He hoped.
“One beer,” Sara said, jolting him back to reality. She handed him a large plastic cup. “Rex's got the peanuts. Popcorn's coming up the aisle and pop's coming down.”
“Sounds like we're all set,” Matt said and took a healthy swallow. “Rex, did you remember the radio?”
“Sure thing,” he said. “All ready to go.” The sound of the local radio station buzzed around them as the broadcasters talked about today's game.
“I'll hold it for you,” Sara said. “I think with all the food you're planning to stuff yourself with, you won't have any room left for the radio.”
He grinned. “You might just have to roll me out of here.”
“Now that would be a sight.”
“Would you please stand for the singing of our National Anthem,” the announcer blared through the P.A. system. Matt stood and experienced a moment of panic when he removed his Pirates cap. What if someone recognized him? What would he say? What would he do? A gentle touch on his forearm was all he needed. The tension left his body. It was as though Sara knew his fear and understood it.
The crowd cheered with the last words and the opening pitch signaled the start of the game. He plopped the cap back on his head and sat down, lost in the announcer's words as he gave a play-by-play. Soon, Sara had her own version of what was happening and he found her opinions more interesting and enlightening than the cardboard voice transmitting over the airwaves. Rex threw in his occasional perspective on a particular play, usually precluding it with a history of the player, including birthplace, family background, and number of children.
By the end of the seventh inning, they were all hoarse from yelling and cheering the Pirates to a narrow 5 to 4 lead. Matt had managed to gorge himself with two hot dogs, a box of popcorn, which Sara helped him eat, peanuts, a beer, and a Lemon Chill. Another beer sounded awfully tempting, but that would mean a bathroom trip for sure. He'd save that adventure for next time. He was already thinking about the next game. It had been months since he'd considered next times. Up until Sara came into his life, he hadn't even been interested in getting through the first time. But now he was. He wanted a life. Maybe it wouldn't be a traditional existence with two functional eyes, but he still had four other senses and a hell of a lot of willpower.
“‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game,’” roared through the crowd, signaling the seventh-inning stretch. Matt joined in, bellowing out the verses with Sara and Rex.
“Thank you,” he said, turning to her when the song was over. “This was a great idea.”
“You're welcome.” Her words were warm, soft, and genuine. “Now if they can just hold on for two more innings, everything will be perfect.”
“Excuse me,” a gruff voice interrupted, “but don't I know you?”
Damn.
“I doubt it,” Matt said.
“You sure do look familiar,” the old man persisted.
Matt pulled his cap lower over his face and looked away. Had this guy recognized him?
“Don't you play for the Broncos? Second-string quarterback?”
Second-string quarterback?
Matt laughed. “Sorry. Not me.”
“But I could swear I've seen that face before. Maybe it's the Red Sox.”
“Nope.”
“Phillies?”
“Excuse me, sir,” Sara said in a sweet voice. “But this is my husband.” She paused. “Of four days. And he's nobody's star but mine.” Her voice dropped to a throaty chuckle. She stroked his cheek, traced his jaw. “I think I'd know if he were some big celebrity, don't you?” Her lips grazed Matt's cheek.
The old man coughed, almost choking on his next words. “Sure, miss, I mean missus,” he sputtered. “Sorry for the mix-up.”
Sara giggled. “He's gone.”
“Nice ploy,” Matt said, thinking he rather liked her tactics.
“It got the job done.”
And then some. The kiss, the touch, the sexy voice left him rock-hard and throbbing. Again. At least he knew why this time. Nothing more than mere infatuation for the woman who was helping him regain his life. That was it. Nothing more.
Thank God.
Sara closed her eyes and lay back against the soft leather of the limousine. What a perfect day. Matt had walked into Dodger Stadium and taken his seat among twenty-eight thousand screaming, yelling fans—and become one of them. He'd told her he wanted to start writing again tomorrow, with her as his typist and she’d agreed. Maybe she could work on reforming Jack Steele.
