by Joanne Rock
“I want what the administration wants—to win games.” Heath congratulated himself on the perfect blandness of the answer even though the kid had tapped into his biggest fear with a sledgehammer. “We will continue to work toward that shared goal.”
Switching off the microphone, Heath stalked away from the platform as the room erupted in follow-up questions. Fortunately, a throng of shouted inquiries were easier to ignore than single, well-pointed questions in a quiet crowd.
Still, he had to walk through the reporters to get to Amber, and that made things a little stickier. By the time he reached her, she had the rear exit open and a paper plate full of pilfered munchies from the reception table in hand.
“Tough day at the office?” she whispered, offering him his choice of popcorn and peanuts.
“Damn vultures,” he grumbled, keeping his head down to avoid any candid shots on his way out of the press room. “They circle and circle when they sniff out the least chance for blood.” He took two cream puffs and steered her toward a bank of elevators, where he selected the last car. There, he inserted a key card to open the door.
“They are under a lot of pressure to produce stories that sell,” Amber observed, taking in the Aces memorabilia on the walls all around them. “Their jobs depend on it.”
He tugged her into the elevator cabin with him as a couple of reporters emerged from the press room.
“Don’t tell me you’re taking their side.” He used his key card again inside to access their well-secured destination. “The media sharks are my mortal enemies.”
“I thought that distinction was reserved for the New York Scrapers.” She popped one last peanut in her mouth before taking a swig of cola and tossing the can.
“They’re my enemy on the field. Off the field, it’s the press.” Heath couldn’t avert his gaze from the glistening moisture on her lips. His finger gravitated to her mouth.
The softness of her beckoned, urging him to touch and taste, to linger and savor. But the doors slid open to reveal their destination, distracting them both.
“Oh!” Amber’s eyes widened at the sight in front of them.
The owner’s sky box was perched high in the Aces’ state-of-the-art stadium, a sleek retreat with all the comforts of a five-star hotel room except that on one side, instead of a wall, there was floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the field. Wide-screen televisions filled another wall, providing the room’s occupants with additional views of the games in progress. But the most breathtaking feature was the live view from the best seats in the house.
“Come closer.” He urged her forward, tugging her into the plush box situated to the right of home plate, just three stories up. “This is something to see.”
“It’s okay for us to be here?” She looked around as if fearing they’d be caught on security cameras or something.
“It’s the team owner’s box. He keeps it for his family and friends, but every now and then he gives me the green light to use it.” Heath had gotten the idea of doling out his Nantucket beach house to players from seeing the way the team’s owner—Bob Tarcher—shared the box with people he wanted to encourage or reward.
“Really?” She sounded surprised as she stepped deeper into the room, and approached the bank of glass. “Those reporters made it sound like the team wasn’t very happy with you.”
“Tarcher is in my court, but there are more opinions than his weighing in on whether or not I’ll get to keep the managing job.” He studied her face as she took in the view. “It’s tough to coach in a city where you played, especially since I was a very visible, outspoken player.”
“The prophet can’t preach in his hometown?”
Not quite the metaphor he would have chosen. “I guess the locals know me a little too well. Or think they know me. I’m still paying for mistakes I made as a rookie player.”
“The past definitely has a way of sticking with you,” she mused, folding her arms as she tilted one shoulder into the glass wall and peered down.
“Speaking from experience?” He would be all too glad to deflect the talk from his precariously balanced career that could implode at any moment.
Besides, he realized he genuinely wanted to know more about her. He’d been so caught up in wanting her the night before that he hadn’t really spent time delving deeper.
“Sort of.” She pushed away from the glass to walk the perimeter of the room, her fingers gliding over the backs of plush gray couches. “I’m definitely pigeonholed in my job as the relentless fact-checker and hard-core book investigator.”
“I thought you were a reviewer?” He watched as she admired the hardware on the kitchen cabinets.
“Me, too. But I uncovered a few holes in a celebrated writer’s so-called autobiography and ever since my paper expects the same performance with every project I’m given. Authors hate it when they hear I’m reading their novel because they assume I’ll be tearing it apart. And the sad thing is, I love books.”
She rested a hip against the countertop and he couldn’t help but remember what those same curves had felt like pressed against him.
“Are you under a lot of pressure at your job? Like the sports journalists?”
“I’m under a lot more pressure, actually. All the newspaper departments are struggling, but our readers love sports, so that section will always be a part of the paper. The books section isn’t as much of a staple. So my job is a whole lot more dispensable.” With one fingertip, she drew designs on the polished granite beside her. “In fact, half my department was cut six months ago. That’s why I really needed the R & R this week. I’ve been doing the job of more than one person.”
“It’s impossible to keep up that kind of pace.” He understood completely. “I tell my players that all the time. I send them to the beach house in Nantucket for the same reason you went. It’s good to get away from everything.”
He thought about her soaking up the sunshine on the patio the day before, slowly tanning those endlessly long legs. And it made him damn glad it had been him staying next door instead of any of his players.
