“Any problems that she couldn’t fix?”

Sam opened her mouth in protest but Wade shook his head. “She pulled the job off like no one else could have.”

Satisfied, her father nodded, and Sam somehow managed to hold her tongue. She held it as they walked through the lobby, but it was difficult. She could fight her own battles, dammit, and more than that, she hadn’t liked the feeling that all she and Wade had accomplished was hiding behind the pretendclause.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Wade murmured as they waited for an elevator. “But he’s really a very scary man. How’d you turn out so normal?”

She had to force herself not to hug him on the spot. “You think I’m normal?”

He smiled, and slid the hand he’d never taken off of her up her back in a soothing gesture, as if he knew just how on the edge she was. “Relatively speaking. You okay, Princess? You’re practically vibrating.”

She sighed. “I’ve just had a really bad hour. You just had a bad game. And tonight is our last night of being boyfriend and girlfriend—” She broke off, unhappy that had slipped out. It felt needy, and she hated needy. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some . . . I don’t know. Alcohol. Cookies. Sensitivity. Something.”

“Our last night,” he repeated softly.

Her breath caught. “Yeah.”

The elevator opened and he nudged her in ahead of him. As the doors closed, he backed her up against the wall and pressed into her, looking into her eyes for a long enough beat that her heart skipped. “One thing,” he whispered.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.” And then he kissed her, long and deep. When he slid a hard thigh between hers and moved against her, she completely lost herself and didn’t come up for air until the doors dinged and slid open.

He pulled back, ran his thumb over her lower lip, his eyes all hot and sleepy and sexy as hell. “I have something I want to show you in my room,” he said.

“I bet.”

He grinned, and looking like sin on a stick, took her hand. And instead of putting voice to her insecurities, or wishing for things that weren’t meant to be, she called and checked on Tag, then went with Wade to his room and let him show her whatever he wanted.

Twice.

And then once more in the shower for good measure.

The next day, the Heat arrived back in Santa Barbara. Wade entered his house for the first time in a week to a crowd of old men sitting on his couch in various stages of paunchy, wrinkled baldness, all wearing their pants up to their armpits, swirling their dentures in their mouths, passing his Xbox around. “What the hell?”

The room erupted into cheers and requests for autographs, except no one could seem to get up; they were all fighting their walkers and canes.

John came close as Wade watched in disbelief. “Found myself a geriatric AA group.”

“Of course you did,” Wade said. “They’re playing video games.”

“Yeah, but they’re not drinking.”

“Aren’t they a little old for you?” Wade slid his father a glance, then took a double take at the very loud, red Hawaiian shirt, plastered with green parrots, which almost but not quite distracted him from the edgy expression on his father’s face. He was still missing his booze like he’d miss a limb. “Dad. You realize it’s hard to take you seriously with that shirt, right?”

John looked down at himself. “I like this.”

Wade shook his head. “Are you scamming them?”

“We really have to work on your impression of me.”

Wade sighed. “You’re scamming them.”

“Hey, they just wanted to see where the great catcher Wade O’Riley lived.”

“So you what, charged entrance fees?”

John smiled. “I thought I’d earn my keep.”

“Jesus.” Wade walked to the wall where the TV was mounted and hit the power button. The TV went black, and a bunch of groans rose in the air. Wade pulled out his wallet, and the room fell silent. “I’m paying you back whatever you paid to get in here, and then I’m sorry, but you have to go.”

It took him an hour to clear the place out, and when they were all gone, John shook his head. “You’re a party pooper.”

Wade let out a rough laugh. “Yeah, well, congratulations. You’ve managed to do what the Heat management hasn’t, you’ve turned me into a burnout before age thirty-five.”

John grinned. “See, admit it, I’m good for you. So . . . how did the series go?” He followed Wade into the kitchen. “Where were you again?”

“Forget it.” Wade opened the refrigerator, and stared in shock. He’d been cleaned out.

“Ah, come on,” his dad said behind him. “I’ve been lonely. Talk to me.”

Wade rounded on him, unable to hold his silence. “Do you know how many words you spoke to me when I was a kid?”

John’s eyes flickered. “Uh, not many, I imagine.”

“Less than you’ve spoken to me since you’ve gotten here. So you’ll have to excuse me, but I’m about at my limit.” With that, he took himself off to his room.

His bedroom was large, done up in low, muted, warm earth tones. Dark wood dresser and armoire, huge king-sized bed. Minimal furniture, thousand-count chocolate brown sheets, and thick bedding. He didn’t have a TV in here; he’d never needed one in his bedroom before because when he was around, which wasn’t much, he watched in the living room, usually with the guys.

But now he was stuck in here with his father holding the rest of his house hostage, and he had nothing but a big bed to look at.

And no woman in it.

A knock came on the door. “I’m hungry.”

Wade sighed. “So call for food.”

“No credit card.”

“My wallet’s on the counter.”

There was blessed silence for two minutes.

Then John was back on the other side of the door. “Chinese?”

“No, thanks.”

“I thought your wallet would be filled with condoms.”

Wade didn’t bother to answer.

“In fact, I sort of pictured your house filled with women. I thought I’d have to fight them off with a stick. Don’t you ever have this place filled with women?”

“Almost never.”

“Really?” John sounded disappointed.

“I don’t have the life you seem to think I do, Dad.”

“Well, damn.” John was silent for another beat. “Pizza?”

“No.”

“What, have you gone all metrosexual on me? Watching your diet?”

Wade flopped to his bed spread eagle and stared at the ceiling. He was a free man again. There were a ton of places he could go tonight and none he wanted to go to.

