He thought about that. “You’re right, adorable might be a stretch. Okay, we’ll stick with the sexy-as-hell part. Photo op, three o’clock.”
Oh, God. “This is such a bad idea.”
“A spectacularly bad one.” He turned her in the right direction. “But I’ve learned to always make the best of a situation.” With a grin, he leaned in and gave her one smacking kiss on the lips, and flashes went off all around them.
Her lips tingled as he pulled back. His hand was big and warm in hers, and rough with calluses. That should have turned her off, but instead, it sent a flicker of heat straight through her. Because she didn’t have to wonder how his palm would feel against her skin, not when the memory of it was imprinted in her mind, that hand gliding over her breasts, up her legs. Beneath her skirt.
Goose bumps broke out across her body as he pulled her out the fancy side doors of the resort, onto the lush grounds. There were gardens and a huge pool, beyond which was a big grassy field. And in the center of it, a baseball diamond had been set up, as well as spectator stands running from third base to home, a sight that made Sam relax.
She could easily spend a couple of hours watching a game anytime. It was like comfort food.
A sign told her that tickets were fifty bucks a pop and all proceeds were going to the Children’s Hospital, which made her happy. She herself ran the 4 The Kids charity for the Heat and loved that the game would raise money for kids.
“Meg—Mark’s fiancée—works at the Children’s Hospital,” Wade said. “You’ll like her.”
The press was there in force, of course, and Wade took her past them to the gate and pulled two tickets from his pocket.
On the field, Mark was talking to a guy who was pulling on catcher’s gear. “You’re not catching?” she asked Wade in surprise.
“They wouldn’t let me.” He flashed a grin. “No one liked the odds of playing against me.”
She could well imagine. No one in the MLB liked the odds of playing against him either. He was known for being a human vacuum behind the plate. Pitchers loved him because he caught whatever they threw.
He was still holding her hand, and at the bottom of the stands, in plain sight of anyone and everyone standing around, he pulled her to him.
For a minute she went still, discombobulated and shocked to find herself pressed up against his hard, warm chest. “Um . . .”
“Give me a kiss for good luck, Princess.”
She tilted her head to look up into his face, her mouth opening to tell him hell-to-the-no was she going to kiss him, but he had an oddly soft look in his eyes, and then his hand came up to cup her face, his thumb caressing her jaw.
Don’t. The word echoed between her ears. Don’t touch me like I mean something to you . . .
But his mouth took hers before she could get out a single syllable of protest, and then the only syllable that did escape was an inarticulate but undeniable sound of pleasure. She’d almost forgotten that kissing him was the equivalent of an entire fudge brownie with warm chocolate sauce poured over the top, and her hands stroked up his steel biceps before she could help herself because she needed an anchor and he was all she had.
Far before she was ready, he broke off the kiss, his mouth remaining a breath from hers for a long beat, as if maybe she wasn’t the only one knocked completely off guard.
Slowly his eyes opened, and when they did, the corners of his mouth hinted at a smile. “I’ll be listening for you to scream my name when I hit a homer.”
“I’ve never screamed your name.”
His smile let loose. “Sure, you have. There was that time we played Arizona last year in the playoffs and I hit that double. You screamed my name when I made it home.”
Oh, God. She had.
“And then when we played China in that exhibition game during spring training and I got slammed into at the plate and nearly cracked my rib.”
“You didn’t get right up,” she said in her defense, remembering clearly the terror she’d felt at seeing him crumpled on the ground, not moving. “You have to get right up or we all worry.”
His knowing smirk told her he knew exactly who’d worried herself sick from the stands. Then he lowered his voice to a soft whisper. “And then there was that other time.”
“No.” She shook her head. There’d been no third time, she was sure of it.
“In the elevator, when I—”
Oh, God. She shoved him, and laughing, he staggered back a step. “Aw. Love you, too, Princess.” With a wink, he turned and walked off, leaving her standing there remembering . . .
Remembering being sandwiched between the mirror in the elevator and his long, hard body, which had been completely supporting hers, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands cupping her bottom as he effortlessly held her against the glass, holding her on the very edge until she’d begged softly, “Wade, please.”
He’d pleased all right, he’d flexed his h*ps and thrust into her one last time and she’d come.
With a little scream.
Heat flooded her face, and she was very glad he’d walked away, the ass. She climbed the stands, found a seat and plopped down, and only because several people were looking at her did she smooth the frown from her face and force a smile.
“So you’re the one,” said a pretty brunette.
Sam looked down at the woman sitting in front of her. “Excuse me?”
“I’m Tess. Mark’s sister.” The woman leaned up, offering her hand. “I take it you’re the new girlfriend.”
“Very new,” Sam said, and swallowed the irony.
“Wade doesn’t usually do the relationship thing.” Clearly fishing, Tess scooted up a row to sit right next to Sam. She was twentysomething, with a sweet smile and warm, brown eyes. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and as Sam took in most of the crowd, she realized just about everyone was casually dressed.
Except her.
“We were all wondering what kind of a woman could snare him,” Tess said. “Mark had guessed a movie star. You look like one, but—”
“I’m a publicist. For the Heat.” She’d known there’d be plenty of talk this weekend about who Wade had brought with him, which had been the point. It was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place, the parade of women in and out of his life, none sticking. Because beneath the surfer beauty and athletic glory beat a fiercely protected, loyal heart, making him about as easy to crack open as a brick wall.
Sam understood the appeal, she really did. He was gorgeous and yet approachable, both cocky and discreet, a paradox since those deep sea-green eyes of his promised he was an open book.
In truth, she was discovering that he was anything but.
