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He was on a first-name
basis with the florist now. He figured a fresh bouquet on her desk every few
days would prod Revelle to think of him. The most recent arrangement, miniature
mauve roses in a cranberry vase, softly scented her office. It smelled far
better than a spray of Lysol or a room sanitizer.

As he looked into her
amazing lavender eyes, he wanted her to see him as the man in her life, not
another Rogue on her roster to promote.

“Anything else?” he heard
her say.

So much for being special.

He eased back. “I'm gone.”

“Thank you, Rhaden.” She
said it like she meant it. “I'll see you at the hotel. I'm the one timing the
speed dating rounds.”

He hoped she'd shave a
minute off the scheduled six. Five was plenty long.

Rhaden Dunn arrived at the
hotel at six fifty-five. He caught sight of Revelle through the etched-glass
doors to the ballroom, a gorgeous woman in a little black dress. Her high heels
showcased tight calves and great legs. Her toe was tapping as she looked at her
watch. She looked as if she'd assumed he'd stood her up.

“I made it,” he told her as
he slid in under the wire.

“I wasn't worried.” The
tension in her face said otherwise. “I always had a plan B.”

“Was your backup Kason
Rhodes?” he teased her. “He's single.”

The mention of Rhodes drew
her smile. “Kason was never a possibility. I need a man to talk to the women,
not go stone-faced and mute.”

She took his arm, walked
him down a white marble hallway lined with expensive artwork. Inside the
ballroom, chandeliers cast soft light; expensive-looking white orchids were set
on the tables. Navy wingback chairs were clustered in twos on the thick
Oriental carpet. Fancy octagonal tables allowed for drinks and canapés. Rhaden
didn't do finger food. Too damn dainty.

The women turned, looked
him over. Some winked, others flicked their tongues. All had hot eyes. Most
looked high-maintenance and overindulged. Spray tans darkened soft skin and
Botox-smoothed wrinkles.

He nodded to his teammates,
already surrounded by speed daters. None of the guys dated anyone seriously.
They were easy and available for more than dinner.

Damn, he could use a drink,
thought Rhaden. A double scotch would take the edge off. Somehow he would make
it through the night. Revelle and a late-night cocktail were in his sights.

She settled him in a far
corner of the room, patted him on the shoulder, sensitive and supportive. “If
you need me, scratch your chin.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Reason
to signal?”

“If a woman gets too
amorous,” she explained. “A few participants arrived early, and the champagne's
been flowing freely.”

Intoxicated speed
dating—could the night get any better? He leaned one arm over the back of the
leather chair, awaiting round one.

“I'm Winter Evans,” the
first of his ten daters said seconds later. She was sparkly in her silver
sequined dress. Running her hands up his arms, she air-kissed both his cheeks.

“I'm thirty-nine,” she told
him as he seated her. “I've never had plastic surgery and I like to role-play.”

Rhaden studied the woman.
The cougar was pushing fifty, her smile tight from a nip and a tuck. He
wondered whether she shook pompoms or wore a nurse's cap in the bedroom.

He nodded, attentive. “I
appreciate your participation and donation to Collage.”

“Revelle's schoolhouse.”
Winter sipped her martini. “History bores me. Meeting you brought me here
tonight. I'm a big fan of second base.”

Rhaden played first. “You
like baseball?” he asked.

“I like the uniforms,” she
admitted. “The ballplayers look good coming and going.”

Definitely a reason to
watch the sport. Rhaden discreetly looked at his watch. Only two minutes had
passed. It seemed like a lifetime. He made small talk as if his life depended
on it.

After several minutes,
Winter popped open her silver clutch, slipped him her business card. “I'm
hoping you'll pick me tonight, but if not, call anytime. I come with a feather
duster, and make a great French maid.”

A soft chime echoed across
the room. Round two.

Rhaden looked at Revelle.
He found her eyes on him, looking thoughtful. He cocked his head, and she
flashed nine fingers. She was counting down the speed daters right along with
him.

“Angela Spencer.” A
blue-eyed brunette next greeted him. She perched on the edge of her chair with
impeccable posture and pedigree. “I'm an advocate for historical landmarks.”
Her voice was perfectly modulated. “The earliest Spencers established the Order
of First Families of Virginia.”

This lady would bring her
forefathers to dinner.

“Your favorite restaurant?”
he asked.

“Jardinet's or Truffle's.”
She liked French food.

Rhaden was set on a steak. “Are
you a Rogues fan?”

“You're a novelty.” At
least she was honest. “The men I date are staid, boring, and of my background.
I'm looking for—” she hesitated.

“Adventure?” Rhaden filled
in the blank. Angela thought him born to be wild, his own heritage beneath her.

“Exactly.” She placed her
hand over his, squeezed. “I'd like a night to remember before I settle down.”

He pitied the woman. Sex
ought to enhance a relationship; in his opinion, orgasms were one of God's
greatest gifts to mankind. Though Angela might fool around, she'd wed a man
with a genealogical tree taller than her own. Her life would be wooden.

The chime sounded and
Rhaden pushed back his chair so fast it nearly toppled over. “My pleasure,” he
said as Angela moved on.

Again, Revelle caught his
eye, her expression wistful. Damn, she was beautiful—candle thin with porcelain
skin. He wanted to waltz her out of the ballroom without a backward glance. But
it wasn't going to happen. Not for forty-eight more minutes.

