Jill Shalvis - Slow Heat

“Samantha McNead,” she said smoothly. “Publicist for the Heat-” She broke off, looking horrified as she clearly recognized her mistake.

She’d introduced herself as if she were here in a professional capacity.

But she wasn’t.

She was here, pretending to be Wade’s girlfriend.

Mark cocked his head and studied her. “Well, aren’t you a serious thing?” He glanced at Wade. “Not your usual type, is she?”

Sam had frozen, so Wade opened his mouth to tell Mark the real deal between them, but before he could say a word, Mark laughed good and hard and pulled Sam up for the same bear hug he’d given Wade. “So maybe you’ll actually stick.”

Sam relaxed, and seeming relieved, she hugged Mark back as Wade looked on, a little surprised to find that her real smile completely softened her face.

Not that she wasn’t gorgeous. Because she was. Willowy, stacked, and blond, she absolutely was, and she took his breath… But when she smiled from the heart, she was more than just beautiful. She seemed approachable.

Sweet.

Which had to be an optical illusion.

“I’m still blown away that we’re actually here.” Mark gestured to their luxurious surroundings, then slapped Wade’s back. “Not bad considering how we started out, huh?”

“How did you start out?” Sam asked.

“Don’t get him started,” Wade told her, hoping to get a subject change pronto.

But of course Sam ignored him. “I’d love to hear it,” she said to Mark with that sweet smile.

Wade groaned and Mark grinned as they all sat back down. He loved to tell this story every bit as much as Wade hated to hear it.

“Wade and I go way back,” Mark started. “We met at orientation for Cal State Long Beach, just two punk street kids. We became roommates.” He grinned in fond memory. “I think we lived off ramen noodles for the next four years, not a frigging penny to our names, either of us.” He looked at Wade. “How many nights did we steal food out of the cafeteria while dreaming of Big Macs?”

“Too many,” Wade said, giving in with a shake of his head. Mark found it all vastly amusing, but when Wade thought of those days, more than the long hours of studying to make up for his lack of such habits in high school, more than finding his love of baseball, he remembered the nights he’d gone to bed with his belly growling. Feeling Sam’s eyes on him, he turned and looked into her baby blues, filled with a surprising warmth and compassion.

Great. Now she felt sorry for him.

Perfect.

“And now look at us,” Mark marveled. “Me, a freaking Hollywood producer, and Wade a star pro ballplayer. Blows my mind every time.” He grabbed Wade in another bone-crunching hug. “Love you, man.”

“Okay,” Wade said, good-naturedly hugging him back before gently shoving free. “Save it for the alcohol-soaked reception. We’re going to check in.”

“Good.” Mark nodded. “I’ll see you in a few.”

Wade watched Mark walk off, well aware that Sam was still studying him, probably trying to figure out how he felt about Mark exposing such a personal time in his life, but the only thing he felt was relief that he no longer went to bed hungry, and an undeniable joy at the thought of the weekend ahead, spent with good friends.

“Oh, and don’t forget Meg’s schedule,” Mark called back. “God help us all if we don’t follow it.”

“Schedule?” Sam murmured.

Wade slung a friendly arm over her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I’m all the schedule you need, baby.”

With a short laugh, she eyed the bill for their drinks and reached for her purse.

Wade put a hand over hers and dropped some cash on the table.

“I don’t expect you to pay for me this weekend, Wade.”

“You’re just worried you’ll owe me.”

The look that crossed her face told him he was right as they headed across the lobby toward the front desk. She walked quickly and efficiently, pulling ahead of him, her very professional business suit giving a serious back-off air to anyone who looked. Or maybe that was the way she walked, as if she owned her world and intended to own his as well, her narrow, fitted skirt hugging her very fine hips and ass, her heels clicking with authority.

Wade caught up with her, setting a hand on the small of her back, smiling with satisfaction when she gave a little jump.

“Just me,” he murmured, liking the feel of her beneath his fingers. Feminine. Curvy.

Warm.

She was talking to the clerk, so he pulled out his phone to check for messages. He had a text from his father, which sucked some of the air out of him.

Hey, hot shot. Return a damn call sometime.

Thanks for the physical therapist slash babysitter,

but no thanks. You know what I want.

Yeah, what John O’Riley wanted was far harder to give than something Wade could write a check for. Forgiveness. But Wade had spent his entire childhood wanting something, too, and that something was to be more important to his father than the alcohol.

It hadn’t happened then, and it wasn’t likely to happen now, so Wade hit delete. Not the smartest or most efficient way to handle his father, but hell, he’d gotten his stubbornness from the gene pool, and as John himself was fond of saying, the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

“The name again?” the guy behind the counter asked Sam as his fingers worked the keyboard.

“McNead,” Sam said.

“And O’Riley,” Wade added, sliding his phone away. “I have a suite. Maybe we should get connecting-”

“Just McNead,” Sam said, giving Wade a little nudge, trying to move him away.

Interesting.He nudged back, letting her leg bump his. Dipping his head so that his nose brushed her soft and silky hair, he murmured, “What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” She smiled at the check-in clerk, who handed over two card keys.

Wade remained silent until they stood waiting for an elevator. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You hijacked my room.”

She leaned forward and hit the elevator button three times in quick, irritated succession. “I didn’t think you’d mind sharing with your girlfriend.”

