Curveball (8 page)

His gaze smoldered and his body burned in in
vitation. Whether in a dark corner or against a wall, if the woman was willing, Romeo would take her where she stood.

Emerson’s body responded. Her nipples poked her lavender silk blouse. Her panties were sinfully damp. Romeo and his Easy Ryders would leave a woman sated, yet soon wanting again. One time with this man would never be enough. He would prove addictive.

“Give me
more,
Romeo,” Carmel encouraged as she took shot after shot. “The woman of your wet dreams starts walking toward you. Her lips are glossy, plump, and parted. A slinky black dress hugs her body, her stilettos showcase mile-long legs. She wants you. Bring her to orgasm with one hot look.”

His
look
made Emerson tremble. And moan. She heard the sighs of the other women in the room, and knew Romeo had also affected them.

A full minute passed before Carmel came out from behind her camera; sweat beaded her brow. She drew a cigarette from her purse and lit it. Dragging deeply, she winked at Romeo. “Damn good, Rogue. I’m satisfied.”

Romeo laughed, a deep, resounding sound that drew more than one blush from those looking on. “My pleasure.”

He buttoned his cobalt-blue shirt, slipped the condoms from his waistband, and tossed them to Carmel.

“Easy Ryder appreciates your time and donation to their safe sex campaign. The company will
send you several complimentary cases of condoms,” the photographer told him. “Same as before? Magnum XL, mutual stimulation?”

Romeo nodded. “Great product.” He signed several autographs, then sought out Em. His loose-hipped gait said he was feeling sure of himself. “Did you enjoy the shoot?” he asked.

She could barely form words. Romeo was worth every penny paid to advertise safe sex. “I’m going to buy stock in Easy Ryder tomorrow.”

“I could show you the value of the condom tonight.”

Emerson rolled her eyes. “Don’t you ever give up?”

“I’ll die with an erection.”

“I’m sure you will.”

He took her by the arm, drawing her from her chair. He stood so close, his warmth, strength, and appeal stroked her like a touch. She cleared her throat. “You did the shoot for free?”

Romeo nodded. “One of my high school girlfriends had a pregnancy scare. While I liked variety, Melinda had marriage on the brain. The night she lied, said she was on the pill, we had unprotected sex. I sweated bullets for six weeks until she tested negative.”

“Would you have married her?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Melinda picked out a wedding dress and a chapel, while I filled out applications for college. Had she been pregnant, I would have filed for married student housing.”

Relief sifted through her. The man had in
tegrity. He would have taken care of his child. “I’d better go.” She sidestepped left.

He walked her to the door. “See you in Atlanta.”

A white-hot sky baked Atlanta. It was the worst heat wave in fifteen years. Emerson Kent had roasted in the press box along with the other sportswriters. She’d thought the Braves-Rogues doubleheader would never end.

Following the Rogues’ second loss of the day, she flagged a cab and dragged herself back to the hotel. The lobby was packed with die-hard Rogues fans and tight-bloused, short-skirted, stiletto-heeled groupies. Her eye on the bank of elevators, Emerson inched her way around potted plants and clutches of couches and chairs.

Once in her room, she tore off her skirt suit and moved to stand in her bra and panties before the air-conditioning vents.

She’d never been so hot. Nor so uncomfortable.

The one o’clock game-time temperature had hit a sweltering ninety-seven degrees; the onfield temperature was 106. Both teams had cut batting practice short. Action in the bullpen was nonexistent.

Cool mist fans had blown from each corner of the dugout and the team trainers had ammonia towels at the ready. Hydration was always a major concern in such heat. The players had drunk plenty of fluids with electrolytes.

Seated at the far end of the visitors’ bench, Psycho, Chaser, and Romeo had gazed out onto the
field, their expressions tight, enigmatic. Pitcher Chris Collier sat several feet to their right, alone and ignored.

Affected early by the heat, Psycho had tipped back his head and poured a cup of water over his face. He’d then shaken his head like a wet dog. Romeo and Chaser had shifted farther down the bench.

The concession stands had run out of bottled water by the bottom of the sixth. Paramedics were stationed in the stands by the top of the seventh.

Many of the fans had dispersed before the evening game, sunburned, sweaty, and too irritable to sit any longer.

