arlene Hittle
Genre:
Contemporary Romance, Humor
Publisher:
Turquoise Morning Press
Publication
Date: April
2014
SYNOPSIS:
More
than anything, Arizona Condors first baseman Greg Bartlesby wants to
make his own name in the big leagues. Too bad being the son of MLB
legend Jake “Big Man” Bartlesby makes that impossible. Even
worse? His failed attempts to differentiate himself from his old man
frequently land him in legal trouble. His latest brush with the law
brings him in contact with an attorney he’s met before — as a
dancer at the club where he was arrested for protecting her.
Jenn
Simpson isn’t a stripper—not that she can convince her idiot
client her twin is the one doing the dancing. When Greg offers her
sister a job at his father’s Foundation, Jenn is the one who
accepts. She soon discovers she likes the work—and her boss—more
than she should. The closer they get, the more important it becomes
for her to convince Greg she’s not who he thinks. And when his
father is hospitalized, compelling Greg to fast-track his leap to the
majors by capitalizing on Big Jake’s fame, it might be too late to
come clean.
BOOK
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EXCERPTS:
Excerpt
(1)
Jenn waited for the judge to exit
the courtroom and then did the same. She barely noticed Greg was a
step behind her.
When she realized he followed
her, halfway down the corridor, she stopped and turned. He was
watching her closely, his face nearly as severe as the judge’s had
been. She didn’t like the scrutiny. She didn’t much like him,
either, for that matter. He talked too much. “What?”
“You’re a much better
stripper than you are a lawyer.”
“I’m not—never mind.”
This spoiled man-child’s opinion of her was of no consequence
whatsoever. “Things would have gone much more smoothly if you knew
when to shut your big mouth.”
“Or if you were as familiar
with law as you are with the pole.”
Letting him think she danced was
one thing. Listening to him insult her sister’s current livelihood
was another. “You think you’re so much better? Have you forgotten
you play with balls for a living?”
With that, she walked away. Folks
with more money than sense always rubbed her wrong, this one more
than most.
He swore, and soon his footsteps
sounded behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,
Jade. My comment was uncalled for.”
She stopped and shrugged him off.
She wasn’t about to apologize, even if her comment, too, was out of
line. He started it. “You have a right to be testy. I certainly
didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.”
“To get me off?” One corner
of his mouth lifted. “You sure didn’t.”
Ooh, that half-smile was
appealing. Too appealing. She stepped back, away from temptation.
“Judge Troxler is tough.”
“Believe me, I noticed.”
Jenn paused. She remembered the
look on his face when the judge had mentioned he should volunteer
with his father’s foundation. “If you don’t mind my asking,
what does your father’s foundation do?”
“A little bit of everything.”
He shrugged. “But the main focus is helping underprivileged kids.”
And that had him out of sorts?
Growing up with four siblings and an out-of-work father, she’d
been an underprivileged
kid. They’d practically lived on sandwiches made from cheap white
bread and pale yellow government cheese. “You have a problem with
helping those less fortunate than yourself?”
“Of course not.” His look was
undecipherable. “I just don’t do well with kids. Can’t relate.”
“I’d think kids would love the chance to meet a famous
ballplayer.”
“I’m not famous. My father
is.”
And that galled him. It was
evident in his clenched jaw and drawn-up shoulders. Against her
better judgment, she found
herself wanting to boost his ego. Since she’d had a few minutes to
read up on Greg Bartlesby, first baseman, before court, she knew
exactly how to go about it. “If you’re as good as the
sportswriters say, you won’t be in the minors for long.”
Advance Reader Copy Not for Sale or
Distribution
“Four years and counting,” he
grumbled. “And when they get wind of this, it’ll probably be
another four.”
“They who? The press?”
“MLB officials. Dad says no
one’ll call me up to the majors until they have proof I’m mature
enough to handle it.” He scowled. “Right now, my ‘wild’
behavior makes me too much of a risk.”
Far be it from her to point out
that brawling—even in defense of a woman—wasn’t all that
mature. Still, newscasts were full of pro athletes arrested for
offenses far worse. “Why don’t you use your community service
sentence to show who you really are to whoever you need to show?”
He looked thoughtful. “That
idea’s not half bad.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Before she realized what he
was going to do, Greg swooped in to capture her in a bear hug.
