Double Play (37 page)

Couldn’t blame him. They weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

His unruly sun-kissed light brown hair was either styled messy today on purpose or he hadn’t bothered with a comb. His face was scruffy with at least a day-old beard so she was going with the no-comb theory. He should have looked sloppy and unkempt but nothing about him ever looked like anything less than God’s gift. She’d seen him in uniform, in designer suits, in work-out gear, in all sorts of things, including absolutely nothing, and he always looked perfect.

Especially in the nothing.

“Hey,” he said in that low, slightly raspy voice of his, the one that never failed to immediately put her back up.

And/or turn her on.

“Hey yourself.” He wasn’t limping, and he sure as hell didn’t look exhausted. The opposite, she thought a little breathlessly as his deceptively lazy gaze raked over her from head to toe. Deceptively, because behind that beach-bum facade of his lay a sharp-as-hell wit.

Given their . . . tense relationship at the moment, she didn’t smile.

And though he usually smiled at anything female, neither did he.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Always. How about you, Princess? You ready to do this?”

She’d asked him a million times not to call her that. It drove her crazy, which was of course why he did it. “We need to talk.”

“Sorry,” he said with mock regret. “But we don’t talk. We fight. And I’m not in the mood.”

He hadn’t been “in the mood” since what she called the Mishap.

The Mishap Never to Be Talked About.

Except . . . except Wade got along with the entire world, and she had to admit it was disturbing that they didn’t. Couldn’t. Fact was, the two of them rubbed each other the wrong way, always had, and there was nothing to be done about that now.

Nothing.

She had a job to do.
They
had a job to do. So she swallowed the little ball of nerves in her throat, reminding herself that as the estrogen quota in a world of testosterone, she’d made her place by being cool, calm, and implacable, just as her father had taught her.

Tough and composed.

No weaknesses.

None. And on the whole, it worked for her.

Ninety-nine percent of the time.

At least until that rare occasion when she had to deal with this
one
player, this
one
guy who had the singular, most annoying ability to get beneath her skin and make himself right at home. It wasn’t even his fault. He simply threw her off by just being. He made it so she couldn’t be professional, and that more than anything was worrisome.

Aka terrifying.

“I realize you probably don’t want to go over the plan,” she said. “But I think we should.”

“I know the plan,” he said. “One of the corporations endorsing the Heat has a new conservative CEO who has high ‘family values’ and is upset about our PR troubles—”

“
Your
recent PR troubles,” she corrected.

He let out a tight breath. “Whatever. The fact is that you, the manager, the owner, hell, everyone but me, believes that the world cares about one more ridiculous baseball scandal, and they think that scandal is going to be me simply because some woman claims I’ve gotten her pregnant. I never slept with her.”

“You can’t blame people for thinking it. You do have a bit of a playboy reputation, and she had pictures of you and her on the beach by your house.”

He just looked at her, clearly standing by his claim that this wasn’t his fault.

“See,” she pointed out. “This is why we have to talk about it.”

“Look, I get what the powers that be want from me. From us. We pretend to be a couple in the eyes of the press so our endorsements won’t be pulled. How hard can it be?”

“I don’t know,” she replied cautiously. “How hard?”

He gave her a look.
The
look. And heat seared through her belly. “You know what I mean,” she mumbled.

“The plan is that I have to behave. And you’re supposed to make me.” He shot her the look again. “I’m looking forward to the ‘make me’ part.”

Oh, God. “Okay, this isn’t going to work,” she said stiffly. She was fun. Lighthearted. Why the hell he made her sound so uptight and stuffy, she had no idea.

Wait. She did have an idea. An exact idea.

She’d slept with him.

Once.

On the one single night in her entire life she’d had too much to drink. Except there’d been no sleeping involved. To make matters worse, it’d been one of the hottest, best nights of her life. “Listen, I realize we’ve had our differences, but—”

“Differences?” He laughed, then shook his head, still amused. “I’m going to let you get away with that, Princess, because I’m in a hurry.”

