she sat up and left the dugout. How long had he played for the Falcons? She hadn’t seen him before. She would have remembered the tousled golden hair that grabbed the fading light and the intense eyes that suddenly swerved her way.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her hands rising to her ribs as if to contain her ferociously beating heart. “Sorry to disturb you. Scout, down.” She gave a silent thank-you to her unreliable tongue for not tripping up her words and watched, grateful, as her sometimes unruly pet lowered his belly and muzzle to the dirt.
A frown marred the man’s handsome face, a line appearing between his slanted brows. He looked down at her over a straight nose that stopped above a pair of full lips. “This is a closed practice.” His eyes stared directly into hers, causing an odd, plummeting sensation in her legs. So much so that she dipped a little at the knees.
She opened her mouth, but now her voice had run down her throat. Looking at him made it hard to think—or speak.
He gestured to the square he’d marked off with glow-in-the-dark tape on the backstop. “If you don’t mind, I need to continue pitching. Alone. And this is private property.”
Heather pulled words from her throat as if she was raising them from a well, determined to match his arrogant tone. Who did this guy think he was?
That was the problem with good-looking guys. They expected everyone in the world to be nice to them but didn’t bother to return the favor.
“I know. It’s mine. Or my dad’s. I’m Heather Gadway.” She strode forward and extended a hand. When he shook it, a rush of awareness exploded up her arm.
“Garrett Wolf,” he drawled, his voice dark, smooth and hypnotic. “Your father recently signed me.” He glanced at Scout. “Nice dog.”
Words collected in her mouth and lay there, irritation weighing them down. He was the reclamation project, the reformed alcoholic who’d caused his last Triple-A team lots of trouble with the media and on the field. And she’d almost let herself be attracted to him. Well, shoot. That was not going to happen.
She dropped his hand as if she’d touched acid and stepped back, a knot forming in her throat. At five-ten, she was a tall woman, but Garrett had to be more than half a foot taller. Six-four or -five, maybe.
“Welcome to the team,” Heather forced out, not meaning it at all. Why had her father signed such a high-risk player, anyway? Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but it wasn’t like they were putting up billboards. Her dad, of all people, should know they didn’t need former addicts on the Falcons. What if he relapsed? Always a real possibility. “I’m visiting while my father recovers from his heart attack.”
The stern lines of his face relaxed, and suddenly he was the all-American boy next door, the kind who broke every girl’s heart—every girl’s but hers. There wasn’t a chance she’d fall for his charm, no matter that his easy smile made her stomach jump and flutter. She’d seen what he’d been like before he’d found out she was the owner’s daughter.
Garrett tossed his ball in a gym bag and scooped up his sports drink in a sleek, fluid movement that mesmerized her. When he drew closer, she could smell his pine-scented aftershave and a fresh, masculine musk. “Your father’s a good man. I hope he’s doing better.”
Heather shifted her footing and cleared her throat. Garrett was getting under her skin in the worst way. His earlier arrogance needled her. Yet somehow, when the corners of his lips lifted and his deep dimples flashed, she had to catch herself before grinning back. Get a grip and be professional, she warned herself before saying, “He is. Chomping at the bit to get out more. I’ve practically had to tie him to the bed.”
A spark ignited in his blue eyes, and she flushed. What a strange thing to say. Provocative when she meant to be anything but.
“How long are you staying?” he asked, his deep voice lowering further, his unswerving, intent gaze on her.
She scuffed the dirt, her ears ringing with the staccato thrum thrum thrum of her rapid pulse. “Not sure. I’m a pitching coach for the Morro Bay Red Tails. They want me back. But Dad needs me.”
Garrett’s eyebrows rose. “So you’re a pitcher, too.”
“I was. Still miss that feeling of controlling the game.” She pressed her lips shut. Now why had she admitted that to a stranger? One she should be running from instead of hanging around like a groupie...
Understanding lit his eyes. “Me too. I like taking the lead. Being in charge.” He stepped closer and stared down at her before he tucked a strand that’d fallen from her ponytail behind her ear. She shivered, the caress turning her inside out as his hand lingered by her cheek.
Unable to look away, she returned his stare, wishing he was anyone else. Or she was anyone else. But whatever she might fantasize, the reality was that this magnetic pull had to be severed. After a moment, she forced herself to back away.
“I’d better be going. My father probably needs me.”
“Tell him I wish him well,” Garrett said. “Will he be at tomorrow’s game? Both of you?”
The way he said it sounded like a personal invitation. Like he wanted her there. But she had to be imagining this. Few guys dared make a move on the owner’s daughter. She doubted Garrett would jeopardize his comeback by screwing up like that. And besides, her dad would go ballistic if she even considered cozying up to this guy. Time to exit. Fast. Every time their eyes met, she felt light-headed.
“Maybe. I’ll be around. Let’s go, Scout,” she called and fled.
Just not around you, she added silently, looking over her shoulder and catching his stare.
Not if she could help it.
* * *
HEATHER SNUCK ANOTHER look at her father as they seated themselves at the boardroom table. He’d scolded her for fussing over him these past two weeks, but with the scare he’d given her, it was hard to leave him be. Sometimes it felt like if she looked away, he might just disappear. And despite her mother’s sporadic attempts to contact her these past ten years, she still felt as though her father was all she had in the world.
Though lately, ridiculous thoughts of a gorgeous pitcher had also kept her company. She needed a mental fly swatter to squash them. Was he the reason she’d already laid out her outfit—a sundress and wedge sandals—for tonight’s game? Usually she was content with shorts and a T-shirt that’d survived a mustard spill or two. When she got home, that dress was going right back in the closet. No way was she dressing up for Garrett Wolf.
“Mr. Gadway.” A man in a fitted, expensive-looking suit entered the room and extended his hand to her father, his thick gold ring flashing under the recessed lights. “It’s nice to meet you in person, though I hadn’t anticipated the pleasure of meeting your lovely daughter as well.”
Heather tried not to cringe visibly at the moist press of his palm against hers, still wondering what this meeting was all about.
If she hadn’t overheard her father confirming the time and location, she wouldn’t have known he had something important scheduled. Luckily, he’d grudgingly given in when she’d insisted on coming. Her reminder that he still needed someone to drive tipped the scales.
“I’m Sam Gowette,
