The Devil in Denim
Page 28
What the hell is taking them so long? She stole a look at the TV but the clock at the bottom of the screen had only crept forward another few minutes. The door to the conference room remained steadfastly closed as she stared at it, willing it to open.
She realized she was nibbling on her thumbnail, a fact that would earn her a talking-to next time she went for a manicure, but she didn’t care. The Saints charm on her bracelet jiggled in time with her nervous bites, the tiny silver wings chiming against the baseball bat that hung next to it, ticking off the seconds as she sat there losing her mind.
Finally the door opened. And the three of them emerged.
Their faces were serious.
Maggie’s stomach dropped and she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to stand.
“What happened?” she demanded. From somewhere she found the ability to control the sudden terror rolling through her and got to her feet, her eyes searching Alex’s face for an answer.
“Well, it wasn’t quite—” Alex started but then Mal cracked and started laughing. Alex rolled his eyes. “Jeez, where’s your sense of occasion?”
“Just put the girl out of her misery, A,” Mal said.
“Okay.”
Maggie stared up at him and then closed the distance between them with three angry strides. “You were trying to game me?” She whacked him. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re cute when you’re angry,” Alex said. And then he grabbed her and pulled her closer. “How do you feel about kissing the owner of a major league baseball team?”
“Is it you?” She looked over at Mal and Lucas, ignoring the crazy beat of pleasure in her veins at the feel of his hands around her waist. “Because those two are mighty pretty.” Lucas grinned at her and she felt an answering grin spread over her face as joy rolled away all the nerves. They’d done it. They’d kept the Saints.
“You could kiss all three of us,” Mal said.
Alex’s hands tightened and she looked back at him, startled by the possessive grip. “Over my dead body,” he growled, and then he kissed her and everything else went away for a time. Too short a time. Not long enough to figure out if he was just doing it to keep up appearances, before they were broken apart by a wave of congratulations from the other owners emerging from the conference room. The MLB executives then hurried them into a press conference, leaving her once again standing next to Alex, blinded by camera flashes and wondering what the hell happened next.
* * *
What happened next, as it turned out, was one hell of a party at Deacon Field. Maggie drank champagne and celebrated with the rest of them but she did it distractedly. Every time she let her focus go for even a second, her eyes sought out Alex in the crowd. Finding him laughing or smiling at an endless procession of people. But not at her. He didn’t come to find her.
She accepted another glass of champagne from Shonda and tried to stop herself from watching him.
Hana appeared through the crowd with Shelly and the two of them joined her, clinking glasses triumphantly.
“Congrats, sweetie,” Shelly said. “Here’s to girl power.”
“And judicious blackmail,” Hana added with a smirk.
“Yes,” Maggie said, watching Alex talking to a woman she didn’t recognize.
“Oh, honey,” Hana said. “You have got it bad.”
Maggie wrenched her attention back, feeling heat flare in her cheeks. “What? No, no. I don’t. It’s all pretending, remember?” She gulped more champagne desperately.
Hana laughed, brown eyes dancing. “If you believe that then I’ve got a lovely bridge in Brooklyn to sell you. So why don’t you go over and take that man somewhere and make up with him?”
“He’s still the boss.”
That earned her a dismissive chop of Hana’s hand. “You’ll figure that part out. There’s plenty to do here. You don’t have to work with him all day every day. Besides, if the last week has been any indication, you’re just going to be miserable without him. So you might as well admit it.”
“Yeah, miserable,” Shelly said, slurring the words a fraction. “You’ll work it out. He’s a good guy. And hot,” she added with a decisive nod. “That’s a pretty good combination. Go get him.”
“You two are drunk. You’d think anybody was hot.”
“We managed to snag ourselves two pretty hot dudes,” Hana pointed out. “Got ’em to marry us—or close enough in Shelly’s case—and everything. We’re very good judges of character. So listen to us.” She gave Maggie a little shove. “Off you go. Or girl power will have to be reactivated to sort you out too.”
Wow. Now there was a threat to spur her into action. She really didn’t need Hana and Shelly cornering Alex and trying to resurrect her love life for her.
“All right,” she said. “I’m going. You two go and find those cute guys of yours and behave yourselves.”
“They’re hot, not cute,” Shelly corrected.
“Mine’s both,” Hana said, looking smug. She linked arms with Shelly and they headed off to hunt for their men.
Maggie returned to watching Alex.
Decision time.
Bottom of the ninth.
Step up to the plate or walk away.
Patient needs to drop the baseball metaphors and just get on with it.
For once, she was in complete agreement with that annoying voice in her head.
And she knew what she had to do.
* * *
It took Alex a few seconds to realize what the vibrations in his pocket were. Relief and several rapid toasts had him feeling loose and distracted. The vibrations came again. His phone. Right. Damn. Who was calling? Half of New York baseball seemed to be here and they’d already held a damned press conference.
