chapter 14
TAYLOR PACED THE upper concourse while keeping an eye on the action down on the field. Both restless and exhausted, she knew there was no point in trying to do any work in the office this afternoon. Not after the humbling meeting with Dembinski. In one sense, she felt like she’d dodged a bullet, since the guy could have hammered her a whole lot worse. Still, he’d gotten his point across in no uncertain terms—Taylor was never again to keep her boss in the dark about anything to do with player transactions, and she should think very carefully about whether to see Ryan Locke in anything other than a strictly work-related situation.
Not that she’d really needed to be told either of those things. What she’d done with Ryan had been both out of character and against her training and better judgment. For someone who’d been career-focused—her mother would say career-obsessed—she’d behaved little better than some team groupie when it came right down to it. And as much as her heart told her she wanted to keep seeing Ryan, Taylor knew she couldn’t let it happen. Not even if Ryan wanted to.
Which was exceedingly doubtful after what she’d done.
But, God, her stomach had practically done a back flip today when she saw him standing at first base in the pristine white Patriots uniform that fit him like the proverbial glove. Somehow he looked even hotter than he had the last time she’d seen him in uniform, which had been in his Hornets road gear. And for a guy who’d never played the position before, Ryan gave the impression that he was comfortable out there, not to mention determined. Even from up in the stands, Taylor couldn’t miss the hawkish concentration in his dark eyes as he pounded his big, black first baseman’s glove before crouching in preparation for every pitch. When he ran his tongue across his lips to moisten them, all she could think about was how good those lips had tasted only a few nights ago.
She had to hold back an audible groan. She really needed to shove those memories in a lock-box and throw away the key if she wanted to stay both sane and employed.
Given that Ryan had benefited from only two days of practice, she’d been shocked to see him playing his new position so soon. But according to Rick Clark, who’d accosted her after she left Dembinski in his eagerness to learn what the boss had said, Ryan had so impressed Pedro Delgado with his positional intelligence and glove work that he’d recommended giving him some game action this afternoon. Now, in the sixth inning, Ryan was still out there and Taylor couldn’t help feeling a sense of triumph.
She only wished she could give the game and Ryan’s play her full attention. As much as she tried to shut everything else out, what she mostly thought about as she paraded uselessly around the full, noisy stands was exactly what she could say to Ryan when they next met. Because they had to meet, and very soon. Taylor knew that the only way she could hope to lift herself out of the mess she’d created was to deal with Ryan head on, getting everything out on the table. Acknowledging what she’d done, and hopefully finding a way to go forward on the basis of front office executive and player.
A business relationship. Cordial, friendly, but appropriately distant.
In other words, a miracle.
The Atlanta batter slapped a weak grounder that the pitcher, Nate Carter, took a futile stab at but couldn’t reach. Ryan charged in behind Carter and, with surprising fluidity, scooped the ball up as he shot a quick look over to third base. But the runner on second had broken for third as soon as he saw the ball was hit to the right side, and Taylor knew it would be a close play to try to nail him. Ryan barely hesitated before racing the batter to first and stepping on the bag.
One down and a runner on third.
A little shiver crept up Taylor’s back. She didn’t think Ryan would necessarily be faulted for choosing the safe out at first base. But, given that there’d been nobody out in the inning and it was a tight ballgame, most infielders would have tried to throw the runner out at third. Carter obviously thought so, too, since both he and second baseman Esteban Nunez had immediately held a quick pow-wow with Ryan not far from the mound. Ryan kept nodding, but his mouth was a grim line and he didn’t say more than a couple of words.
How much had Ryan’s lack of confidence in his throwing arm had to do with his split-second choice on the play? Taylor filed it away in her mental database of questionable on-field decisions.
Maybe she’d ask Ryan about it when they talked, which she planned on making happen before the day was out. While that conversation was going to be more painful than she even wanted to think about, Taylor wasn’t about to spend another sleepless night like the last one. She’d find Ryan, take whatever he had to dish out, and then get on with business. And life.
