Worth the Trade. Kristina Mathews

impression. On the team, the fans. And of course, on Hunter Collins.

      The Goliaths leadoff man got a base hit. He stole second and avoided a double play when the next batter grounded out. Shortstop Bryce Baxter stroked a double down the left field line, scoring a run. Could be a rally. It was up to Marco to keep it going.

      Too bad he struck out on three pitches.

      He shook his head, feeling the shame of letting her down. No it wasn’t just Hunter, he’d let the whole team down. Not to mention the forty thousand fans in the stands and the countless others catching the game on Bay Area Sports Net or listening to it on the radio.

      Shake it off. It was only the top of the second and they had a one run lead. Marco grabbed his glove and took his place on the field. With a runner on second and one out, the next batter hit a deep fly ball, heading for the gap in left-center field. No way was he going to let it get away from him. He dove, snagging the ball inches from the grass. The crowd roared and he felt a little better about his blunder at the plate.

      He finished the night hitless, with two strikeouts, a pop fly, and finally, grounding into an inning-ending double play. Way to make a good impression.

      At least it hadn’t come with a loss. Johnny Scottsdale had pitched a gem and Baxter hit two home runs and an RBI double to clinch the win and draw media attention away from him.

      Marco had done part of his job. He made some good plays in the field. He hadn’t committed any errors and he’d saved what could have been a run-scoring double. The night hadn’t been a total loss. But it hadn’t been anywhere near what he wanted to accomplish in his first game as a Goliath.

       Chapter 2

      He’d gone zero for thirteen. Hunter couldn’t believe Marco Santiago was hitless after three games. Was he doing it on purpose? To let her know he really didn’t want to be here?

      No. Of course not. He was a professional. He might not have been enthusiastic about the trade, but surely he wouldn’t sabotage his career because of it.

      Still. She felt like there was something personal about his performance. Like she was somehow responsible for his lack of focus at the plate. Because he looked like a man who had something other than baseball on his mind every time he stepped into the batter’s box.

      He’d look over at her. His damn blue eyes boring into her, then he’d shake his head and dig in. He was distracted. Frustrated. And since he was her first official player acquisition, she took his struggles at the plate personally.

      Hunter wasn’t too surprised to find him in the batting cages before the game the next afternoon. He was doing the right thing. Trying to work his way out of his slump. She had to give him credit for that. She watched him take cut after cut. His swing looked good. No major flaws in his mechanics. It didn’t appear to be a physical problem. So it had to be at least half mental.

      Hunter settled in to watch his extra batting practice. He was starting to look a lot more comfortable as the session went on. She relaxed a bit, enjoying the simple pleasure of watching a talented athlete hone his craft. He really did have a beautiful swing.

      Until he caught her watching him. He shook his head and completely missed the next pitch. He fouled off a few more balls, and it became clear that he was rattled. No more clean contact. No more smooth, easy swing. No more poetry in motion. She was in his head.

      She should go. Her presence was only making things worse. For his game and for the sexual tension that surrounded them like fog whenever they were near each other. But she couldn’t quite make her feet move. Couldn’t quite tear her gaze away from the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed as he swung the bat. The way the thrust of his hips added power to his swing. Not to mention the way his ass looked in those almost-tight white pants.

      As if he knew her observation wasn’t entirely professional, he set the bat down, grabbed a towel, and approached her with a scowl on his face. A frustrated, yet incredibly sexy scowl.

      “What are you doing down here?” His blue eyes blazed with annoyance. And desire. “I’m trying to work.”

      “I thought I’d take a look and see if we can figure out how to get you back on track.” She tried to keep her voice as professional as possible. To not betray the fact that a few minutes ago, she was simply admiring the view. “There’s a reason I traded for you and I think if we work together, we can get this team to the postseason.”

      “Oh yeah? And what can you do, besides distract me, to get me hitting again?” He gripped the towel around his neck.

      “I distract you?” Her heart tripped, stumbling over his intense stare. “How do I distract you?”

      “I think you know the answer to that.” He stepped closer, making the space seem entirely too small. They were in a large, underground facility, with room for batting cages, pitching mounds, and weight rooms. Yet she felt like she was trapped in an elevator whenever she was near this man.

      “Is it because I’m a woman?” Her hackles rose. When she was little, her gender hadn’t mattered. She was Henry Collins’ kid. Always at his side. She was as much a fixture at the ballpark as the left field bleachers. It wasn’t until she got older that she realized she was the only girl in the clubhouse.

      “Yes. You’re a woman.” He said that last word in such a way that every single one of her womanly parts tingled. “And you’re my boss.”

      “You don’t think I can do my job. Simply because I’m a woman. I may not have ever played professional baseball, but I know as much about this game as anyone. My father trusted me. He listened to me. Valued my insight and instincts.”

      He’d never made a trade or signed a free agent without asking her thoughts on a player. She used a combination of sabermetrics and instinct. Going with her gut when the two offered conflicting advice.

      “I grew up in this clubhouse. I’ve played catch with more Hall of Famers and all-stars…” She fisted her hands on her hips. “I actually do know what I’m doing.”

      “I’m sure you do.” He was mocking her. His eyes twinkled. His dimples teased. His lips curled in a half-smile. “I’ll bet you’re very good at your job. But that’s not the problem.”

      “So what is the problem?” She folded her arms over her chest.

      “You’re my problem.” His smile faded. “You’re my boss. I shouldn’t want you…but I do.”

      Their eyes met. The connection between them impossible to deny. Pure, physical attraction.

      “And that’s why you’re distracted at the plate?” She wished he was joking. That he was only toying with her because he knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere. Couldn’t lead anywhere. It was all part of his game, and once he realized he was out of her league, he’d let it go.

      Except it didn’t feel like he was playing her.

      “Yes. You sit there in the front row, taking notes.” He dropped his gaze to her blouse, and the way his eyes blazed, she wondered if she’d forgotten to button it. “In your buttoned up suits. And your pulled back hair. It’s like you don’t want anyone to know what’s underneath. But it’s all I can think about.”

      “My suits?” She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “You think about my suits?”

      “What are you hiding?” His voice was deep, rich, and way too sexy.

      “I’m not hiding anything.” Her pitch was too high, making it sound like she was indeed covering up something.

      “So you’re naked underneath all that black and gray?” A grin teased his lips.

      “No. Of course not.” Her cheeks weren’t the only part of her to flush. “But that’s none of your business, anyway.”

      “I know. It is none of my business.” He closed his eyes and exhaled in frustration.