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Kason grunted. “Shut down
by a dog.”

“I'm, uh, also a bit sore.”
She hated to admit it. “You're a big man, Kason Rhodes.”

He looked more proud than
sympathetic. “You should have stopped me at three.”

“The fourth let me ride
astride,” she said. “I loved watching you come.”

He'd been all hot eyes and
sexy smile. “That's the advantage of being on top.”

The sex had been
phenomenal. Kason was a total turn-on—his heavy breathing, the tightness in his
abdomen and thighs, the wildness in his eyes, and the tenseness in his jaw. All
were released when he came, leaving him one satisfied man.

Afterward, she'd stretched
full-length, blanketed him with her body. His heat rose, covering her with his
scent, his strength, his virility.

Had he taken her again, she
wouldn't have walked for days. Even now her thigh muscles ached, cramped. She
needed a hot shower, maybe a massage.

He squeezed her knee. “You
need to get ready for work.”

She agreed. “Revelle may
take the day off—bad case of poison ivy.”

“Rhaden Dunn's scratching
his ass off,” Kason told her. “Man smeared on so much calamine lotion it bled
through his uniform, looked like he had his period.”

Dayne came up on one elbow,
kissed him hard. “See you in sixteen days.”

“Make plenty of pudding and
be ready to go five.”

Sixteen

MARRY HER, RHODES!

“Look at all those signs,
posters, and banners.” Revelle Sullivan pointed to the television in the
employees' lounge, tuned to the game. “You're an instant celebrity, Dayne
Sheridan.”

Several corporate staffers
had gathered for lunch, and all looked from the TV to Dayne and back again.
Three of the five Platinum ads had now aired, causing quite a stir. Fanatical
fans lived the love connection. Dayne had gone from obscure to mobbed as the
crowd took the fantasy campaign to heart, believing it real.

Fans gone wild,
thought Dayne. The phenomena had turned her life
upside down. She was a walking bundle of nerves. Her stomach ached and she
could barely swallow.

Through it all, jeweler
Gayle de Milo rejoiced. Her cosmopolitan line sold out the first week. She had
a long waiting list for upcoming designs.

“You're looking pale,”
Revelle told her.

Dayne patted color back
into her cheeks, then took a seat at a table beside Revelle, who'd recovered from
her poison ivy, with the exception of several blisters on her hands. She'd
confided to Dayne that the blemishes were the hazards of back roads and dating
Rhaden Dunn.

It appeared the very
reserved Revelle had fallen for the rugged first baseman. A dozen bouquets now
scented her office. Rhaden seemed equally smitten.

Guy Powers had bent his
corporate/player rule and given them his blessing. Wedding bells were in their
future.

Dayne looked at her own
life, and her time with Kason. The road trip had been tough. Romeo Bellisaro
had fallen to injury in Los Angeles. The third baseman had fractured his hip
sliding home.

Only four starters now
shored up the team.

Rhaden held his own at
first.

Brek Stryker pitched his
ass off.

Psycho played right,
backing both second and center.

Kason staked left, picked
up the slack behind third and short. The three positions strained him both men
tally and physically.

The five rookies had the
mobility of cement statues.

Unbalanced, conflicted, the
Rogues had dropped to last place in the NL East. Tempers burned, fingers
pointed, and no one shouldered the blame.

Revelle had told Dayne that
Kason and Psycho had verbally punched the crap out of the team. The cocaptains'
lectures were long, intense, demanding.

Kason refused to see the
team crumble.

Psycho had his back.

At 1:10, the team took the
field, hell-bent on beating the Marlins. By four thirty, nine innings had left
them with a nasty loss.

No Rogue had crossed home
plate. Dayne heard the final score on the radio in the limo on her ride home.
Revelle had recognized the long hours she'd recently worked and released her
early. She knew Kason would need more than sex and pudding to right his world.

“Go mindless,” she
encouraged him when the sun set and he showed up on her doorstep. It was her
turn to spoil him.

She settled him on the
small sofa, handed him a Beck's, then slid
Blade Runner
into the DVD player.

“How'd you know I liked
that movie?” he asked.

“Rogues Fun Facts.”

He grunted, took a long
pull on his beer.

She made BLT sandwiches,
served him in silence. She held back, let him unwind.

Raiders of the Lost Arc
came next, followed by
The Notebook
and popcorn. He lifted a brow, but didn't object to the romance. They
watched movies till midnight.

She let the dogs out, then
came back in.

“Should I leave?” His voice
was low, weary.

“I want you to stay.”

She took his hand, and he
shoved off the sofa. She led him to her single mattress, undressed him. He lay
facedown, and she straddled his lower back. Their connection moved beyond
sexual as she massaged the tension from his neck, shoulders, and spine.

Thirty minutes later, his
body went slack.

He'd fallen asleep beneath
her hands.

She quietly rose, slipped
out of her jeans, got into bed in her Duran Duran T-shirt and bikini panties.
She kept an inch between them as she covered them both.