“Maybe that’s why your team wouldn’t let you come to the ballpark for a couple of days,” she suggested. “You needed to get away from it all, too.”
He inched closer, needing to touch her.
“Well, if that’s the case, it didn’t work because I got too damn distracted along the way.” Nearing her, he slowed his step, waiting to see how she responded.
“Too many groupies mobbing you wherever you go?” She arched an eyebrow, but there was no fire behind the question.
“No. Just one really interesting woman.” He reached to stroke a finger along her chin, tilting her face to his. “But I’m thinking maybe we could take a little of that R & R together.”
“I don’t find you very relaxing,” she admitted, though she didn’t move away from his touch. “Exciting, maybe.”
“I’d settle for being a welcome distraction.” He threaded his fingers through the hair above her loose braid at the back of her neck.
He could feel the rapid beat of her heart there, and he liked knowing that she wanted him. She presented such a cool facade to the world, he might not have guessed that she responded to him this way without those cues.
“I’m not ready for anything serious.” She blinked up at him with worried eyes, perhaps concerned that this would offend him. “I just want to be honest with you about that.”
He sensed a wealth of nuance in her warning. A whole host of potential complications. But being with her had made him realize he needed a diversion this season more than ever. Amber Nichols could be the antidote to the intensity that had gotten him in hot water with the team before. She’d talk to him about book reviews instead of baseball.
And when they weren’t talking? Even better.
“Sounds like a deal to me.” Tugging gently on her braid, he tipped her head back. He sealed his mouth to hers in silent promise.
6
HEATH HAD OFFERED to fl
y them back to Nantucket tonight since he had access to a plane and a pilot’s license.
It was one of many moments in the evening when Amber had been reminded she was in over her head. Heath had apparently already retired from one extremely lucrative career and now begun another. The spoils of that career were evident in everything from that vintage bike he’d driven on Nantucket to the splashy SUV he retrieved in the parking garage underneath the stadium. Instead of the private flight, she’d agreed to a late dinner at his place on the mainland.
They drove there now, south of Boston toward Cape Cod where he had a house on the water.
“So you have a home on the Cape and on Nantucket?” She couldn’t imagine the cost. The brownstone she’d bought in Boston proper had nearly broke the bank, but she’d been so determined to own her own place, she’d managed. Then the economy tanked and she’d had to rent out half of it to keep up the mortgage payments. “You must really love the northeast. If I could afford two houses, I’d look at the Florida Keys or Costa Rica or something warmer.”
He shifted gears as they exited the main road winding along the coast. Here, the scenery changed from T-shirt shops and big, family-style restaurants to more residential homes dotted with the occasional church or post office. An old-fashioned ice cream parlor was one of the few signs that resort towns lurked nearby. Cars still filled the big parking lot, and vacationers crowded around picnic tables even though it was shortly before midnight.
“Actually, the place on Nantucket has been in my family for a long time. It’s a great spot because property is tough to come by on the island, but it’s rare I make it out there. I’m usually at my apartment in Boston or the house on the Cape since they’re both closer to the stadium.”
“You had an apartment in town and yet you opted to drive all the way down here tonight?” She craned her neck to see the rest of a seaside mansion surrounded by trees.
There were no streetlamps now, only the occasional landscape lights around the looming homes.
“You’ll like the house better.” He pulled into a driveway and rolled down his window to punch in a security code for a tall, wrought-iron gate. “The condo is just a place to crash when I’m too tired to drive home.”
As the gate slid open, Heath drove around a paved horseshoe to land in front of a sprawling white clapboard home perched on a bluff. On the side facing the driveway, two stories and a gabled roof presented a cozy exterior. But on either side of the home, stone steps led down to the shore side of the home, hinting at another level built into the hill. Already, Amber could hear the steady roll of waves off the Atlantic.
“Wow.” She’d been to splashy publishing parties at places like this, but never as a private guest. “This is beautiful.”
Not waiting for Heath to open the door, she let herself out of the SUV, ready to stretch her legs and get a closer peek at the house.
“Thanks.” He joined her on the cobblestone path that snaked around the exterior, one hand landing in the middle of her back. “You want to check out the view?”
He led her toward the stone steps she spied, and she wondered if the home was so illuminated even when he was staying on Nantucket or traveling with the team. Lights dotted the flower beds of white hydrangeas and rhododendrons, making it easy to see her way down the wide, curving stairs to—
“Oh!” She gasped in delight as they reached the back courtyard where a table had been set outside on the cobblestones. Hurricane lamps sat on the table next to covered silver serving dishes. A filmy white canopy draped over a huge pergola, and purple lights filtered through the gossamer curtains, creating a magical setting for their dinner. Silver urns of fat white hydrangeas, alternating with large hurricane lamps, ringed the front of the bamboo table.
“I called a local caterer ahead of time,” Heath explained, taking her hand and leading her to a seat. “I figured I owed you a nice dinner after I downed all the wings and ribs by myself last night.”
