In some part of her mind, she recognized that he found his release, as well. He throbbed inside of her, his shout echoing hers. Delaney couldn’t remember any moment in her life ever feeling this perfect. As they rolled to lie on their sides on the sofa, their hearts pressed so close together that the beats seemed to fall into synch.

Right then, she couldn’t work up the least bit of regret about their night together. Frankly, she couldn’t imagine any consequence that would make her think this time with Rick hadn’t been worth it.

Still, if he got traded tomorrow because of her—because she’d put a good, upstanding man in a compromising position—she didn’t know how she would handle it. She’d never anticipated that living life to the fullest would mean the heartache would be every bit as potent as the pleasure.

Unwilling to let those thoughts overshadow this one night, Delaney released her hold on Rick enough to plant a kiss on his chest. And then another, lower down.

If she was going to go through life with this night imprinted on her memory, she planned to make sure he couldn’t forget her, either.



3



FLASHBULBS POPPED in Rick’s eyes as he adjusted the microphone at a podium in a midtown Atlanta hotel.

Eager journalists raised their hands all over the ballroom while others shouted out questions at the hastily assembled press conference.

“Rick,” one of the loudest voices called, “you’ve got to admit the woman in this photo bears a strong resemblance to owner Dan Blair’s daughter—”

“I’ve got no comment on that,” Rick repeated for the second time, shutting down the question posed by the Rebels’ beat writer for the ATLANTA CONSTITUTION JOURNAL.

Rick had called a press conference first thing to respond to the photos that had appeared on a celebrity magazine’s Web site and then innumerable fan blogs.

While the traditional media hadn’t run the pictures that hardly counted as “sports news,” reporters from those same media outlets had phoned the Rebels’ front office for comments on the photos.

Rick had barely left Delaney’s side that morning when he’d started getting calls from his agent, his manager and even a couple of teammates who said they were only looking out for him. Rick had given himself just enough time to run home, shower and change before meeting with an independent publicist. He didn’t have his own media person and he sure as hell wasn’t going through the team publicity guy, so it had seemed the best course.

He’d avoided the media for most of his career, and look how far it had gotten him. While he never would have been the kind of guy to kiss and tell after a night with a woman, the photos told their story whether he wanted them to or not. And since that was the case, he would put himself in the media spotlight this once to deflect attention from Delaney and keep the focus on him.

“You expect us to believe that anyone but a Rebels insider would have access to the locker room on a game day?” a skeptic piped up from the middle of the pack, her tone both condescending and chiding.

“Hey, one of you guys managed to worm your way into the locker room on a game day,” he pointed out, pausing for a sip of water from the bottle under the podium. “It’s not exactly Fort Knox over there.”

That brought a few chuckles of appreciation from the crowd. Clearly the press corps was well aware of how low some of its more smarmy members would stoop.

“Have you been summoned to the front office yet, Rick?” someone else called out, and he recognized one of the staffers for a big sports radio affiliate.

No doubt those guys would have a field day with this story. Sex and scandal sold papers and increased audiences better than home runs. It was one of the reasons Rick wasn’t exactly a household name despite ten seasons of solid defense, consistent RBIs and not a single appearance on the disabled list.

“No.” Rick wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable talk with management given how much he wanted to remain in Atlanta. The Rebels finally had a shot at the series this year, and if not this year, they’d be there next year for sure. The last thing he wanted was to be traded off a team that might finally make it to the big dance. “And you know as well I do that this unfortunate invasion of my privacy is my personal affair and not team business, so I don’t anticipate having to defend myself to the team.”

He signaled to the P.R. consultant that he was done and pushed back from the podium, confident he’d done what he could to steer interest toward his career. He’d downloaded his stats from the Rebels’ Web site and had them passed out as people came in to remind the reporters he was all about baseball.

Although, truth be told, he’d never realized how unbalanced that might have made his life until Delaney strode onto the scene.

“Rick,” another voice called after him before he left the small stage. “Can you at least tell us if you’ve ever met Delaney Blair?”

The crowd quieted as they’d all heard the query, too—and were every bit as eager to know the answer.

Never had it grated more to know he could generate ten times the interest in his career by selling out his personal life. Guys did it all the time by dating high-profile women. And while Delaney wasn’t a movie star or a pop singer, she was a member of a family that was practically baseball royalty. The Rebels had been family owned since the franchise’s beginning, carefully preserving their status as majority shareholders even after the team went public.

“The Blairs are an Atlanta institution because they make it a point to personally greet every new player to the organization.” He glared at the throng of reporters scribbling furiously, his gaze skipping over the cameras recording his every word to focus on the faces. “They have my utmost respect.”

The partitioned ballroom erupted with more questions, but Rick walked off the stage and through a side exit into a food prep area. Even the busboys were lined up to watch the press conference, their water pitchers and cleaning rags idle in their hands as Rick plowed past them into the bowels of the hotel’s kitchen.

He didn’t need to stay for the rest of the event. He was footing the bill after all, and he’d had his say. But as his cell phone chimed in his jeans pocket, he acknowledged that a lot of other folks would feel like they hadn’t gotten theirs.