He pulled out the phone, ready to tell whoever it was to take a leap, then froze when he read the text which simply said Your office. Now.
Maggie.
The adrenaline rush cleared his head with a speed that was startling.
He shoved his half-empty glass at Gardner, muttered excuses to the people they’d been talking to, and wound his way through the party and out to the elevator as fast as was humanly possible in the overcrowded room. They’d locked off the top floor, where the offices were, in case anyone from a rival team decided to take the party as an opportunity to sneak up to the executive level and help themselves to information about the Saints. That meant he wasted a minute or so getting his pass to override the system so he could get up there.
The hall lights were on half-strength as he stepped out into the corridor and hurried toward his office, trying to ignore the steady thumps of his pulse in his ear. What did Maggie want?
She couldn’t have changed her mind and decided to leave, could she?
The thought was enough to make him stop a few feet from his office door. It was open about six inches, but there was no light spilling from the opening.
Was she even in there?
Was she sitting in the dark?
That couldn’t be a good sign.
He pushed the door open, holding his breath as he stepped through. Then he froze as he saw her. Perched on his desk. Wearing nothing but a Saints jersey, long legs bare as they swung back and forth. The white and blue and gold fabric made her hair and eyes look very dark.
She smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.” She moved and the jersey slipped down one shoulder, revealing quite a bit of bare flesh.
He froze, shocked into immobility, feeling as though his brain had stopped for a moment. As had his heart. Probably because all the blood in his body had dived to his groin in an instant at the sight of her. “So I see.”
He stepped farther into the room, ignoring the wild desire to run across the room and tear the rest of her clothes off. If he did something stupid now, he could ruin things all over again. His body protested as he made himself move slowly. He pushed the door shut. Locked it for good measure. Just in case, by some miracle, this was really happening and she wasn’t a
victory-induced hallucination.
He could smell her though, smell the sweet rich drift of her perfume. He didn’t think hallucinations wore perfume. He leaned back against the door, drinking in the sight of her. “Was there something you wanted?”
Maggie’s smile widened. “Yes. I felt I owed you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For calling you the devil.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“Not so fast. You see, I decided that you probably are the devil. Because that’s about the only reason I can think of for the fact that I can’t seem to keep away from you.”
The sudden rush of relief made him grin at her. “It couldn’t just be innate natural charm?”
She shook her head and the fabric slithered farther down her shoulder, her skin shining softly at him in the light coming through the window. “Nope. You being the devil is the only explanation that makes sense.”
“How does that make sense?” He really wasn’t following this conversation too well. His attention was nearly one hundred percent riveted by the skin of her shoulder and the way the V-neck of the jersey was giving him a tantalizing view of the curve of one of her breasts. He studied the jersey, trying to work out how long it would take to rip it off her. Which was when he noticed the letter on the sleeve patch was a W not a J.
He look past her, to where he could just see her back reflected in the dark glass of the window. Sure enough, the back of the jersey read WINTERS.
“Maggie, did you get that jersey for me?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“A few days ago. I wanted to surprise you.”
She had succeeded. He looked at the reflection again, at the Saints symbol below his name. He knew what the team was to her. Family. Part of her home. And here she was, making him part of it. “Thank you.”
She smiled at him, eyes inviting. An invitation that he hoped was one she wouldn’t be extending to anybody else but him.
“Does this mean you’ve reconsidered your position?”
She nodded. “It seems it does. Even though it’s crazy.” She looked back up. “So, Mr. Winters … want to be crazy with me?”
“Yes.” He felt himself grinning. “Yes, I think I do.”
“Then maybe you should come over here and remind me why?”
He almost levitated to the desk. Stopped and looked down at her. Saint Maggie who really wasn’t. She was herself. Difficult. Devious. Cocky. Devoted. Sexy as hell.
He was a lucky guy.
“Maggie?” he said as she smiled up at him.
“Yes, Alex?”
“If that’s my jersey, don’t you think you should take it off and give it to me?”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
Coming soon…
Don’t miss the next Saints novel from
Melanie Scott
Angel in Armani
Available in January 2015 from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
About the Author
Melanie Scott is an unrepentant bookworm. Luckily she grew up in a family that fed her a properly varied diet of books and these days is surrounded by people who are understanding of her story addiction. When not wrestling one of her own stories to the ground, she can generally be found reading someone else’s. Her other distractions include yarn, cat butlering, dark chocolate, and fabric. She lives in Melbourne, Australia. Her website is www.melanie-scott.net. Follow Melanie on Twitter @melscott or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/writermelaniescott.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE DEVIL IN DENIM
Copyright © 2014 by Melanie Scott.
All rights reserved.
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St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / September 2014
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