by Roz Lee
Bases Loaded
By
Roz Lee
Chapter One
He’s here.
Being in the same room with Antonio Ramirez made Clare’s skin tingle and her lady parts hum. She tugged on her skirt, wishing she’d tried on the dress earlier in the week when she would have had time to go out and find something else to wear. Being curvy was one thing, but being in denial about it was another.
Other women could get away with wearing last year’s purchases, but not her. Nope. All she had to do was look at a salad, much less a dessert, and she gained weight. But even a too-snug dress couldn’t keep her from attending Jason Holder’s fundraiser—not once she’d learned the Mustangs’ latest acquisition would be there.
She’d had a crush on the center fielder ever since he made his Major League debut with the Marauders back in the days when she’d been a student at Julliard. She’d used her family connections to get game tickets as often as possible and saved her allowance to buy even more. Of course, Antonio hadn’t known she existed, and if he had, he wouldn’t have given her a second look, but that didn’t stop her from fantasizing about him. And her. Doing all kinds of things. Together.
And that had been before she’d heard the rumor.
But men like Antonio didn’t fantasize about women like her. Antonio preferred his women tall, slim, and cover girl gorgeous. In fact, every time he appeared in public he had a stunning woman or two at his side.
Clare scanned the room, looking for the tallest female. Runway types were always tall—and skinny. If she found the model or models in the room, she’d probably find Antonio Ramirez, too. It didn’t take long to spot the lanky blonde and, as she’d predicted, the man she had come to the fundraiser to see. He was elegant in a tuxedo that had obviously been tailored specifically for his muscular build. The crowd surrounding him shifted, blocking her view.
Oh, well. The evening was young. Clare turned and came face to face with the last person on earth she wanted to see—Jessica Roach.
Well, shit.
As a rule, these sort of events attracted nice people—the kind who genuinely wanted to use their money or influence to promote a good cause. But they also tended to attract the kind that thought rubbing elbows with celebrities made them more important. Jessica was the worst of that bunch. For reasons Clare couldn’t begin to comprehend, the society predator had made it her mission to remind Clare of her shortcomings at every possible opportunity.
“He’s out of your league,” Jessica said, nodding toward Antonio. She sipped her drink, her eyes sparkling with glee over the rim of the glass.
“Hello to you, too, Jessica.” Clare forced a smile to her face.
Jessica smirked. “You aren’t his type.”
Typical of a shark. Not even a pretense at civility. Seek out your prey and get a bite in before they have a chance to flee. “Who are you talking about?”
“Tony Ramirez, of course. I saw you drooling over him.”
Clare fought the urge to wipe at her chin, fearing she had done just that.
“He doesn’t go for earthy women.”
Tell me something I don’t know. “He doesn’t swim in your waters either.” At least she hoped not. She blinked away a mental image from long ago she’d tried unsuccessfully to forget. Jessica was exactly the kind of fish Antonio kept in his aquarium.
“You’d be surprised.” Jessica brought her drink to her lips, rimming the edge of the glass with her tongue. She winked at someone over Clare’s shoulder.
Gross. Clearly, the shark had found tastier prey. “Nice seeing you, Jessica,” she lied, and made her escape. She wouldn’t let the likes of Jessica Roach ruin a perfectly good evening.
Clare acknowledged a few more people she knew then headed for the silent auction tables stretched like a jeweled necklace around the perimeter of the ballroom. Since taking the job as the organist for the Mustangs last year, she’d been invited to more of these events than she could count. No way could she afford a single thing up for auction, but that didn’t stop her from bidding. In a room filled with the top echelon of Dallas society and franchise players from every major sports team in town, someone would outbid her before the night ended. They always did.
Having studied the bid brochure ahead of time and selected a theme for the night, she located the first item on her list, a his-and-hers massage package at an exclusive spa. There was no his to go with Clare’s hers, but the bid item certainly qualified as a Romantic Interlude. In fact, she had highlighted each item on her list with Antonio Ramirez in mind. Even as she recorded her ridiculously low bid, she indulged herself in a little harmless fantasy.
The two of them, relaxed after receiving incredible full-body massages, would sink into a warm bath surrounded by candlelight. Lulled by soft music, they would sip champagne and learn the curves and planes of each other’s bodies. Her skin would come alive under his touch while her hands explored his hard body.
She smiled to herself and quickly filled in her email address—not that anyone would be contacting her to say she’d won—and signed her name. With a sigh, she placed the pen back in its fancy holder and moved on to the next item on her list.
* * *
Antonio smiled and clasped the hand thrust his way. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mayor.”
Mayor Ryland pumped Tony’s hand enthusiastically. “The pleasure is all mine.” His smile added emphasis to his words. “You’re just what the Mustangs need. I’d love to see the team bring the World Series to Dallas next season.”
“We’re going to do our best, sir.”
“I know you will,” the mayor confirmed.
A tug on his other arm drew his attention. “Tony,” the sequin draped toothpick whined, “aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Um…sure.” As soon as I remember your name. He searched his memory for the elusive name. Something unusual. Chloe? No, that wasn’t it. Was it?