Step by step, Matt would find his way, fueled by willpower and sheer determination. Thank God she was leaving in three days. Matthew Brandon functioning at full potential would be downright deadly.
“I have to tell you, Sara,” Matt said, cutting into her thoughts, “I was a little concerned someone might recognize me.”
She opened her eyes and studied him. “You mean other than ‘Mr. Don't I Know You From Somewhere?’”
“Yeah. A second-string quarterback, for Christ's sake. At least he could've said I looked like a starter. And the Red Sox? And Phillies? Good God.”
“I knew nobody would recognize you.”
He turned toward her, flipping up his cap. “Why?”
She gave a quick little laugh that fell out like a squeak. “In case no one has informed you, I don't fit the MO for Matthew Brandon's typical date.”
He gave her a strange look. “Oh?”
“No, sad to say, I am only five-feet-five, several inches shorter than your mandatory five-nine, or ten, and am well over your standard ninety-two and one half pounds, with natural brown, not bottled-blond hair.” His lips twitched. “My fingernails are tapered and functional, sometimes sporting a clear gloss, not the three inches of acrylic red, magenta, or poppy-pink you seem to like. I opt for comfort, not spike heels. Too much like stilts. And spandex is a dirty word in my vocabulary.”
Those lips stretched into a full-blown grin. “That's it? Nothing else?”
“Oh, there is one more thing. My name is Sara. Not a confection or a rhyme. No Candy, Sandy, Mandy, Dolly, Holly, Polly, Fawn, Dawn…or any other half-syllable vowel equation.”
“I have never dated a Candy. Or a Dolly, that I can remember.” He rubbed his chin and asked, “Rex, have I ever dated a Dolly?”
“No Dollys.”
“See? Rex remembers these things.”
“How nice for you. Do you take him along on dates so he can take notes?”
“Now there's an idea. Rex, the next time I have a date, you're with me. Not just as the driver. Sara's onto something. If I take a date to dinner, you come too and take notes. We go to a show, you write down the important stuff.”
Sara rolled her eyes. The man drove her insane. She was still thinking about how much he irritated her, when he reached for her hand. His first attempt landed on her hip. “Sorry,” he murmured, in a low sexy drawl that made her wonder if he'd known his mark all along. He stroked her hand with warm fingers and spoke in a soothing voice. “I was honored you asked me to go to the game with you.”
“I didn't exactly ask you to go. If you'll recall, you told me you were going.”
He shrugged. “Same thing.”
It would be pointless to argue with the man about something so inconsequential. She knew what had been said and so did he.
“I enjoyed being with you,” he said, moving his thumb in slow circles along her wrist. “But I don't like to hear you knock yourself down like that.”
She stiffened. “I was not knocking myself down. Only citing reality.”
He stared at her as though he could see her. “Rex, I need a little private time. Excuse us?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” The dark-tinted glass divider whirred into place, separating driver and passengers. “Now,” he said, “I have a little secret to confess about all of those beautiful women who flutter around me.”
Flutter.
Good word. Reminded her of butterflies.
“That's okay,” she said, trying to pull her hand away. He tightened his grip. “I don't think I want to hear this.”
“Yes, you do.” His voice moved over her, making her insides all soft and gooey, like melting caramel. “The reason I've dated the kind of women you mentioned—models, starlets, that type—is that they're not real to me. They're like hot fudge on a sundae. An extra. Gone long before the ice cream. They enjoy fun, know how to have a good time, and leave when the party's over.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“No, it doesn't. Not to somebody like you. You, Sara Hamilton, are the ice cream, the flavor that stays on a man's lips long after he's finished.”
She'd never thought of ice cream as erotic. Until now.
“That's why your type is so dangerous,” he continued. “Men marry women like you, have babies, move to the suburbs, buy a van.”
“But not you,” she said, her heart aching with an emptiness she didn't understand.
“No,” he whispered, moving closer, “not me.”