Emerson had remained in the press box throughout the doubleheader. Her wrist was sore from fanning herself with the game program. The stadium air-conditioning had heaved, choked, and proved less than effective.

She’d worn her new outfit to the park, the one chosen by Romeo Bellisaro. The champagne linen suit now lay in a heap at her feet. The matching pumps were buried beneath the hem of her skirt.

The memory of shopping with Romeo remained fresh on her mind. He’d taken her to Lord and Taylor, to the designer salon. Every personal shopper in the store had merged on him, offering assistance and grasping for his attention.

Emerson never grasped. She didn’t believe in falling over any man for any reason. She’d shaken her head over all the flirting and fawning.

And while she tried on clothes, she’d listened
to Romeo’s comments on her selections. In the end, she’d made the final decision on her outfit. An outfit he’d called “stunning.”

Emerson agreed. The double-breasted jacket fit as if made for her. The lapels parted to reveal an ivory silk blouse. The short pleat at the hemline flirted with her calves. Kicky, yet stylish.

Romeo had personally delivered a pair of champagne pumps to her dressing room. “You decent, Em?” he’d called from the hallway.

Not quite decent.
Unbuttoned, her ivory silk blouse revealed both cups of her satin bra, along with her bare belly. Her short silk slip hit an inch above her thigh-high stockings.

Glancing up, she’d found his reflection in her mirror.

Open interest darkened his eyes as he rested his arms along the top edge of the latticed swinging doors, a shoe box in hand. She’d stood frozen as they both stared into the glass. Frozen until his gaze left her face and traveled over her body. A slow, sensual sweep that left her flushed and tingly, and threw off her breathing.

With no more than a look, he’d stripped off her blouse and slip, unhooked her bra, unrolled her nylons, and pulled down her panties. Her lips parted and her heart pounded. She’d never felt more naked.

Grabbing a plum-colored crinkle skirt off a hanger, she’d covered herself. She’d jabbed a finger toward the sign in the hallway. “Ladies’ Dressing Room.”

“I can read, Em.”

“Then
why
?”

“I promised you a new pair of shoes.”

“One of the personal shoppers could have brought them.”

“I preferred to deliver them myself.” He’d handed her the shoe box, then scratched his jaw. “Thought you’d be more business cotton than Playboy lace.” His gaze flitted to her thighs. “You’ve got the legs for garters.”

A slow wink, and Romeo departed. When her heartbeat slowed, Emerson lifted the lid on the shoe box. Size 7 designer pumps. Outrageously expensive.

How had the man guessed her size? A warmth spread in her chest. Romeo’s effort to match her shoes to her suit pleased her greatly.

She’d developed a soft spot for the third baseman.

Sighing heavily, she removed her red-framed glasses and faced the air-conditioning vent. The cold air tossed her bangs and chased the heat from her cheeks. A shower was in order. She wanted to wash away the memory of the Rogues’ loss.

The day had been long and tiring. And very depressing. She’d felt the Rogues’ defeat more strongly than she’d anticipated. A dull ache was centered in her chest. She hurt for Romeo. A most unexpected feeling, and one she couldn’t shake.

After showering and shampooing, she slipped into brown silk lounging pajamas. Her stomach growled. She wondered if room service would de
liver a sandwich this late. She scanned the menu on her bedside table, noted it was already past the cutoff time for deliveries.

She’d eat a big breakfast.

Tossing back the bedcovers, she caught the blinking red light on her bedside telephone. Someone had tried to call while she was in the shower. It was the far side of midnight. Who would call at this hour?

A knock on the door turned her from the phone message. “Room service,” a male voice called.

Em crossed to the door and cracked it slightly. “I’m sorry, I haven’t placed an order.”

The man rechecked the room slip. “Emerson Kent. Six fifty-seven.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve followed directions to the letter.”

She edged back a step, allowed him entrance. The man was all smiles and politeness as he settled the cart before the dresser. “An assortment of sandwiches,” he informed her before departing.

Emerson scanned the silver cart. Covered dishes, place settings for two, and a souvenir bobble-head of Romeo Bellisaro made it obvious she wouldn’t be dining alone.

She picked up the bobble-head, which had been sold at numerous concession stands at Turner Field. From his brown eyes to the sexy curve of his mouth, the souvenir bore a striking resemblance to the third baseman.

“Mind if I join you?”