Checking the caller ID only out of morbid curiosity, Rick saw a set of digits he couldn’t ignore. “Blair, Daniel” wouldn’t make a call from a personal line just to shoot the breeze.

Rick might fool a few people by hedging around the identity of the woman in the photograph with him, but he damn well wouldn’t fool her old man.

Knowing the time had come to face the consequences of his actions, Rick answered the call to find out just how badly he’d screwed up his career. He didn’t want to leave Atlanta, but he’d be damned if he would compromise the team or Delaney by staying in a situation that would only hurt them all in the end.


“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS.”

Delaney paced the floor in her father’s luxurious home office at the family compound in Buckhead. She’d been summoned in no uncertain terms just past dawn, when her ringing cell phone both awakened her and alerted her to Rick’s departure sometime while she’d been sleeping.

His silent exit had stung, leaving her unsure of all the feelings he’d stirred the night before.

“I assure you, Laney Lou,” her father used the old family nickname for her. He picked up a silver-framed photo of her as a baby and stared at it as if he was talking to the round-faced infant instead of his grown daughter. “I am most definitely serious about wanting your young man to do right by you.”

Oh, sweet, merciful heaven.

“Dad.” She crossed the Persian carpet in the big, octagonal conservatory that served as her father’s home office. Every wall that wasn’t a window or a bookshelf was covered with cherry wainscoting. Vintage baseball memorabilia dotted the shelves along with his collection of Irish wolfhound statuary. His two flesh and blood dogs rose to their feet as Delaney neared their master. “This isn’t the 1950s. There is no quantifiable ‘right thing’ to be done after a man and a woman share a kiss.”

“Is that what you call it these days?” Replacing the photo in its frame, Daniel Blair III turned his laser-blue eyes to settle on her at last. He had a powerful aura about him despite his five-foot-six frame, and he’d always been the source of hero worship for her from her earliest memories. He’d given her a pony for her tenth birthday. But he’d also given her a liberal education abroad, including stints in desperately poor countries so that she knew better than to take her blessings for granted.

“Excuse me?” She halted her progress, reaching out to pet the dog closer to her in the hope she could at least win over one of the males in the room.

“This.” He waved a printout of the photo snapped of her and Rick in the locker room. “Is this what you call a kiss?”

Her cheeks burned. Could this be any more awkward?

“I really don’t think anyone has the right to judge a private moment but the parties involved.”

One of her father’s shaggy gray eyebrows lifted.

“This isn’t one of your legal documents. This is my first basemen.” He brought the paper up for a closer inspection. “Are you even wearing clothes in this photo?”

She slapped a hand over her eyes.

“Dad, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman.” Still, there was something about being interrogated by the family patriarch in the heart of his lair that made her feel like she was sixteen and in trouble for staying out too late after the dance. “I wouldn’t even be here right now discussing this with you if I hadn’t wanted to make sure that Rick isn’t penalized in any way for what happened.”

Her heart did a funny double-time beat at the mention of his name. He’d never been far from her thoughts today, and not because of the stupid photo leak.

No, she’d been thinking of the way it felt to drift off to sleep in Rick’s arms, her head pillowed on his bicep and her leg tucked between his.

“What makes you think you’ll fare any better?” Her father tossed the printout on his massive desk and then folded his arms over his gray, worsted wool vest. “Don’t forget who you work for, miss. As far as I can tell, you should both be penalized for conducting your private affairs in the workplace.”

“So fire me.” Indignation burned away any residual embarrassment. She was excellent at her job as a contract lawyer and her services came damn cheap since she was family. “Maybe free agency will be a good thing for me. But don’t hurt the team by trading away one of the most productive first basemen we’ve ever had.”

Her father studied her for a long moment, and she wondered if perhaps she’d gotten her point across. But then his eyes narrowed and he lowered his voice.

“Has it ever occurred to you maybe he wants to get traded and this is precisely the sort of stunt that he knew would send him on his way?”

Just the idea of it gave her a physical jolt. But she knew Rick better than that.

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s going to be a free agent after the end of the season. He doesn’t need to resort to underhanded tactics to get out of the organization.”

Did her father believe she was naive enough to fall for that kind of manipulation anyway? Of course he did. He knew as well as anyone how little she’d dated. Half the reason for her selectivity had to do with the man in front of her. She loved her dad, but he was a tough critic. Having him doubt her judgment now made the ache in her chest all the worse.

He leaned back to have a seat on his desk. Folding his arms, he toyed with one silver cufflink, spinning the emblem around and around.

“The boy wants a spot in the playoffs,” he reminded her, bringing to mind the buzz about Rick even before he joined the Rebels. After having spent the first eight years of his career as a utility player bounced around the league, Rick had made noises about wanting a shot with a team who could make it to the playoffs.

Worry knotted in her chest. It was one thing for her father to toss out a ludicrous suggestion during an emotional argument because he was worried about her. But it was another for him to have thought about the notion enough to actually be concerned how he presented it to her. That meant the full wisdom of megasuccessful Daniel Blair III had been applied to the equation and he still thought Rick Warren might have orchestrated some elaborate setup to pave his way to another team in the league.