She tried to inch away, but he caught her chin. “But by God, right now, I wish I were.” He took her mouth with a fierceness that surprised her, hard, possessive. His hands were all over her, molding her breasts, her hips, her butt, dragging her onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. He yanked her shirt from its waistband and ran his fingers up her body to cup a lace-covered breast. She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pushing thought and reason out the window.
“I know I told you to stay away,” he rasped, breaking the kiss to brush his lips over her eyes, her cheeks, her throat. “But I'm the one who can't stay away.” He ran his tongue along her neck, sending tiny shivers through her. “I need you, Sara.”
She needed him, too. She pressed him closer, wanting to feel his strength against her,
needing
to feel it. If she made love with him, nothing would ever be the same. Not now or long after, when she was back in Pittsburgh living her safe, practical life. The choice was hers. She placed a soft kiss on his mouth and said, “I need you, too.”
He stroked her cheek. “I can't wait to get you home.”
“Oh?” She pulled the polo shirt out of his jeans, trailing her fingers up his chest.
“Yeah. Oh,” he murmured, unfastening her bra, “to bed.”
“Tired, huh?” She slid her hands to his waist, toying with the belt buckle.
“Hardly.” He eased his fingers under her bra, cupped her breasts and urged them toward his mouth.
“Aahhh.” The flick of his tongue on her nipple drove her wild. She pulled his head to her breasts, holding him there while he sucked and laved first one and then the other.
Neither noticed that the car had stopped. Or that the engine was off. They didn’t spring apart until Rex's baritone said, “He'll be out in a minute.”
“Jesus,” Matt said, rifling a hand through his hair. His cap was long gone, lying on the floor somewhere. Sara tried to scurry off his lap and adjust her clothing. She heard another voice outside. A woman's.
“No.” Matt brushed her hand aside. “We are not going to hide like two teenagers caught in the backseat of a car. Whoever is outside can wait. Let me help you.” He reached behind her and fastened her bra with an expertise she didn’t want to think about.
“I can get myself together,” she mumbled.
“I know, but I want to help.” He ran his hands down her shirt, tucking it inside her shorts.
How could he be so calm? Had he been in this situation before? Of course, he had.
The voice kicked in again on the other side of the window. Louder. More demanding. Rex's muffled response followed. Who was that person?
Matt jammed his shirt into his shorts. “Is my hat around here, anywhere?” Scooping it from the floor, she placed it in his hand and ran her fingers through her hair. No time for anything as civilized as a brush.
“Ready?” Matt reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Ready.” She tried to keep her voice steady but it was hard to concentrate on anything but what had been happening a few minutes ago.
“Let's see what all of the commotion is about. And how fast I can take care of it.”
Before she could reply, he drew her to him and planted a hard, possessive kiss on her mouth. It was over almost before it began. By the time she gathered her senses, the door swung open and Matt stepped out, taking her with him.
“Oh, Matt!” A woman with a tangle of red hair and long magenta nails flung herself at him. “I've missed you so much.”
Sara's hand fell away as Matt reached out to steady the woman. “Hello, Gabrielle.”
“Oh, darling, have you missed me, too?” She ran her long nails through his curly hair, her red lips mere inches from his.
“Of course.”
The woman named Gabrielle laughed, a low, sultry purr that exuded sensual promises. Then she pulled him to her and kissed him.
Sara stumbled back toward the limousine, trying to block out the sickening scene in front of her. Matt and another woman—a beautiful woman wrapped in sex and the color red. Kissing each other. The images faded in and out like a disjointed picture. She closed her eyes, blinked, and refocused. The woman had her head resting on Matt's shoulder, eyes closed, a dreamy expression on her face.
Sara had seen enough. She turned toward the house and walked away from the man she'd trusted and the beautiful woman named Gabrielle.
***
Matt stormed into the kitchen, his expression grim. “Where is she?”
Rosa feigned ignorance. “Who?”
He hated when she did that. “You know who,” he said, trying to hold on to his last two shreds of patience.
