“Timmons wouldn’t have gotten even an apology.”
“Let it go, Romeo.” Her car door clicked, and she eased it open.
Damn! He’d noticed Emerson on the sidelines, had checked her out just like every other member of his team. Romeo had liked what he’d seen: an attractive, no-nonsense woman who fit into a man’s world and held the respect of her peers.
There was a heartbeat of silence before he raked his hand through his hair and said, “Red blazer, white blouse, and navy slacks. When I first saw you, I appreciated your sporting our team colors. Your hair was braided. Navy pumps.” He paused. “Media badge on your left breast.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Pretty detailed for a man posturing for the press.”
“I never posture,” he corrected. “You were the only female on the sidelines. I gave you a second look.” He always noticed how a woman dressed. From suits to panties, he complimented them down to nothing but skin.
“Jewelry?” she tested him further.
“Hoops at your ears, and as for a necklace”—he lowered his gaze, took in her breasts—“classic gold chain with a cross nestled in your cleavage.”
“Lucky guess.”
“Lucky breasts.” A lazy smile spread across his lips. “I own Bellisaro Americano, a sports bar at Riverside Mall. We can dine in privacy. Make it a working dinner if you like. We can talk World Series.”
She hesitated. Her reluctance confused Romeo. Women asked him out as often as he requested dates. Psycho and Chaser would be laughing their asses off over Emerson’s indecision.
“I owe you a new suit and I’ll toss in a pair of shoes,” he added for good measure.
“I’d prefer a gift certificate.”
“I’d prefer to be there for your selection.”
She blew out a breath. “As long as we make it quick.”
“I don’t do quick.” He cured her of that notion. “Time spent with a woman is best enjoyed slow.”
Returning to his car, he pulled forward. Once she’d backed out and was behind him, he eased into traffic. He kept a close eye on her in his rearview mirror, not wanting to lose her in rushhour traffic.
His heart slowed when he ran a yellow light and she chose to stop. After that she disappeared in traffic, and he wasn’t sure she’d even show until she pulled into the parking lot twenty-seven minutes later. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
She’d had him wondering…
He jumped out of his car, went to meet her.
“I stopped for gasoline,” she explained, her laptop in hand.
Gasoline and groceries. He caught sight of three brown bags on the passenger seat. A loaf of bread, bottled water, and a roll of paper towels were all visible. Emerson Kent had hit a convenience store while he’d sat in his car and counted the minutes.
She hadn’t been in a hurry to meet him.
There’d been no breathless giggle or kiss to his cheek. No reaching for his hand. No brush of her body.
Damn disconcerting.
There was silence between them as they crossed the parking lot and entered the sports bar. Two feet inside the door, Romeo was recognized. And mobbed. So much for privacy.
He shot Emerson an apologetic look as requests for autographs multiplied. Autographs were as much a part of professional baseball as playing the game. He’d never turned a fan away. He signed place mats, napkins, unpaid bills, and T-shirts. Two female fans kissed him. One on the cheek, the other full on the mouth. With a hint of tongue.
Ladies slid their phone numbers into the pockets of his jeans. Their fingertips stretching toward his sex.
From behind, the scrape of a tapered nail along the waistband of his jeans warned of someone checking to see if he wore boxers or briefs. He twisted slightly. No need to flash his bare ass.
Thirty minutes shot by before the crowd thinned enough for him to locate Emerson. He found her seated in a black vinyl booth against the wall, her laptop on the table. Typing furiously.
His gut told him he wouldn’t be happy with her latest article. He caught the title beneath the blinking Budweiser sign: BURGERS, FRIES, AND A SIDE OF JESSE BELLISARO. Which set his teeth on edge.
Scooting in beside her, he tried to read what she had written. He caught A woman could starve to death waiting for a Rogue to join her for dinner before she hit SAVE and closed the laptop on his fingers.
“Thought you were forecasting the upcoming season.” He tried to pry the laptop open.
She leaned her elbow on the lid, squished his fingers. “That’s for the Sunday edition. Sports has space for another piece this week. Something for women. Something fun.”
He winced. “You’re going to make fun of me?”
“You’ve got entertainment value.” She cracked the top of the laptop and he pulled his fingers free. Her gaze next lit on his mouth. “You’re pretty, Romeo, but red lipstick’s not your color. You might try dusty rose or champagne pink.”
Romeo snagged a napkin, grimacing when he scrubbed his split lip. “Better?”
She nodded. “Now how about some space. Would you mind sitting across from me? I feel crowded.”
Crowded? His dates always snuggled close. Some hand-fed him the entire meal. Emerson, however, tapped her fingers, waiting for him to move. He begrudgingly did so.
Emerson Kent breathed a sigh of relief when Romeo got to his feet and slid into the other side of the booth. If truth be told, she couldn’t bear his sitting so close. He was simply too good-looking. She didn’t want to stare.
A male in his prime, he bore the all-American blond hair of his mother, the brown eyes and charm of his Italian father. He was built for play, both on and off the field. His gaze hit her like a surprise kiss. Quick, intense, and oh-so-very hot.
His scent had her inhaling deeply. The man was all citrus and sunshine. Clean and masculine.
Memories of spring training kept Emerson focused. Women came easy to Romeo. Way too easy. She’d never seen so many phone numbers, photographs, and pairs of panties land at his feet. A bat boy had been assigned to keep the third base line clear. A job that lasted a full nine innings.
She understood his appeal. The man was a sexual force. One look at Romeo, and she’d stopped breathing. Her body had gone all soft and achy when she’d seen him in his blue Viper. Her nipples had puckered; her panties became damp beneath his stare.