Curveball (17 page)

“I did that in private, not in public.”

Keely bought tins of the strong Jamaican coffee that had been served in the eighteenth-century coffeehouses. They argued over knickknacks. She wanted a wooden canteen and he chose a round pewter flask. She preferred a Colonial dollhouse and he picked up a wooden toy pistol. Her quill pen and ink powder paper gave way to his board game of Goose and Dice.

They agreed on a fruitwood compass pedestal table. When Keely turned her back, Psycho paid to have the table shipped to Richmond, along with every item in the store she’d touched and admired. There were more birthdays ahead.

They ate a late lunch on the terrace of the Williamsburg Inn before heading home. Psycho was finding it more and more natural to call the Colonial his home. With Keely under his roof, he’d begun to feel grounded.

There were still times he felt unsure of their future. Times when he wanted to block furniture de
liveries and pull out new electrical wiring. He’d thought about rolling up the oriental rugs and tossing them in the construction dumpster. But one small smile from Keely settled him down. It scared him to think such a small, skinny woman could have such an effect on him. But she did.

Back in Richmond, after a night of marathon sex, Psycho pushed himself up on his elbow and stared down on the sleeping woman at his side. She hadn’t been sore going into their lovemaking, but he was pretty damn certain she’d be moving slow in the morning.

At the onset, he’d taken her so slowly, she’d begged him to go faster. Every muscle in his body had stretched and strained, the physical ache as satisfying as nine innings of baseball. With his second taking, his wild man had escaped. He’d taken her with an abandon she’d come to match. Keely could get it on.

She had love bites on her neck and just below her navel. A raspberry abrasion from his stubble on her inner thigh.

Marks that claimed her as his.

He’d lay claim awhile longer.

He had her until October, when the restoration would be completed. A part of him couldn’t imagine the Colonial without Keely Douglas in it. She, the dogs, and Colonel William Lowell had somehow become his family.

“No running, Em.” Romeo Bellisaro’s voice stole into Emerson Kent’s cubical two seconds before he stepped into view.

She should have known he was in the building. The sound of female sighs grew louder with his approach. But she’d been concentrating on her next sports story, and had tuned out all noise. She should have been more alert.

Em looked up. Romeo’s smile was both sexy and disarming. After that climactic kiss at Hollywood Harts, she’d been leery of letting him close.

So leery, she’d asked the receptionist at the main entrance to buzz her cubical when he arrived unannounced so she could escape him. Somehow he’d gotten by the watchdog today.

“A signed baseball for her nephew.” Romeo was both mind reader and ladies’ man. He’d bribed the receptionist so he could catch Emerson unaware.

She looked at him over the red rim of her glasses. “What do you want, Romeo?”

“World peace. To win the World Series.” He produced a brown bag from behind his back. “Lunch with you.”

She was hungry. And Romeo had remembered how much she hated leaving her desk and battling the noon rush. He’d thoughtfully brought lunch to her. A meal that consisted of a club sandwich and a cream soda. Two of her favorites.

His consideration touched her. “Thanks.”

He pulled up an extra chair and ate alongside her. He seemed to fill her cubical with sin and testosterone. He looked incredibly handsome. Recent haircut, early afternoon shave. Lavender pullover and khakis. Not many men could pull off pastels. Romeo had never looked more masculine.

Their knees bumped, and awareness shimmied up her thigh, all the way to her panties. Her cotton crotch grew damp.

Annoyed by her body’s reaction, she shifted on the seat and placed six inches between them. The space wasn’t enough.

Deliberately or not, he brushed her again. A faint graze of his shoulder against her arm as he leaned in to take a bite of his pastrami on rye. The bigbodied Rogue had her cornered. And he knew it.

The glint in his brown eyes told her he’d purposely sat between her and the door. She wasn’t bolting on him. No matter how he overwhelmed her.

Emerson liked having control over her mind
and body. With Romeo, she lost her professional edge. She went from reporter to woman. He had all the power. The sexual power that made her mind go blank and her heartbeat quicken.

“Miss me?” he asked between sips of root beer.

She shook her head. “You’ve been away three days. Not long enough to be missed.”

“Some women miss me the moment I walk out the door.”

“Women with too much time on their hands.”

He grinned and nudged her with his elbow, which created goose bumps all over her body. “Did you catch our win over San Diego?”

She’d been glued to the television. “The Rogues played hard. You deserved to sweep the series.”

“You should have made the trip.”

Instead, she’d decided not to travel with the team. She’d needed to distance herself from the third baseman. Romeo made her nerve-endings hum. She’d needed to quiet her thoughts and clear her head.

She sat a little straighter and drew her body away from his. Which he noticed.

He reached out and tugged the lapel on her suit, drawing her back toward him. He ran his fingers along the navy blue satin trim. “Headache, cold?” he asked. “Touch of the flu? You’re not coming on to me like you usually do.”

