“You’re a natural.”
Her tummy quivered. “How do you know?”
“I know.”
She wanted to believe that.
“Once the ball’s in your glove, throw it quickly and as straight as possible.”
“Straight,” she said faintly. “Sure thing.” It was a cool day, with a lovely breeze coming in off the ocean and yet she was sweating. She yanked off her jacket and tossed it aside.
Wade abruptly stopped talking. When she turned her head to look at him, he was staring at her white silky knit tank. “It’s a top, Wade.”
“It’s a sexy little top that just made me forget what the hell I was telling you.”
“You were telling me how to be a catcher.”
“Right.” He gave himself a visible shake. “Be sure not to hit the pitcher. They hate that.”
She closed her eyes and tried not to panic.
He laughed softly and ran a finger over the narrow strap on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, a good pitcher will get out of your way when he sees you get ready to throw down.”
“Is Tess a good pitcher?”
“We’ll find out.”
She swallowed hard.
“And don’t get yourself hit either.”
“Oh, God.”
“Don’t worry. Probably Tess can’t get a ball over home plate to save her life. Which means you’re going to be running after it, not catching it. But if you do catch it, keep your chin down.”
“Why?”
“Keeps the ball from bouncing up and hitting you in the throat.”
Okay. So she’d keep her chin down.
He turned her to face him and tightened her face mask, then bent his knees a little to look into her eyes. “Ready?”
“Sure thing.”
He smiled again. “Go get ’em, Tiger.”
Then he was gone before she could kill him.
But he’d been right about her spending far more time running after the pitches than catching them. She’d ditched her heels, kicking them to the grass a few feet away, dirt clinging to the soles. But that wasn’t her biggest problem. Somehow her team managed to get three outs, which was a miracle considering the pitching and catching efforts. But then came the real terror.
She was up at bat.
She looked into the eyes of the pretty brunette who was pitching. It was Meg, the bride-to-be, and Sam watched Mark walk out to the mound to coach his future wife, ending with a sweet kiss that turned into a very long, sloppy wet one that might have never ended except that Tess ran out and shoved Mark off the mound.
Now Meg was grinning dreamily as she pitched to Sam, giving her a sweet slow ball—
Sam hit it.
Even with her eyes closed and a startled little squeak coming out of her as she swung, she hit it right up the center of the field.
Meg, still dazed from Mark’s kiss, missed it.
“Run, Sam, run!”
This came from the sidelines, and she realized it was Wade yelling at her. She’d been standing there like an idiot. Dropping the bat she headed for first in her bare feet and business suit. The skirt was too damn tight for this, so she tugged it up, freeing her legs so that she could move faster.
She got to first and looked back.
Wade had leapt off the stands and was standing there on edge of the field, practically doubled over with laughter as he waved her on to second.
So she ran to second just as the center fielder missed the ball. Which meant that Sam kept running, all the way home, where she finally came to a breathless stop and realized people were cheering wildly.
For her.
She stood there bowled over by an entire stand full of perfect strangers cheering her on. It was the oddest thing, and the most flattering thing, and she found herself standing there grinning like an idiot as a pair of hard, warm arms pulled her back against an even harder, warmer chest.
“Nicely done, Princess.” Wade pressed his mouth to her neck. “You can thank me later.”
“For what?” she asked, still breathless and getting more so with his mouth on her.
He tugged her skirt back down for her. “For teaching you everything you know.”
After the game, Sam showered to get the dirt off her feet and legs. Nothing was going to help the suit though, so she started over with a different one.
Wade had gone to the wedding rehearsal, and then straight to the restaurant to help set up for the rehearsal dinner, leaving Sam alone for a few hours. She spent the time on her laptop in the suite doing some work.
With the season starting up, her e-mail box was full. First up, Henry. Henry Weston was the Heat’s shortstop. He was young, talented, and shy as hell, so when a group of female fans had chased him through a mall, he’d panicked on his way out and rear-ended a delivery truck, leaving her with some damage control to do there. After that, she organized a few interviews and wrote press releases on some bull pen trades. She was working on a press packet for two upcoming charity events the Heat was sponsoring, a carnival and an auction, when her cell phone rang. Her brother Jeremy. Temper warred with blood ties, but in the end, she let out a long breath and let temper win. He could leave a message because she was done being bullied by the McNeads in the guise of family love, thank you very much.
But when he called three more times in a row, she began having flashbacks to being little, to all the times it’d been her and Jeremy against the world. Though she was only one year older, she’d spent much of their childhood protecting him from her other brothers and cousins, all older and meaner.
That age-old responsibility was hitting her now, and she caved. “Jeremy.”
“Don’t hang up,” he said quickly. “Please, don’t, Sam.”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t.” Maybe it’d been them against the world as kids. But even then, he’d always been competitive with her. It was elevated now by the nature of their jobs, a competitive nature he’d taken way too far when he’d jeopardized her job and the Heat’s good public track record by logging into her computer and gathering private information, which he’d then leaked to the press. He’d done this to give the Heat a bad name with their faithful fans, hoping to elevate his Bucks to the same favored pitch the Heat had enjoyed.
He’d betrayed her. He’d betrayed several close friends of hers. And when he’d attempted to sell that information, he’d also come horrifyingly close to getting his ass thrown in jail.
She hadn’t spoken to him in spite of the heavy leaning from her father and uncle, both of whom believed she should forgive Jeremy as they had.
“I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am,” Jeremy said quietly. “I never got a chance to tell you that.”
“You weren’t sorry until you got caught.”