* * *
“DON’T LET THAT one get to you, man,” Nate Carter said to Ryan as they headed into the clubhouse after the game. “It was a tough call, especially for a guy new to the position. Don’t sweat it. Hell, it’s just an exhibition game, anyway.”
Ryan liked the affable Patriots’ ace, even though his lifetime batting average against Carter was a whopping .231. He took solace, though, from the fact that the league average against the award-winning, hard-throwing lefthander was regularly well south of .220.
He nodded his appreciation of the pitcher’s support. “I was thinking it’d be stupid for me to play the hero and maybe end up with men on first and third and nobody out. Too much chance that they’d have a big inning.”
Carter let out a disbelieving snort. “With me on the mound? Surely you jest, Locke.”
Ryan rolled his eyes, though he knew Carter was just busting his chops. When Carter and Nunez had gone to him after he opted to throw to first instead of third, he figured they’d be pissed big time that he hadn’t tried to get the lead runner. But they’d taken it easy on him. The reason he hadn’t fired a bullet to the third baseman was simple—he’d been worried that he couldn’t get enough juice on his throw unless he risked a wild one. Though it was a relatively short throw to third, at least compared to what he was used to in the outfield, he hadn’t exactly been firing laser strikes in practice. All he needed in his first game in the field was to embarrass himself with a weak throw that would leave two runners on and nobody out.
Before Carter headed over to his locker, he clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Some of the guys are going out for a couple of beers tonight. You should come, too. Get to know your new buddies.”
Ryan really appreciated the offer, as well as the warm reception he’d received from all the Patriots. The fact that they’d been intense and sometimes even bitter rivals on the field these past years didn’t faze veteran players like Carter and star outfielder, Jake Miller. “Sounds good. Thanks.”
“The Summer Moon, then, anytime after eight.”
The Summer Moon.
Ryan wondered if he’d ever be able to walk into that joint again without thinking about Taylor Page. Grimly, he clamped down on that train of thought. The best thing he could do would be to try like hell to forget the woman. Yeah, someday soon he’d tell her what he thought of how she’d treated him, but he wasn’t going to tie himself in knots over it. The pain of betrayal he felt in his gut whenever he thought about her would fade soon enough, and dwelling on her would only slow the process.
After a quick shave and shower he dressed, shoved his wallet and keys in his pockets, and then raked a hand back through his hair one last time before he left the clubhouse. It had been another long day, and his body had already been sore from all the infield practice before he even took to the field for the actual game. The fact that Jack Ault had left him out there for seven innings today had blown him away. He wasn’t sure if it was exactly a vote of confidence in him by the coaches and higher-ups, but it sure felt like it. And for the first time since Ridge had given him the news of the trade, Ryan took a long look around the nearly empty Philly clubhouse and concluded that, to his surprise, he kind of already felt like a Philadelphia Patriot.
It was only a short walk down a dark concrete corridor to the player and staff parking lot on the south side of the stadium. As he emerged, he had to shield his eyes as he faced the sun at a direct angle. By the time he got his sunglasses on, pulled out his keys and clicked the remote, he realized that someone was standing behind his Cherokee, barely visible but instantly recognizable from her shining blond hair.
What the hell?
Taylor was supposed to be in Philadelphia, but it was definitely her. And the last place he expected to see her was standing beside his freaking car.
Once he got over his shock, Ryan quickly crossed the lot and strode right up to her, coming close enough that she instinctively took a step back. Her sunglasses hid her eyes, so he couldn’t read her. All he knew was that she looked one hundred per cent f*cking gorgeous in a tight little skirt and blouse outfit that seemed to highlight every one of the delicious curves he’d explored in detail the other night. But she must have been standing in the hot sun for a while, since perspiration had collected on her brow and a bead trickled down one cheek. Remembering her damp brow as she lay exhausted in his arms, spent and breathing heavily, he had to fight an overwhelming instinct to lean forward and nuzzle her damp cheek.
“We should talk,” she said in a clipped voice, a pair of gold bracelets on her wrist clinking against each other as she swept a nervous hand back through her hair.
