A most unnatural reaction from a woman known for her brains and cool observations. Her journalism degree had landed her at the Banner. First in Society, then in Sports. She’d covered hundreds of social events, dealt with athletes on a daily basis.
But the most elaborate social event didn’t come close to dinner with Romeo Bellisaro. His family was known for restaurant franchises. His father had started Bellisaro Italiano in Chicago. Built on traditional recipes and the warm hospitality of his Italian heritage, the restaurant was known for its pasta and deep-dish pizza and had become a national chain.
Investing in his father’s footsteps, Romeo had come up with Bellisaro Americano. Surrounded by sports memorabilia, customers enjoyed grilled hamburgers and steaks. Packed booths and tables and a long waiting line attested to the restaurant’s popularity and success.
This dinner with Romeo would provide Emerson with material for several columns. Juicy columns. She had the inside scoop on the sexiest man in Major League Baseball. A title he’d held for three straight years.
Since their arrival, Romeo had been in constant demand. Autographs. Kisses. Craned necks and sideways glances from both customers and employees. To stay in control, she’d gone allbusiness on him. She’d purposely stopped for gasoline. Purposely shopped for groceries. Purposely started writing her column under his nose.
The man looked uneasy.
Better he than she.
The scent of Chloe arrived seconds before their waitress. Tall, thin Tina dropped a menu before her, then placed one directly into Romeo’s hand. As she laid out the place mats and silverware, Romeo’s expression hardened.
Emerson understood his look. The Rogues’ schedule glared back at him from the place mat, printed out in neat block lettering. A reminder he’d be sitting on the bench for thirteen games.
“Nice of you to make an appearance,” Tina said happily to Romeo. “When you’re here, tips triple.”
“How’s the house fund?” he asked.
She broke into a smile. “I’m almost there. An additional two thousand and I’ve got the down payment.” Tina cast a quick glance at Emerson, then looked back at Romeo. “What can I bring you to drink?”
“The lady will have a ginger ale; I’ll have a National Bohemian beer,” Romeo replied.
Tina nodded, went for their drinks. She cast two looks over her shoulder at Romeo before she reached the bar. She was openly taken with the man.
Emerson unfolded her napkin, smoothed it across her lap. “How did you know I like ginger ale?” she asked.
“You drank one on the sidelines during Media Day.”
The man had an eye for detail. She tried not to smile. Failed. Once again she found him staring at her mouth. She didn’t understand the fascination. Her lips were too full. Her dimple cut too deep. Her front teeth weren’t quite straight.
He continued to stare until his gaze darkened and his eyelids half closed. Which caused her heart to stutter. In need of a distraction, she picked up her menu. She took several minutes to scan the entries while Romeo studied her.
She didn’t look up until Tina returned with their drinks. “Ready to order?” the waitress asked.
This time Emerson took the initiative. “Two Angus burgers, one rare, one medium, both with extra onion, and two sides of sweet potato fries.”
Romeo’s lips twitched. “Extra onion?”
“So thick and raw your eyes will water.”
“I’ve never had a date eat onions.”
“I’m not your date, onion breath.”
He threw back his head and laughed. The sound was deep and rich. Contagious. She felt her body relax. Grow expectant. She kicked herself for responding to a man known to have the word Legendary tattooed at his groin. All the Rogues bore tattoos. The tats were a part of their rookie initiation onto the team.
“Will that be all?” Tina waited for Romeo’s approval.
He nodded. “Onions are good.”
Her gaze still on Romeo, Tina collected the menus and backed away from their booth, straight into a table across the aisle. Glasses and plates tipped. She mumbled an apology to the annoyed patrons.
Emerson rolled her eyes. “Your effect on women is staggering.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, his big body curving low on the vinyl seat. “Do I stagger you?”
“You have every woman in the restaurant trying to catch your eye. Why would I matter?”
“For the simple reason that you’re not trying to impress me. I like that.”
His compliment made her shiver. She could sit and stare at him, enjoying his company and smile, or break the spell and work. She flipped open her laptop. “What else do you like, Jesse Bellisaro?”
“The way a woman smiles, the softness of her skin, the throaty sounds she makes during sex.”
Her hands froze over the keyboard. “Out of the bedroom and back to the park. Talk baseball.”
“Does baseball turn you on?”
“It holds my interest.”
He pulled himself forward, rested his elbows on the table. “I like the sound of the sweet spot, when the bat connects with the ball for a home run. Sliding into a base a split second before being tagged out. Hearing the crowd chant my name. The ultimate rush of taking the division title.” He paused. “No words can describe winning the World Series.”
She typed, then looked up. “You’ll hear more boos than cheers with the Bat Pack warming the bench on Opening Day.”
“Thirteen games will pass quickly.”
“Maybe not. My money’s on the Ottawa Raptors.”
He blinked. “Ontario? You have a pro-Canadian bias?”
“They’ve switched to a traditional pitching-and-defense approach. The Raptors are uniquely positioned to take advantage of the Yankees’, Braves’, and Rogues’ vulnerabilities.”
“The Raptors are a close-but-no-cigar team.”
She flattened her palms on either side of her laptop and leaned forward. “They have an all-star-caliber bat at second and exceptional glove work at short.”
He rolled his shoulders, met her nose to nose across the table. “Their shortstop couldn’t scoop a ball if it stopped at his feet.”
“He was named Rookie of the Year after a long line of jaw-dropping plays at third last season.”
His nostrils flared. “The Raptors are a young team. Their rotation is dubious or disconcertingly raw. They won’t win a hundred games.”