Come morning, she woke to
find him inside her, and slowly thrusting. His gaze was hooded, lazy. His smile
sexy. His body fully aroused.

Wet and turned on, she
caught his rhythm. Gentleness built to a delicious torment. They climaxed three
minutes before the alarm.

“Nice way to start the day.”
Kason kissed her forehead, pushed to his feet, flushed his condom.

His shower was quick, and
Dayne knew he was saving her hot water. She fed Ruckus and Cimarron, made
coffee.

Saturday loomed ahead, and
she had no plans until Kason offered, “Would you like to attend the game? Ben
Dixon reached me at the stadium yesterday, offered you a ticket. Apparently his
brother-in-law has bronchitis, and he hated to see the seat go to waste.”

She hesitated. Watching
Kason play would be exciting if she could work past her nerves. She wanted him
to do well, and hated the fact the team had recently crashed and burned.

“I'd like that,” she
finally agreed.

Kason flicked open his cell
phone, dialed. After a thirtysecond chat, it was agreed the Dixons would swing
by the camper and drive Dayne to the game.

“The Dixons have seats
behind home plate,” Kason told her. “Best view in the park.”

***

Kason Rhodes arrived at
James River Stadium three hours prior to game time. He had a ritual of warming
up, and he kept to it. Psycho McMillan was the only man in the workout room,
which opened the door for a private conversation.

“I have an idea,” he told
Psycho.

“Figured as much,” Psycho
returned. “The lightbulb over your head's flashing like a blue-light special.”

“At least I think on
occasion.”

Both men stood, arms folded
over their chests. Hard looks passed between them, not so much for each other,
but for the seriousness of the situation.

“The rookies depend on us
to carry the team,” Kason began. “We can't shoulder all the positions. We're
not supermen.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“We've had a streak of
rookie strike-outs and outfield errors. We need to scare them straight.”

“I can do scary.”

“Can you lie?” asked Kason.

“Does a priest pray?”

Kason continued. “What's a
major leaguer's worst fear?”

“Impotence.”

“Second worst fear?”

“Getting traded to the
American League.”

“Christ, Psycho, third
worst?”

“Being sent back to the
minors.”

“Exactly,” Kason agreed. “We
need to start a rumor meant for the rookies, one that will put the fear of God
into their souls.”

“A rumor they'll be sent to
the minors?”

Kason nodded. “We lead them
to believe that two will be asked to clear their lockers after today's game and
that Powers is already looking into midseason trades.”

Psycho's lip curled. “Rogues
got you last July, and we weren't happy.”

“Neither was I—you guys
were all assholes.”

“If the coaches, general
manager, or Powers hear the gossip, we'll be fined.”

“I just paid for racing in
the parking lot,” Kason growled. “What's another five hundred? The rumor's to
our benefit.”

“You think it will work?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“I think the rookies care
more about themselves than they do about the game,” Psycho bluntly stated. “Alex
Boxer spends as much time in front of the mirror as he does in center field.”

Psycho shifted his stance,
squinted at him. “Let's wager. All the Rogues have tattoos but you. If your
idea blows, you get a tat—my design.”

Kason flexed his jaw. “No
Tweety Bird, hula dancer, or red heart with
Mom
in the middle.”

“You'll wish for those once
I've chosen.”

“If the rumor strikes fear
and the rookies play hard?”

“I streak through the
locker room naked.”

“You do that every damn day
already.”

“Pick my poison.”

“A month of manual labor,”
Kason pitched. “I start building my house once the season ends. I'll need
someone to lay cinder block.”

“Hire a damn contractor.”

“I'll be subbing out work,
but I want to do most of it myself.”

Psycho pulled a face. “Agreed,
as long as that little biter dog's not on-site.”

“Ruckus has lost most of
his baby teeth,” Kason told him. “He's more into stealing shoes than
gnawing
 
hands.”

“Plan made and laid,” from
Psycho.

Game on.

One o'clock, and
introductions of the team took place. Kason's teammates got an ovation, while
he received a roar. Banners waved, whistles shrilled, and feet stomped.

MARRY HER, RHODES was every
damn where. He didn't need the distraction. Reporters asked him as many
questions about Dayne as they did about his stats.

Psycho punched his arm,
harder than was necessary. “Platinum's turned you into a household name.”

Dayne's popularity had
grown as well. She'd been mobbed by fans, all asking whether they'd set a
wedding date. Everyone's nose was in their business. It was damn intrusive.

The fourth and fifth ads
would air over the next two weeks. The frenzy would only increase as the Rogues
played at home. Kason had caught Dayne looking at him differently of late, as
if she too had caught fan fever.

The shoot bent reality. He
and Dayne were friends and lovers, but he wasn't marriage-minded.

Two minutes and counting.
Kason and Psycho moved to opposite ends of the dugout bench, where each spoke
to one rookie. Kason's choice was Alex Boxer.

“You shittin' me?” Boxer's
voice broke and all color drained from his face. “Two will be booted after the
game?”