Even with her mouth turned down and her hair flying in the stiff breeze off the Gulf, Ryan thought Taylor Page was as beautiful as any woman he’d ever seen. And as angry as he was with her, he still had a powerful urge to feel her full, soft breasts against his chest, and taste her sweet lips. In fact, taste every inch of glorious skin on her delicious body.
Get a grip, Ryan. That train’s left the station.
“So, talk,” he responded tersely.
She let out a heavy sigh. “I know I messed up, Ryan, and I`m sorry. But I wasn’t trying to screw with you. Honestly.” She took the sunglasses from her eyes and stuck them on top of her head, peering earnestly at him.
Ryan saw nothing but sincerity in her sapphire-blue eyes as he got rid of his own sunglasses. But she held his gaze only for a moment before flicking a glance around the nearly empty lot.
“This isn’t the place to have this conversation,” she said. Then she scrunched her eyes in a grimace. “If you even want to hear what I have to say, that is.”
“You bet I want to hear it,” he replied in a grim voice. “Just tell me where and when.”
“Nowhere around here, that’s for sure.”
Wow, she must have gotten royal shit from Dembinski.
“Okay, my place, then.” Fat chance, but the words seemed to fling themselves out of his mouth.
Taylor stared at him, then pulled her glasses down over her eyes. Ryan would have preferred she keep them up so he could read her expression.
“Let’s make it Sand Key Park,” she said. “It’s fifteen minutes from here, at most. You know it?”
Ryan nodded. “I know where it is.”
“See you there.” Taylor turned and fished around in her bag, pulling out her car keys.
Ryan’s gaze didn’t waver as he watched her walk briskly to her car two rows over. She’d jerked him around, and he had every right to tear strips off her, letting her know that nobody screws with Ryan Locke and gets away with it.
But, God, he still wanted her. Everything he’d thought about saying—every biting, harsh word—seemed to be sinking deeper into some recess in his mind, as if none of it wanted to see the light of day. Did she truly regret what she’d done to him? Was he big enough to accept the apology that he sensed might be coming?
He wasn’t sure, but he was game to take a chance.
* * *
SAND KEY PARK sprawled over the northern end of a long barrier island just below Clearwater Beach. The trees that lined the narrow access road were kind of scrubby and not terribly attractive, but the park’s prime attraction was its long stretch of white, sandy beach. Rows of tall, stately palms bordered the parking lot and the edge of the beach, and some picnic tables were nestled among the trees. Taylor parked her car, chose one of the nearby tables, and kept watch for Ryan’s Cherokee.
She’d filled her Starbucks travel mug with coffee at the stadium and was pleased to discover it had remained relatively warm. Right now, though, she wished she’d loaded the thing up with Scotch or cognac or anything else that would take the edge off her jangling nerves. Forcing on a mask of bravado that hadn’t fit worth a damn, it had taken all her nerve to approach Ryan in the stadium parking lot. But taking the next step felt like a giant leap between tall buildings. If she didn’t get it right, she’d suffer a tragic fall—at least in terms of further eroding her once robust self-esteem. And, she worried, in making an enemy for life. She had to admit the idea of that was profoundly depressing.
Since this morning’s showdown with her boss, she’d asked herself a dozen times why it mattered what Ryan Locke thought about her. It didn’t make logical sense, since whatever he thought wouldn’t change the nature of their relationship. The minute he put on a Philadelphia Patriots uniform, their relationship had become one of player and manager. While their future interactions should of course be cordial and mutually supportive as members of the same team, in the end it didn’t much matter whether players liked or hated the front office staff, and vice-versa.
But Taylor had to reluctantly acknowledge that while it shouldn’t matter what Ryan thought about her, it absolutely did. Maybe that was just her guilt talking. The only thing she knew for certain was that when she’d seen Ryan striding across the parking lot toward her, she’d felt such a sense of loss and missed opportunity that he must have seen it written on her face. And as for him, Taylor hoped she hadn’t misread him, because the wary interest in his eyes hadn’t really meshed with the clipped harshness of the few words he’d spoken. That was the only thing that had given her the courage not to turn tail and run after blurting out her half-assed apology.