A friend of his was getting married. A close friend who just happened to be a big-time Hollywood producer, and Wade was one of the groomsmen. The wedding was an entire weekend extravaganza where there was sure to be tons of press. If he was going to attract any of it—and just by being Wade, he most definitely was—he needed to attract
good
press.

They had a two hour car trip ahead of them, and by the time it was over and they got out of the limo at the resort, they needed to be in sync and looking like lovers. Willing to do her part, she smiled, the smile that usually got her exactly what she wanted, and in this case, what she wanted was Wade’s cooperation. Thing was, he didn’t often feel the need to cooperate, which she knew all too well. “You’re right, let’s just get going, we can finish this on the way.”

He looked at her for a long beat, all big and built and completely inscrutable, during which time she held her breath. For as laid-back as he was, he was also tough as steel. He had to be. Catchers had what was arguably the hardest position in baseball. They had to command the respect of all the players, as it was the catcher making the calls. He had to have good sequences in those calls, and the ability to change it up and keep hitters off balance. Which meant he had to be smart, sharp, and strong in both mind and body.

Wade was all of those things and more. Including quick to come to a decision. He tossed his overnight bag into the limo and followed it in. Leaning back, he stretched out his long, long legs and looked around. “So. We have any food in here?”

“No. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

He was always starving. Probably because he burned God knew how many calories a day between five mile runs, weight training, and the game itself. “We can stop and get something to go. Rosa’s?” she asked, naming the closest café. Look at that, she was getting the hang of taking care of him already.

“DQ is good.”

She’d never met a grown man with such a love for fast food before. But whatever he wanted, she’d get. It would make him happy, and a happy Wade was hopefully a compliant one. With a nod from her, the driver started the engine, and they began their trek, heading through town.

Santa Barbara was a colorful blend of history and up-scale Southern California living. Wade was looking out the window, taking it in, giving her his profile as they turned onto Highway 1, heading south. The sparkling Pacific was on their right, the green, craggily Santa Ynez peaks on their left, both breathtaking.

They made a stop at Dairy Queen and got back on the road. Wade was quiet as he ate, watching as they left the affluent homes and ranches, and headed into the outlying county and the far-less privileged area. She knew he’d come from an underprivileged neighborhood himself. In fact, despite his many faults, he was surprisingly humble and quick to laugh at himself, and often joked he’d grown up so far from the proverbial tracks that he hadn’t even been able to
see
them.

And her?

Well, she’d grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, and everyone knew it. It was certainly all Wade knew about her, because it’d been the only thing she’d ever let him see. He had no idea that the two of them had a hell of a lot more in common that he’d ever guess.

He polished off two burgers and went to work on a bag of fries. “So . . .” His green eyes were relaxed but assessing as they met hers. “When are you going to tell me they want us to do this boyfriend/girlfriend thing for a whole month?”

“You heard?” she asked in surprise. She thought she was supposed to talk him into it.

“I work with a bunch of women. They tell all.”

“Wade, you work with a group of professional athletes.”

“Who gossip like women. Pace told me. He’d heard it from Henry, who’d overheard Gage talking to you.”

Pace being Wade’s best friend and the Heat’s ace pitcher. Henry was their shortstop. Gage, their team manager. And yes, the supposedly
professional
clubhouse really was similar in nature to a high school locker room.

Wade was still looking at her. He was sprawled out, relaxed. She took a careful breath. “A month shows stability. It’s more impressive than just a weekend wedding fling.”

His brow shot up so far into his thick and unruly hair it vanished. “So you’re okay with being joined at the hip for a month?”

“If you are.”

“Are there benefits?”

“No!”

He sighed.

“Hey, it’s not that bad. I’m fun, you know.”

He just looked at her, which burned. “I am! And I just realized, there
are
benefits.”

“I’m listening.”

