That person was presently
in his shower. The bathroom door stood cracked open and steam curled into the
hallway. The peach-scented shower gel suggested the intruder was female.

Kason took a moment and
looked around his bedroom. Unmade bed, tossed brown comforter, rumpled beige
cotton sheets, the imprint of her head on his pillow.

Lady was an uninvited
sleepover.

A vintage Guns N' Roses
T-shirt, a pair of stonewashed jeans, a pale blue bra, and panties lay across
the foot of his bed. Black Converses were on the floor.

Kason's jaw locked. Damn,
he hated intruders. He valued his privacy. No one came onto his land without
his permission. He had No Trespassing signs posted throughout his thousand
acres, yet this woman ignored his warning.

Whether con or prankster,
reporter or baseball bunny, Kason wanted her gone. None of his team members
knew where he lived. He used a post office box for his mail. Most people
thought he lived in the woods with wolves.

He hated the fact she'd
tracked him down. But he was about to send her packing.

Within seconds he heard the
shower shut off and the plastic curtain being drawn back. The medicine cabinet
creaked as it was opened, then closed; silence followed as she stepped into the
hallway.

Wanting to see her before
she saw him, Kason backed toward the corner and faded into the late-afternoon
shadows. The woman wouldn't immediately spot him when she entered his bedroom.

He'd positioned his
eight-month-old Doberman by the front door. Cimarron was well trained and
wouldn't allow an escape.

The lady had acute senses.
Wrapped in a white towel, she stopped by the dresser, cocked her head, and
listened. She knew she wasn't alone. Casual yet cautious, she looked into the
mirror. She spotted him in two heartbeats.

Their eyes locked.

His narrowed, and hers went
wide.

Amazingly, she didn't
scream.

She turned around slowly,
and in the blink of an eye, went apeshit on him.

Nothing surprised or shocked Kason. He'd
lived life hard. Yet unease settled bone deep when she scooped her hairbrush,
bottle of perfume, can of soda, paperback novel, box of Kleenex, porn-star
vibrator, and gooseneck lamp off the top of his nightstand and fired them at
him. He barely had time to duck.

She had the arm of a
tomboy. The items came fast and furious, forcing him back against the wall. She
hit him five out of seven times. The perfume squirted on impact, and he
instantly smelled fruity. The base of the lamp bruised his shoulder. The
vibrator smacked his thigh and the switch turned on, and it emitted a low, slow
buzz. Son of a bitch.

“You're trespassing,” she
shouted at him. “Get out or I'll call the police.”

Call the cops on me?
No
way in hell.

“This is my trailer!” He
grunted, barely managing to intercept an alarm clock aimed at his groin.

“No, it's mine,” she shot
back. “I found it abandoned.”

Abandoned?
The woman was crazy.

She showed no fear, only
irritation, as she grabbed a tire iron off the floor. The tomboy was prepared
for a burglary or home invasion. She was all threat and focus as she slapped
the tool against her palm, her message clear: his head was about to roll.

Kason pushed off the wall
and put on his game face. Mean and intimidating was second nature. He crossed
to the bed, faced off across his mattress with the woman. He held up his hand. “Put
the tire iron down before someone gets hurt. Let's talk this out.”

The hard swing of the iron
was her only response. She had power. The
whish
blew by his ear, standing his hair on end.

She gripped the tool low.
Each swing loosened the knot on her towel above her right breast. The cotton
fabric shimmied down her C cups.

A fourth flick, and the
towel hung on her nipples. Pink nipples, puckered and pointed right at him.
Kason nearly got his brains knocked out for staring.

The woman pulled a face,
then took her eyes off him for less than a second as she tugged up the towel.

The distraction was all he
needed to make his move. He lunged low across the bed and tackled her. She
twisted, and the tire iron went flying. A flip of her body and Kason had her
pinned.

The lady was all slick
skin, spread-eagled, and spitting mad. Wild brown hair and watercolor blue eyes
registered as her shriek deafened his left ear. He blocked the jerk of her
knee, but couldn't stop her bite to his shoulder.

He groaned, and swore she
would draw blood through his gray pullover. She'd scored him with her teeth.

She was strong for a woman,
yet he didn't want to hurt her. It took several attempts to secure both her
hands with one of his own.
Tomorrow
was
tattooed on her right wrist
and a man's waterproof watch wrapped her left. The black leather band looked
old and well worn.

She squirmed and bucked as
he straddled her fully, then gnashed her teeth. Damned if she didn't prove
slippery. Kason tightened his thighs against her hips, squeezed until she
exhaled.

“Get off me.”
She fisted her hands above her head, probably
wanting to blacken his eye.

He tightened his hold. He
enjoyed fiery women, but the one beneath him would as soon unman him as draw
her next breath. The tomboy was aggressive.

He might have considered
her cute had she stopped screwing up her face. Her cheekbones were as sharp as
her chin. A tiny crescent scar curved at one corner of her mouth. Her lips were
flattened against her teeth. She was all snap and snarl, and flashed a lot of
bare skin.

Her towel had parted,
exposing her full breasts, a gold-studded navel, and one pale hipbone. She dug
in her heels and pushed up, struggling against his weight.

Kason was a big man. At six
foot three, he tipped the scale at 220. He had three percent body fat, the
remainder solid muscle. The lady would fight, but she'd soon tire. She wasn't
going anywhere. Not until she explained her takeover of his trailer.

He leaned low, until their
noses nearly touched. “Who are you?” he growled.

“I could ask the same of
you.” She tried to head butt him. “Breaking and entering is a felony.”

A felony?
It was his trailer.

He shifted his right leg,
countered the slam of her heel to his calf. “How long have you lived here?”

Her muscles flexed, hinting
at more fight to come. “Six weeks, if it's any of your business.”

It concerned him greatly.
She'd settled in right around the time he'd left for spring training. “My
mobile home, my business,” he told her. “You can't take over property without
investigating ownership.”

“Possession is nine-tenths
of the law.”

Triple bullshit to that
logic.

She fought to sit up.

Strands of her wet hair
slapped his cheek. Her peach scented shampoo tickled his nose. He sneezed.

Her shoulder knocked his
collarbone.

Her nipples poked his
chest.

Kason sucked air.

He jerked on her wrists,
and she flattened back on the bed. Sweet mother, she was soft beneath him.

“How could you live here?”
she demanded. “No drapes, worn furniture, scratched linoleum, little water
pressure. I broomed out a bat and two rats.”

He curled his lip. “The
electricity was left on.”

“And no doubt pirated,” she
countered. “There's been no meter reader.”

Someone read the meter. An
electric bill arrived every single month. “How'd you get inside?” he demanded.

“Unlatched the bathroom
window—easy entrance.” She rolled her shoulders, again tried to rise. “You're
smothering me, jerk. Get the hell off.”

He debated. He didn't want
to go another round with this woman. “Truce?” he asked.

She muttered, “Until your
back's turned.”

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