“No need,” the mayor said, turning his attention to the woman. “Everyone knows the most famous cover model to ever come out of our little town.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “Welcome home, Dierdre.”
She batted her eyelashes, and Tony could have sworn she’d purred. “It’s good to be back. When I learned about Jason’s new foundation, I knew I had to do whatever I could to help.”
What a load of crap. Her publicist was his publicist, and the bitch of a woman had paired them up for the fundraising event for reasons that escaped Tony entirely. Dierdre had zero interest in the foundation his new teammate Jason Holder had established to aid children suffering from heart disease. She was here to be seen. Tomorrow, she would be on someone else’s arm, thank God, at some other event. He just needed to get through tonight with her.
The mayor did his best to carry on a coherent conversation with the clueless woman, but it was a losing battle. Tony decided the man had suffered enough and interrupted. “Mr. Mayor, thanks for coming out tonight to support the Christopher Foundation. I’m sure Jason appreciates it.”
“Hey, it’s a good cause. After hearing his story about how he almost died when he was a kid…well, it touched me. This new charity of his will help a lot of kids and their families.”
“You’re right about that,” Jason said, joining their small circle. “Thanks for coming tonight.”
“Thrilled to do it, Jason. I dropped off a check a few minutes ago, and I plan to add it to my list of regular donations.”
Tony scanned the room as the trio talked around him. As fundraisers went, this one was first class. Champagne flowed freely, and the attendees included the highest ranks of Dallas society as well as local celebrities. He had even seen a few Hollywood types who
claimed Dallas as home.
So, why was he so freakin’ bored?
His gaze traveled over the crowd. There were lots of pretty women all pampered and preening on tuxedo clad arms. There were a few single women, but they, too, closely resembled his “date” for the evening—too thin, too shiny, and too fake for his taste. He preferred his women real, and he was all too aware of how rare those kinds were in these circles.
He resisted the urge to check his watch. It wouldn’t kill him to stay another hour or so until the event broke up. Afterward, maybe he’d convince some of the other single guys to accompany him to a bar or a club or somewhere there were women. Real women. He knew there were places like that in Dallas, he just hadn’t been here long enough to find one yet.
An elbow jabbed him in the ribs, and he turned his attention back to the group.
“Isn’t that right, Tony?” Jason asked.
What? “Um…yeah.” He smiled. “That’s right.”
“See, I told you, Mr. Mayor. This guy is going to make a real difference next season. We’re excited to have him in the lineup.”
Tony didn’t have a clue what they had been talking about. “I’m glad to be here. The Mustangs are a great franchise, and Dallas, what I’ve seen of it, is a fantastic city.”
As he suspected, the comment prompted the mayor into a dissertation on all the finer qualities of his city. Antonio listened with half his brain while he planned his escape with the other half. He eyed the main entrance to the ballroom over the mayor’s shoulder. Ninety feet—the distance between bases. He could run it in less than four seconds, walk it in ten.
Someone tugged on his arm. He glanced to his left at the picture perfect face beside him scrunched into a pout. “I’m thirsty.” Her blood red, collagen-enhanced lips formed the words meant to either get rid of him or prove to herself she had him where she wanted him. He couldn’t have cared less which. It was an opportunity to get away from her for a few minutes.
Christ. What made women think pumping chemicals into their lips was a good idea? He extricated his arm from her perfect red claws. “I’ll get you a drink.” No need to ask her what she wanted. She’d been drinking skinny cocktails all night.
He excused himself. If he was lucky, she would find someone else to prop her up for the rest of the evening. He crossed his fingers and threaded his way through the crowd to the bar in the farthest corner where he ordered her trendy drink and a plain soda for himself. He leaned one elbow on the high counter and waited for the bartender to complete the order. A flash of blue near the door caught his eye.
Holy mother of God. Who. Is. That?
His skin tightened and blood rushed south. He straightened, craning his neck to get a better look at the goddess who had just entered the ballroom. Alone.
He’d always thought love at first sight was a myth. Until this moment.
Now, he knew better.
He didn’t know what exactly drew him to her. Even from across the crowded ballroom, he could tell her skin was creamy smooth. He silently cursed the fluorescent lighting making it impossible to tell if the glossy mane cascading in soft waves over her shoulders and framing her face in silk was dark brown or black. Either way, it would look perfect fanned across the white sheets on his bed.
If she wore makeup, it was understated, barely there at all. She smiled at someone, and Tony’s knees almost buckled. Damn. Petal pink lips were such a turn-on. He bet there were a few other places on her luscious body he would find the same delectable color, and he vowed to taste every last one of them.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth.” Tanner Haverford, the Mustangs short stop stepped up to the bar, blocking Tony’s view. “You look stupid.”
Tony stepped to the side and zeroed in on his royal blue target. “Shut up.”
She was round in all the right places, and he had no trouble imagining how wonderful her soft curves would feel beneath him. But there was more to his feelings than lust—though that certainly wasn’t in doubt. He knew her on some deeper level he didn’t pretend to understand. She was his soul mate.