Seemed she’d managed to surprise him after all. “Maybe it’ll be fun.”

“How?”

“Well . . .” She wracked her brain. “I can be a pretty convincing bitch when I want to be.”

“Nooo,” he said with mock shock.

She ignored that. “I can scare all the crazy women that chase you around and thereby give you a break, and in return, you can just relax knowing you won’t have to take care of me like your usual hanger-on, clingy type who bores you within the span of one date.”

He slid her a look.

“Hey, just calling ’em like I see ’em.”

He didn’t say anything to that as he finished the fries, then tossed all the trash back into the bag and set it aside. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and said another entire boatload of nothing.

“It’s just a role, Wade. And it could have been worse. We could have lost the endorsement entirely, or they could have traded you.”

“They’re that desperate for good press.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Hey, baseball isn’t exactly showing its best foot to the public lately. We need this. The Heat needs this.”

“And your father’s okay with it?” he asked carefully, with good reason.

Her father was one of the owners of the Heat. Her uncle owned their sister team, the Charleston Bucks. The McNead brothers were famous for getting their way, or more accurately, infamous.

And they were baseball royalty.

Or had been until Samantha’s brother, Jeremy—her equivalent at the Bucks—had stepped over the ethics line, the moral line, and several other lines as well, and brought the wrath of the press down on the McNeads. “Yes,” she said quietly. “He thinks it’s a good idea.”

“So they’re willing to pimp out their princess as it suits them.”

A McNead was expected to stick to the pack. “It’s just an illusion, Wade.”

“It’s an entire month, Sam.”

The reminder made her stomach quiver. An entire month of being his “girlfriend.” “We’re grown-ups.”

“Really? Because we’ve not spent more than two minutes together without snarling at each other.”

True.

“Well . . .” His smile turned sleepy and sexy. “Except for the elevator.”

Also true, and her stomach executed a somersault as the memory flew back, hot and sexy, resurrected by nothing more than the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes.

It’d been last season. The Heat had just lost, bad. Her family had been driving her insane, and she’d been in desperate need of a pity party for one.

Instead, she’d gotten stuck in that damn elevator on the way to her hotel room with Wade and a couple of little bottles of airplane Scotch. Adrenaline still racing, she’d found something she hadn’t expected—a naked party for two.

And now erotic, alcohol-tinged memories came in slomo and without conscious bidding, and as always,
always
, sent her spinning between total and complete humiliation and an even more devastating aching hunger.

Neither of which she was comfortable with.

If she could erase from her memory bank the pictures of Wade taking her straight to heaven in under five minutes, she would, but those memories seemed to strengthen with time, teasing her. She darted a quick glance at their driver, who was currently sipping a seventy-two ounce soda and rocking his head to the radio as he beat the steering wheel like a drum.

Not listening. Good. “I don’t want to discuss that night.”

Wade shrugged. No skin off his nose. Hell, he’d probably had lots of nights like that since.

Dammit.

She concentrated on the view. Not a hardship. Santa Barbara wasn’t called the American Riviera for nothing, and she watched as they passed 4,000 foot peaks covered in unique and beautiful chaparral and sandstone outcrop-pings. Their destination was the famous OC, Orange County, specifically Laguna Beach, for a “magical” weekend. “So we’re good?” she asked quietly.

Wade smiled. It was his professional smile, the one that could melt a woman’s panties at fifty paces and make men wish that they had half his athletic prowess, and it was a charmer. She knew its potency, braced herself for it, and
still
felt her panties begin to melt.

“What the hell.” He stretched out farther, his thigh sliding against hers. “I’m on board. Girlfriend.”

“
Fake
girlfriend,” she corrected, shoving his leg over, telling herself she was absolutely not noticing the heat of him, the feel of his rock-hard thigh . . .

He stretched some more, straightening his arms above him, for a minute exposing a brief flash of washboard abs between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans. Jeans that were faded to white at all the stress points. He had some very fine stress points . . .