Authors: Amy Noelle
“There are plenty of talented writers out there that you haven’t slept with,” I muttered.
“Don’t be so sure.”
I wanted to smack that smirk right off his face. Instead, I stood and smoothed my skirt, and I couldn’t help but notice his eyes were on my legs. Good. Let him suffer a little. “It’s clear we’re both just wasting our time here. I’m sure my publisher can find a writer more suited to your needs. I’ll have them give you a call.”
Before I took more than a step, he reached out and grabbed my forearm. I yelped and jerked my arm away from him. The momentum caused my ankle to twist and I tumbled to the ground. My butt hit the dirt and I heard something tear. I wasn’t sure if I was thankful or mortified that it was only the fabric of my skirt, which now had a slit up the left thigh.
Brad was crouched next to me holding out a hand. “Are you okay?”
The only thing wounded was my pride, and it pissed me off that I had to take his hand to get up. First and last time I’d wear heels at the baseball stadium. I’d wanted to look professional and unapproachable. So much for that, with my skirt practically high enough to show him that I still wore bikini briefs. I had no choice but to take his hand because there was no way I was getting up alone without flashing him.
“I’m fine. Just help me up and I’ll get out of your hair.” I’d go back to my hotel and wallow in my humiliation before heading home in the morning. This wasn’t quite the way I’d imagined our reunion. He was supposed to cry and tell me no other woman compared to me while I laughed and walked away with my own hot model. Or actor, or musician. I wasn’t picky.
Instead of taking my hand like a normal person, he scooped me up with an arm underneath my arms and the other under my ass. He didn’t disguise his laughter when I twisted out of his arms and got to my feet. Yes, he was a sturdy athlete with an awesome body. I already knew that. I didn’t need to be pressed up against him to be reminded.
“Looking good, Red.”
“Don’t call me that.” I tried for dignity despite my now dirty, ripped skirt. “As I was saying, someone will contact you and . . .”
“They’ll do no such thing. I want you and you only.” He must have seen my shocked expression because he hastened to clarify. “To write my story, that is.”
I sighed and fought the urge to fuss with my hair. I was sure it was all over the place after my fall. “Why? And no crap this time, or I’m leaving and not coming back.”
“Quid pro quo. Why’d you agree to do it?” He was too close. I took a step back so it didn’t feel like he was looming over me. Even with me in heels, he still had several inches on me.
“I asked you first.”
“All right, fine.” He shrugged. “If I’m going to talk about me, I’d rather do it with somebody I know and trust, or at least used to.”
“How’d you know what I did for a living?” Had he been following me all these years? Why did the idea of that make me warm inside?
“Nope. Your turn. Why’d you say yes?” He crossed his arms and watched me.
Fair enough. “Because I was curious as to why you chose me.” That was one reason, anyway.
“Cute, Dani. That just turns the question back on me.”
“Well, as you said, I’m good at what I do.” Now it was my turn to give him a smug smile. I relished it.
“Then I guess that’s the only answer you’re going to get out of me, for now. I do have other reasons, but I’ll keep those to myself.”
“You’re not even going to tell me how you knew what I did?”
He chuckled. “I was flipping channels one day in a hotel room in Philly, and there you were, talking about your book. I went out and got a copy and liked what I read. You’ve got a real talent with words. You always did.”
His compliment confused me, and I could feel my cheeks heating. “Thank you. I can’t say I’m surprised you’re the best at what you do either.”
He laughed. “I try. And I work hard at it. You’re about to find out just how hard.”
“If I decide to stay.”
“You’ll stay. You’re too curious not to.”
It infuriated me that he knew that much about me. “Maybe I’ve changed.”
“In some ways, sure, but not in that way.” His gaze traveled down my body. “In some ways you’ve changed for the better.”
Take it all in, Brad. You can look but you can’t touch. “More ways than you’ll ever know.” A slow smile spread across his face and I knew I needed to get away before I either killed him or kissed him. One or the other was bound to happen soon. “I’m going to check into my hotel and we can get started tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it.” I started to walk away, but he called my name, and I turned. “Your hair still looks like fire in the sun, Red.”
“Stay back or you’ll get burned,” I warned with a smile.
“We’ll see. I plan on getting answers to my questions, starting tomorrow.” He looked so damn confident.
“It’s my questions you’ll need to worry about. Are you sure you’re going to come out of this book looking like anything other than the asshole you are?”
“I think we’re both in for some surprises.”
There was no doubt about that.
Chapter 5
My sleep, when it had come, hadn’t been remotely restful. Memories of the boy flashed with images of the man, and I woke up hot, sweaty, and more turned on than I’d been in longer than I cared to admit. But a cold shower, some makeup, and a hot cup of coffee made me appear cool and unruffled.
He’d gotten to me, damn it.
There were still a couple of days before the start of the season, so I’d have him to myself until then, and maybe I’d get some answers. Or maybe I’d snap and kill him. Or even worse, throw myself at him. No matter what I knew or what I’d come to find out, he was still dead sexy, and when he looked at me with those gorgeous, angry eyes, I wanted to crawl into his lap and take what used to be mine. I hated myself for that. Half an hour in his presence and I was already a mess.
Today I was wearing pants and a blouse. There’d be no flashing him leg or anything else. The drive to his condo was fairly easy, and I found myself in front of a glitzy high-rise. I guessed I should have expected it, but I was surprised. When we’d talked about the future, we’d discussed a big yard so we could have a couple of golden retrievers and a place for the kids to . . . no, that was a dangerous avenue for my mind to go. That was then. The Brad from then didn’t exist anymore, if he ever really had. Our dreams were just the fantasies of two stupid kids. Nothing more.
