And he froze. He didn't want her attention anywhere near his groin. He still packed a boner. He cleared his throat, drew her gaze up. “The national campaign before Valentine's went well,” he said. “We shot television commercials prior to spring training. Then Cora's great-grandson traveled with the promo team to ten major cities, playing Cupid. The kid handed out carnation-tipped arrows and candy hearts while we served slices of chocolate-cherry cream. Everyone fell in love with the pie.”
From coffee shops and bakeries to delis, major grocery chains, and the occasional street corner, Rhaden had socialized and shared dessert with total strangers. He'd hand sold three thousand pies.
“Even with gym access at the hotels, I gained ten pounds in one month,” he concluded.
“You don't look like you have a weight problem,” she complimented.
Rhaden disagreed. “An entire homemade pie each day packs on weight. Cora said I was too lean and didn't do justice to her desserts.”
The man was lean, all sinewy and tight-skinned. Revelle Sullivan took him in, from his light brown hair and dark green eyes to his broken nose. A nose that gave him character. She'd witnessed the play the year prior that had caused his injury.
The injury had changed the way she looked at him.
It had been the last home series of the previous season. The Rogues had been playing the Pittsburgh Pirates. She'd watched the game from the team owner's private box. In the seventh inning, the second Pirates batter slammed a line drive to the shortstop. It had been a tough catch for Zen Driscoll, who had backhanded the ball, then fired it to first.
It had been a wild throw, in the dirt.
A throw that sent Rhaden to his knees just as the runner slid into first. Rhaden had taken a batting helmet to his face.
Revelle remembered the spray of blood and stadium boos. The fans had gone ballistic, seeing one of their own take a hit.
His teammates had clustered quickly. Rhaden had covered his face with his glove. He'd been escorted to the dugout with the infield coach and team physician, then headed into the tunnel. The crowd had cheered, and Revelle had choked up. She'd barely known the man, yet she'd hurt for him. Her pain had been physical.
She'd been a bundle of nerves as she waited for word on his condition. Her mind had been on Rhaden and not on the game. She'd missed Kason Rhodes's grand slam and Psycho McMillan's vertical leap that stole the tying run from Pittsburgh.
Rhaden's diagnosis came with the Rogues' win. He suffered blurred vision and a fractured nose. In all her years of watching baseball, she'd never tracked a player's recovery. Yet she'd downloaded the injury roster daily.
He'd missed three games, and returned for the playoffs. His face was bruised, his nose heavily taped.
Rhaden Dunn appealed to her. She'd never been attracted to jocks. She didn't like cocky, nor did she believe major league players were God's gift to women.
She dated the corporate elite. Men of prominence and power. Her life appeared to be perfect on paper. A strong financial background. Solid career. Phenomenal networking. The ability to choose her own path.
She believed in controlling her destiny to the last detail, which included her sexuality. She'd made herself the perfect businesswoman, only to recently realize that somewhere along the way, the real woman had gotten lost. A part of her felt unfulfilled and empty.
She couldn't remember the last time a man had kissed her and her knees had buckled. One look at Rhaden and her fingertips tingled. So much so, her hands shook.
They trembled now as she produced a set of contracts for his signature. “It's a deal, then. Cora Dora will soon feature a St. Patrick's Day pie, pistachio-peanut.”
“The ladies are definitely inventive.”
Revelle released a soft breath. With Rhaden re-signed, she had every right to attend his photo shoots or drop by any locale where he might be promoting a dessert. Time spent with him related to business.
Her uncle's unwritten rule banned corporate and player involvement, yet she would walk outside the line for him.
She passed Rhaden her Montblanc fountain pen, a gift from Uncle Guy. She watched the first baseman finger the jeweled and outrageously expensive pen. “Does it ever run out of ink?” he asked.
“Hasn't yet,” she said. “It keeps on writing.”
He drew the contracts to him, smiled. “Can't believe I get paid for eating pie.”
Revelle's telephone rang. She caught the number of the incoming call and recognized it as Collage, a oneroom schoolhouse in the historic district preserved as a children's art gallery. A patron of watercolors, clay statues, and papier mache, she donated heavily to keep the gallery alive.
Each month the curator sponsored a new elementary school exhibit. It was time for Revelle to judge the show.
She'd take the call while Rhaden reviewed and signed his contracts. “Excuse me,” she said to him. “Revelle Sullivan,” she announced into the phone.
As expected, the call was quick and ended with her agreement to review the drawings that very afternoon. More often than not, she took a guest judge with her for a second opinion.
If the opportunity arose, she snagged a Rogue. Risk Kincaid and Psycho McMillan had accompanied her in the past. The kids grew an inch taller when the athletes praised their artwork. This time she'd been too busy to plan ahead.
Team practice was over for the day. Players were scarce. She disconnected, and looked directly at Rhaden. He'd scrawled his name on the bottom line of the last page of the contracts and pushed to his feet, ready to leave. “Do you like children?” she blurted out.
He blinked, bumped into his chair, looked uncomfortable. “I'd like to be a father someday,” he returned. “Every guy wants his own baseball team.”
Nine boys. Her uterus clutched. “I need a guest judge for an art show,” she was quick to explain.
More unease. “What kind of art?”
“Elementary school.”
Relief shone on his face. “I was afraid it was abstracts, which I've never understood. I can do crayons and stick figures.”
“I'll owe you one,” she said, hoping he'd make a move, ask her for a later date.
He nodded, noncommittal.
Rhaden Dunn would give his left testicle to take Revelle Sullivan to dinner. It was rumored several Rogues had asked her out, yet she'd declined, and discouraged any second passes.