“I’d be excited, if I thought it meant that we were going to-”

“We’re not.” She punched the button again. “This was part of the mandate, okay? It has to look real. People are watching. I’m no more comfortable with this than you are, but we agreed to do it.” The elevator opened and she shoved him inside, quickly smacking the close door button, even as one poor soul ran toward them yelling, “Hold that elevator!”

She didn’t.

Wade turned to face her as the doors slid closed. “Wow.”

“I know!” She covered her face. “Please, let’s just not talk.”

He studied her flaming ears. She was cute when she was flustered. “That’s bad karma, you know, not holding the elevator.”

“Thanks for not talking.”

“And trust me, bad karma comes back around like a boomerang. That one’s going to bite you right on your very nice ass, Sam.”

“He’ll get another elevator!” she exclaimed, tossing up her hands. “We needed privacy.”

God, he loved it when she lost her cool and revealed the real Sam lurking beneath that princess exterior. “You’re right. We need privacy. In fact, I should have done this in the limo and gotten it out of the way.” He reached for the top button on his Levi’s.

Her eyes nearly bugged right out of her head. “What are you doing?”

“Getting naked, which is how you wanted me the last time we were alone in an elevator.”

“Oh my God.” She pressed her hands to her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it, then slapped one of those hands to his chest and shoved him back another step.

That, too. He loved that, too, when she got physical. He’d never told her, but when she was in the stands during a game screaming for him, he loved it.

“For the last time,” she said urgently, almost desperately, as if trying to talk herself into believing it. “It’s never going to happen again. Never, Wade.”

“Never is a long time.”

“Never. Ever. Ever. Which is even longer than never!”

Her eyes were dilated, which was fascinating. And he’d swear that the pulse at the base of her neck was fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s wings, which was even more fascinating.

Yeah. This really was going to be fun.

Samantha walked through the suite. It was beautiful and quiet, with a gorgeous view of the ocean.

It had only one bedroom.

And one bed.

Sure, it was a king and piled thick with luxurious bedding, and looked so comfortable that she could have lain on it forever, but the knowledge that when it came time to hit the sack later, she’d be hitting it with Wade sent butterflies straight to her stomach.

And other parts…

Her cell phone rang. It was Holly, Pace’s fiancée. “Pace is working out, so I had a few minutes.”

Holly and Sam had become good friends this past year, even more so now that Pace and Wade had become business partners as well as best friends, purchasing and renovating random parcels of land into parks for kids and creating sports clubs in those parks with coaching and organized league games.

Well, Pace had anyway.

Mostly Wade just wrote checks.

He was good at that, writing checks, Sam had noticed. He often solved problems by throwing money at them. She only wished this problem could be solved so easily.

“I’m eating popcorn and watching a Friends marathon,” Holly said in her ear. “I thought I’d call and see how it’s going.”

Well aware of Wade checking out the suite behind her, Sam kept her voice down. “I’d rather be eating popcorn and watching a Friends marathon.”

“Sam,” Holly said very gently. “You need professional help.”

“Why?”

“You’d actually pick Friends over one of the yummiest guys I’ve ever seen?”

“I’m going to tell Pace you said that.”

“Just think about how long it’s been since you’ve gotten laid,” Holly said. “And then do yourself a favor and turn off your phone and look at Wade. Just look at all his yumminess and do what comes naturally.”

“What comes naturally will get me twenty-five years to life.”

“Don’t kill him, honey. Do him.”

Sam rolled her eyes and hung up on Holly’s laugh, then turned and came face-to-face with the six-foot-tall, heart-stopping, annoying-as-hell catcher she’d arranged to “sleep” with.

Thanks to her job, the first thing that usually came to mind when she thought about any of the Heat players was their stats. And Wade had stats in spades. At the moment, he was the most celebrated catcher in the National League. His defensive prowess was more anecdotal than measured but his numbers were telling. Last year he’d picked twenty-eight runners off the bases, an astonishing fifty percent of the runners attempting to steal. He also had 32 HRs, a 120 RBI, a.355 BA, and had placed second in the MVP voting.

But that’s not what she thought of when she looked at him. Nope, she was thinking Holly was right about one thing, he was pretty damn yum.

He began unbuttoning his shirt and tossed his bag to the bed to rifle through it. He shrugged out of the shirt-holy cow-and while she concentrated on not dragging her tongue down his chest clear to his low-slung Levi’s, he replaced it with a light blue T-shirt advertising some surf shop in Mexico. He kicked off the clean running shoes he’d been wearing and pulled on a pair of battered Nikes instead.

“Casual wear for this kind of place,” she noted, voice shockingly even, given that she watched as he bent to tie the Nikes, his jeans stretched tight across his perfect ass.

“There’s a charity baseball game in thirty minutes,” he said, straightening. “And God willing, food as well.”

“You just ate. And there’s a game?”

“I ate two hours ago. And yeah, there’s a game. All the guys in the wedding party are playing. Thought you’d heard.”

No, she hadn’t, as he damn well knew. And since she’d had approximately fifteen minutes of advance warning about this whole weekend adventure, she’d grabbed only her usual daywear. Business suits, which she’d figured would cover both the wedding and any other parties they’d have to attend. “Good thing I’m not part of the wedding party then.”

His smile changed, went a little secretive. “Yes, it’s a good thing.”