She spotted his SUV, which headed directly for her Fusion. It was hard to miss her red car, especially in a nearly-deserted lot. While the beach and the lot would be jam packed on weekends, especially once the weather got a little warmer, today she could have fired a few mortar rounds in the area and likely not hit anybody.
Ryan got out of his car, tossing his keys in the air and catching them before shoving them in a front pocket of his tight jeans. She hadn’t seen him in that particular shirt before, a long, off-white one—in linen, maybe—that he’d appropriately left hanging out of his jeans. It looked big enough that he could wrap her inside it and tie her up with a bow on top. Or big enough that it would cover up her naked body in the morning when she got out of bed to make them coffee.
She mentally groaned at herself. What a time to be having that runaway thought.
Taylor didn’t get up as he reached the table, nor did she greet him. Ryan didn’t say anything, either, and didn’t sit down. Instead, he stood at the end of the table staring down at her and almost blocking out the lowering afternoon sun with his big, broad-shouldered body.
Maybe he just wants me to take a good, eye-level look at his package and think about what I’m going to be missing. As if I need reminding.
She motioned him to sit while she grabbed her mug and took a swallow of coffee.
When he finally sat down across from her, Ryan pulled off his sunglasses and hung them from the neckline of his shirt. Taylor felt she had no choice but to take hers off, too, even though she’d have preferred to hide behind her shades until the ordeal had ended.
“So, here we are,” he said in a deep, sarcastic voice.
“Here we are,” she echoed, her throat tight.
His dark eyes were locked onto hers, certainly more questioning than angry if she didn’t miss her guess. Her tension eased a fraction.
“You told Dembinski about us, Ryan,” she said, breaking a short, uncomfortable silence. “Why did you feel the need to do that?”
Ryan’s upper lip quirked, as if the question wasn’t what he’d anticipated. “Well, first of all, I said what I said out of pure instinct. Second, I wanted to know if you and Dembinski had cooked this whole thing up together. I don’t apologize for that, not after what you did.”
“Um, define whole thing.”
“You know. The coincidence of our first meeting. The questions about the possible trade and where I wanted to go. Everything you said.” His look had darkened again. “It was all manipulation, though I guess Dembinski didn’t have anything to do with it, after all.”
Taylor shook her head. “He didn’t. It was all me, even though it certainly wasn’t all manipulation, Ryan. But it wasn’t great that you dumped our business on my boss like that. He was good and pissed at me.”
He shrugged. “I guess you should have told him yourself, then, shouldn’t you?”
Taylor couldn’t really argue with that logic. She’d somehow hoped to skate over the icy patches with Dembinski, and hadn’t anticipated that Ryan would blow the whistle on her. Anyway, she shouldn’t be trying to question what Ryan did—not when this whole thing was her fault.
She took a deep breath and gave him a wavering smile. “You’re right. I just kept digging myself into a deeper hole and didn’t know how to get out of it without making an even bigger mess. I didn’t want either you or Dembinski to think the worst of me, and it’s turned out that you both do.”
Ryan’s brow furrowed as he considered that. “I think you owe me the whole story, Taylor.”
“Yes, I do.” She turned her gaze away toward the beach as high-pitched caws from dive-bombing seagulls filled the air. A soft breeze off the water caressed her face, reminding her how lucky she was—despite her current mess—to be in sunny Florida instead of chilly, bleak Philadelphia.
Start from the beginning and just say it.
“Okay, then,” she said. “I’d been an admirer of yours for a long time. I’m a stats person, and you’re the kind of player whose value is sometimes only fully apparent when you dig a little deeper into the numbers.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I think.”
Taylor turned her gaze back to him, smiling a little at his comeback. “It was a compliment, I assure you. Anyway, when Dembinski tasked me to come up with some out-of-the-box thinking regarding a replacement for Jared Stark, I already had you in mind. It seemed to me that your…er, defensive shortcomings wouldn’t be nearly so problematic at first base. And your offensive production would be perfect for the Patriots. God knows we’ve got enough home run power with Miller, Harmer and other guys. I wanted a player who gets on base and doesn’t make stupid, ill-timed outs.”
Ryan gave her a hint of a smile. “That`s me, all right.”
