Fielder's Choice (20 page)

She must’ve looked flabbergasted—she certainly felt flabbergasted—because he shifted his weight and stepped back, crossing his arms and daring her to tell him no.

“I do know how to greet guests.”

She paused. She really didn’t have much choice. Not unless she wanted to welcome guests in her bare feet.

“Thank you. I’ll be just a minute,” she said as she turned to head up the stairs.

She transferred her sandals to her right hand and placed her left hand on the bannister. Right then, she didn’t trust her balance. Not with the shiver of nerves that having Matt close sent rushing through her. And his offer of help? She never would have guessed how great it would feel. She recognized that he was the kind of man who wouldn’t let her down.

“Alana?”

She turned back to him.

A slow easy smile crawled across his face and lit his eyes.

“Take your time.” He waved her up the stairs. “I promise not to scare anybody off. At least not for the first ten minutes.”

Maybe she was losing her mind. She was leaving a guy that Alex had said was one step from antisocial to greet guests, and she felt good about it. But maybe the good feeling coursing through her had nothing to do with parties and guests and everything to do with the way her body lit up any time he was around.

By the time she changed shoes and ran back downstairs, a line of people stood in the foyer and Matt was doing a terrific job of making them feel welcome.

He grinned at her, never pausing in his duties, and she felt ridiculous for doubting him. Of course he knew how to deal with the public—he had to deal with fans. Plus he’d grown up in nearly the same social circles she had. East coast, west coast—the difference hardly mattered.

Alex was usually right about people, usually read them with a practiced eye, but evidently he hadn’t seen this side of Matt.

“Maybe I should retire and leave you to it,” she said as she joined him.

The tux he wore accentuated the broad stretch of his shoulders, and the white collar of the starched shirt against his tanned skin made his chiseled jaw and strong features look even more handsome in the glow of the foyer chandelier. How many women did he have in his life? How many women looked at those shoulders and wanted to feel what it would be like to be enclosed in his arms?

“If you do, I’ll never forgive you,” he whispered, pulling her back from her thoughts.

For the next half hour they greeted the earliest arrivals. Alana stole glances at him as he spoke with a couple of the men who appeared relieved to be able to talk sports. How could she not have noticed Matt’s smooth manners and easy command?

The women peppered Alana with questions about the ranch, some of which she could actually answer, but mostly they wanted to talk about her dress.

She caught Matt stealing glances at
her
. The way he held her in his gaze gave her goose bumps. At one point he reached down and twined his fingers in hers. Just for an instant, but long enough to tell her that she wasn’t the only one feeling the energy sparking between them.

Seeing him talk with the guests, working beside him... she was shocked at how good it felt to have somebody with her, someone supporting her. He’d saved the day in a quiet way, no fanfare and no expectations of recompense. And though he was a superstar, he wasn’t trying to impress. He’d just stepped up and done what needed to be done with a generous, capable and intriguing manner.
And
he was unbelievably sexy. From every angle. From
any
angle. He was ideal material for a partner, if a woman wanted a mate.

Hand extended toward the next man in line, Alana stopped her thought. She couldn’t believe she was thinking about mates and partners. Couldn’t believe she was thinking about
Matt
and mates and partners.

She watched him talking with an older man about the need for scholarships for the kids and saw the skin around his eyes and jaw go tight. Though he was putting on a good show and smoothly making the guests feel welcome, she recognized the effort he expended to be social with people he didn’t know. An effort he was making for her.

“Time for a break,” she said as the last of the current group began to disperse into the crowd. She steered him out the door and toward the bar set up outside the ballroom pavilion. “Champagne?”

“I’m more of a martini man if I have a choice.”

“After saving my butt, you can have whatever you want.”

“You might regret that offer.” He looked her up and down with a sweeping glance.

She notched her hand into the crook of his arm. “We’ll see.”

Matt didn’t believe in magic. Superstition, maybe, like the rituals he and most of his teammates practiced before hitting or pitching. But if he had believed in the supernatural, he would’ve said the evening was enchanted.

As he and Alana moved through the crowd, everyone appeared caught up in the good spirit of the cause, in the balmy beauty of the night and in the pleasure of the gathering.

When he’d first arrived and stepped out of his car, he’d kicked himself for telling Alex he’d come. As he’d walked past the frantoio and seen the staff running around with last-minute preparations, the setup had brought back memories of the fundraisers and parties he’d tolerated over the years. Too often such parties were simply a stage for men and women to further some agenda, an opportunity to exhibit status or wealth or one-upmanship.

But as he’d greeted guests with Alana and seen a side of her that he hadn’t expected, a subtle gentleness that felt genuine, he was glad he’d shoved down his reservations and made the trip. She might have a reputation as an irresponsible and flighty party girl, but there was no hiding her genuinely tender heart. He saw it when she asked about a family friend’s son who struggled with dyslexia, in the genuine compassion she showed as a stranger told her about her ailing dog and when she’d listened patiently and comforted an elderly woman struggling to put her life together after the death of her husband of forty-six years.

She deflected the thanks of the executive director of the Boys and Girls Club with grace and made little of her donation of a Rothko painting for the auction. That the painting was worth well over three million dollars was not discussed. If Matt’s father were at the party he would outbid everyone; he collected modern art and a Rothko would be a prime addition to his collection. Matt toyed with the idea of buying the painting for him and then dismissed the impulse. The executive director was obviously bowled over by Alana’s generous gift and effusive in her thanks. It was the only time during the reception that Alana began to lose her cool. She’d been a tiger when she made it clear to the director that the money from the auction of the painting was to specifically fund summer camp for seasonal workers’ children. Any camp of their choice.