The thought rocked him back on his heels, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. His woman headed for the silent auction tables set up around the perimeter of the room. He studied the sway of her hips. God, he was a lucky man. He would gladly follow that around for the rest of his life.
She paused at the first table, and after studying the auction item, bent over the table to write her bid on the list.
“Scotch, on the rocks,” Tanner said to the bartender then turned to Tony. “Your drinks are ready.”
“Take ‘em. They’re yours.”
“What’s with you?” His unwanted buddy turned. “Ah…I see.”
“No you don’t. Don’t look at her. She’s mine.”
Tanner smirked. “Good luck with that.”
He whipped his head around. “You know her?” he growled.
“Yeah. You won’t get anywhere with her.”
His blood boiled. He didn’t stop to consider why he felt the way he did. He’d kill the fucker if he had already touched her. “How would you know?”
“Whoa!” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Down, boy. I’m just saying. You want to tread lightly there. She’s the organist at the stadium.”
Convenient. Tony took a step in her direction, and was stopped by a firm hand on his elbow. “Hold your horses. Didn’t you hear what I said? She’s off limits, man.”
“I heard you.”
Another thought hammered him, and he saw red. “She isn’t married, is she?”
“Nope. Single.”
Why the hell was she single? Were these Texas men insane? “Why?”
“Maybe because she’s—”
“Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to,” Tony warned.
“I’m not saying anything. I just prefer my women…thinner.”
A thought popped into his head—his most brilliant idea ever. He reached for the drinks he’d ordered. “Got your drink?”
“Yeah.” Tanner took the glass the bartender set on the counter.
He pulled a twenty from his pocket and stuffed it in the tip jar. “Come on. I have someone you need to meet.”
The middle infielder followed him through the crowd.
“What’s her name?” Tony asked over his shoulder.
“Clare something or other.”
Clare. A real name for a real woman. He liked it.
They reached their destination. Tony pressed the “skinny” martini into what’s-her-name’s hand. “This is Tanner. Tanner, this is….”
“I know who this is,” the second baseman crooned, reaching for the model’s free hand.
Tony turned his back on her and bumped shoulders with the man who was unwittingly going to be his savior. “She’s all yours,” he mumbled. He didn’t wait to see if the man was okay with the new arrangement. His teammate had arrived solo tonight, and judging by his reaction to the introduction, he wouldn’t be leaving the same way.
With a little luck, he wouldn’t be either.
Chapter Two
Clare signed her name to a slip offering a weekend cruise on a private yacht and, with a sigh, moved on to the next one. As she studied the bid item, a custom designed diamond ring from an extremely high-end jeweler, she became aware of a man behind her. He stood close enough she felt heat radiating off his body and the subtle deep tones of his aftershave filled her nostrils. Her body urged her to get closer. She shifted to her opposite foot instead. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him pick up the pen she’d just set down. He was going to outbid her for the cruise!
Part of her breathed a sigh of relief, but another part wanted to weep as a tiny bit of her fantasy died. Then she noticed the man’s hand. Strong. Smooth olive skin dusted with dark hairs. Oh wow! His handwriting was neat as he signed his name. Tony Ramirez.
Her breath caught in her lungs, and her heart raced. If there was any man on the planet she wanted to take along
on her fantasy cruise, it was Antonio Ramirez! She had come to the fundraiser tonight hoping to get a glimpse of him, perhaps even an introduction if she was lucky. But getting this close to him? This was beyond her wildest imagination. It took her breath away. The Mustangs new center fielder was the sexiest man alive—or so said People magazine. And, if the rumors were true….
Her skin flushed with embarrassment at her wayward thoughts. She swallowed hard. He lifted his hand and put it down again over the column for bid amounts.
Besides, no one had any concrete evidence. It was only a rumor, and Major League Baseball excelled at rumors. The sport practically existed on them. Who would be traded and to whom. Who’s contract said what. Who was dating whom. Who played The Game.
Gossip had it that Antonio not only played The Game, but he had helped invent it.
Clare had spent more lonely hours than she would admit contemplating what she would say or do if someone invited her to play, too. Would she say yes? Hell, yes!
She’d never stood side-by-side with any of the alleged players, and though she was at this moment, there was no danger he would pay her any notice, much less invite her to play. All her thoughts on the subject had been nothing more than another one of her fantasies.
His fingers were long and, she imagined, rough from playing baseball, but they’d held the pen gracefully. She couldn’t help thinking he would handle a woman’s body with the same care. The thought sent a wave of heat from her core all the way to her toes.
He’d written a number beneath her meager bid—a ridiculously obscene amount that all but guaranteed he would win the trip.
“If I win, I’ll take you with me.”
She knew that voice, the distinct accent of a native New Yorker. Her gaze snapped from his perfectly formed hand to his more perfectly formed face. “What?”
“I said…I’ll take you with me, Clare Kincaid.”
“You know who I am?” Nu-uh. No.
“I do now.” He moved closer until his hip grazed hers. A tingle ran up and down her side and spread over the rest of her body like a heat rash. “I’m Antonio Ramirez. You can call me Tony.”