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“When does the ad air?”
She'd tape the commercial and watch it over and over again.

“Next month.”

He squeezed her hand. “We're
good at speed dating. It's easy with you.”

She felt the same way. “Would
you have picked me over the other participants?” A gutsy question.

“A toss-up between you and
the cougar.”

A waiter stopped by their
table with a tray of decorative fortune cookies, chocolate-dipped and drizzled
with coconut and lemon frosting. Rhaden selected two, and handed her one.

She broke open her cookie. “A
feminist quote.” She read, “'Some of us are becoming the men we wanted to
marry.'”

Rhaden went serious on her.
“You're a strong woman, Revelle, self-assured, innovative, driven. Do you ever
plan to marry?”

She folded her fortune, set
it aside. “A woman makes room for the right man,” she said slowly. “I've been
wrapped up in establishing myself in a man's world.” So busy, in fact, a part
of her life felt barren. “Someday I'd like to be both a wife and mother, as
well as keep my finger on the pulse of player promotions.”

“Multitasking isn't easy,”
he said.

“It is with partner
support.”

“My fortune now.” He
cracked the cookie in half, pulled out the message. “General, but accurate:
'You're about to embark on a journey.'” He covered his yawn with one hand. “Rogues
play three series out of town.”

Revelle's eyes went wide.
She glanced at her watch, realized it was long after midnight. The cocktail
lounge was on its third rotation. “Your flight leaves at seven,” she said
recalling the players' schedule. “It's late—you won't get much sleep.”

“It's been time well spent.”

She brought the balloon
snifter to her lips, took one last sip of cognac. She and Rhaden then stood,
and he released her hand. She instantly missed the contact.

“I run a tab,” he told her.
“No bill to pay until the end of the month.” He tipped a twenty, then added
another ten. “I take care of the people who take care of me,” he told her on
their way out.

They rode down in the glass
elevator, slowed their steps as they crossed the lobby. The canopied entrance
stood vacant except for the valet, who called for both their vehicles. Revelle
wished she'd had more time with Rhaden.

The moment turned awkward,
and neither made a move. A handshake, a hug, a kiss?

Rhaden tucked his hands
into his pants pockets, said, “You never followed up on the photography contest
at Collage. Did you find a better judge?”

She'd never leave him out
of the loop. “It's not for another two weeks,” she said. “The photographs have
been taken and once the students frame their pictures, they'll go on display.”

“The Rogues return in
twelve days,” he said. “Set the judging for my day off.”

“I will,” she promised.
Seconds later, she was captured in the headlights of her BMW. The valet waited
patiently, holding her car door wide. Still, she stood on the sidewalk, unable
to leave. The cool night air made her shiver.

Rhaden immediately slipped
off his suit jacket, secured it over her shoulders before she got goose bumps.
His warmth and scent seduced her—she felt wrapped in the man.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded. His jacket gave
off a lot of heat.

He flattened his hand on
her back, guided her around the hood of the bimmer. He tipped the valet, and the
man returned to his station.

She'd lingered too long,
Revelle realized. She had given Rhaden fifteen minutes to kiss her, and he'd
let them tick by.

“Night,” she managed, and
hoped only she heard the disappointment in her voice. “I'll see you soon. Your
suit coat—”

“I'm not concerned about my
jacket.” She caught the indecision in his eyes, edged by desire.

Wanting her won. He
clutched the lapels just above her breasts and lifted her on tiptoe. If she'd
thought his suit coat warm, it had nothing on his body. The man was all heat
and strength as he drew her close.

His kiss was one of warmth
yet reserve. The tangible tightening of his body left her liquid. She
initiated, led him where she wanted to go.

Nipping his lower lip, she
increased the intimacy.

She freed one hand from
between their bodies and traced his sculpted chest, then trickled her ringers
down his side.

He responded with tongue
and a firmer grip on the lapels. She'd never felt so taken by a kiss.

Headlights broke them apart
as the valet delivered Rhaden's vehicle. In those unaccountable moments, she'd
forgotten they were lingering on the street. He loosened his grip on the sport
coat, and she slid down his body. The soles of her feet hit cold pavement.

She looked down on her
stocking feet. Wiggled her toes. Rhaden Dunn had kissed her shoes off.

Twelve

The Rogues kicked Cub ass
in Chicago, and had a threegame streak going. Against Houston, they battled
until noses and uniforms were bloodied. A fight emptied the benches against the
Astros on a bad call by the third base umpire. Tempers lit, exploded, and fists
flew.

Kason and Psycho both got
punched as they pulled their teammates off the opposing players. It sucked
being cocaptain. Kason was forced to set an example and remain the voice of
reason. But when the Rogues won the series justice was served.

Philadelphia had been
rough—the Rogues lost another player to injury. Infielder James Lawless had
hunkered tight, anticipating the runner at first to steal second.

The Phillies player dove
toward the base, and his shoulder slammed into Lawless's shin. The sound of
breaking bone and James's fall to his knees silenced the stadium.

Lawless would be in an air
cast for eight weeks; then he'd face rehab. With Risk Kincaid out as well,
there was a huge hole down the middle. Rookie Rod Brown now played second, and
Alex Boxer remained in center. The veterans would need to keep a sharp eye on
both men. The team couldn't afford miscalculations or errors.

