"Mmm," Peter wrapped his arms around the beautiful woman in the kitchen of the Lake Shore Drive condo he shared with her, "something smells good."

"Thank you." Polly smiled as her husband pecked her neck and she relaxed into his embrace. "I'm trying something new for dinner."

"Yeah, dinner smells good too." As she laughed, he kissed her cheek and went to the fridge. "How was your day?"

"Not terrible. The new crop of rooks look promising so I'm drafting interesting deals."

"When do you leave for Arizona?" He handed her a beer.

"Next week some time. Pitchers and catchers just reported yesterday. Why? Are you finally going to take a few days off and come with me?"

"Depends on my caseload."

"I could have named that tune in one note." She shook her head, wisps of her long auburn hair falling out of her clip. "So, how was your day?"

When she turned to look at him, he gently brushed the hair out of her face before leaning down and kissing her. "It just got better." It was what he always said, but it always made her smile, and her smile could make even his worst day into his best.

"You know, it's only because you're cute that that line still works on me after ten years." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she enjoyed his smile. "Now tell me how your day really went, Mr. Deputy Chief."

"Answer me one question first."

"Move to strike. Non-responsive."

"Overruled, subject to connection." He smiled as she smirked. "Were you at the courthouse today?"

"Objection. Leading."

"OK, I'll rephrase." He loved when she would play this game with him. She would eventually answer, but she would make him work for it, and it would be worth it because, with each question, she settled further and further into his embrace. "Where were you, Mrs. Stone, between the hours of one o'clock and three o'clock today?"

"Running errands downtown."

"What errand were you running in the Cook County Courthouse?"

"Ooo, I'm impressed." She grinned. "I thought for sure you were going to ask another leading question."

"Move to strike. Non-responsive."

"Sustained." She laughed. "Touché, Mr. Stone. I was there filing a motion and then popped in to see my brilliant and handsome husband deliver one of the best closing arguments of his career."

"So, to circle back to your request, you know exactly how my day went."

"I know how closing arguments went. I don't know what the verdict was."

"Would I be home this early if it were anything but a 'W'?"

"Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence."

"Allow me to rephrase." He leaned down and whispered in her ear, feeling her melt against him. "Would I be in this good a mood if it were anything but a 'W'?"

"Objection." She continued their game though, with his breath hot against her neck, it was getting harder to do. "Leading."

"Sustained." He seized her mouth in a passion-filled kiss that sent her hands into his hair, pulling him closer to her, and he lifted her onto the counter…just as his cell phone rang. "Damn it."

"Just tell Mark that you can't talk now." She pulled his tie loose as she kissed him again. "You're about to get laid."

He laughed as he pecked her lips before pulling away. "I don't think that's going to work."

Watching him take a deep breath to compose himself, Polly enjoyed the role of Deputy Chief Assistant State's Attorney he slipped into, even with his tie undone and his hair a little mussed from her hands running through it. It was a position he had been destined to play even more than the one he'd had with the Chicago Cubs, which is how they'd met. It seemed like a lifetime before that moment, but had only been ten short years. He'd been a star pitcher, lowest ERA in the history of the franchise, and she was a fourth-year law student intern out of the University of Chicago Law School. She'd been invited to sit in on negotiations after only being there a month and her first meeting had been with the right-hander out of New York, Peter Stone.

His blue eyes had been just as piercing, able to see through her with just a glance. His red hair had been more of a strawberry blond and a lot longer than the rich golden-brown color of the shorn locks of the lead prosecutor of Cook County, indicative of his young age and time in the sun. He'd been handsome, confident, intelligent, and unforgettable. He'd also been two years younger. She'd never dated a younger guy before, but Peter Stone was wise beyond his years. He also hadn't taken no for answer. His drive, his determination, along with his maturity and his sense of humor had been what had finally worn her down into saying yes to his third request for a date.

The deep emerald eyes of his wife followed him around the room, he could feel them even with his back turned. Then again, he could feel them when he walked into a room. It had been what had drawn him to her in that conference room ten years before. They truly were windows to her soul. Paired with her porcelain pale skin, wavy auburn hair, and hourglass figure, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. She'd been a deadly combination of brains and beauty, still was, with a wicked sense of humor, a smile that could light up all of Chicago, and a drive to succeed that paralleled his own. Their age difference had been a source of amusement for him and a speed bump for her, but he wasn't about to walk away so easily. Nothing worth having ever came easily and Polly Keegan was worth having.