“A publicist,” Tess said, and nodded. “Sounds like a fun job, getting to be around all those sexy ball players for a living.”
“That much testosterone isn’t as much fun as you might think.”
“Probably not, but the view has gotto be nice—” Tess broke off, standing up and whistling as some of the guys took the field, jogging out to their various positions. “Woo hoo!” she yelled. “Let’s kick some ass.” She grinned at Sam. “You know who’s out there, right? Two TV stars, one movie star, and three world-class athletes, including your boyfriend.”
Sam looked at the diamond and saw Wade at right field. Mark was standing on the mound. The guy at third plate did look familiar, and then she realized he played a cop in one of her favorite TV shows.
“There’s my dream boyfriend,” Tess said, nodding to the batter. “Isn’t he hot? He snowboarded for gold at last year’s X Games . . . uh oh—”
He’d swung at Mark’s first pitch and connected.
“Yeah, baby!” Tess yelled.
The pop ball went straight to . . .
Right field.
Wade shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head and kept his eyes on the fly ball as it . . .
Landed right in his glove. She supposed he couldn’t help but play like the superstar he was, and it made her a little squirmy to watch him.
Squirmy as in turned-on.
The crowd booed as Wade threw the ball to second in time to get the snowboarder out. “They’re booing him?” Sam asked in shock.
“Just our little way of keeping his ego in check.” Tess laughed as out in the field Wade took a bow. The boos turned to cheers. “We all love him, and he knows it.”
Indeed, the guys playing second and center field ran up to Wade. One slapped his back and fist bumped him. The other grabbed him around the middle and swung him around. In the next inning, she watched him throw back his head and roar with laughter when the groom tripped over his own two feet running for home. And in the inning after that, he purposely struck out.
Sam had viewed countless baseball games in her life. She’d watched every single one of the Heat’s games over the past three years.
Every.
Single.
One.
But as she leaned back and soaked up the sun and the laughter and joy around her, she realized she’d never viewed one like this, where both teams were more interested in the beer and snacks on the sidelines, in taunting each other with private jokes and easy laughter, where the outcome wasn’t nearly as important as the game itself.
She watched Wade thoroughly enjoy himself, watched as he became unbearably human in her eyes, and when the game ended, as she stood up with everyone else to cheer, she told herself it was a damn good thing that this was pretend because she was feeling squirmy again.
And yeah, her body was definitely sending mayday signals to her brain. The oh-please-can-we-have-him signals.
Bad body.
Very bad body.
After the game, Wade walked to the stands. His “girlfriend” was sitting there in her elegant and sophisticated suit, revealing those knock-’em dead legs that went on for days, looking for all the world like a princess on a Nordstrom’s budget.
God, she was something. And if he wasn’t careful, she’d make him lose his head. Good thing he was careful.
Very careful. “Hey, woman,” he called up to her. “Where’s my victory kiss?”
Tess laughed and cleared the stands to give him room as he made his way to her. Sam narrowed her eyes, giving him the don’t-you-dare death-glare. Ignoring the look, he pulled her to her feet and leaned in, enjoying the scent of her, the feel of her, letting his eyes drift closed as he headed for her mouth—
She slapped a hand to his chest, and with a sigh, he opened his eyes. “Can I call management and get an exchange on the girlfriend thing? Cuz this one’s uncooperative.”
“Our turn, Sam,” Tess told her, climbing down, waving at her to hurry and follow. “We’re up first.”
“We’re up first?” Sam repeated, turning to Wade. “What does she mean?”
“Powder-puff time.”
“Powder puff? What’s a powder puff?”
“They’re doing an extra inning so the women get a chance to play, too. You’re catcher.”
She just stared at him, mouth open.
He smiled, gently tapped his finger beneath her chin until her mouth closed, and sank to the seat she’d just vacated. “Don’t worry, I’ll cheer you on.”
“But I’m in heels.”
Tess came running up the stands and grabbed Sam’s hand, pulling her down toward the field. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“B-but I’m not dressed for this,” she protested as Tess left her no choice but to run alongside her, which she did like a pro in spite of the four-inch heels. “I don’t know how to play . . .”
Wade watched her go, grinning from ear to ear. Oh, hell, yeah.This was exactly what he’d needed, a weekend of entertainment. And it was greatly entertaining, watching Sam get handed over the catcher’s gear. Watching her stare at the equipment in her hands, making him realize that she truly had no idea what she was doing. He took in the sheer panic on her face and sighed as he rose to his feet, then made his way down to her.
“Problem?” he asked.
“Yes.” She fisted his shirt and held on, eyes wide. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
And she hated that, he knew. His Sam thrived on knowing exactly what she was doing, at all times. “It’s called winging it, Princess. In the name of fun.”
She tugged harder, bringing him nose to nose with her. “You have no idea how much I hate to admit this, but I need your help.”
He let out a slow smile. “It’s going to cost you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Oh, Sam.” His hands went to her h*ps and squeezed gently. “You’re going to care.”
She let out a breath. “You’re getting a kick out of this.”
“Seeing you out of your element?” His full grin escaped. “You can bet your sweet ass on it.”
Chapter 5
It’s a funny kind of month, October. For the really keen baseball fan it’s when you discover that your wife left you in May.
—Denis Norden
“Hold the mitt up a little higher,” Wade instructed Sam, and then stepped behind her, putting one hand on her hip, the other guiding her arm a little higher.
If she hadn’t been so terrified, so aware of the full stands and everyone around her readying for the powder-puff inning, she might have enjoyed the feeling of his big, hard, warm body behind hers.
“Open the mitt more,” he told her. “It’ll align with the ball.”
“It will?” she asked doubtfully. “Even if you’re not a natural athlete?”