Worth the Trade. Kristina Mathews

looked down at his hands. Long, straight fingers. Short, well-manicured nails. Thick, strong wrists.

       Oh my.

      “My father always thought highly of you. He wanted to trade for you last year, but St. Louis beat us out.” She needed to remember why they were both here, in this limo that felt so much bigger before he slid into the seat next to her. Now it felt like they were thrown together into the back of a Smart Car. Not that a Smart Car even had a back seat. “So, I decided to carry out his wishes and make the deal happen. I’m sure you’ll prove yourself. On the field.”

      “Your father?” He edged away from her. “Your father was Henry Collins.”

      She just nodded, unable to speak past the sudden lump in her throat.

      “I’m sorry for your loss.” His voice lost all traces of teasing. “He was a class act. The league will miss him.”

      She chose to take his words as a compliment for her father, not an indication that he thought she wasn’t up to the job.

      “Thank you.” She needed to pull herself together. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her as soft or weak. “Let’s get you to your hotel, get you settled in so you’ll be fresh for the game tomorrow.”

      “Is the game over?” Santiago pulled out his phone, scrolled though the screen. “Nope. It’s the bottom of the seventh. Goliaths on top three to one. Why don’t we swing by the ballpark? I’d like to meet my new teammates tonight.”

      “Right now?” She hadn’t expected him to want to get out there tonight. Especially after a long flight, lost luggage, and his disappointment at her not being a blonde.

      “Unless you have something else planned for me.” He raised an eyebrow and flashed one of his dimples. He knew all too well how irresistible that smile was. “Because you own me now. So…”

      “The ballpark it is.” Hunter leaned forward to alert the driver of their change of plans. She didn’t want to think about what she could demand of him, other than a division title. That was the only thing she wanted from Marco Santiago.

      * * * *

      The limo driver pulled up to the players’ lot and checked in with the security guard who waved them inside.

      “I’ll see that your bag is sent to your hotel.” Hunter’s—Ms. Collins’ tone was cool. Very impersonal and businesslike. “I’ll send the driver back around when the game is over.”

      “Aren’t you going to stay?” Why that disappointed him, he had no idea.

      “No. I’ve had a long week.” She heaved a sigh, sinking back against the seat. “I think I’ll go home, take a nice long bath.”

      Marco closed his eyes, trying not to conjure up the image of her slipping naked into a tub full of warm water. Bubbles. Perhaps some scented oils. Damn. He shifted in the plush leather seat, his jeans becoming uncomfortably tight.

      Please don’t let her notice. She was his boss. The worst thing he could do would be to get all worked up trying to picture what kind of underwear she wore under her various shades of gray. Her loose-fitting charcoal pantsuit was a little on the drab side. Almost as if she’d borrowed it from her father’s closet. Her blouse, the color of fog, was buttoned up to the hollow of her throat. But it was just soft enough to hint at the womanly curves she was trying to hide.

      Still, something about her drew him in. Her eyes were a warm, golden brown. Her hair was pulled back in some uptight updo, but a single loose strand that curled behind her right ear looked soft, silky, and entirely too touchable. Like the delicate skin of her neck. He couldn’t help but wonder how she’d respond to the lightest brush of his lips, right there. Would she shiver? Sigh? Moan?

      He’d made the innuendo about her being his own personal welcoming committee. Talk about stupid. Just put her on the defensive. But it had also injected a charge into their interaction. A sexual energy that might have stayed under control if he hadn’t opened his big mouth.

      This wasn’t the first time Marco had experienced lust at first sight. But usually it was for a woman who had all her feminine assets on display. Showcased in tight, revealing clothing. Flashing tons of makeup and broadcasting her availability for a night or two of fun.

      Hunter was the opposite. The way she dressed was the least of it. She wore hardly any makeup. Her lips were bare. Pink, soft, and lush enough to make him wonder what she’d taste like. No artificial cherry-vanilla flavoring, or glossy chemical taste. Just pure, unenhanced woman.

      Who was one hundred percent off limits.

      “Well, thanks for picking me up.” He winced. Every word out of his mouth tonight dripped with sexual undertones. “From the airport. And…uh…thank you for bringing me to San Francisco. I’ll make it worth your while. You’ll see.”

      “I’m counting on it.” She glanced down at his lap and quickly turned away, color spreading across her cheeks. Damn. She’d noticed the effect she had on him. “Are you going to get out of the car? Or should I tell the driver you’ve changed your mind?”

      “I’m going. I’m going.” He slid away from her. Reached for the door to make his exit, but he couldn’t quite pull the handle.

      “Have dinner with me?” Maybe it was jet lag. Sleep deprivation. Or some seismic anomaly affecting his brain waves. Maybe going more than six months without sex had been a really bad idea.

      “I’m sure you’ll find plenty to eat at the post-game spread.” Did her hesitation mean she was rattled? “We have an excellent caterer.”

      “No. I want you to have dinner with me.” He leaned toward her, knowing she’d deny him, but he wanted to linger near her a little bit longer.

      “I can’t.” She squirmed, avoiding his gaze. “It would be a conflict of interest.”

      “You’re only conflicted because you’re interested.” He kept his smile to himself. He was getting to her. Almost as much as she was getting to him. Even though she wasn’t at all his type. Or maybe she was, she just worked so damn hard trying to hide it.

      “I’m only interested in winning the division and making a strong run in the postseason.” She turned her head to look out the window as if to show she was unaffected by the chemistry between them.

      “Aren’t you a rotten liar?” He chuckled softly. Oh yeah, he was definitely getting to her. “Don’t join in the poker game at the next owners’ retreat. You’ll be wiped out.”

      She whipped her head around so fast the car shook. “I happen to be a very good poker player. I can hold my own against anyone. Anytime.”

      Interesting. Her strong reaction told him two things. She was insecure about her place among her fellow owners. And yes, she was interested in him on more than a professional level.

      “That explains your wardrobe.” He leaned back, not ready to leave her just yet. “You dress like you do to fit in with the old boys’ club. But you can’t hide the fact that you are all woman.”

      “And you can’t hide the fact that you don’t want to be here.” She dared look him straight in the eye, but couldn’t hold his gaze.

      “I’m starting to come around.” He gave her one last smile. “I think I’m going to like San Francisco. I think I’m really going to like it here.”

      Marco slid out of the seat and headed into the ballpark acting like he owned the place.

      The game had ended by the time he got through security and onto the field. The Goliaths had held their lead and a good portion of the crowd lingered, singing along to Tony Bennett. One of the on-field reporters recognized him and rushed over to be the first to interview him.

      Showtime.

      “Rachel Parker here, with the newest member of the San Francisco