Extra Innings and In His Wildest Dreams

by Debbi Rawlins

  Dylan nodded at the device. “Now you know how I feel.”

  “Hey, you’re a public figure. It comes with the territory.”

  “So my agent keeps reminding me. Finish telling me about the guy.”

  She sat up straighter. “That was your one question.”

  His gaze flickered to her breasts, and for a second she wondered if she’d messed up the buttons again. Then he met her eyes. He looked so serious. “Are you still with him?”

  “No.” The word came out more emphatic than she’d intended.

  He rose, turned off the TV and came around the bed to where she was sitting.

  Her heart thumped her chest. “What are you doing?”

  His pupils had dilated until his eyes looked black. He glanced at the phone sitting on the nightstand not far from her. “I think you were right. We should order that pizza.”

  “You want to stay here, then?” Her pulse raced as she tried to think things through. He was trying to shake her up. The question hadn’t been enough, but him standing so close? That was dangerous, for her article and for her heart. Dreams like Dylan were meant to be just that. Dreams. She had no business letting him rile her.

  He lowered himself to the edge of the bed and tucked a curl behind her ear.

  “Look, Dylan…” She tried sounding annoyed, at least unfazed, but he was so close, she had trouble breathing naturally.

  “I have a confession to make.”

  “And you couldn’t make it from your chair?”

  He ignored the barb in favor of touching her cheek with his fingertips. “That picture Mark Custer made? He figured out I had a crush on you and he was messing with me.”

  “What?” Elizabeth reared back. “You did not. You were dating what’s-her-name.”

  “That’s why I never approached you.” He sighed. “No, that’s a lie. I kept my distance because I knew you were out of my league. Mark was an ass to use that awful shot of you, but he did it so I would get in hot water with what’s-her-name. It wasn’t meant to hurt you, but I imagine it did. I’m sorry.”

  She couldn’t speak. Why would he lie about liking her? She had no illusions about who she’d been in high school. A homely nerd who’d gone to the prom with her two equally nerdy girlfriends. What in hell was he hiding that he had to use that kind of emotional ruse to get her to back off?

  “You were so smart and full of determination and…damn, I thought you were the most fantastic girl on campus.” His voice sounded sincere, but when he went to trail a finger down her chin, her wounded heart made her grab his wrist. “I knew you thought I was just a dumb jock. That you’d be bored with me in five minutes.”

  Her lips parted. She still had no words. When he twisted his wrist out of her grip, she didn’t fight him.

  He skimmed his thumb across her lower lip, then bent his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth. She didn’t kiss him back, but she didn’t resist, either. That must have been enough for him because he drew back a bit, and then resettled his mouth over hers. And when she felt his tongue sneak past her defenses, she was lost.

  6

  DYLAN SAMPLED HER pliant lips, the moist heat of her mouth, his body growing tight with the need to lay her down and taste the rest of her. At her hungry little moan, his last shred of control snapped.

  He wanted her. Wanted to see if her panties matched the skimpy black bra he’d seen earlier. He wanted her naked and moving beneath him, her breasts crushed against his bare chest. Except it was her hand on his chest, he realized, her palm flat and dead center, pushing.

  Immediately he broke the kiss and pulled back. Her eyes were huge in her pale face, her lips damp. And dammit, they were trembling a little.

  “Beth, I—” His hand was on her waist. He moved it to his side. “That wasn’t planned. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You caught me off guard.” She shrunk back against the pillows, smoothed the front of her shirt, stared down at her fingers. “We can’t do this… You know that, right?”

  “Why not? I mean, if you wanted to.”

  She looked up then, her expression puzzled. “It would be completely unprofessional.”

  He started to laugh, then got that she wasn’t kidding. Great. Now he didn’t know what to say. He rose, paced to the window and saw that it had finally stopped raining.

  “It’s my job,” she said. “My reputation.”

  Dylan didn’t disagree. “It’s not like I’m a political candidate or something. But, hey, I understand. You have to feel comfortable.”

  She crawled off the bed and came to stand beside him at the window. “We could still go out to dinner,” she said softly, her gaze on the blur of red taillights heading down the wet street.

  He inhaled the sweet gingery scent of her hair, studied the delicate curve of her neck and stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her. “Whatever you want.”

  Her mouth curved in a slow, wry smile and she looked up at him. “I’m not really sure what I want. I mean, I want the interview, of course, but…”

  With the light coming from behind them casting a shadow over part of her face, she looked small and vulnerable and indecisive. “This isn’t helping,” he murmured.

  “No, you’re right.” She turned her head, straightened her shoulders and stared outside again. “You wanted to know about me. I’m going to give you my story in a nutshell.” She turned away, went to sit cross-legged at the foot of the bed. “High school was a breeze. Straight As the last three years. I didn’t have a social life so I got involved in activities I knew would help get me accepted to a good college. That’s why the debate team, school paper, all that.”

  She shrugged, watching him as he reclaimed the chair. “I went to Northwestern on a scholarship, which was a huge help because my folks really didn’t have the money to see three kids through college. My brother and sister were coming up behind me and it was pretty much expected that my grades and part-time jobs would get me my degree.

