Slow Heat Read online

  Or if she even wanted to.

  But he didn’t make a move toward her, just looked at her with those stark green eyes. “I dare you to believe it,” he whispered, and in her stunned silence, he took the empty pizza box, tossed it to the desk, rolled off the bed, and went back to the couch.

  In the morning, the first sound Sam heard was someone singing in the bathroom.

  Off key.

  The bathroom door was open. She could see Wade brushing his teeth as he sang. He wore tux pants and an unbuttoned white tuxedo shirt that revealed a wide strip of broad, hard chest and washboard abs. His hair was wet and silky straight, falling over his forehead.

  Holy cow.

  He lifted his head and took in her undoubtedly bed-head hair and dazed expression, and smiled.

  He hadn’t taken advantage of her last night, which meant that in spite of his smart-ass mouth and smart-ass everything, he was a good guy.

  Unfortunately turned on and not sure what to do with that, she grabbed her last remaining suit and kicked his sexy ass out of the bathroom. By the time she finished getting ready, he was seated on the bed next to her open suitcase, flicking through the channels with the remote. “Daytime TV sucks.”

  His shirt was still open, his feet bare, and yet in spite of it, or maybe because of it, he looked worth every penny of the multimillion dollar guy he was. He took in her carefully tamed hair, makeup, and her pale blue silk suit and smiled. “I love it when my date is smoking hot. I’m starving.” He rubbed his belly. “You have anything to eat?”

  “I have a breakfast bar in my purse.”

  “Is it a nuts and berries number, or something good?”

  “Nuts and berries.”

  “No, thanks. I’d prefer cardboard.” His hair was still damp, and because he was on the wrong side of a haircut, it lay against the nape of his neck. He smelled like himself, which was to say amazing, and his opened shirt kept giving her a peek-a-boo glimpse of those rock-hard pecs and eight-pack abs that could make a grown woman weep with wanting. The muscles bunched as he reached out to tug on her hand.

  Though she wanted to remain far, far away so that she didn’t actually fall to her knees and try to lick him like a lollipop, she allowed him to pull her down next to him.

  And then she saw what was in his other hand, the antique pearl pin she always had on her. “That’s mine.”

  “I know. I’ve seen it on you. It’s pretty. Soft and pretty.” He cocked his head to look at her, and she knew what he was thinking.

  “And I’m not soft,” she said. “I know. It was my mother’s.” Who had been soft and pretty.

  At least in photographs.

  “I think you’re soft,” he said quietly. “When it counts.”

  She ran her finger over the pearls that had once belonged to her great-grandmother, his words meaning far more than they should. The pin was the only thing Sam had of her maternal side of the family. “I wear it because it makes me feel like she’s with me.” She shook her head. “And I have no idea why I just told you that.” She went to move away, but Wade leaned in and held her gaze, then kissed her softly, a kiss that made no sense at all and yet made her ache from the depths of her soul.

  He pulled back, looking as thrown as she felt, so she broke eye contact and pinned the broach to her lapel.

  “She died when you were young,” Wade said quietly.

  “Yes. In fact, my brother killed her.” As his mouth fell open in shock, she stood, turning to the mirror to check herself over. “She died in childbirth. Sorry, my father always found that an amusing way to horrify people.”

  Wade came up behind her. He slipped an arm around her waist and hugged her back against him, and met her gaze in the mirror. “No offense, Sam, but your father is an insensitive ass.”

  “Yes, he can be.” She let out a breath and tilted her head to look up at him. “How about yours? Is he an ass, too? Is that why—”

  He set a finger to her lips. “Still not going there.” He let go of her, watching as she applied lip gloss. “While you were in the shower, your phone rang.”

  “I had the ringer off.”

  “Okay, so it lit up silently. You smell good enough to eat, Sam. Is that peach-flavored gloss?”

  “What?” She turned to stare at him. “Why did you answer my phone?”

  “Because it was The Man. Your father himself.” The world-class athlete who caught balls whipping toward his face at ninety-plus miles per hour shuddered. “Christ, he’s scary.”

  She had to laugh. “You’re not scared of anything, not even him.”

  “Not true. I’m scared of plenty.”

  “Like?

  “Like not getting food. Hungry, Sam.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What did you tell him?”

  “Not that you keep kissing me. Or that you slept in my bed. And sure as hell not that you were in my shower. Naked. Wet. Glistening. All soapy . . .” His eyes glazed over and he gave himself a shake. “Sorry, but that’s a really great image.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him as he sat on the bed and pulled on a pair of socks. He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Standard-issue male fantasy. Hot girl in the shower.” He stood and began to button his shirt.

  “So what didyou tell my father?”

  “It was what he wanted to tell you.” The good humor drained from his eyes as he tucked in his shirt and fastened his pants. “Jeremy’s in a ninety-day rehab program for prescription drugs. He’s—”

  “Yeah. I already know.” She headed for the closet to get the strappy heels that would give her height and power. She was going to need both today. Too bad there wasn’t a closet where she could grab some extra common sense because she sure as hell needed some of that.

  “Nice,” he said about the heels. “So you know about the rehab? You’re okay?”

  “When are you going to learn? I’m always okay.” But since that was a big, fat lie, and she knew her eyes would give her away in a heartbeat, she grabbed her purse, keeping her face averted. “You coming, or what?”

  He caught her at the door. “Hey. Hey,” he murmured when she tried to shrug him off. He merely tightened his grip and turned her around to face him.

  She studied his chest. Not a hardship. “Wade, you’re hungry, remember?”

  “Not going to distract me.” He tipped up her chin with a finger and looked her over. “Well, unless you’re ready to admit how bad you want me.”

  “I admit nothing. Finish buttoning your damn shirt. Get your damn shoes. We’re out of here.”

  And to make sure of it, she pushed past him and let herself out, leaving him to swear and scramble to catch up.

  Chapter 9

  Swing hard, in case they throw the ball where you’re swinging.

  —Duke Snider

  Later, Samantha sat in the gloriously decorated resort garden with the other wedding guests, watching the bridal party take their places. Watching as, along with the rest of the groomsmen, Wade escorted grandmothers and elderly aunts down the aisle with that long-legged grace and easy hello, his smile turning a little misty along with the rest of the party as the vows were spoken.

  And afterwards, at the open, beautiful, lovely reception, she was still watching as he danced with a little girl who had sweetly asked him, helped serve when they were short-handed, and gave a moving toast to the bride and groom.

  Sam was seated at a table with the other Heat players who’d been invited, and right next to the Heat’s manager, Gage. She and Gage had a longtime ease with each other, and had been having a good time. It was hard not to have a good time with Gage. He was a mix of his Latino father and supermodel mother, and within the confines of baseball, possessed a will of sheer steel that served him well. Outside the sport, like today, he let loose a little bit, and attracted nearly as many women as his players did.

  On her other side was Pace, no slouch in the catching-women department himself, though the Heat’s ace pitcher had eyes only for his fiancée these days, as