story,” he ordered before exiting, leaving her staring after him, feeling frazzled.
The phone on her desk rang and Reggie motioned toward the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
She waved, sitting back down and reaching for the phone. “This is Amanda.”
“This is the star of your first column at the Tribune.”
Her heart beat like a drum in her chest. “I never had the chance to ask what you thought of it. Did you like it?” she asked.
“I told you not to make me out to be superstitious,” he reminded her, but his voice held no anger. In fact, his tone seemed flirtatious.
“I didn’t,” Amanda said. “I made you out to be sentimental. And the way I see it, I did you a favor.”
“A favor, huh? What exactly was the favor?”
“Well,” she drawled, picking up a pencil and tapping it on the desk, needing an outlet for the adrenaline coursing through her body. “You’ve had some bad press, what with the fight and being out for part of the season. The public needed a reminder that you may be more good ol’ boy than bad boy. I suspect your team did, as well.”
“My agent agrees with you on that point, even if I don’t see it. I guess I’ll cut you some slack on the superstition thing.”
“So kind of you. I was worried. Really, I was.”
“You really are a good smart-ass. I noticed that when you talked to Jack.”
“Jack,” she said, her lips thinning with the name. “Such a nice guy.”
Brad let out a bark of laughter. “Right. I could see how well you two got along. Now, back to the article and my thoughts on it. You left some unanswered questions. It felt a bit unfinished.”
She frowned. “What unanswered questions?”
“Who is the real man behind the ballplayer?” he recited the question she’d posed in her story.
“It wasn’t meant as a literal question,” she replied, wishing like hell she could answer it herself firsthand. Wondering why she wanted to so badly. She didn’t get distracted by such things. “It was meant to pique interest.”
“I think you owe it to your readers to find out.”
“Oh, really?” she said, forgetting Kevin and that hate mail. “I got the impression you wanted the ‘real man’ kept private.”
“Depends on who’s involved,” he said, his tone low, suggestive.
“You’re offering me an interview?”
“That’s right. Tonight. After the game.” He paused. “Strictly business, of course.”
If it was strictly business, why say so? “Of course,” she agreed, though she sensed there was more than that going on between them. And, damn it to hell, her fantasy image of him, gloriously naked and tied to her bed, chose that moment to flash in her mind.
“Goodbye, Amanda.”
She blinked away the erotic images, reprimanding herself for allowing them to surface. “Goodbye, Brad.”
The line was silent a moment, neither of them hanging up, their breathing soft, intimate, sizzling with promise. Amanda forced herself to set the receiver on the cradle.
What had just happened? She grabbed a piece of paper and fanned herself. She’d never been this tempted to stray from a goal. And her career represented an important goal. Yet, Brad had most definitely proven he could seize her attention and make her forget all the reasons she needed to avoid him. If the man could get her this hot on the phone, what could he do in person?
And there was the question she couldn’t help but want answered. Yet, she couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—allow herself to find out. Brad Rogers was off limits. She wasn’t about to compromise her journalistic integrity to discover if some ballplayer with a God complex burned up the sheets as much as his voice promised.
She pushed to her feet, and made herself repeat her vow. She would not be seduced by Brad Rogers.
And that was that.
She hoped.
5
SEVERAL HOURS AFTER Amanda’s little chat with Brad on the phone, she walked to the ballpark concession stand, Reggie by her side. “You enjoy your talk with the girls?” he asked.
“Actually, I did,” Amanda said, surprised at how much she’d learned from her powwow with some of the groupies. One in particular, a young girl named Laura, had taken to Amanda and been quite informative. She found herself giggling at all the dirty little details those women had shared.
“Okay, none of that,” Reggie scolded. “Must share all jokes with your wingman. It’s a rule.”
Leaning closer to Reggie, she lowered her voice. “I now know one of the players has a foot fetish. Another one likes a little bondage action. And you know the rookie pitcher, the one they just recruited?” She paused for effect. “I hear he’s watched a little too much Bull Durham.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Meaning what?”
“Word is he’s so uptight about walking in Brad’s footsteps, he’s resorted to wearing a garter belt under his uniform.”
“Get out of here,” Reggie said, eyeing the sky. “What a flipping freak.”
“You haven’t heard the half of it,” Amanda declared, “but I’ll save the rest for later.”
“So which part of this are you thinking of using for your story?”
“The garter, maybe.” She inspected Reggie for a reaction. “What do you think?” Not waiting for an answer, she made her case. “It fits my superstition theme and it’s such good timing. You know, having written about the center fielder after Brad, doing a story about the new pitcher—”
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