Thunderstorms and tornado
warnings delayed their flight out of Philly, so they'd spent the night. The
ballplayers celebrated as a team, and all were restless to return home.

Kason was on a high—the
Rogues had won their last nine games. They'd risen to second in the National
League East standings. The opportunity to knock the Mets out of first arrived
with their next series. They played New York at home that weekend.

Once the plane landed, he
collected his Hummer and drove home to check on the dogs. At Dayne's camper, he
found Cimarron babysitting Ruckus. He noticed the min-pin had chewed through
one leg on the small dining room table. Apparently the wood proved more
fascinating than his dozen dog toys.

Kason played with the pups,
only to have Dayne crowd his downtime once again. She'd snagged his attention
thirty-two times in three hours. He'd kept track. He'd never been turned on by
the mere thought of a woman, yet Dayne did it for him.

Outside in the sun, he
threw tennis balls to give Cimarron exercise. Ruckus chased after Cim for all
of ten feet, then took off after a butterfly.

A half hour passed, and he
decided to run by the stadium. He'd hit the batting cages, keep his shoulder
loose and his timing tight. Afterward, he'd look in on Dayne. He'd gotten her
the job. He had every right to check on her.

“Home,” Kason called to
Cim, and the big dog trotted to the double-wide, ready to settle in.

Ruckus didn't mind well.
The min-pin ran in circles, a dizzy dog with more yap than sense. Kason again
hinged his palms into a gator's mouth and captured the pup, who spun like a
top. Ruckus bit his fingers, damn hard for such a small mouth.

So much for obedience
school. Dayne had given her evenings to taking Ruckus to a beginner's class.
Apparently nothing had soaked into his puppy brain. The only things that could
hold his attention were butterflies. He went nuts over lightning bugs.

Once back in the Hummer,
Kason headed for James River Stadium. He found Alex Boxer and Rhaden Dunn in
the workout room. The men kept to themselves, until Boxer asked Kason to toss
the medicine ball with him. Though Kason would have preferred to pump iron, he
agreed to a few passes. He was cocaptain now, and needed to put forth effort
with the players.

They started with sideways
catches. The men faced each other, then twisted right or left, and released the
twelve-pound ball. The conditioning provided core balance.

Two passes and Alex turned
talkative. “Either of you guys have a history on the new hire in promotions?”
he asked between throws. “The brunette with super tits.”

Kason went still, was slow
in releasing the medicine ball. He didn't like Boxer's description of Dayne nor
the rookie's disrespect.

“Dayne Sheridan,” from
Rhaden. “She's Revelle's new assistant.”

“I'd like a piece—ugh!”
Alex grunted with Kason's next toss, the twelve pounds aimed hard, square, and
nutcracker low.

“Dude, watch my boys.” Alex
bent over, caught his breath. “What's your fuckin' problem?”

“Show some respect for my
neighbor,” Kason said. “Don't dick around with Dayne. She doesn't need the
distraction.”

“Don't call me off her.”
Alex adjusted himself. “Unless you're going down on her.”

Kason stared at Boxer,
burned a hole through the man.

Alex finally shrugged. “Fine,
I'll ask Revelle out instead.”

Kason noticed Rhaden's
sudden glare, and wondered whether the first baseman had his sights set on the
redhead.

“Your turn to play catch
with Alex,” Kason said to Rhaden.

Rhaden pushed off the gym
mat, two hundred sit-ups behind him. He approached Alex with a dangerous glint
in his eye. The rookie was about to take another hit to his groin.

***

After batting cages and a
shower, Kason took the elevator to the sixth floor of Powers Tower. His excuse
to see Dayne centered on the Platinum account. He planned to ask her the date
of the shoot.

He found her office door
cracked open, heard her phone ring. He decided to let her finish the call
before entering.

Dayne sat at her desk,
files piled to her eyebrows. Her computer screen was barely visible over the
mounds of mail that needed to be read and sorted. The hundreds of envelopes
held franchise, major corporation, and private company requests for Rogue
promotions.

She and Revelle would
evaluate each petition, then decide which opportunity best suited each
ballplayer. She smiled to herself over the many appeals. She wondered which man
might consider a campaign for sundried prunes or who would apply male makeup.

At present, catcher Chase
Tallan was considering an endorsement for an all-utility work boot. And
shortstop Zen Driscoll had been approached to be the spokesperson for a global
financial firm. Driscoll was the Einstein of stocks, bonds, and securities.
Many Rogues turned to Zen for investment advice.

Queen's “We Are the
Champions” sounded, her new cells ring tone. She hit the button for
speakerphone, answered, “Dayne Sheridan, player promotions.”

“Hey, babe.” Mick Jakes's
voice spooked her.

She pressed a hand to her
diaphragm, forced herself to breathe. “How did you find me?” she managed.

“Violet Flannery from
Rogues personnel called WBT, checking your references.” His tone was cocky. “The
station manager informed me of your relocation.”

No one could keep a secret,
especially Willow Clarke, Mick's boss and lover. Dayne had asked Violet to make
the inquiry as discreet as possible. No doubt Willow had run straight to Mick
with the news that Dayne now resided in Richmond.

She swiveled her chair
right, ready to disconnect. “I'm hanging up,” she warned.

“Two minutes,” he pleaded. “You
still there?”

“Not for long.”

“I've proposed to Willow.”
His words were rushed. “She wants me involved in the wedding. We need the name
of your planner.”