“I’ve never come on to you.”

“There’s always a first time. I know when a woman wants me.”

“I want you to go.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ears. The tip of his thumb lingered near her lobe. “I make you nervous.”

So nervous her skin itched. “You’re sitting too close.”

“I could be sitting across the room and you’d feel the same way. Chemistry, Em. Hot and undeniable.”

She pulled back slightly. “Such a big ego.”

“Not as big as my—”

She held up her hand, imagining, but not needing to know the size of his package. She glanced at the Rogues calendar on her desk. “You’re back on the road tomorrow. A grueling schedule: Boston, Toronto, Cincinnati.”

“Grueling can wait. I need a date for Readers for Life tonight.”

“A fund-raiser for the new children’s library.” Em was aware of the event. “Championed by Afton Patterson.”

“Afton promotes any cause that lands her on the Society page,” Romeo stated. “She’s mentioned in About Town twice a week.”

That, she was. Emerson knew the socialite well. Prior to Sports, Em had worked Features. She’d covered Afton’s fund-raisers. A party girl and social piranha, the redhead lived off gossip and an obscenely large trust fund.

What Afton wanted, Afton got. She wrote fat checks, then seduced others to do the same. She’d slept with nearly every man, single or married, who supported her causes. Emerson knew that
for a fact. She’d walked in on Afton and a senator having sex in a hall closet at the Horseshoe Ball prior to the Kentucky Derby. Em did not vote to reinstate him in the next election.

“Date me, Em,” Romeo pressed.

“Interviews only,” she said firmly. “I already have plans for the evening.”

“Man plans?”

“Plans,” was all she’d confirm. She closed her day planner, as if to hide a name from him. Let Romeo think she was meeting a man for dinner and drinks. Someone other than the sexiest man in Major League Baseball. She had to protect her heart.

She was no more than a novelty to him. A reporter who refused to have sex with him. Even though their bet had struck sparks between them, once the season ended he’d place wagers with other women. The man was competitive. Sex was as much a game to him as baseball.

Silence stretched between them until Romeo cleared away the sandwich wrappers. He tipped up her chin with one finger, forcing her to look at him. “If not Readers for Life, join me at the Athletic Club in two weeks for a short cocktail party and presentation. High school athletes will be awarded scholarships. Great human interest.”

Two weeks away. No excuse to decline came to mind. She sighed, weakened. “One date, then you’ll leave me alone?”

“The question is: after one date, will you be able to walk away from me? You may become so
hot and bothered, I’ll start to look good. I am good, Em. Damn good.”

She was sure he’d be as legendary as his tattoo.

“
Out.
” She pointed to the cubical exit.

Romeo left with a satisfied grin on his face. He looked as if he knew he’d worked her up, that her body was now warm and restless.

His empty chair still held his presence. Strong, dominant, and very male. His scent lingered, sunshine and citrus. All a maddening reminder that Romeo Bellisaro left his imprint with every visit.

She picked up the chair and carried it to the cubical across the hall. Distance only made her heart grow fonder. Romeo was still real to her. Larger-than-life and too sexy to forget.

Her frustration built. A small part of her wished she’d accepted his invitation to Readers for Life. She’d passed on the event to spend an evening with a pint of white chocolate raspberry ice cream and a DVD of
The Notebook.

No doubt a big mistake.

She’d suffer for her decision. She had no idea how much until the following morning.

She was back at her desk by six a.m., flipping through the morning edition of the paper. She scanned Sports. Slowed on Features. Her coffee soon grew cold. A zucchini muffin was forgotten by her fax.

She stared at the About Town section until her eyes hurt. A full-page photo of Romeo Bellisaro looked right back at her. Romeo and Afton Patterson. There were four photographs in all and
twenty inches of newsprint. The Readers for Life Fund-raiser was proclaimed a huge success.

Amid the backdrop of evening gowns and tuxedos, Romeo looked perfectly at home, one of Richmond’s elite. No forced smile, no stiffness. He could talk sports with men and charm the women. Em was sure everyone had dug deeply to donate to the library.

The thought of Romeo and Afton tightened Em’s chest. She had no claim on the third baseman. After that one kiss, she’d restricted their time together.

She’d wanted a simple friendship. No strings, no ties. No more kisses. Nothing, however, was simple where Romeo was concerned. The man complicated her life. Tied her stomach in knots. Stole her identity. She’d known when she’d limited their activities that countless other women would line up to make themselves available.

She could have been at the fund-raiser by his side instead of reading about it the day after. He’d invited her. And she’d declined. Her stomach shouldn’t hurt over the fact that Romeo received more column space in Features than the entire Rogues team did in Sports.

“Sweet article.” The new Features editor stopped by her cubical. “I hope you don’t mind that I stole Romeo from Sports. Every eye was on him at the library fund-raiser. The man can work a crowd.”

