Curveball (9 page)

“Thanks for joining me for dinner.”

“Thanks for bribing the prep cook. It’s always nice to have dinner with a friend.”

He looked down at her, amusement and heat in his all-knowing gaze. “Buddies now, lovers later. When the Rogues win a game and I kiss you, you’ll want to be more than friends.”

Lovers.
It was a very real possibility now.

The Rogues lost three games to Atlanta, then fought their way back to win one game against Miami. Because of that 2-1 win, Emerson now owed Romeo a kiss. The very thought left her pulse pounding. When, where, how would it happen? The question remained foremost on her mind.

Following their win, Romeo had pushed off the dugout bench and looked toward the press box. Even through the tinted glass, she’d felt his heat and anticipation. The man would soon come and collect his kiss.

Emerson hadn’t drawn a steady breath since.

Back in Richmond, she faced a day off. She’d submitted her sports stories along with an article titled “Do-over,” a column in which she’d speculated on how the baseball season might have started if the Bat Pack had not brawled on Media Day.

At seven-fifteen, with coffee mug in hand, she
was perched on the cushioned seat in the big bay window overlooking the city park. She loved mornings. Loved the never-ending shuffle of life as dog walkers jogged to keep up with their pets, new mothers pushed baby strollers, and bench sitters sipped coffee and read the paper while waiting for their bus.

The daily occurrences were soothing to her. Emerson liked routine. She hated surprises.

The surprise of her life hit three sips into her second cup of coffee as a blue Viper parallelparked before her condo. Her breath backed up in her throat. She nearly hyperventilated.

How had Romeo found her? She’d refused to give out her home phone number or address. Yet there he was, walking up her brick sidewalk. His hair was brushed back, revealing the sharpness of his features, handsome, lean, and hungry. A pale blue button-down shirt and stone-washed jeans showcased his athletic body. The man made her world stop. And tilt on its axis.

Checking the number on her front door, Romeo rang the bell. Emerson set down her coffee cup and slowly slid off the window seat. She dragged her feet all the way to the foyer.

With the security chain in place, she cracked the door. She could see half his face and one broad shoulder.

“Morning, Em.” His greeting was far too enthusiastic for so early in the day.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Who sold me out?”

Her bluntness made him smile. “The receptionist at the
Banner.
Your address cost me two tickets to the next Rogues home game.”

Another bribe. First the prep cook at the hotel. Now the curvy redhead at the front desk of the newspaper. The latest hire shouldn’t have released her address.

Romeo had invaded her privacy.

He wedged his fingers between the door and its frame. “You’re here. I’m here. Invite me in, Em.”

“I’m not awake yet,” she lied. In reality she was wired and uneasy about his forthcoming kiss.

“Coffee, breakfast, I’ll stick around until you feel human.”

She refused to let him in. “Don’t you have practice? Team films? A workout?”

“Not until tomorrow. Today’s free.”

Great, just great. “My day is jammed. I’m cleaning house, running errands—”

“Reviewing a list of upcoming Rogue activities?” He fished a palm-size calendar from his shirt pocket. Waved it before her eyes. “Thought you might like dates for all team social functions, charity events, and fan appreciation days. This stuff would make good articles.”

“Thanks, I’ll take a look.” She slid her fingers beneath the security chain, hoping he’d hand the calendar over and leave.

Instead, Romeo pulled back. “You can take a look once you invite me in.”

He was crafty. From what she could glimpse, all the Rogues’ activities were mapped out on the
calendar: black tie dinners, social events, charity auctions.

She’d give her right arm for that calendar. It carried the inside scoop. She’d have the advantage covering events not publicized.

“Five minutes,” she told him as she unhooked the chain and allowed him entrance.

Romeo’s self-assured grin faltered with his first step inside. His gaze narrowed on her Florida Marlins jersey, his expression none too happy.

“You into fish?” he asked.

She looked down at the aqua and white jersey. “I liked the colors.”

“I prefer red, white, and blue.”

“You’re all Rogue.”

“It’s called team loyalty, Em.”

“I’m a sportswriter. Objective and fair. I won’t show partiality.”

“Take off the jersey.”

She took a step back. “You’re joking, right?”

The look on his face told her his humor had died at the door. “You can’t wear it out with me.”

“Out with you? We’ve made no plans.”