"Don't tell me." She sighed as he hung up with a familiar apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, Birdie." He kissed her. "Rain delay."

"It's just the first inning."

"Don't worry. We're going to get the whole game in tonight. I promise. An hour, two tops." Kissing her playful pout, he re-tied his tie, and headed for the door. "Save me some of whatever smells so good."

She nodded and hopped down off the counter. "I love you, Nineteen."

"I love you too, Birdie." He pulled on his coat with a smile and was gone.

Birdie. The first time he'd called her that he'd been so drunk she hadn't thought he'd remember, but when he'd called her that the next day, she'd had to asked him why. 'Like the parrot.' He'd said, with a straight face. 'Because I squawk at you?' She'd countered. 'No, because you soar high above me with grace and beauty.' It had been one of his cheesiest lines, but it had worked because of the look in his eyes. He'd made her believe it was the truth. It was the same way he talked to a jury. It was why he had the best win/loss ratio of anyone in the office. It was how he made it to deputy chief in record time.

It was almost midnight when Peter let himself back into their condo and found it dark. "Shit." He cursed under his breath as he tossed his briefcase onto a chair, his suit jacket landing on top, and walked into the kitchen. Polly's stylish handwriting gave him instructions for heating the food in the container on the counter, but he suddenly wasn't hungry so he placed it in the fridge and headed back to their bedroom. "You're still up." He said with surprise when he opened the door and found his wife reading in the king size bed.

"I'm a die-hard fan and I was promised a game tonight."

"Yes, you were, and I thank you for your patience."

"This is Chicago. I'm used to lake effect weather. Besides, I know it's going to be rewarded."

"Really? How do you figure?" He pulled off his tie and kicked his shoes towards the closet as he made his way to the bed.

"Number nineteen is on the mound tonight. The Cubs are going to win."

"How do you know if it's just the first inning?" Before climbing on the bed, he dropped his pants, watching his beautiful wife lick her lips, and felt his body react.

"I can feel it. There's something in the air tonight." She melt beneath him as he kissed her.

"You always were my biggest fan, Birdie."

"Perk of being your wife." Touching his cheek, she enjoyed his smile before he kissed her again, this time with a little more lust, a little more hunger, and she felt the familiar fire ignite in her belly.

Her hand went into his hair, her long nimble fingers locking in place as he caressed her neck before releasing as he slid his hands under her t-shirt, listening to her gasp.

His hands were big and strong, the way a man's hands should be, but they were also surprisingly gentle with her. They floated over her stomach followed close behind by his sensual kiss. It always made her moan. After ten years, it should have been old, but it was anything but. He knew her body, knew just what to do to it to make her writhe with pleasure, and exploited that knowledge for their mutual benefit.

He loved caressing her soft skin. He loved the feel beneath his finger, loved the way his touch caused her to react, and loved that, after ten years of being together and six years of marriage, it still felt like the first time every time. She was so soft, smelled so good, and got hotter with each deliberate touch. Her five-foot ten-inch frame was like a backroad, like the song said. He knew every curve and every place to slow down and take his time.

It took all her focus to simply breathe. The pleasure center of her brain was overloaded the moment that he slid his strong masculine hands down her hips, sliding her favorite worn cotton pajama pants ever so slowly off her body. By the time he'd thrown them, and her underwear, to meet his on the floor, she was more than ready for him.

When he slid inside her slick depths, she moaned and wrapped her sculpted legs around his waist. They fit like his hand inside his glove. They moved together in a harmony all their own, always had, and made the world fall away. Her long, slender, perfectly manicured fingers held onto his shoulders until she couldn't hold on anymore and then he waited for her, listened to call out for him, and felt her shutter around him.

After her peak, she kissed him long and slow, and then began bucking against him, willing him to move again, willing him to finish what they started. She listened as he moaned her name, his eyes closed, his hands grabbing onto the sheets, letting go of her, and then he fell over the edge. "I told you. With nineteen on the mound, the Cubs can't lose." She smiled and touched his cheek, watching him smile before he kissed her.