Worth the Trade. Kristina Mathews

her. Through her. “You’re driving me crazy. I can’t… I can’t get my head in the game because you’re there, taking up space.”

      “Why?” She hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud, but since she had, she continued. “I mean, I’m not the kind of woman men fall for. Never have been.”

      “What? Because you don’t dress in skimpy clothes and wear a lot of makeup, you don’t think men notice you?”

      “Not usually.” And she was fine with that. For the most part. She’d been just a girl, in a man’s world. But none of the players were ever bothered by her. They looked out for her, sometimes even teased her, like a kid sister. But they never took her seriously. Even when she came back from college, she was still Henry Collins’ little girl. Not even a consideration.

      “Idiots.” He clenched his jaw muscles. His fists, too. “Or maybe I’m the idiot. I know all the reasons I shouldn’t want you. But I do.”

      She felt a strange flutter in her chest. He wanted her. Even though they both knew it was a bad idea.

      “So if I wasn’t sitting behind home plate, you’d start hitting?”

      “Maybe.” He stepped closer. Close enough that she could smell the faint scent of soap and sweat. And pine tar.

      “If I move to the luxury box with the other owners, you won’t be distracted?”

      “It depends. Are any of the other owners men?” His eyes burned with suspicion.

      “They all are.” She was all too aware of that fact. “But Marvin Dempsey is old enough to be my father. And Clayton Barry? He doesn’t like me very much. I think he’s intimidated by a woman with equal power.”

      “He’s attracted to you.” He stepped even closer. Just short of touching her.

      “No. He’s married. With kids.” She laughed at the absurd idea. “His wife is a supermodel. He’s definitely not interested in me.”

      “Wanna bet?” He smiled, taking a step back.

      “Not really. Besides. We work together. And we never agree on anything. Even you.”

      “What about me?” His gaze narrowed.

      “He didn’t want to trade for you. Thought we should get someone flashier. With a bigger name. And a bigger price tag.”

      “Like who?” His ego had been pricked. Good. Maybe it would spark a hot streak.

      “It doesn’t matter.” She smiled sweetly. “I wanted you.”

      “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. Flashed a dangerous grin. “And you always get what you want?”

      “Yes. When it comes to helping this team win.” At some point she was going to have to admit she wanted Marco Santiago, the man. But she wanted the ballplayer even more. She needed him to be the player she knew he could be. “I want this division. I want the pennant. And I really, really want the World Series. I believe you can help us get there.”

      He nodded, serious once again. “I want all of that, too.”

      He lifted his cap. Raked his hand through his hair. Replaced his hat.

      “Typical female.” He shook his head, mumbling to himself.

      “Excuse me?” She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard him.

      “You only want a ring. One with a ridiculous amount of diamonds.” He grinned. A crooked, cocky smile that reached his eyes. “I’ll get you that ring. Don’t you worry about that.”

      “You’d better. I gave up my youth to get it.” She was referring to the pitching prospect and the rookie outfielder she’d traded, along with a veteran relief pitcher, to bring him to San Francisco. Those guys would probably make an impact in the next few years. She wanted to win now. She needed to justify her father’s faith in her. And this team.

      “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

      “I’ll be watching. From the owner’s box.” She would sit up there at the Club Level. Watch the game on the big screen. Make nice with Clayton Barry, even though he coveted her position.

      She would keep her distance from Marco. Treat him like every other player. He was just another part of the team. They were already a good team. Good enough to win the division. Marco could help get them there.

      She hoped.

      * * * *

      Damn. Was he really so hot for his boss that he couldn’t hit a freaking baseball in her presence? Even worse, he’d admitted it. At least he had the restraint not to take her right there in the batting cage. Barely.

      Today’s torture device—or conservative pant suit—was black. With another gray blouse buttoned to the neck. How he itched to undo those buttons, one at a time. Slowly revealing what he was certain to be hidden treasure. He couldn’t help but wonder if her undergarments were more of the same muted colors or if she was hiding a jolt of color. Bright red satin, for instance. Like those art films in all black and white except for the one colorful detail. A red umbrella, perhaps, or a woman’s sapphire blue eyes.

      He now had a mission to find out. But she wouldn’t let him anywhere near her bed until he started hitting. She was the one who brought him here. He couldn’t disappoint her. He’d have to come through on the field. She wasn’t the kind of woman he could wine and dine or shower with expensive trinkets.

      Hunter Collins was the kind of woman he would have to seduce with action. A plan. And yes, diamonds. Both the dirt-covered kind and the ones set in platinum. She wanted a ring and he was going to be the man to give it to her.

      First, he had to help the team make it to the World Series. And in order to get them there, he had to start hitting. He had to be the man she thought he was when she traded for him. If she could fight for him before she’d even met him, surely he could fight through this slump for her.

      Marco’s teammates arrived shortly after Hunter left. He needed to work a little harder at getting to know the rest of the players. But it was hard to be too friendly when he was letting his teammates down. Already.

      A few of the guys had tried to reach out to him. Offering advice and encouragement. Suggesting everything from prayers to getting laid. He’d been advised on where to get slump busting takeout for any kind of food. Chinese, Mexican, Italian, or even vegan restaurants that had done the trick for one or more of his teammates. Or if he was looking to blow off some steam, he’d learned the best bars to meet the kind of women who were more than willing to give a certain kind of fan support.

      He didn’t need enchiladas or groupies or a chicken bone cross. He needed to get his head on straight. To find his focus. His control. There was only one man who could cure what ailed him.

      “Hey, Johnny.” Marco approached veteran pitcher Johnny “The Monk” Scottsdale. The man was known for his composure. He was a Zen master when it came to keeping his focus on the game. He’d also been known for keeping monk-like control off the field, but that was before he married his college sweetheart after a fourteen year separation.

      Marco waited until they were alone to ask for advice. “Can I ask you something?”

      “Sure. What do you need?”

      “Wisdom.” He also didn’t seem like the kind of guy you danced around. You got straight to the point.

      “Wisdom?” Johnny repeated. “I’ll do my best.”

      “I need to regain my focus.” Marco hated to admit weakness. Especially to another man. Even a future Hall of Famer and leader of this team. But Marco was desperate. There was too much riding on this.

      “It’s never easy coming to a new team. Particularly one with such high expectations.” Marco was glad he didn’t have to explain.

      “Every team starts the year hoping to win