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“He's played better” was all Revelle would say.

Rhaden's timing was off—
way off.
He swung before and after
the ball, went down on strikes.

On a sigh, Revelle pulled a bottle of calamine lotion from her purse and
quickly slathered her skin pink. In her hurry, she splashed lotion on the front
of her apple green blazer, as well as dotting the hem of her skirt.

The head of Game's On looked frustrated, embarrassed, and still quite
itchy.

“Anything I can do?” Dayne offered.

“Remind me never to—” Revelle cut herself off, blushed, further comment
lost to the game. “Don't go for being a hero, Chas Ragan.” Revelle knew the
lineup well. “Get on base; let Romeo bring both you and Rhodes in.”

Ragan didn't heed her warning. He tried to kill the ball, only to murder
his chance to get on base.

A camera close-up of Kason returning to the dugout for his glove showed
one angry man. He'd wanted to score—
needed
to score. Ragan had pissed
away the tie.

Another hour brought the bottom of the ninth. The Rogues remained down
by one.

“Pressure's on.” Revelle stopped scratching, held her breath. “Two outs,
and it's all up to Kason.”

The pressure rose beyond reason as the Richmond fans demanded a hit. The
network panned to the stands. Dayne caught a close-up of Ben and Brenda Dixon
behind home, madly waving rally towels.

Dayne started to shake, and hugged herself. Her heart threatened to beat
out of her chest.

The moment blurred. Through it all, Kason didn't go quietly; he rallied.
He searched for the big hit, and at full count, crushed the ball over the
center field wall. Dayne jerked with the smack of his bat.

The crowd went wild, and Kason rounded the bases at a dead run.
Execution and speed—he had it all. Game over. Rogues 4, Raptors 3.

Dayne was so light-headed, she nearly lost consciousness. Her
ten-hour-a-day job seemed a breeze compared to the nervous energy she'd
expended during the last innings of the game. She fell back in the chair,
utterly exhausted.

Several commercials ran prior to the on-field and locker-room
interviews. She was caught completely off guard when the first of the Platinum
ads aired. She'd forgotten Mother's Day was coming up fast.

The first advertisement was for a tire company; the second featured
Kason Rhodes entering the jewelry store. He appeared a diamond in the rough,
and incredibly masculine.

Goose bumps skittered over every inch of her skin. From the sweep of his
gaze, his approach, to the startling way they looked at each other, the ad was
a perfect blend of the intriguing and sensual.

There was minimal narration that noted Gayle de Milo's launch of her
cosmopolitan line of jewelry. The store itself conveyed a feeling of elegance.

The majority of the ad centered on
the look.
Kason's intense interest made Dayne squirm on her chair. No one could
deny their heat or keep from wondering: would the boy get the girl?

They were a couple for the campaign, but weren't together in real life.
Dayne had to pull back, separate the fantasy from reality. She found it
incredibly hard.

“Some ad,” Revelle commented as she sipped the last of her tea. “Platinum
will draw in customers buying jewelry and looking for love.”

Dayne had yet to deposit the ten-thousand-dollar check the jeweler had
written for the shoot. It was clipped to the front of her refrigerator, where
she enjoyed seeing it first thing in the morning and right before bed.

Security,
she thought. She could buy
a car, put a down payment on a home—she had so many options. She had money for
the first time in her life, and it felt good.

“Back to work?” Dayne looked at Revelle.

Her boss shook her head. “I'm not scratching my way back to the office.
Cover for me, please?”

Dayne nodded. “Take care of that rash.” She left Revelle to her oven
mitts and calamine lotion.

The second she stepped onto the sixth floor, whistles sounded from all
sides. Women poked their heads from accounting and public relations, most
wearing big smiles, a few looking downright envious.

“We caught the Platinum ad,” one of the accountants told her.

“Sizzling, Dayne. The chemistry made my heart race. Are you and Rhodes
officially a couple?”

A couple?
Dayne froze, softly asked, “Why
the interest?”

“Curiosity runs high,” the number cruncher answered. “Kason's a Rogue, a
real hard-ass. Richmond fans will be glad he's settled in and fallen for
someone. You'll be the couple of the season.”

How utterly frightening. “It was a commercial,” Dayne reminded all those
gathered.

“Honey, it reached beyond advertising. You brought heat to the moment,
restored my belief in love at first sight.” The accountant sighed. “No man's
ever looked at me the way Rhodes gazed on you. Not even my husband.”

“I want that look too,” a publicist agreed.

“It was
pretend.”
Dayne wanted that clear.

“Women can fake orgasms, but no man can fake that look,” the woman from
public relations responded. “He had you naked in thirty seconds flat.”

Kason had seen her bare and beneath him. He'd had little to imagine at
the shoot. She pressed her hand to her abdomen, breathed deeply. The ad had
taken on a life of its own. That scared her silly.

She was met with similiar reactions at the post office and grocery
store. People turned, stared, smiled. One woman asked for her autograph.

Dayne shouldn't have been surprised. The world watched television. The
Platinum ad had been perfectly timed, thrust between the game and the
interviews. Somehow she now stood in the spotlight as Kason's woman.