He pointed to the calendar. “Today the players fly beneath the public’s radar. Check the handwritten notation. Hollywood Harts. Here’s your chance for an exclusive. The Bat Pack supports a sanctuary for retired animal film stars.”

Emerson blinked. “You mean Fancy and Sky Dog?”

Romeo nodded. “Animals with attitude. Most were replaced in movies and on television sit
coms once they passed their prime. Some of the animals are arthritic, others half blind. Sophie Hart, an old college—”

“Flame?” she innocently inserted.

“Yeah, we flamed,” he openly admitted. “For about three months. I moved on to baseball and she became a studio trainer. She hated to see the animals abused or put down once their careers ended. She asked for my help and we joined forces. Twice a month Sophie opens the sanctuary to hospitals and foster homes. The animals perform. The kids go nuts. The children attending today are all cancer survivors. We’re not Disneyworld, but it’s a real fun day.”

“Will Psycho and Chaser make an appearance?”

He placed his hand over his heart, looked hurt. “I’m not enough for you, Em?”

The man was larger than life. A sexy baseball superhero. Who was going to collect a kiss sometime today. “Merely curious.”

“The Bat Pack will show, as well as a few other players. Anyone who’s free today. We sign autographs. Talk a little baseball. Throw a few Frisbees, which Sky Dog retrieves, then delivers to the kids.”

Emerson smelled a great human interest story. “I’m game.”

“Change clothes and we’ll hit the road.”

She licked very dry lips. What should she do with Romeo while she switched outfits? Should she leave him in the entrance hall? Or invite him in? “You can wait in the living room if you like,” she finally decided.

“I like.” He followed her down the hall.

She could feel him behind her. So close that he’d run her over if she should stop. She walked a little faster.

The end of the hallway opened into an octagonal floor plan. Em viewed her home through Romeo’s eyes as he took in the three split levels all connected by short, open stairwells. Without walls or doors, the open levels gave the space a feeling of freedom. The floor-to-ceiling windows to the east and west provided maximum sun exposure.

“Sweet damn,” he said as he took six steps down into the sunken living room.

The room had been furnished with chunky, comfortable wood furniture. The earth tones were accented by sage and lavender throw pillows, and oriental rugs were scattered across the floor.

Four steps up was another level where bookshelves rimmed the entire southern wall. Here, leather-bound classics, poetry, and paperback best sellers mixed freely. Many pages had yellowed, the corners dog-eared. A few had broken spines. Emerson cherished both the old and the new. She’d read all the books once, some twice. Several three times. She took comfort in books. There was no better escape in life.

Gazing up, Romeo turned full circle. “You can see the entire condo in one sweep,” he said admiringly.

“The kitchen and dining room are up the stairs and to the right. Breakfast and sunrise get me go
ing in the morning. My office is on the left. Sunsets and moonlight help me to unwind.”

“Bedrooms?” he asked. “Bath?”

“Two bedrooms, a guest and the master on the third level. Two full baths.”

He rolled his tongue inside his cheek. “It’s your design, isn’t it?”

Romeo was the first visitor to feel her heartbeat in the walls.

“The architectural plans came from my amateur sketches.”

“I like your place, Emerson Kent. It’s not all girly-girl with sherbet hues. Your condo could be shared with a man. He’d feel at home here.”

Shared with a man
…not one of her immediate goals. Maybe someday, but not now. Although she might waver a little if Romeo continued to look at her with those warm brown eyes.

Leaving him to her collection of books, she shot up the stairs to her bedroom. It was set back from the landing, with connecting bamboo screens that could be opened or closed for privacy. She closed them now.

Tugging the Marlins jersey over her head, she hung it back in the closet, alongside her Yankees, Orioles, and Tampa Bay jerseys. A row of Atlanta Braves tomahawks chopped the waistband on her bikini panties. Romeo would not be pleased with her support of other ball clubs.

A slate-blue blouse, navy blue cropped pants, and peach Sketchers seemed appropriate for a ca
sual day out-of-doors. Grabbing her hobo shoulder bag, she returned to Romeo.

The scent of burnt toast led her to the kitchen. She found him scraping the blackened edges on a slice of cinnamon bread into the sink.

“I wanted to make you breakfast.” He glared at the toaster. “Your dark setting turns bread to charcoal.”

She popped two new slices of cinnamon bread into the toaster and adjusted the dial. “Let’s try again.”