“Mr. Modesty, aren’t you?” Taylor gave him a genuine smile in return.
“Hey, my ego’s taken a hell of a beating lately, right?”
“Point taken. Anyway, I got the not-so-brilliant idea that I should try to ferret out any additional information about you that I could before I laid out my idea for the GM.” She shook her head. “Look, Ryan, I don’t even know exactly what I was looking for. A sense of what you might want to do if you were traded, I guess. And some insight into your…character. How much grit you still had. Something like that,” she finished with a vague wave of her hand.
Ryan shot her a puzzled look. “Was that why you were at the Summer Moon with Ridge that night?”
“That was more a fortunate happenstance, since Joe did invite me to have dinner there. But, yes, I was planning on striking up a conversation with you one way or the other. You just made it easy when you decided to come over to our table.”
“Some sort of karma, I guess,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. “You kept glancing over at me, and it made me think I should do something about that.”
“Like hit on me,” she said.
“I’d have to have been dead from the neck down not to want to. And I’m not, as you later found out.”
That’s for sure. And when we made love, something in me came alive, too.
Taylor had to take a deep breath as Ryan’s stare suddenly turned into something darn close to predatory. He might be mad as hell at her, but the vibes coming off him told her he’d probably like to finish the argument with some really hot makeup sex on the picnic table.
God, I’d like that, too.
The dark, magnetic look in his eyes made it difficult to talk. The mental image of her flat on her back right here in the middle of the park, skirt up, panties off, and with Ryan between her spread thighs, was ridiculously erotic and frighteningly tempting. Knowing that she could never act out any fantasies with him—much less that one—depressed the hell out of her.
“Yeah, I could tell right away,” she managed. “And I felt the same, obviously. Once we started talking it was like being pulled under, like I was in a rip tide or something. I won’t deny that I really wanted to be with you—sexually, that is.” She took a deep breath, willing herself to keep going. “After that, it was all I could do to maintain enough equilibrium to carry on a rational conversation. Yes, I did try my best to pump you for information, I’ll admit that. But I was falling down the rabbit hole the whole time, I assure you. Much to my surprise.”
He didn’t say anything for maybe half a minute, instead staring intently at her as if trying to divine what truth there was in her words. Finally, he raked a hand back through his hair and nodded. “Yeah, well, same here, I guess.”
Taylor swallowed past her tight throat. She knew without a doubt that he’d aimed to get her in his bed, but falling down the rabbit hole, to use her words? Could it be true?
“I wanted to be with you,” he continued. “I wasn’t sure how much could come out of it—what with our careers and everything, not seeing each other very often—but I meant what I said about how it felt real.” He absently rubbed his chest, as if trying to massage away an ache. “That’s why when I found out what was going on about the trade, and that you’d left town without so much as a word of explanation or even goodbye…” He let his words trail off as he shook his head.
She hung her head, staring at the tips of her beige pumps and feeling like the world’s worst coward. “I didn’t know what to say to you. I know that’s not an excuse. I just felt like it was all spiraling out of control and I didn’t know what to do about it. And I never let things get out of my control. That’s not me.” Taylor forced herself to look at him. “The right thing to have done was to be completely honest with you when we went to dinner at that crab place.”
“And then what?” he replied with a skeptical frown.
“And then it would have been over. You’d probably have walked out on me, and that’s what should have happened. And, if not, I should have walked out on you.”
He grimaced. “Because what was happening between us was dangerous, right? I remember your words exactly.”
She managed a nod. “I can’t believe you’re even talking to me anymore. I thought you’d be so angry and disappointed that you’d never want to see my sorry face again.”
“Yeah, I thought so too. But the funny thing is I don’t seem to be quite able to unsheathe my claws when I’m around you.”
The image of the big, predatory cat that his words conjured up in Taylor’s mind gave her a pleasurable little jolt. If he meant it to sound like he was some kind of cuddly p-ssycat when he was around her, it came out very differently to her.
“Thank goodness for that,” she said in a thin voice, trying for a lighter tone. Being around Ryan challenged her willpower beyond sanity.