That night, Kason didn't seemed fazed by the ad. He looked at her from
across his dining room table, wearing a cobalt blue polo, jeans, and a grin.

His mouth was meant for smiling,
Dayne thought. The curve softened the hardness of his face, made him
twice as handsome. Although he didn't smile much, he did on occasion for her.
His biggest grin came after sex, as if she'd pleased him greatly.

“Congratulations on your win,” she said between bites of tuna casserole.
“I watched the end of the game with Revelle from Guy Powers's suite. You nearly
gave me a heart attack.”

A lift to his brow. “Why's that?”

“The noise, the pressure, your need to perform.” She met his gaze. “I
took it to heart and nearly fainted.”

He buttered a crescent roll, set down his knife. “All in a day's work.”

“You have nerves of steel.”

“I have fight, Dayne.” His voice deepened. “The need to succeed came at
an early age. I was good at baseball and drove myself into a major league
contract.”

“Your parents must be proud.”

Kason's teeth clamped down and a muscle ticked at his jaw. He pushed
aside his plate, jammed his elbows on the table. His stare hit just beyond her
shoulder, shadowed yet unprotected, as memories overwhelmed him.

Dayne watched him struggle. She sensed the ugliness of his youth. He'd
closed down, and she wanted him back.

“Talk to me, Kason,” she softly encouraged.

Long minutes passed before he palmed his eyes and again focused on her. “I
never knew my real dad, Joe Rhodes,” he finally said. “Joe was military. He had
sex with his brother Ray's girlfriend before his deployment. Nine months later,
I was born. Joe was killed overseas, and never knew he'd fathered a child. I
was raised by Ray, and he was one mean son of a bitch.”

Time ticked, and Kason released his childhood. He shared memories of
T-ball, of having his head shaved, of being called Kassie. Through the years,
he'd refused to let anyone into his life, up until the day she'd claimed
squatter's rights and he'd allowed her to stay.

“You're crying.” Apprehensive, Kason leaned across the table, wiped the
moisture from her cheek with his thumb.

“I feel for you,” said Dayne. “Not pity or sadness, only optimism from
the fact that you became such a good man. You made it, Kason, on your own. I
think you're remarkable.”

He let her words soak in, and soon exhaled. All tension left his neck
and shoulders. He kicked back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You
think I'm remarkable?”

He wasn't searching for ego munchies, only a bit of reassurance. His
pride wouldn't let him accept a compliment that wasn't deserved.

She gave him what he needed. “You're amazing at the stadium, with
Cimarron and Ruckus, and, most of all, in bed.”

“Speaking of which...” he said, initiating.

“I have butterscotch pudding,” she offered, before she gave of herself.

His gaze went wickedly dark. “Whipped cream too?”

She nodded. “As well as maraschino cherries.”

“Licking pudding off skin is a win-win.”

Dayne went wet at his suggestion.

While the dogs camped on his couch, Kason drew Dayne to the kitchen. He
handed her the toppings and took the bowl for himself.

“I'm hungry, woman.” His look said he could eat her alive.

Her craving was equally as strong.

Kason Rhodes smiled four times that night.

***

Morning sun split the slats
on the window shade. Dayne protested at the invasion. She slung her forearm
over her eyes, peeked at Kason from beneath her elbow.

The big man had showered,
toweled, and now stood in burgundy boxers. Seven weeks, and his hair had
returned, military short. He looked strong, confident, capable.

His duffel bag lay unzipped
at the foot of the bed, his clothes stacked to pack. Dayne dreaded his
departure. Sixteen days on the road seemed like forever.

The team would catch a
flight at noon, travel west.

They'd play the
Diamondbacks, Padres, and Giants, then stop over in St. Louis to play the
Colonels. Kason claimed the schedule was grueling.

Dayne knew that as
cocaptains, Psycho and he babysat the rookies, corralling them for dinner,
limiting liquor, and imposing curfews. No Rogue played with a hangover.

Their pep talks both
encouraged and disciplined.

Psycho and he had found
common ground.

“I'll miss you,” she softly
told him.

He folded a black pullover,
looked up. “It's good to be missed.”

Ruckus took that moment to
steal one of his Nikes from the floor. The min-pin grabbed a shoelace, growled,
and inched backward out the door.

Seconds later, Cimarron
returned it.

“Your boy's out of control,”
Kason stated.

“I see him as
free-spirited.”

“He needs a few commands.”

“Come,
Ruckus.” Dayne patted the bed.

The tiny pup charged into
the bedroom, stood on his back paws, and bounced until she lifted him onto the mattress.
Ruckus tucked into her side. “He listens,” she said defensively.

“Get him to stop biting the
sheet,” Kason said. “I don't have any more clean ones.”

They'd smudged two sets the
previous night. She just hoped pudding didn't stain. Butterscotch had never
tasted so good as when licked off a man's abdomen. Kason had stuck, then sucked
maraschino cherries from her navel. He'd drizzled cherry juice over her tummy,
laved every drop. He'd been fascinated by her horseshoe belly stud, turning it
up for luck.

Dropping onto the edge of
the bed, he tapped her nose, ran his finger down her Beatles T-shirt, then
slipped a finger beneath her flesh-toned tanga panties.

“Ruckus,” she reminded him.