She poured Romeo a cup of coffee, buttered the toast, and grabbed a basket of fruit off the counter. She then motioned him to the kitchen table. A table piled with glossy magazines and displaying a small television at one end. She often read when she dined alone. When she cooked, she liked to have the TV on.

She took a seat across the table from him. Kept her chair pulled back so their knees wouldn’t bump. She caught him hiding a smile. Romeo knew he made her nervous. He liked watching her twitch.

“This is a first,” he stated. “My having breakfast with a woman without having spent the night.”

“If your toast-making skills match your seduction—”

“I have a way of making things burn, Em,” he returned with a slow smile. So slow and knowing, her nipples puckered.

He finished two slices of toast, then surprised her by flipping the calendar to December. “Do you decorate for the holidays?” he asked. “Between your sunken living room and high ceilings, I’m envisioning an enormous tree.”

She loved talking about Christmas in April. “Last year I bought a twenty-foot evergreen. It took five men to secure it in my living room and four to take it down. I spent a fortune on ornaments and tinsel. I hung wreaths on the bookcase, bought a gingerbread house, placed a singing Santa in the entrance hall. My condo looked like the North Pole.”

“All for you?” He finished off his coffee.

“All for me, Romeo. I don’t need a man in my life to enjoy the holiday.”

He leaned his elbows on the table. “You’re a competent woman, Emerson Kent.”

Too competent sometimes. The men she’d dated declared her independent. Oftentimes unresponsive, because she preferred her own company to theirs.

Though she was comfortable in her own skin, the heat in Romeo’s eyes, the lazy curve of his smile, made her eager to spend time with him.

“Ready to go?” she nudged.

He rose, scooped up his dishes, and placed them in her sink. “Your call, Em—ride with me or take your own car.”

The Viper was hot, the interior tight. What if he leaned over to kiss her? There’d be no escape.

Her BMW would allow her time alone; she
could listen to her favorite radio station, not have to worry about making conversation. She’d be safe. Sane. Secure.

“I’ll ride with you.” Her response surprised them both.

“Thought you’d prefer to drive yourself.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You’re a mass of nerves, sweetheart.” His gaze lit on her arms, swinging at her sides, then hit the pulse at her throat. “You’re all flitty and twitchy, with a wild heartbeat.”

I’m waiting for you to kiss me.
She was on pins and needles and not herself. “I’m excited about Hollywood Harts,” she fibbed. “The sanctuary will make great copy.”

“Anticipation.” He had the nerve to wink. “The thought of a dancing pig, a miniature horse, and an acrobatic monkey turns me inside out.”

Pig grunts, the sound of a dog barking, and a soft meow announced Romeo’s arrival at Hollywood Harts. Exiting his Viper, he scanned the fifty-acre reserve where the retired animal stars ran free.

Emerson held back, her expression one of interest as she jotted down notes on a yellow pad.

The first animal to approach them was Fancy, the square-dancing pig from an eight-season run on
Tanglefoot Creek.
Known for her yellow ruffled petticoat and cherry-red dance skirt, she could do-si-do and allemande left with the best of them. All at two hundred pounds.

Romeo patted her pink head. “You’re looking thin, Fancy. Sophie have you on a diet?”

“You have a way with words, Romeo. All females love being told they’ve lost weight. Even my sweet pig.”

Romeo looked up to find Sophie Hart walking his way. She had crimped blond hair, soft curves, and a deep love for animals. She welcomed him with a hug.

A silver German shepherd with the golden eyes of a wolf came next. Outfitted in a red, white, and blue cape and silver boots, Sky Dog had six superhero movies to his name. He’d played the sidekick to Captain Venture and Dash Danger. A mighty crime-fighting canine.

Sky Dog wagged his tail in greeting, then wandered toward the Viper to sniff Emerson.

A limping American curl followed more slowly. ZZ Paws, the short-haired tiger cat with ears that curled back from her face, soon wound between his legs. She was ready to perform in her black vest and matching kitty leggings. She’d played on
Clawed Mystery Theater.
The feline who chased cat burglars.

“Arthritis?” Romeo asked Sophie when ZZ didn’t jump into his arms. He bent instead and scooped her up to his chest. The American curl purred against his shoulder.

“Animals age like people,” Sophie reminded him. “They have similar aches and pains as they grow older.”