Alana stayed by Matt’s side as they made their way to their assigned table. Alex had leaned on his circle of friends in the city and persuaded many of them to attend. Their astonishment at discovering that Alana had arranged the event and that she owned the ranch should’ve made him wary. Instead he found himself wanting to throttle a few of the city debutantes and scions who showed such surprise at her efforts.

Matt noticed the flowers, the lighting, the hundreds of suspended lanterns, the tasteful centerpieces on the tables. He knew what it took to orchestrate an event of such magnitude on short notice. Alana had made more than an effort. She’d thrown her heart into the event.

When they finally sat down to dinner, Matt gave a silent prayer to whatever forces had arranged for his tablemates. To his relief, Alana and Jackie flanked him, and Alex and Chloe sat across from him. He’d seen enough new faces for one evening and was glad to be among friends.

Alana leaned in close. She smelled of flowers and a scent he couldn’t place, a scent not sweet but provocative and inviting. She lifted her gaze to his.

“Thank you,” she said. “For what you did back there. I was so afraid I’d made a mistake trying to host this event.”

“Hey, the worst mistake anybody can make is being afraid to make one,” Matt said. “Using what you have to help an important cause is commendable.”

She tilted her head. “My motives weren’t entirely altruistic. Does having an ulterior motive cancel my brownie points?”

He heard her confessional tone, and a prickle of warning tightened in his chest. “That depends on the ulterior motive.”

She lowered her eyes and fidgeted with the rim of the dinner plate. “I’m sorry about forgetting the garden thing with Sophie.”

“You didn’t have to do all this to make up for it.”

“I think I did,” she said, raising her gaze back to his and smiling. “Have to do this, that is.”

Her smile could razor through the most rigid of boundaries. He ought to know—his were failing again.

He’d known when Alex told him about the event that it was part of her effort to make things right. At the time he’d wisely drawn a line, deciding to keep his distance, and told himself he had to do what he could to keep Sophie from falling any more deeply into her infatuation with Alana.

But here he was sitting beside her, surrounded by the swirl of the event she’d dreamed up, and drawn to her with a hungry desire that he’d like to think was under the power of his will, though he was beginning to suspect it wasn’t under his control at all.

She glanced up and waved at a man approaching the table. The man nodded to Alex, kissed Jackie’s hand and headed toward Alana.

“My brother Simon contributed all the vegetables for the evening,” Alana said as the man circled the table.

“Just the ones on the plates.” He chuckled as he leaned down to brush a kiss to Alana’s cheek. “You pulled it off.”

“It’s not over yet,” she said. “Simon, meet Matt Darrington.”

Matt shook the man’s outstretched hand.

“Nice dinger yesterday,” Simon said as he settled into his seat.

“Alex set the table, I just brought him home,” Matt said, deflecting Simon’s praise.

Alex leaned over the table toward them. “Four hundred and sixty-five feet worth of bringing home. I think that ball landed in San Mateo.” He forked some tomatoes from his plate and waved them at his cousin. “Speaking of compliments, did you grow these, Simon?”

Simon nodded just as the man Matt had seen Alana drive off with the day of the butterfly-garden fiasco arrived at their table. Every muscle stiffened until he was rigid.

“My delinquent cousin, Parker Tavonesi,” Alana said with a smile. “This is Matt Darrington. He saved the day and met the guests with me. If not for him, I’d be roasting you for dinner, darling.”

“Apparently I owe you one,” Parker said as he shook Matt’s hand and then took the empty seat next to Alana.

Matt relaxed. Yet discovering he’d been jealous of Alana driving off with a cousin that day made him squirm.

As Parker greeted his cousins, the good-natured barbs flew in earnest. If Matt were a betting man, he’d bet that Parker Tavonesi would never arrive late to a family event again, even if he had to hire a helicopter to get him there.

Matt watched as the clan around the table settled in. Being absorbed into their banter and jesting was like being lifted on a wave of goodwill, like being transported into a swirl of camaraderie.

They ate, drank and laughed, both wine and stories flowing freely. After the main course both Alex and Matt signed a few autographs—
for the kids at home
—for a few table-hopping guests.

After the dessert course, the musicians on the dais stopped playing. The auctioneer tapped on his microphone, snapping everybody to attention. Matt admired the man’s finesse and humor, but most of all he appreciated the auctioneer’s skill at ramping up the bids for the Rothko. A man across the room outbid everyone, driving the bidding up to three and a half million dollars. Alana cheered as loudly as anyone as the man stood and tipped his hat to her.

“You know him?” Matt asked.

“No.” She looked over at Alex. “But I have a feeling Alex does.” She blew Alex a kiss. “Well done, cuz. There’ll be lots of happy campers thanks to you.”

Alex grinned and saluted her with two fingers.

When Alana reached under the table and closed her hand around his, Matt knew he had only one desire that would make it a perfect night. When she whispered to him that she wanted him to follow her to the wine cellar, he was pretty sure perfection was near at hand.

Leaving an event early had never felt so right.

Chapter 16

They didn’t go to the wine cellar.

Matt walked hand in hand with Alana as the chatter and music receded behind them. She led him to the front door of her house and they slipped inside. The foyer was deserted. He’d intended to let her make the first move, but he couldn’t wait. She toed the door shut, and he pulled her to him, the fury, the hunger, the wanting pouring through him as he stormed her lips. In the driving passion of the kiss, he tasted her want, felt it in the way she molded her body to his. He knew his way to her bedroom and wasted no time in lifting her into his arms and carrying her straight to it. He wasn’t sure his lips left hers even to breathe.