Round three, and Betina
Edwards joined him. “I'm married,” she confided on a whisper. “I could, however,
be separated in six minutes. Your call.”

Lady placed high
expectations on speed dating.

Rhaden scratched his chin.
Rubbed it hard. Revelle picked up his signal, and was immediately at his side.
She smiled as she asked, “Anything I can do for you?”

“Not at the moment,” Rhaden
said easily.

She leaned in, lowering her
voice for his ears only. “Crying wolf?”

“Merely making sure the
signal worked,” he returned.

Following round three,
Revelle returned with two fingers of scotch and a curious smile. “How's it going?”
she asked.

She might not be into him,
but he had the childish urge to make her jealous. “First three were hot.”

Her expression faltered. “You're
enjoying yourself then?”

“I've got ten women vying
for my attention.”

“Lucky you.” Her lips were
now pursed.

He watched her return to
the center of the ballroom.

Round four delivered Farrah
Lane. She was exotic, with long black hair and almond eyes. A deep tan
indicated a spray booth or a Florida vacation.

He quickly learned fashion
was her passion. Discovering new designers, her mission in life. Their
conversation centered on clothes. “I have three hundred pairs of shoes,” she
told him.

And only two feet, mused
Rhaden. He stifled a yawn.

Belinda Hollister
introduced herself for round five. “I have six dogs, four cats, and a ferret,”
she announced.

That explained the pet hair
on her cream-colored blouse.

Belinda drummed her fingers
on the coffee table, let him know her biological clock was ticking. Her
threeyear plan went from dating to birthing twins.

Rhaden hated schedules
during the off-season. Belinda wanted to arrange his life when he lived for
flexibility and freedom.

He rolled his shoulders,
faced round six.

Lux Huntington epitomized
sex. Tossed blonde hair, high cheekbones, flawless skin. Her light green eyes
matched the slice of lime in her gimlet; her red lips were glossed a shade
darker than the tight corset dress that shoved her double-D's in his face.

Lux had sucker-punch
impact, until she opened her mouth. “Cocktail frank?” She offered him one from
her plate. “Wrapped in a blanket, the weenie looks uncircumcised.”

Rhaden's jaw dropped, and
Lux took the opportunity to pop the minifrank in his mouth. After her comment,
he couldn't bring himself to chew. He snagged the cocktail napkin from under his
tumbler and spit it out.

He rubbed his chin.

No immediate rescue from
Revelle.

Lux scooted her chair
closer. She ran her fingers over his shoulder, down his back, then snuck
beneath his suit coat. “Show me your
Who's on First
tattoo?”

Hell, no. The tat was
scripted on his groin and only visible to his lovers. Lux wasn't in the running
to see it now.

Rhaden pulled back,
captured her hands, and secured them on his thigh. She wiggled her fingers, and
he tightened his hold. She stuck out her bottom lip, pouted.

Revelle chose that moment
to stroll by. She caught what appeared to be an intimate moment between Lux and
himself.

Her expression fell, and
for an unguarded moment, she looked hurt. Her emotion both surprised and
pleased Rhaden. Maybe Revelle had hidden feelings for him, after all. He'd find
out over cocktails later that evening.

Lux turned to Revelle. “Can
you restart the timer? I'm really into Rhaden. Six minutes is too short.”

Rhaden looked at Revelle,
shook his head. He had no desire to turn back time. He'd never look at a
cocktail frank the same way again. Worse still, he hated fighting off a woman's
advances in the ballroom of a five-star hotel.

Revelle forced a smile. “Rhaden
has four other ladies to meet. We need to keep the clock running.” Rhaden
released her hands, and Lux immediately grabbed his tie. The Windsor knot
tightened like a noose as she French-kissed him, deep and hot. She then headed
back to the bar.

Revelle passed him a clean
cocktail napkin. “Lipstick smear, clown face.”

He wiped his mouth clean.

“A night for your diary?”
she teased.

“We'll discuss it over
cocktails later.”

“One drink, remember?”

“Lux nearly sucked my
tongue down her throat.” He straightened his tie. “I'd say you owe me two.”

Four women were yet to
come. Rhaden held his breath. He looked around the room, noted his teammates
were having the time of their lives. It should have been a great night.

A year ago, he'd have
enjoyed himself immensely. Tonight, his feelings for Revelle took him off the
market. He didn't want to date anyone but her. In his mind, their relationship
was exclusive.

Round seven introduced him
to a lady who franchised movie theaters and video stores. She offered him a
packet of free tickets, a discount on videos, as well as herself.

Rhaden politely refused all
three.

Speed dater eight called
him “Curry,” because he was hot.

Number nine was quiet and
coy. She sent him smoldering looks, letting her eyes speak for her. Rhaden held
up his end of the conversation for four minutes, then also went silent. His
smile slipped with two minutes to go.

Kara Jordan, the tenth and
final dater, shut Rhaden down. She hadn't planned to attend the event, but came
in support of her friend, Elizabeth Ellis, who'd wanted to meet Alex Boxer.
Kara had no interest in Rhaden whatsoever. She wasn't a sports fan.

Revelle soon ended the
round. Most bemoaned the fact it was over. Rhaden, on the other hand, shot from
his chair, leaving skid marks.

The Major League
ballplayers gathered around Revelle as she thanked everyone for attending the
fundraiser. Many of the women looked blurry eyed and a bit tipsy. All hoped to
snag a Rogue.