“True.” He sighed, then said perhaps the last thing she could have imagined he’d say, “I’m hitting rehab, Sam.”
“What?”
“Obviously my personal habits have gotten out of control, and are affecting the way I handle myself.”
She hated that her first response was suspicion, but she’d bet her last dollar that he was full of shit and only wanted her sympathy. Or something. “What are you addicted to?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” she asked warily. “Or a lie?”
He sighed. “I’m suffering from exhaustion, okay? I joined a ninety-day program here in South Carolina.”
“Exhaustion? Come on, Jeremy. That’s a total celebrity cop-out.”
“Okay, and maybe prescription pain meds from my knee surgery last year.”
She sighed. “You were a snake. Own up to it.”
“I was a snake and I’ll be back in ninety days. Minus the snake part, and better behaved, I promise.”
“Jeremy.” She rubbed her temples. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say that even though I know I have no right to ask you, you’ll take care of . . . something for me.”
Ah, there it was. “Something?”
“You’re the only one I can trust with this—” He broke off, and Sam heard someone telling him to hang up.
“Jeremy?” she said. “Who’s that?”
“Just say yes, Sam,” he said quickly now, low and urgent. “I’m going in and I’m not allowed any phone calls or any contact with the outside world for two weeks minimum. I need an answer. Please, Sam.”
Ah, hell. He sounded scared, and one thing Jeremy had never been was scared. “Fine. But so help me God, if it’s something illegal, I’ll—”
Click.
“Jeremy?”
Nothing. When her cell rang immediately, she snatched it open. “Jeremy? Stop being vague. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
“Not Jeremy,” said a familiar low, husky voice. “It’s your boyfriend.”
She sighed and felt the beginning of a headache. “Wade.”
“Oh, good, you do remember me. Now if you could remember that you were supposed to be my date about fifteen minutes ago and get your pretty ass up to the restaurant, that’d be fantastic. I’m starving.”
Shaking her head, she put her brother and his troubles out of her mind, and headed out to meet her “boyfriend” for the rehearsal dinner.
The restaurant was on the rooftop, and as it was a glorious evening in perpetually sunny SoCal, the weather couldn’t be more accommodating. It was a fantastic seventy-two degrees, with the setting sun casting the sky into an orange and red and purple extravaganza over a group of people who genuinely seemed to care about each other. As Sam got off the elevator, her eyes went immediately to the man standing at the entrance, waiting.
Her date.
Tall, built, and amazing. He’d changed somewhere, into a dark charcoal suit with a French blue silk shirt, the combination pretty much taking her breath away. He’d even combed his unruly sun-kissed hair and shaved, and as he moved toward her in that easygoing, almost lazy stride that was in complete contrast with his intense eyes, she actually felt her knees wobble and her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth.
He was the most gorgeous man in the room and he was heading right for her. Resolutely, she locked her knees. Sure he looked good. Sure he kissed even better. But this was just a gig to keep him out of trouble.
Part of her job, nothing more. “Not your type,” she reminded herself. “Not even close.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and eyed her over their entwined fingers. “How am I not your type?”
“You’re nice on the eyes, but you’re a player.”
He pulled her in and put his mouth to her ear. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His lips had touched her earlobe as he spoke, and dammit, her eyes drifted shut. “You go out with one woman for a night or two, and granted, you make her feel like the only woman on earth, but then you’re on to the next flavor of the month. Nothing serious, nothing long-lasting.”
“Ah.”
“You’re funny,” she granted him. “But everything’s a joke, everything’s lightweight. Until it isn’t.”
He pulled back enough to look into her face, looking amused. “You’re trying to talk yourself out of me.”
She blew out a breath. “Yeah.”
“Is it working?”
“Yes,” she lied.
“Good.” He startled her by stroking a finger over her temple in the exact spot it ached. “Because you’re right about all of it. Especially the part about me not being a keeper. Now tell me what’s really wrong.”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Well, then, please God, let’s be fine inside. I need a steak.” He turned her from him and nudged her inside. “Or a plate of burgers. Hell, I don’t care what it is as long as it’s red meat and no longer mooing. I hate being hungry.” >
They sat down just in time to be served appetizers: cod-fish mousse with fried plantain chips. It was fantastic, but after a minute, Sam realized she was the only one of them eating. Wade was pushing his around with his fork, a deep frown on his face.
“Problem?” she asked.
“It’s fish.”
“Uh-huh.”
He wrinkled his nose.
She laughed. “You don’t like fish?”
“Does a fish say moo?”
“Don’t be a baby.”
“A baby?” He slid her a brooding look. “I’m wasting away here from starvation.”
The main course was a guava-glazed red snapper and Wade groaned. “You’re f**king kidding me.”
“Looks good.”
A scowl had creased his forehead. “Mark didn’t have a hand in this; he hates fish, too.” He looked around for the groom, spotting him sitting across the room with Meg in his lap, who was kissing his face all over. “Well, that explains it. He’s getting laid out of this deal, so he doesn’t care what he eats.”
“It’s really delicious.” She took another bite. “Maybe if you just try it.”
“It’s fish, Sam.” He pulled his napkin from his lap and stood. “I’ll be back.”
She watched his tall, rangy form make its way to the doors and vanish. When he didn’t immediately return, she figured he was checking out the vending machine in the hotel lobby in search of a candy bar.
Mark plopped down next to her. “Let me guess. Wade got his lucky ass out of this fancy joint and is out seeking real food.”
“I’m thinking yeah.”
He sighed wistfully. “That guy always did have the best survival instincts. I’d kill for a burger.”