He lived in the penthouse, or one of them, since it looked like this building had several. I took the long ride up the elevator and tried to control my nerves. I’d survived yesterday. I was here until I had enough information to write a book about the jerk. I needed to suck it up.
I stepped off the elevator and approached his door. Before I could knock, it swung open and Brad filled the doorway. He was wearing black jeans and a green T-shirt that set off his eyes. Had he done that on purpose to taunt me? He knew I loved him in green.
“Good morning, Dani. Did you sleep well?”
Did he know? Was it written all over my face that I’d had sex dreams about him? “Like a baby,” I lied. His smile widened, but there was no way he knew about my dreams. If he kept smiling like that, tonight I’d dream about punching it right off his face. That would be much more satisfying.
“Well, come on in.” He stepped aside and showed me into a living room that belonged on the cover of
Architectural Digest.
The floors were white marble and the furniture was sleek, black, and modern. There were no pictures anywhere. Actually, there was nothing personal anywhere. The fireplace mantle was bare, the tables held only lamps, and there wasn’t even a blanket on the couch to make it feel homey. I felt like I was in a museum.
“Nice place.”
“Thanks. Want a tour?”
I didn’t, really, but I’d always felt a home reflected its owner, so I agreed. He led me into a gourmet kitchen that I itched to mess up. The navy granite looked like it had never been used and the stainless steel appliances gleamed.
“Either you don’t use this kitchen or you have a hell of a cleaning service.”
Brad laughed, and I tensed as he moved up close behind me. “Both, actually. I tend to eat at the clubhouse or get takeout.”
I moved a step away and traced my fingers over the shiny countertop. “It’s a shame. This kitchen is fabulous.”
“So I’m told.” Oh yeah? By who? “This is the dining room, also mostly unused.” It was another museum-quality room, with a long, cherry wood table and chairs.
“Guest bathroom and bedroom.” They were nice, clean and manly, with dark woods and more dark granite.
“This is my room.” He stepped aside and I peeked in. I couldn’t tell the difference between his room and the guest room, though the bed was bigger. I tried not to think about why that was.
“Very nice. When did you learn to make the bed?” Damn it, why had that slipped out? It had been my one chore, since Brad had figured we were just going to mess it up again later that night. He’d been right about that.
He laughed and leaned closer. I backed into the doorjamb and he grinned down at me. “I always knew how, I just preferred to let you do it.” I huffed and pushed him aside, heading back to the living room and away from that big bed that I did not at all want to mess up with him.
The windows opened to an incredible view of the city that I stopped to admire. “It’s beautiful.”
“The view was why I took this place.” I turned and enjoyed my own view of his broad shoulders and form-fitting jeans. “That and the proximity to the stadium.”
“It’s a great place, but it doesn’t feel like you.”
“What do I feel like?”
Now there was a loaded question. And now he was laughing at me again. Dick. “You know what I mean. There are no family pictures, no trophies, nothing that says Brad Reynolds lives here. It could be anybody’s place.”
He stopped laughing, and it was like a shade came down over his face. “Maybe that’s the way I wanted it.”
“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“That’s what you’re here to find out, right? Shall we get started?”
Right. I wasn’t here to find the boy I’d lost. He was gone. I needed to remember that.
“Sure.” I sank into the fancy black chair that wasn’t remotely comfortable and wasn’t remotely him, but I didn’t say a word. He sat on the couch and looked as stiff and uncomfortable as I felt.
“So what do you want to talk about?” he asked as I rummaged through my bag and pulled out my recorder and notebook. I turned on the recorder and set it on the coffee table that didn’t even have a magazine on it.
“How about we start at the beginning? Tell me about growing up.” It felt weird to ask, since I knew a lot of his life story. Or at least I thought I did.
“How about we start in the middle, with college?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Of course he wasn’t going to make it easy on me. “Because that’s a stupid starting point and I’d rather learn something new.”
“Nothing to learn, really. I was born March fifth, 1986, to David and Abby Reynolds. Abby took off when I was still in diapers. David raised me. Here I am.”
His words were clipped and hard. “Brad, you do realize I’m here because you asked me to be, right? This wasn’t my idea. So suck it up or your story will be three paragraphs on my blog.”
“You have a blog?” He leaned forward and smiled. “What do you post there?”
I sighed. “Of course I do, but we’re not here to talk about me.”
“Aren’t we?”
His smile was challenging, but I ignored it. “No. If I was writing a book about myself, here is the last place I would be. Can we get back to you?”
“If you insist.” He waved his hand. “Ask away.”
“What’s your first baseball memory?”
He blinked a few times before sitting back. “I must have been about three. Alabama is a football state, but Dad always loved baseball the most, and he took me to some high school game. I remember we had to travel for a while to get there. He picked me up and carried me into the stands and we watched. There was this player, number fifteen. He stood out among the rest, and my dad told me he was the reason we came. It was Carlos Ramos.”
I knew that name. He’d pitched for a decade before a bad shoulder had sent him into retirement.
“He was awesome. In that game, he pitched a no-hitter and hit two homers and a double. As a three-year-old, I didn’t have much of an attention span, but for those few hours I was captivated. I guess that was the start of my own obsession.”
There was something beautiful in watching him talk about the game. There always had been. And right then he reminded me more of the boy I once knew than the man I read gossip articles about.
“Of course I already had a tiny glove, and a bat, and hats and jerseys, thanks to my dad. I’m pretty sure every picture of me from the time I was born until high school graduation had me in some sort of baseball gear.”
“I’d love to see those.” Maybe we could include some pictures in the book.
He looked sad for a moment before looking away. “I don’t know where they are.”
“Well, your dad probably has them.”