Emerson glanced down at the photographs. “Looks like he worked Afton Patterson.”

“They were pretty tight, drinking champagne
and dancing together.” The editor dipped her head and lowered her voice. “I caught them in the parking lot right after the event. Afton had loosened his tie and jammed her hands
deep
in the pockets of his dress slacks. She was feeling for more than change.”

More than Emerson needed or wanted to know. She immediately closed the paper. And the Features editor moved on.

Em had two weeks to get it together. To ready herself for the Athletic Club. But a week later, she knew she’d never attend the event with Romeo. Not after the syndicated news broadcast his picture across the wire. A photograph that spoke a thousand words: Boston hotel lobby; near the elevator banks; Romeo and Afton so wrapped together, Em couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

An article had followed. Afton had arrived by private jet to watch Romeo play against the Red Sox.

She claimed to be his number-one fan.

Romeo didn’t offer a disclaimer.

Emerson had sat in her cubical, feeling numb and disheartened, until the afternoon cleaning crew nudged her to move her chair so they could vacuum around her desk.

Later that evening, when she’d wrapped up an interview with Jon Sloan, quarterback for the newly franchised Richmond Outlaws, she boldly asked him to escort her to the Athletic Club event. She’d taken him by surprise. The man had actu
ally blushed. Emerson had found Sloan’s shyness almost as charming as Romeo’s confidence.

It was time to get on with her life. To move beyond the third baseman. Get out and date other men.

Even if her heart wasn’t in it.

Romeo Bellisaro would have passed on the Athletic Club event had team owner Guy Powers not insisted his players attend. He’d arrived in a badass mood. Emerson Kent had canceled off their date in a phone message.

He’d played her message a dozen times. Her voice had sounded forced, not smooth and selfassured as was her normal manner. She hadn’t even given an explanation. She’d just canceled.

He stood now, near the bar, surrounded by both professional and high school athletes. The younger jocks were all vying for college scholarships. Guy Powers backed new blood. That was the only reason Romeo had come.

He looked about the room. Sportsmen from all the Richmond teams had made an appearance. The Outlaws were well represented. The newly organized football franchise had won its first four games of the season. Members of the Renegades basketball team were there, too. Five of the starters stood head and shoulders above the growing crowd.

A crowd that suddenly included Emerson Kent and quarterback Jon Sloan. Romeo felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.

He watched as she smiled up at Sloan. The same smile that sucked air from Romeo’s lungs and had spurred him to kiss her. The smile that left him hard as wood and walking stiff.

He hadn’t spoken to Emerson since his road trip.

Her choice. Not his.

“You been dumped?” Psycho McMillan’s bluntness made him blink as the right fielder passed Romeo two fingers of scotch.

“Dumped and blindsided,” Romeo admitted. “I had no idea Emerson would show.”

“And with Jon Sloan.”

Romeo’s gaze fixed on the quarterback. The man’s hand rested low on Emerson’s spine. He was too damn familiar for Romeo’s liking.

Psycho tugged on his gray tie, which he’d worn over a black T-shirt scripted with
Guess What I’ve Been Up To?
He wasn’t one for dressing up. Guy Powers had given Psycho a look that indicated the right fielder would be fined for improper attire. Wouldn’t be the first or the last time. Psycho had his own rules. He preferred to pay fines rather than conform.

“Your reporter doing football now?” asked Psycho.

“Looks that way,” Romeo said angrily.

He didn’t know how to fix what he hadn’t thought broken. Even though she’d resisted, Romeo had believed Em was into him. Her body reacted to his nearness. Her scent was warm and aroused. She had all the trademarks of a woman who wanted a man.

Perhaps he’d read her wrong.

“Seen Chaser?” Psycho asked.

“He bowed out,” Romeo told him. “Man’s got marriage on the brain. He’s buffing new tile floors in Jen Reid’s kitchen tonight.”

“Buffing, huh?” One corner of Psycho’s mouth curved into a smile. “Beats the hell out of small talk.”

Romeo wasn’t feeling sociable. Anyone approaching him quickly veered away from his scowl. He sipped his scotch. Stared at Emerson Kent. He caught every tilt of her head, the way her eyes smiled, her hand gestures. The twist of her dress over her hips when she shook hands with someone. The sweet curve of her calves. Her poise in spiked heels.

The realization of how much he’d missed her was as startling as the look on Em’s face when she caught sight of him. She went wide-eyed and pale, then turned her back on him.

Her body language said it all. Romeo wasn’t welcome in her life. She’d yet to give him a reason why.

He recalled their kiss at Hollywood Harts. How she’d shattered and gotten scared. How she’d held him at arm’s length from that point on. She was a woman who hated losing control.

Romeo, on the other hand, got lost in his partner during sex. All inhibitions were left at the bedroom door. He appreciated a woman’s body as much as he enjoyed baseball.