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.
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.”
“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
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-”
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 hips 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
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