Em looked up and found Romeo leaning
against the door frame. He was dressed casually in a dark gray Polo and worn jeans. Leather flipflops were all he had on his feet. He hadn’t shaved.

She hesitated. “It’s late.”

“But too early for bed.” He pushed off the jamb, took one step toward her, then a second. His gaze was narrowed, shaded, his lips turned into a half smile. “I’m better company than the bobble-head. I pack more lumber than that little piece of wood.”

Heat sketched her cheeks. “Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for someone with glossed lips in a little black dress. I’m not a groupie looking for sex. And I’m too tired to keep up my end of a conversation. I’m not good company.”

“Neither am I.” He ran one hand down his face. “I’ve run out of charm. I promise no lines or come-ons. No further mention of sex. It’s been a rough day, Em. The dugout steamed like a sauna. Let me eat, unwind, and I’m gone.”

“How did you get room service?” she asked. “The kitchen closed an hour ago.”

“The hotel caters to visiting teams. The promise of an autographed Rogues cap and jersey prompted the prep cook to fix some sandwiches.”

Emerson pursed her lips, debating. “Where’s Psycho and Chaser?”

“Chaser’s already crashed. Psycho’s wound tight. He prowled the hotel, had drinks with two female flight attendants.”

“Psycho’s flying the friendly skies?”

Romeo shook his head. “Two beers and he
split. Psycho returned to his room and called his designer.”

“Talk of restoration calmed him down?”

“I heard Psycho wish Keely a happy birthday. He asked if she’d received a pink feather duster. Not sure what Psycho’s into, but it’s not dusting.”

“Maybe he’s into Keely Douglas.”

Romeo shrugged. “Keely’s definitely claimed his interest. Yet Psycho bores easily. At least discussing ceiling fixtures and wall lighting took his mind off the Rogues’ loss.”

“An ugly loss.”

He crossed to a comfortable chair and dropped into it. He looked like a sun god, all blond and tanned, seated on the bronze and burnt-orange paisley fabric. “The Rogues played Triple-A ball today.”

“Definitely minor league,” she agreed. “Did Risk Kincaid kill Dave Walker in the locker room?”

Romeo rolled his eyes. “That rookie had a baserunning brain-freeze.”

“I mentioned Walker’s freeze in my column,” she said. “How Kincaid’s solid ground double sent him to second only to have Walker misinterpret the third base coach’s signal. The kid froze between second and third, then spun around. When he saw that Kincaid claimed the bag, he turned as white as the infield lines. The relay from right field took Walker out. What should have been a home run closed the inning.

“We all sat in disbelief until Psycho punched
the dugout wall. Chaser kept Psycho from going after the rookie.”

Emerson curled up on the chair next to Romeo. “How’s Dean DeAngelo?”

Romeo closed his eyes against the bad memory. “Right fielder should never have called Risk Kincaid off the pop-up. Blinded by the sun, DeAngelo misjudged the catch.”

Em grimaced. “He took that fly ball on the chin.”

Blood had splattered like a pink mist. Davis had hit his knees and covered his face with his glove. Kincaid had retrieved the ball and fired it home. Close, but no cigar. Two additional runs padded the Braves’ lead.

The team trainer had assisted DeAngelo off the field. His replacement a veteran with a strained bicep and little run in his legs.

“DeAngelo fractured his jaw, lost three teeth.” Romeo slouched deeper into the chair. “There’s major dental work in his future.”

A compatible silence settled between them.

Romeo crossed one ankle over the other knee. Stretched his arms over his head.

Emerson clutched her knees tightly to her chest.

There were no words necessary until Emerson’s stomach growled. “Can I bring you a plate?” Romeo offered.

Emerson nodded, unable to speak as he stood up and crossed to the cart. Suddenly food didn’t appeal to her half as much as his backside. Mus
cles strained against his Polo, his jeans emphasizing the tightness of his butt and the long lines of his legs. The man looked good enough to eat.

Instead she settled for a club sandwich.

Romeo had roast beef on rye.

They ate and digested in silence, aware of each other yet feeling no need to converse. Taking her last bite, Em wiped her mouth and inquired, “Curfew?”

He glanced at his Tag Heuer. “I’ve never made one yet. Tonight will be my first.”

He rose, held out a hand, and pulled her to her feet. They stacked their dishes on the cart, then faced each other at the door.