“You’re convinced that being with me would screw up your career, aren’t you?”
That shot wounded her, even if there was a big element of truth to it. “It’s not just about me, if that’s what you’re saying,” she countered. “I’m the Assistant GM of your team now. How would your new teammates react when they found out you were literally in bed with management? Think about it.”
His gaze raked up and down her body, mentally stripping her clothes away. “Knowing how freaking hot you are, I’m pretty sure they’d call me lucky as hell.”
There was only one rational way to react to that. “Be serious, Ryan,” she said, frowning.
His mouth flattened into an irritated line. “Okay, I’ll seriously tell you that I don’t give a damn what anybody else thinks, player or management, and I’m not about to let Dave Dembinski or anybody else tell me who I can or can’t be seen with off the field. What, you figure Dembinski would think you’d feed me management secrets in between the sheets?” He gave a derisive snort. “If he really thinks that little of you, I doubt you’ll have much of a career with the Patriots, anyway.”
On the surface, he had a point. The same thought had gone through Taylor’s mind more than once. But she couldn’t bring herself to accept it. Having a relationship with Ryan would simply be a constant minefield of opportunities for misunderstandings and erosion of the team’s confidence in her. Even if she believed the two of them could keep their personal life separate from their business relationship, no one in baseball, on their team and otherwise, would share that confidence. Not a chance.
But it would be so very easy to agree with him, to let her heart overrule what her brain was telling her. The day and a half they’d been apart hadn’t changed her feelings for him, and had in no way diminished her desire for him. In fact, not being able to build on what they’d started at his house seemed incomprehensible and unfair. After all those years of shallow encounters with men—encounters that couldn’t even be called relationships—she’d finally met a fine man who had rocked her to the core, both physically and emotionally. Denying what she felt for Ryan was so much more than resisting an obviously tempting confection. It felt just plain wrong that she had to choose between her job and a relationship that she and Ryan obviously both hungered for.
You know how problematic it would be to become involved with a player. Dembinski’s words gripped her yet again, yanking her back from the precipice as she leaned far out over the edge.
“I wish I was as confident as you are,” she said softly. “And as brave. But I’m not. And for that, I’m sorry, Ryan. I really, truly am.”
Ryan’s hard look eased, as did the rigid tension in his arms and hands. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, just studying her face instead. Taylor hoped he could see how hard it was for her to say no to him. And to her own craving, especially since it seemed like nothing short of a miracle that he still wanted her.
The soft ocean breeze cooled her hot cheeks as they studied each other. It was such a gorgeous spring day, the sunlight glinting off the azure water, the leaves of the tall palm trees rustling above their heads—a day just perfect for beginnings, not endings. And that made Taylor’s heart ache all the more.
Finally, Ryan nodded and came to her, standing near the end of the table. “Brave? It’s not that brave for me to stand up. There’s not much that can happen to a player like me. But to you…” He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t have to. He was letting her know he understood, even if he didn’t like it. Ryan was giving her an easy way out, if anything about what went on between them could ever be called easy.
“I get it, Taylor,” he continued. “It’s your decision to make, and it’s clear you’ve already made it.”
She should have been relieved—she was grateful—but it felt more like her heart had been chopped and diced into little pieces. Ryan was letting her go, and she hated it. Hated that life had brought her to a man she could have fallen for, but a man who was off limits unless she wanted to abandon the dreams she’d sacrificed and fought so hard to attain for so many years.
She didn’t know what else to say to him.
When Ryan leaned down, she instinctively closed her eyes and turned her face up to meet his lips. His kiss was gentle and over in a second, and by the time she opened her eyes he’d already turned away. She didn’t unlock her gaze from him until he was in the car, and didn’t get up until the Cherokee disappeared down the narrow roadway, lost to her sight after the first curve.
Taylor had expected nothing from Ryan but anger, recriminations, and a fiery argument that would see him storm off with a vow never to forgive her betrayal. She certainly hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected that he’d want to be with her as much as ever, and that he’d grimly acknowledge and accept the fact that he couldn’t.
She hadn’t expected forgiveness to hurt so much.