  “College wasn’t much different than high school.” She paused to moisten her lips, then glanced over at him. “I didn’t date, well, only a few times. Mostly I studied, worked, finished my undergrad in three years.”

  She was on a roll, and he didn’t want her to stop. Even to answer the questions popping into his head. But damn, she’d gone to Northwestern. Not a big surprise. Except she was working for the North Star News.

  “Let’s see,” she murmured on a deep breath. “Okay, so college was…uneventful. Graduate school was more of the same except I was able to intern at a couple of good newspapers. I’m pretty sure one of them would’ve offered me a job after I finished my Masters if the economy hadn’t gone to hell.”

  He nodded his understanding, but said nothing. His family and friends had been hit hard, too. But what could he say after having made an obscene amount of money playing for Japan? Many of the fans here thought that’s why he’d “defected,” that it was all about the money. He hadn’t seen a reason to set them straight. Maybe it was time. Maybe this interview with Beth was the answer.

  “I did eventually find a position with a daily in Indianapolis. It was a good job with a lot of potential for advancement. Then I met Paul.” Her gaze flicked to Dylan before she shrugged and looked toward the window. “He hadn’t been out of law school for long. We met at a political rally and he was wicked smart and funny and exactly what I was looking for. We’d been seeing each other for almost a year when a large firm offered him a job in Chicago. He asked me to go with him… I was reluctant at first but he convinced me that Indianapolis was small potatoes, that I belonged in a city like Chicago.”

  “He was right about that,” Dylan said, hating to see how much her mood had changed. Man, he understood her wanting to mentally beat herself up. Been there, done that. But no more.

  She gave him a faint smile. “Thanks, but I still want the interview.”

  He smiled back. “What happened in Chicago?”

  “I jumped in with my usual exu
berance, spruced up my résumé, bought the perfect power suits and started pounding the pavement. Long story short…three months later, I had no job, no savings and Paul dumped me for a cute blonde paralegal. I still have a great wardrobe, though, and shoes to die for.” She laughed softly. “Oh, and my oversize ego and I had to move back in with my parents for eight months, but I have my own place again. As long I don’t mind doing two-bit stories for the—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

  Dylan just chuckled. “Yeah, you did, but it’s okay. I get it. As soon as I recognized you I wondered what the hell you were doing interviewing me. I figured by now you’d be embedded in Afghanistan or causing trouble for some big shot in D.C.”

  “No, seriously, I did not mean it like it sounded. Compared to what I’ve been doing for the North Star News, this is a big opportunity.” She sighed. “The kind of fluffy-bunny pieces I’ve been writing are too embarrassing to describe.”

  He studied her for a moment. She was serious. “I’m far from Pulitzer material.”

  A hint of amusement played at the corners of her mouth. “At first I’ll admit to having a few uncharitable thoughts about being asked to do this. Plus I figured you’d recognize me and blow me off. But then my editor said something about you not giving interviews so I did some poking around and found out he wasn’t kidding. You’re about the most closedmouthed pro athlete around. Yet you’re not camera shy, so of course it made me curious…” She had on her reporter’s face now, her brows knitted together, eyes narrowed quizzically. “Is it about you playing for Japan?”

  “You know people are going to believe what they want to believe. It doesn’t matter what I have to say.”

  “In the absence of reliable information, rumors will reign. Isn’t it better to get the truth out there?”

  He was beginning to understand what she meant about a personal relationship getting in the way. If it had been anyone else he doubted he’d be sitting here having this conversation. “If we get the interview out of the way, then is sex no longer out of the question?”

  Elizabeth blinked, jerked a little. “Um…” She stared wordlessly at him, then narrowed her eyes. “What did you just say?”

  He grinned, then shook his head, scrubbed at his face and sighed wholeheartedly. “You’re right. A personal relationship makes things difficult because if you were anyone else, you’d get my canned speech and that would be it.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I don’t know.” He muttered a curse to himself, wanting to help her out, but not sure he was ready to spill his guts. “I think we should call it a night.”

  Disappointment clouded her face and made him look away. “All right,” she said slowly. “Can we meet in the morning?”

  “The game’s tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Oh, I thought it was an evening game.”

  He shook his head. “I can get you a ticket if you want.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He got to the door, hesitated, then said, “I’ll leave it for you at the front desk.”

  “Thanks.” She’d tried to hide her disappointment under a higher pitch, but it was there, needling him, making him feel like a coward. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  “Good night, Beth.”

  “Dylan?” She moved closer, forced him to look at her. “Earlier you offered to write the article yourself.”

  “I was teasing.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “But just for the hell of it, think about what you would write.”

  “You’re a sly one, Elizabeth Smith,” he said, only half joking.

  “I know that, too.” She went up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Good luck tomorrow afternoon. Not that you need it.”

  He left then because what he wanted was to stay. And if he did that, he had a feeling it would be for the rest of the night. No, she was right. Rotten timing. He should be concentrating on his playing and nothing else. And doing some serious thinking about what he wanted to tell her. Tell the world.

