by Jill Shalvis
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 hips 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?”
“You’re a natural.”
Her tummy quivered. “How do you know?”
“I know.”
She wanted to believe that.
“Once th
e 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