In moments, he had the serving covers off the dishes and her plate filled with fresh seafood. Scallops and mussels, clams and a lobster tail competed for space alongside warm polenta and fat slices of tomato.
“IT WAS DELICIOUS.” Amber wrapped her fingers around the stem of her wineglass and tipped the dry pinot grigio to her lips.
She didn’t mean just the food. The whole night had been perfect, from the scenic drive to the gorgeous house, to the ocean view. And while she appreciated every moment of an enchanted evening offered by a man who appealed to her senses even more than the opulent lifestyle, Amber couldn’t imagine how she could keep things uncomplicated with this kind of treatment. Every facet of the night had been romantic. Sensual. The ocean air caressed her skin with teasing breezes while the wine hummed pleasantly through her veins. She would have to tread carefully.
“There’s more where this came from.” He shoved aside his plate to lean across the table, piercing her with a hot stare.
“I couldn’t eat another bite,” she protested, hating to waste so much as a single scallop.
“No. I mean, more of this.” He gestured vaguely to everything around them. “More dinners. More skyboxes. More beautiful places.”
Frowning, she set down the wine, needing to make sure she had a clear head for whatever he was suggesting.
“What do you mean?”
“Come on the road with me this week. We’ve got a series in L.A. starting the day after tomorrow and I’d like to have you with me.”
CANDLELIGHT FLICKERED between them, the golden glow reflected in Amber’s eyes as she struggled for words.
Clearly, he’d surprised the hell out of her. But what did it hurt to ask?
“Amber, I don’t have a normal job. I’m all over the country most of the year. It’s lonely. It’s isolating. It’d be great to have some company for however long you’re willing to travel.”
“I have a job.” She shook her head, leaning back from the table and out of the warm ring of candlelight. “I couldn’t possibly tell my editor that I’m not coming in for another week after I’ve already taken a vacation.”
“But your vacation isn’t over yet, is it?” He could figure a way around her objections. After all, he’d courted some of the best new talent in the world, convincing talented players from all over to sign with the Aces instead of the other teams.
“No. But I only have three days left.” She folded her arms, her white blouse a bright spot in the shadows.
“So come to L.A. for those three days and try out life on the road. I guarantee you the most relaxing, fun three days ever. But if you want to go back afterward, I’ll be sure you’re in town on time if I have to fly you myself.”
“You have a team to coach. A position to protect. Won’t it interfere with your work if I’m—”
Standing, he moved to her side of the table and drew her to her feet, needing to make his case with every weapon at his disposal. He slid his arms around her waist.
“I’m not connecting with some of the players on my team, and I’m beginning to think it’s because I can only coach the way I played. Maybe I need to relax a little so they can, too. And bottom line, I can’t relax thinking about winning most waking seconds.” He palmed her back through the smooth cotton. “You have a way of making me think about other things.”
She laid her hands on his shoulders, a light touch that reminded him he hadn’t gotten to do half the things he wanted to with her last night.
“All I’m asking is for you to give it a try. And if you have as much fun as I think you might, well, we’ll see where we stand after the three days are up.”
“I could never stay longer than that with the demands of my job,” she assured him, although he noticed she’d stepped closer and her hands had started to roam over his shoulders. His chest. “But if you can promise to have me back in time—”
He captured her words with a kiss, unable to hold back any longer. Besides, he wanted her to remember what he’d said, and this way, he’d punctuated the statemen
t in a way she couldn’t forget.
“I wanted to take you for a walk on the beach,” he whispered between kisses, his fingers already untwining her braid. “Or for a swim.”
He’d wanted their first real date to be unforgettable, so good that she couldn’t ditch him at the end of her vacation. But he’d been patient for hours, inhaling the scent of her clean skin without touching her, listening to her hum with satisfaction while she ate. He couldn’t wait to touch her another minute.
“I’d take this over the beach any day.” She flexed her fingers against his chest, brushing her hand lower. Lower. “I was starting to think I only dreamed last night.”
Drawing her backward, deeper into the courtyard toward the house, he fumbled in his pocket for the key, but found his caterer had left the doors unlocked.
“It was better than a dream.” He turned away from her to flip on a light inside.
She closed the door behind them and stepped out of her shoes before she flung her arms around him.
“Last night was pretty amazing.” She did some kind of dip and shimmy move with her hips that stroked him in all the right ways. By now, her hair had unraveled completely, the kinky waves spilling over both their shoulders.
“And that wasn’t a fluke.” He held her hand, stilling her long enough to ensure she got the message. “It’s going to be like that every time between us.”
She leaned into him.
“Prove it.” Unmistakable challenge lit her eyes.
The fire inside him leaped higher. Hotter.
And Heath realized that in eight thousand square feet of house, there was no bedroom close enough.
With a growled oath, he backed her into the den off the kitchen. A sofa would have to suffice. Amber didn’t seem to mind, her fingers raking off his shirt in record time. She rained kisses down his neck and over his shoulder, a soft shower of sweetness while her hands went to work on his belt.