  If he told the truth about his fear and his shame, well, that would be all right. He could deal with it. But coming out and letting everyone know that all those teachers and coaches, and yeah, even his parents, had cast a blind eye to his torment for the sake of a game? Baseball had given him so damn much. And if she put it all in the paper, who’s to say that it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. To tell his real story would risk a hell of a lot. And while he thought and hoped Elizabeth would tread lightly, there were no guarantees.

  It was safer just to let it go. Stop while he was ahead.

  But, dammit, she was more to him than a journalist. She might even be a lot more. If he pulled his punches now, he’d never know how she’d have handled the situation. Would she put sensationalism first? Or would she be the amazing person he hoped she was and tell the full story in a way that would honor both his career and his struggle?

  Not bothering with the elevator, he headed straight for the stairs. He made it up two flights, then stopped, his thoughts surging faster than his feet had carried him. With a muttered curse, he turned around and took the staircase down to the lobby.

  The young woman manning the front desk looked up and smiled. “Mr. Andrews, what can I do for you?”

  “Is there someplace nearby where I can buy a notebook?”

  ELIZABETH ARRIVED AT the stadium half an hour before the game was to start. The long lines at the concession stands and the number of seats that were already filled surprised her, considering the match-up was between two Minor League teams. It had been ages since she’d been to a baseball game… In fact now that she thought about it, watching Dylan play in high school had been the last time.

  The last-minute assignment hadn’t left her enough research time, and she knew little about the rules or much else pertaining to the country’s national pastime. After he’d left her room, she’d gone online to learn last night. But her search had kept gravitating toward specific players, who in essence were Dylan’s competition for the few Major League shortstop positions available on September 1.

  Every blog and article she’d read indicated that Dylan would undoubtedly be filling one of those spots, but the only thing she knew for sure was that there was no certainty in life—he could be passed over. If that happened, she had no idea how that would affect his career plans, and as a reporter she had a duty to ask. The thought made her cringe. She was already too emotionally invested in him, which made her a pretty lousy reporter.

  She found her seat up front near the section reserved for the players’ wives and sighed. Only yesterday she would’ve insinuated herself into the middle of the group of women, pumping them for information about Dylan. Not today. She couldn’t do it. Too intrusive. She might as well have had sex with him, she thought crossly. At least it would have been a spectacular consolation for totally sucking at her job.

  Players were on the field warming up though none of them wore the Crusaders uniform. She craned her neck to see inside the bull pen, not knowing whether a shortstop would even be out there yet. The aroma of hot dogs and fresh popped corn finally got to her and she waved down a vendor carrying a large metal box. She ordered one hot dog, pretty sure she could’ve wolfed down two of them after drinking only coffee for breakfast and having skipped lunch altogether.

  While keeping an eye on the field, she doctored her hot dog with condiments and sipped her soft drink. Fans kept filing in, and the announcer was on the PA system saying something about promotional batting helmets that would be given out to the kids at the next game. Elizabeth barely heard him when she saw Dylan walk onto the field.

  Even if she hadn’t been wearing her contacts, or had been sitting farther away from the fence, no matter that a dozen men wearing the blue-and-white uniform had appeared, she would’ve known Dylan immediately. The slow, confident way he walked, the wide breadth of his shoulders, the slim hips, the incredibly perfect ass.

  She’d barely been able to think about anything but
him since he’d left her room. She’d tossed and turned and cursed herself for letting him go, until she’d finally had to take matters into her own hands. It had been hell not picking up the phone and asking him to come back.

  She felt something wet and gushy squeeze between her fingers and glanced down to see ketchup and mustard oozing from her mangled hot dog. Crap. The flimsy paper napkin failed at its task and she quickly licked her fingers before she ruined her black jeans.

  She looked up again to see that Dylan had spotted her. He pushed back his blue cap and gave her a slow, sexy smile.

  7

  ELIZABETH WISHED SHE knew how long it took for the team to return to the hotel. She’d rushed back as soon as the last Out was called so that she could change out of her ketchup-smeared jeans and grab a quick shower. The Crusaders had won, Dylan had played like a champ and even the Tulsa fans had applauded for him the two times he’d made impossible catches.

  Watching the game had stirred up all kinds of silly giddy feelings inside of her and she hadn’t quite come down from the high yet. For a few moments, it was as if she’d been transported back to junior year, exchanging glances and whispers with her two best friends, giggling, hoping no one noticed while she’d held her breath as she’d watched Dylan play.

  She checked her watch and looked out the window again, then she heard the knock. It couldn’t be him. She’d been keeping an eye out for the bus. She used the peephole then flung open the door. His hair was damp as if he’d just stepped out of the shower.

  “Hi,” she said, breathless as though she’d run up two flights of stairs. “You’re here.”

  He grinned. “I am.”

  She had the most ridiculous urge to grab him and kiss him. Why not? She threw her arms around his neck. “Congratulations! You won.”

  He staggered backward, laughing. “You’re surprised?”

  “No, I’m not. I—” She let him go, self-consciously stepping back, and laughed with him. “I’m not sure why I did that.”