Except maybe one.

“You getting fat in the middle?” John asked through the door. “A double chin? Is that it?”

Wade closed his eyes. “A meat lover’s special,” he said. “Extra large.”

After two days off, the Heat flew to New York for a three-day series. Sam brought Tag, the both of them hoping he’d get to see his uncles, but they didn’t come. Jeremy still hadn’t called Tag, who was doing shockingly well in spite of the odds.

Sam was not.

She’d been swamped with work and hadn’t had a moment to breathe much less miss Wade.

Or so she told herself.

But she had no idea where they stood. And she hated not knowing.

In the guest clubhouse before the game, she kept herself busy with reporters, with Tag, with . . . “John?” She looked at Wade’s father in surprise as he grabbed a bottle of water.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“You came to a game,” she said, happy to see him, hoping it meant good things for his and Wade’s relationship.

“Well, Wade’s gone all the time.” He ruffled Tag’s hair fondly. “Coming along is the only way I can irritate him.”

“Have you tried not irritating him?” Sam asked dryly.

John smiled. “I’m working my way up to that.”

In the stands, it was Ladies Day, so the place filled up. Tag inhaled his typical mountain of food, and Sam and Holly assisted.

“So,” Holly said. “Your month is up.”

Sam sipped her soda as if they were discussing the weather. But discussing the weather had never given her a stomachache before. “Yep.”

“That’s it then?”

Her heart executed a somersault but she didn’t answer because she didn’t have one.

On the field, Wade pulled his mask down and went into a crouch to catch for Pace. His hair was a couple of weeks past needing a cut, curling from beneath his headgear over his ears, down to his collar in back.

Pace threw, and the ball snapped into Wade’s glove with a thwack that Sam could hear from the stands. Rising, Wade nodded as he called something to Pace. His eyes were shadowed by his cap, and though his mouth was slightly curved, she sensed a tension in him. The muscles in his arm flexed as he made his throw, the movement of his body tightening his jersey across the muscles of his back.

Though Sam believed in a woman going after what she wanted, she also believed in self-preservation. Wade didn’t know what he wanted. Well, he wanted her body. She knew that. Just the thought brought hers to life. But she wanted him to want more.

She wondered how he was dealing with his father, if he was doing okay. If he was fully recovered . . .

He turned back to the plate, and looked right at her as he did. She couldn’t see his expression, or even his eyes, but heat slashed through her anyway.

“Whew,” Holly said. “I recognize that look.”

Yes. So did Sam. So did Sam’s body.

Tag was being very quiet, minding himself, which was so odd, she stopped watching Wade and looked at him.

He had her binoculars out and was using them. Not on the guys on the field warming up, but in the stands.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“There’s a bunch of girls in bathing suits painting on each other.”

She and Holly and exchanged a glance, and then Sam took the binoculars. Yep, he was right, the bathing beauties were painting on each other, writing their favorite players’ names across their bodies.

“There’s a girl with Wade across her butt,” he said. “Can I have the binoculars back now?”

“No.” Sam lifted the binoculars up to her face, and look at that, they focused right in on Wade. Bad binoculars.

“What are you looking at?” Tag wanted to know. “The players?”

“Yes.” Well, one player . . .

“And how is that different?” he wanted to know.

“I’m old.”

Tag sighed, and beside her, Holly laughed softly.

Chapter 27

Baseball is an island of activity amidst a sea of statistics.

—Author Unknown

Pace pitched a no-hitter, and Wade had a two-run double in the eighth. It added up to a nice win for the Heat, ending their losing streak.

That night in the hotel, Tag went to Santos’s room. His kids and wife had traveled for this series, and Tag was off playing with the boys. Restless, Sam looked at her empty suite. Funny how last season she happily spent every night alone in her hotel room, and now she had one single night to herself and she was feeling lonely.

Tag had more than grown on her. She loved him. She wanted to keep him. And that wasn’t all. Wade had grown on her as well. And truth was, she loved him, too. And would like to keep him . . .

And yet she was alone.

Even worse, soon Tag would leave.

And Wade was already out of her life.

Dammit. She grabbed her key card and went downstairs in search of something chocolate. To her surprise, she found Wade in battered jeans and a T-shirt in the lobby. He was surrounded by a group of women seeking autographs and probably his body as well, but she told herself it was no longer her problem.

He’d served his sentence, he was free.

She started to walk on, but something made her turn and take another look at him.

He was smiling and talking easily. But . . . but she knew him now, maybe better than just about anyone. His smile wasn’t anywhere close to his eyes and he was even more uncharacteristically tense than he’d been during the game.

Don’t do it, Sam.

But she did. She fought her way to his side and stared down all the woman, who slowly scattered.

“Thanks,” he said gratefully pulling her in for a hug as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if maybe he’d missed her.

“Consider it a freebie.” She hugged him back, pathetically pressing her nose into his chest, inhaling the warm, male scent of him. Her hands ran up his back, feeling the bunched muscles. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I came down here to find my dad. He’s missing. Have you seen him?”

“Not since right after the game in the clubhouse. And speaking of which, it was nice of you to fly him out here and get him that box seat. He was raving about it after the game.”

“Good, but now he’s gone.” He turned toward the hotel bar.

“And you think—”

“I’d bet my last buck he’s somewhere near a bartender.”

She looked into his face, tight with strain, and took his hand, entwining her fingers in his. “There’re three lounges and four bars. We’ll split up.”

He looked down at her hand, then into her eyes, his own warm as he stroked a finger over her jaw. “Thanks.”