“Ah, Miss Sara.”
“Yes. Miss Sara.”
“She no tell me where she goes.” The old woman clucked her tongue like a chicken. “She come in with the big tears in her eyes.”
Cluck, cluck, cluck.
“So sad.”
He had to get to Sara and tell her it wasn't what it looked like. And what was that? He didn't need his eyesight to tell him he and Gabrielle would have looked like lovers reunited. He headed down the hall toward Sara's bedroom. When he reached her door, he lifted his hand to knock and hesitated. What could he say to her? Well, the truth, for starters.
Gabrielle is nothing more than a friend. She just forgets that sometimes. Correction. Most times. And if you think I could even consider touching her after being with you, then you don't really know me at all.
He knocked.
“Who is it?” Her voice reached him through the door, thin and strained.
“It’s me.”
Silence.
“I need to talk to you.”
Silence.
“Now.”
“It's open.”
He turned the knob and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
She was flitting around the room, making a lot of noise, expending a lot of energy. A closet door opened, then a drawer, then another. “What are you doing?” He had a damn good idea what she was doing.
“Packing.”
The word smacked him in the face.
“Why?” He took another few steps into the room. Closer to her.
“I'm leaving in three days. I wanted to get ready.”
“Bullshit.”
She said nothing.
“You're running away.”
I don't want you to go.
“I am not running away.” Was that a tremble in her voice? Damn, if only he could see her face, look into her eyes. Then he'd know if she was telling the truth. But he couldn't so he had to depend on his other senses to guide him.
“Actually, I was thinking about asking you to stay a little longer. Say another few weeks or so.”
Or months. Until I get you out of my system.
“I don't think so.” She slammed a drawer shut and headed into the bathroom.
He moved toward the bed, located her suitcase and started pulling things out of it, tossing them on the bed. She was staying. Period.
“What are you doing?”
She was furious. Too bad. Once she calmed down, she'd understand there really was no other choice. They had to ride this damn thing out until it either crashed or landed. His fingers slid over a pair of silk underwear. “Helping you unpack.”
“I said I was packing. And you heard me the first time.” She yanked the panties from his hand.
“She doesn't mean anything.” He figured he might as well get it over with. For a psychologist, she sure had a strange way of dealing with her own personal issues.
“Who?”
“Gabrielle.”
“If you say so.”
Her nonchalant attitude irked him. “I do say so. We're just friends.”
“Right. The kind with benefits.”
Matt grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. “Stop it. And stop trying to avoid this conversation. She may want something more, but I don't.” He paused, lowered his voice. “Not with her.”
Her body relaxed a little. He loosened his grip. “She's very beautiful.”
“Yes, she is.” Was that jealousy rearing her ugly green horns?
“And tall.”
“Yes.” It sure sounded like it.
“And thin.”
“Yes.” Yep. That was her all right. Jealousy. In all her green glory.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“What?”
That threw him. He was still basking in Sara’s jealousy.
“Did you sleep with her?” she repeated as though he were deaf
and
blind.
He wasn't going to lie to her. “It was over a long time ago.”
“Not from what I saw,” she said, pulling free from his hold.
“You can't just ignore what happened between us.”
“You mean what almost happened between us,” she said, escaping to a far corner of the room. She was making sure he couldn't get to her again.
“Mister Matt?” Rosa's voice called to him from the other side of the door. “The phone, it is for you. It is Mister Jeff.”
“I need to talk to him,” Sara said, hurrying toward the phone.
Matt took two steps and snatched the receiver.
“Jeff? How's it going?” It was an innocent question with a gut-wrenching answer. “Christ. I'm sorry.” He sensed Sara hovering close by, trying to make out the conversation. “Sure. No. I'll tell her.” The words came out in tiny intervals, helpless responses to helpless words. If only there was something he could say that would make a difference. Why in the hell did life have to be so goddamned unfair? Matt rubbed the back of his neck, listening to his best friend's voice choke on the word
baby
.