He was all muscle, a solid wall
of yum, and her body molded itself to him effortlessly. She tipped
her head up to look into his eyes, the color of the summer sky right
before a thunderstorm. Blue so clear and deep she could lose herself.
She was so caught up in the
moment that the passerby registered as no more than a shadowy
shape—until he stopped, turned and stared. Her boss. Mr. Stull
didn’t say anything, but his disapproving frown spoke volumes.
Caught in a clinch with a client?
Oh God. How embarrassing. Even if the contact had started out purely
innocent, her response made it inappropriate.
She squirmed out of Greg’s arms
and took a few steps back. “Mr. Stull! What a surprise!”
“No doubt.” He pursed his
lips. “Shall I assume you were merely celebrating the case’s
positive outcome?”
Jenn grimaced. “Not exactly.”
Mr. Stull tugged on his tie.
“What do you mean, ‘Not exactly’?”
“We ran into a snag. Judge
Troxler heard the case.”
Greg stepped forward. “That
woman is not a randy old goat.” He shook his head, bemused. “Immune
to my charm, too.”
Her boss’ face lightened two
shades. “Dare I ask what happened?”
“Nothing good.” Jenn hung
her head, ashamed. In less than thirty minutes, she’d let down
the defendant, the client and her boss. Not a stellar way to
start the week.
“It was my fault, not hers.”
Greg’s hand settled on her back. “I let my temper get the best of
me and mouthed off to the judge.”
Doing her best to ignore the way
his fingers burned through her cotton shirt, she met her boss’ eyes
again. “I failed to adapt. I’m to blame.”
“I’m sure there’s plenty of
blame to go around.” Mr. Stull’s expression was sour. “Jake
Bartlesby will not be pleased.”
Greg’s palm flattened against
her back. “Leave my father to me.”
Excerpt
(2):
“Gruyère, Camembert, brie
or cheddar?”
Leave it to the rich man to keep
his fridge stocked with expensive French cheeses.
Sometimes she wondered if he had
more money than sense. Or maybe he just really liked cheese. “Is it
Wisconsin cheddar?”
He thumped a brick of white
cheddar cheese onto the counter. “All-American girl, are you?”
“Mm-hmm.” She eyed the solid
lump of cheese. “I assume you have a cheese grater.”
He hummed Tom Petty’s “American
Girl” as he fitted his fancy food processor with a shredding
attachment, cut a couple chunks off the brick of cheese and threw
them down the chute. Seconds later, he presented her with a bowlful
of shreds. Perfect. Just like Greg.
Excerpt
(3):
" … You promised me
dinner.” She dug her fingers into his knotted shoulder muscle and
started to work out the kinks. His bat dropped to the ground, wood
thunking against concrete. “I’m hungry.”
A low, guttural sound—could
have been groan or growl—rumbled from his throat as he whirled to
face her. He settled his hands on her waist and hauled her against
him. “Me, too.”
Then he captured her lips.
Surprised by his move, but not
really, Jenn did more than let herself be kissed. She kissed him
back. Enthusiastically and without reservation. She’d spent the
better part of a month pretending not to be attracted to Greg, and
she was tired of faking it. Time to press her advantage.
Their tongues tangled with a
ferocity fueled by weeks of heightened awareness. Every shared
glance, every accidental brush of their fingertips poured into the
experience.
When she pulled away, they were
both breathless and his arousal pressed into her stomach.
Looking as dazed as she felt, he
stroked her chin with his thumb. “Whaddaya say we call out for
pizza?”
She leaned in to press her lips
to his. That it put the rest of her parts in alignment with his was a
bonus, one she savored. He quivered when her lips brushed his ear. “I
say, ‘Mangia!’”
AUTHOR
INFO:
Arlene
Hittle is a Midwestern transplant who now makes her home in northern
Arizona. She suffers from the well-documented Hittle family curse of
being a Cubs fan but will root for the Diamondbacks until they run up
against the Cubs. Longtime friends are amazed she writes books with
sports in them, since she’s about as coordinated as a newborn
giraffe and used to say marching band required more exertion than
golf. Find her at arlenehittle.com,
on Twitter or
on Facebook.
AUTHOR
LINKS:
Website: http://arlenehittle.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ArleneHittle
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/arlenehittle/
Instagram: http://instagram.com/arleneawl
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